Grown Up

Growing up

                I woke up this morning and found quite a surprise. I didn’t wake up because Dad was knocking on all of the bedroom doors, “You’re wasting the day! It’s time to get up!” I didn’t wake up to Becky’s running alarm blasting and waking everyone in the house up except her. I didn’t wake up to Dan’s Metallic music shaking the floors. I didn’t wake up to Greg’s truck alarm being set off by neighbor kids. I didn’t wake up to the smells and sounds of Mom making a pancake breakfast.

                I woke up to the sounds of responsibility. Motherhood called from upstairs, “Mommy! I want you! I’m all done sleeping!”

                Ownership barked from his kennel telling me he didn’t feel well and needed out.

                Marriage whispered from the other side of the bed. “Should we have omelets for breakfast before we start our chores?”

                How did this happen? I still feel like the sleepy kid who wants to sleep until her dad knocks on the door at 10:30, and I still feel like the teenager who shares a Prelude with her brother, but I look like a 31-year-old mother/wife/teacher. I am a grown up.

                Weird.

Today is the last day of the challenge. I thought I'd write something amazing and profound, but I am out of time and grown up life awaits. 

Self Pity Monster

This is not an easy one to post because recognizing my own flaws is a lot less comforting than remembering my mom and the joy she brought (and hopefully brings in these stories) to others. Acknowledging my weaknesses should be a first step to making some changes, but change is hard.

Self Pity Monster

                The Self Pity Monster is one of the ugliest monsters that I’ve ever seen with bloodshot, puffy eyes, runny waterproof mascara, swollen chapped lips, and a frown that would curdle milk even if it were turned upside down. The Self Pity Monster is sneaky, making little itty bitty appearances in a way that seem very temporary and then BAM! Full-force SP Monster in the mirror!

                After a full day of electrical work, Jeff was working on a project with a fast approaching deadline, so Addie and I were going to join two couples with their two-year-olds for an evening of play, food, and then sleeping for the kids, painting for the moms, and whatever for the dads. I left my house with Addie at about 4:15 with my hopes for a successful evening high. I thought, Oh, it will be such a beautiful evening and so much fun, I will be inspired to write an amazing post when I get home! Little did I know that the brief appearance by the SP Monster earlier in the day had settled into the backseat of the car to make sure it took charge while we were away from home.

                We were unloading the car as the third child pulled up. The girls greeted each other with smiles and hugs, and when we got inside, the little boy got the same greeting. Magical, I thought as I watched the three darlings play with cars and kitchen sets and bugs that crawl down the window. The other moms and I chatted as we watched this happening, and the dads went outside to start grilling. It’s really no big deal that Jeff couldn’t make it. We’re doing our thing and we aren’t even around the guys.

                And then there was a knock on the door. I heard a woman’s friendly voice. Must be a neighbor, but then into the kitchen walked the mother and stepfather one of my friends, and the SP Monster whipped through the kitchen.

                Hm. Maybe I was supposed to invite Dad. At least Becky (my sister) will be here after the kids go to bed, and in the back door walked the parents of the other friend!

                This is a little awkward. Maybe I should have stayed home. The SP Monster had taken a seat on a stool near where I was standing to watch broccoli boil and had a stupid ugly grin on its face.

                The kids continued on with their play, but since grandparents had arrived and were naturally doting on their adorable grandchildren. My child either sensed that something was not right with Mommy or noticed that she wasn’t getting quite the fuss that the others were getting, so she started throwing herself into conversations and literally into the lap of another mom who had just done a cute flip with her little one.

                So there I was, hanging out in the kitchen with the SP Monster, feeling sorry for my little girl because she didn’t have a grandparent there to engage her in play and to make sure she was eating her dinner and to brag about all of the wonderful things she does, and why brag about your own child to a grandparent of another? Through the lens of a grandparent, my amazing child’s wonderful accomplishments mean nothing. So then I’m feeling even sorrier for my child because she doesn’t even have a mother who will go to bat for her because she’s so busy feeling sorry for her SP-Monster-self.

                There we were, our fun evening out with friends and all I could do was watch. I watched my daughter and her friends being silly and having fun. I watched my friends with their husbands together making decisions for their toddlers. I watched my friends with their parents, sharing in memories and reflecting on similarities to when they were kids. I watched the spouses with their in-laws, being polite and sophisticated. I watched the evening happen all around me and I felt the SP Monster completely take over.

                I put my toddler in her pajamas. I talked to her and rocked her and sang to her and loved her, and when she didn’t want to go to sleep because she wanted to play at this exciting house, I felt the tears of the SP Monster roll down my face. I wouldn’t be painting. I wouldn’t be chatting. I wouldn’t be girl-nighting. I would be driving home to tuck my toddler into her own bed while my friends and their moms enjoyed Canvas and Cocktails in the comfort of my friend’s house.

                My mom wouldn’t have done that. My mom would have bragged about her kids, pointed out the amazing things her kids were doing, just to make sure people noticed how Greg had taken apart a computer and put it back together more efficiently, or how far Dan threw a perfect spiral. My mom wouldn’t have cared if the grandparents thought it was impressive that Becky broke her arm in two places and pulled off her favorite sweater so that it wasn’t cut. She wouldn’t have told them anyway because kids need to hear that someone thinks the things they are doing are amazing.

                My baby is amazing. Did I let her down by not bragging about her? Did I disappoint her by trying to get her to sleep in her friend’s guest bed? Have I destroyed my two-year-old’s self-esteem because I cried in the dark as I rocked her because I was feeling sorry for myself?

                Probably not. But I’ve got to get rid of this monster before I do!

Appreciation for Parents

Exhaustion of Mundane Activities

                Being a parent of a two-year-old has given me a greater appreciation for single parents than ever before, and I have always had an appreciation for parents who take on this role alone. I am fortunate to have my partner in this with me, and I was lucky to have two parents raising my brothers, sister, and me. I love breaks when I get to spend additional time with Addie, and I am bummed that it is already Thursday. I am, however, exhausted.

                How on earth did my mom do it with four kids? My dad was great, of course, and certainly knowing he would get home from work, we’d eat dinner as a family, and he’d help with homework and put us to bed had to help my mom through each day, but just thinking about clothing, how on earth did she do it? My mom was the one who took us shopping for clothes and washed and folded our laundry (until Becky was in 2^nd grade and my mom was tired of having to wash and rewash Beck’s clothes since she wouldn’t put them away and they got wrinkly so she’d put them back in the hamper). I remember one time when my brothers were at school, baby Becky was napping, and my mom helped me with a Cabbage Patch puzzle while listening to the Zephyrs and folding laundry.

                I think about my challenge today with trying to sort through boxes and bags of clothes from good friends and trying to predict what the weather is going to be between now and June when I will have a chance to do this again, and guess what sizes will best fit my not-average-sized two-year-old in the meantime, all while trying to keep my child entertained and safe. What a task, and there is only one of her. My mom had three kids ages two and under! And then she had another one four years later!

                I have one and I am exhausted. It’s spring break, so I don’t even have my regular exhausting routines tugging at me, though they are weighing on me as lesson plans and grading get done less efficiently than if I had my quiet planning period. Jeff will walk in soon from bowling, and look around and wonder what on earth I did all day. Maybe next time, I’ll leave the clothing sort for him.

Up with the Stars

Up With the Stars

I’m up with the stars now

It’s really not so bad

I’m no longer in pain

And I’m here with my dad.

I did what I needed

I led a good life.

I was one heck of a mother

And the most loving of wives.

I’m up with the stars

It’s really not bad

I’m there for you all

So don’t be so sad.

I’m up with the stars

Watching over my mother

To keep her healthy and upbeat

And I’m supporting my brothers.

I’m up with the stars

Where I can see it all

Addie with her Lamby

And DJ with his ball.

I’m up with the stars

Watching where you go

Dan and Mandi in Oklahoma

And the rest in Colorado.

I’m up with the stars

And from here I truly can be

With all of my loved ones

My wonderful friends and family.

I’m here with the stars

Try not to be so blue

I’m here with the stars

But there with you too.

Gingersnaps

Gingersnaps

This is one of my family’s favorite stories to tell, but we all have a slightly different take on it. This is my take...

                My mom was a baker. We thought she started “Karen’s Cakes” because she was such a good baker. We give her credit for all of the delicious family recipes that became tradition, even though she got most of them from my grandma. When we were young, my parents told us that my mom didn’t know how to cook until she got married. Once she got married, she learned to cook, and when she had kids, her cooking became as dynamite as her baking!

                Becky is a baker also. She always has been. She started baking at a very young age and while Greg was making his famous bologna bowls for everyone, Becky was making cookies. She has always been good at baking, and when kids in grade school volunteered their mothers to make cakes and cookies for bake sales, Becky volunteered herself.

                Like everyone who does something, Becky tried different recipes and made mistakes early on. The biggest mistake she made, though, was letting her big brothers and sister taste her I-accidentally-used-confectioner-sugar-intstead-of-granulated-sugar cookies before she tasted them herself and noticed her mistake. Being the youngest of four kids, Becky definitely got the brunt of the teasing. We were told not to dish it if we couldn’t take it, and we were ready for Becky to tease back… she just chose not to.

                At dinner that evening, the banter continued. Becky reached her breaking point and got up from the table, bumping her table with the chair as she shoved it in. She hurried down the hall, and when she was nearly to her room, I made one more jerky comment.

                Sweet, adorable seven-year-old Becky turned around, pointed her middle finger up to the sky, and yelled, “#$*@ YOU!!!” before finishing her run and slamming the door behind her.

                We all started, slack jawed at my dad, waiting to see what he would do. His eyes were nearly bugging out of his head, and then he gave a little look as if to say, “You guys deserved that,” and my mom gently left the table and headed toward Becky’s room.

                We may have thought Becky was getting in trouble, but we knew it was really us who deserved a lecture. What I found out years later was that Becky was not getting lectured. Mom was offering comfort regarding Becky’s baking mistake and provided positive encouragement to help her get past the mean comments from her siblings.

                Fortunately for the rest of us, Becky didn’t give up on baking, and once she used the very colorful language that she learned from the girl across the street, she was much more effective at standing up for herself. Wasn’t that just like Mom, though? Don’t get mad… Understand. 

Bittersweet

Bittersweet

This story was shared by my Uncle Dave on Saturday night. My mom had shared this story with us years ago, but I had forgotten until Dave relived it for us.

                When my grandparents got married and my grandma got pregnant, she stopped working so that she would be home to raise the kids, keep the house clean, make dinner, and help with homework. It was important to her that she remain active in the school to support her children as well as the community. Because of this dedication, she occasionally left Karen (my mom) in charge of her little brothers while she attended a function at school.

                It was during one of these functions when poor, sweet, innocent David became the target of Karen’s practical joking. Like most kids, the three Ballard children were fans of chocolate, and Karen was quite experienced in different types of chocolate since she started baking with her mother at a young age. She was famous for her gingersnaps, and then for some reason, she started leaving a vital ingredient out. Eventually she mastered them again, and this experience came in handy when she had to talk to Becky about an evening of colorful language much later in her life. Nevertheless, she knew chocolate.

                Anyway, on this particular Thursday, Joyce was out, Bob was still at work, and the kids were left to entertain themselves. Karen put on her sweetest-sister-in-the-world look and offered to get a snack ready for David and Roger. Roger, however, was suspicious of Karen’s antics and knew to let David choose his piece of chocolate first. Karen was old enough by this point to know better than to watch David with laughing eyes, so she pretended to be getting something out of the cupboard while watching him from the corner of her eyes.

                The chocolate got closer to his mouth. He was almost drooling because he so desperately wanted some chocolate! Roger waited to see if this was something he wanted to. Finally, it reached David’s mouth and he popped it in with one shot, and he had barely started to chew when Karen started rolling with laughter!

                “Blech!!” David spat it into the trash and started rinsing his tongue under the faucet. “Vha – i – at???”

                With tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks, Karen managed to sputter, “Bittersweet chocolate!!”

                “That’s disgusting!” David said when his tongue was free of the no-sugar-added wants-to-be-a-treat chocolate.

                Roger decided to find his own snack.

                My mom always said to treat others the way you want to be treated, and she also said, “If you can’t take it, don’t dish it.” She really lived by these mottos and loved laughing and having a good time. She could tease with the best of them, and when it came back at her, she took it like a champ.

"Where's my Chicken?"

Corn and Potatoes from 7-11

                The summer of 2010 was an interesting one. Mom had planned to watch Addie one day a week when I went back to work in April so that they could have that time together and to help Jeff and me. She didn’t expect to have to continue chemo, and then when she was done with that and her office had again changed her position, she and my dad only got to watch Addie a handful of times.

                When I was done with school, though, and on summer vacation, Addie and I spent more time with my parents. It was a good summer with trips to the zoo, lunches, and just little visits. By the end of July, things were more difficult because Mom was in and out of the hospital and we didn’t really want to admit what we knew was happening. When she went to the hospital for the second time in just a couple of weeks, I did cry to Jeff, “My mom’s going to die!” and he was shocked and wanted to know who had said that. “Well, nobody, but she’s in the hospital again and she’s just not herself.”

                Early in August, when it sounded like another round of chemo might help her, but before they had administered it, Mom was in the hospital and had visitors. Greg and Bonnie and Mike and Cheryl were there to see her, but also to spend time with my dad since Mom was in and out of sleep without much notice. She woke up while they were chatting, and tried to get out of bed to get dinner ready and the table set! She was always thinking about others!

                A little while later, I called her. She said, “Where’s my chicken?” in a very light-hearted way.

                “I’m just getting Addie fed, and then I will be on my way. I am bringing corn and mashed potatoes too.”

                “I don’t need that,” she replied. “I already had it.”

                “You did? Where did you get corn and potatoes?”

                “7-11!”

                I wanted to ask if she was drunk, but assumed they wouldn’t allow booze into the hospital! Apparently she really wanted her chicken!

                When I got to the hospital with dinner, she was asleep and my dad was reading a magazine. She woke up briefly, ate some chicken and chatted for a short time, and then was out again.

                I’m glad I got to take her some of Jeff’s deliciously grilled chicken and wish that I hadn’t made her wait so long. Now, when I ask where something is or hear someone ask, “Where’s my ---?” in just the right tone, I laugh and think of that night… just a week before the end. 

Alone in a Crowded City

We had a birthday celebration this evening in honor of my mom. It’s so interesting to get together for a purpose like that and the different interactions people have with one another. It was my dad, my sister and her husband and her best friend from out of town, my oldest brother and his wife, my uncle and his three daughters and the boyfriend of the youngest, my other uncle and his two kids, my grandmother, my mom’s best friend, another couple my parents have been good friends with for a long time, Jeff, Addie, and me.

                We’ve had different combinations of this group together in different settings, and I love the feeling when we’re there. Everyone played a role in the person that my mom was, and everyone has special memories to keep her who she is to us. We spent some time sharing stories, which led to smiles, laughter, and tears. To be together in such a comfortable place and share those stories and emotions is a special and wonderful thing.

                It is also exhausting. On the drive home, I looked at the lights across the landscape and wondered how it can be that when we were all together in that house, and Addie was getting laughs by repeating a part of a story about my mom (“Where’s my chicken?!”), everything felt so whole, but looking at those lights and knowing it’s a crowded city, I still felt so alone. 

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff...

You are What you Eat

                When I was in eighth grade, I spent a week at a GT camp of some sort. It was a lot like sixth grades Outdoor Lab, but it was more about team-building and diversity than nature.

                My mom picked me up from Drake around 1:30, and as we were driving down Ward Road in her maroon minivan, she asked, “Did everyone help cook?”

                “Yeah, sort of. We had different tasks and had to use blind folds and glasses that block your vision and stuff like that, so everyone helped with meals, but it wasn’t always cooking.”

                She nodded as though this made perfect sense. “Did you cook with a lot of onions?”

                I thought back to the meals. It didn’t seem like there were a lot of onions, but maybe mixed into the spaghetti sauce. “Not really. Why?”

                “Oh. You smell like onions,” she said in a normal non-judgmental way.

                I showered as soon as we got home and realized that the smell wasn’t actually onions. I had taken deodorant with me, but had either outgrown the teenage-scent or had forgotten to put it on! I asked Mom for one of the many extra Secret deodorants she had in the linen closet and under the sink, and learned right then to make sure I never ran out.

                Many years later, Dan, Mandi, and their kids were in town and staying with my parents. We decided to go to the zoo, so I got 6-month-old Addie and all of her stuff loaded up and met Dan, Mandi, Kali, DJ, and Grammy by the benches in front of the Denver Zoo. Mom was wearing an adorable hot pink Hawaiian sundress (which she had also worn to my master’s graduation in AZ the year prior). It was surprising to see her in such an outfit because she was always cold, but I thought Oh, this is a good sign. It’s a hot day and she is warm enough to wear a sundress!

                Kali loves animals, so we needed to look in every cage and window to see whatever creature might be there. We went through the feline house and I saw Mom’s arms covered in goose bumps. It is chilly in here. They must have the AC cranked up. I noticed, though, that when we were looking at the tigers outside, she stayed in shaded areas. Hmm… maybe she should be wearing a sunhat.

                When we got to the polar bears, I pushed Addie’s bulky Jeep stroller as close to the glass as I could and took a picture of the big white bear playing with a piece from a wooden ship. I turned around and saw Mom sitting under a little tree. Wow, she’s not only warm enough, but she’s actually hot! But she’s still holding her arms like she’s cold.

                “Are you okay, Mom?” I asked. “Do you need a hat or some sunscreen or anything?” Interesting that at one point, she worried about me, and now I’m worrying about her.

                “I’m okay. Thanks though.”

                “You have goose bumps. Do you want me to sit with you in the sun?”

                “No! I can’t sweat! I think I forgot to put on deodorant!”

                This was the second or third time she had forgotten to put on deodorant in the last couple of years, and with all of her medical treatment, I thought maybe she just kept forgetting to buy it. I offered to give her some of mine, and she laughed.

                “I have a stockpile of deodorant, but I put it on after I put my shirt on so that I don’t get it all over my shirt, and I just forget to put it on sometimes.”

                Stockpile?! She wasn’t kidding! We are still finding stashes of deodorant as we sort through her belongings. Mom taught me to cook with onions in clothes that I’m not wearing out, always have a stash of the necessities (like feminine products, deodorant, toothpaste, soap, and shampoo and conditioner), and don’t sweat the small stuff, but don’t forget to put deodorant on or you are likely to sweat even more!

Washing Dishes

Animal Rights

                My mom loved animals, and I got that from her. I love little creatures with their wee little noses and their cute little noises. Unless, of course, they are in the house and they aren’t supposed to be.

                I was home for Mom’s birthday and to take the Place test so that I could apply for my teaching license in Colorado. Greg was home at the same time, planning to move back with his then-fiancé in early summer. We were looking around the Denver area for reasonably priced apartments for people our ages, but we were really spending time with Mom and Dad, enjoying the feeling of being at home again.

                One night, after laughing and chatting over grilled vegetables and chicken, I was rinsing the large colorful plates and bowls before loading them into the dishwasher that my grandma had handed down to my parents. It wasn’t new, but it worked better than the dishwasher they had previously had.

                I lifted the chrome handle with my left hand and pulled the front of the dishwasher down, peering inside as I did so in order to see how full the dishwasher already was.

                “AHHH!” I shrieked when I saw the tail and I slammed the door shut!

                “What??? What’s wrong?” Mom asked and she, Greg, and Dad all bolted up in their chairs with their eyes as big as the plates I wanted to put away.

                “A mouse! There’s a mouse in the dishwasher!”

                “How? How can there be a mouse in the dishwasher?” Greg and Dad asked as they joined me in the kitchen. “Where was it?”

                “On the right side, near the back! I saw the tail when I opened the dishwasher. It was running away!” I backed away, wanting to see and point it out, but also wanting to get out of the kitchen in case the mouse… well, in case it… I don’t know what it could have possibly done, but I didn’t want to be there if it did anything!

                It should be noted that my dad and my brother are not just smart. They are sma-art! Genius smart! And they had battled mice together before, like the time they put a mousetrap in the kitchen trash can, but had to end up drowning the poor mouse that got caught because he was hopping up and down in the canister with the trap stuck to his foot.

                So these smarties were in the kitchen, investigating the dishwasher situation, with me peeking over their shoulders and Mom standing just outside the back door, where she could hear us, but wouldn’t hear any sounds of an animal suffering. She had coaxed Casper, her white fuzzy cocker spaniel, into the backyard so that he wouldn’t interfere with whatever had to be done.

                They slowly lowered the dishwasher door, peering in at the spot I had described, and then slammed it closed when they saw the tail go back down the drain! They did this a couple more times, and then, before getting the mousetraps, one of them said, “Why would a mouse return so quickly to the dishwasher? If we scared it, wouldn’t it hide for awhile?”

                “Yeah… It can’t be a mouse,” the other replied.                

                They exchanged an inquisitive look, and shared a genius thought that ended with a look on their faces before saying, “It’s the rubber lining! It came loose!” and then opened the door again and grabbed hold of the loose rubber!

                Mom came back inside when she heard the laughter with a look of relief that there was no mouse, and there was no need for pesticides. We laughed about it for the rest of the weekend, and again when Greg moved near Cherry Creek. When I moved back into my parents’ house, there was a new dishwasher with tightly fitting linings! Thinking that I had had such a close brush with a mouse gave me a greater appreciation for my dad’s humor and the Mickey Mouse in a mousetrap ornament!

Happy Birthday

March 21

                It used to be one of my favorite days of the year, March 21, with spring officially here and spring break within reaching distance. It used to be an exciting day to be creative and thoughtful, like when I made a book with coupons for housework and such. It used to be the day my brothers and sister and I set aside our picking on each other and worked together to do something productive, like when we made a cherry chip birthday cake like she had as a little girl and drove it to Mom’s work in Cherry Creek. It used to be the day Mom played along and let us do things for her, like the time Becky and I decorated the house for a “surprise,” and I forgot to take a picture while Becky was at soccer practice, so Mom walked in again and was extra surprised. It used to be a day to bond, like when she visited me in Paris and we fought through the wind and toughed out the cobblestone walks to enjoy the amazing sights of Versailles.

                March 21. It used to be one of my favorite days of the year, but now it’s one of the hardest days. Now everyday life activities go on, and I just watch. Work happens, and I feel disengaged. Daffodils bloom in the backyard and along the sides of streets, and I smile before the tears stream down my cheeks.

                One of the saddest things about losing my mom is that my little girl will never really know her. She was only 7 months old when Grammy passed away, and although my brilliant little girl has an amazing memory, there is no way she truly remembers her Grammy. My goal is to share Grammy with Addie through stories and pictures so that she feels like she really knew her too.  

                Addie got to share one of Grammy’s birthdays with her. At twelve tiny weeks of age, Addie, Grammy and I boarded a plane to Oklahoma to visit Dan and Mandi. I dreaded the plane ride and I was nervous to be away from Jeff and the comforts of home with my new baby, but Mom and I were both off work for a bit longer, so it was now or never. I didn’t realize it was really now or never, but I think she did. Anyway, just as the plane took off, I followed Mom’s advice and gave Addie a bottle so that her little ears wouldn’t be bothered by the change in air pressure, and of course it worked! We made it to Oklahoma, shared a room with Addie in a playpen in the closet, and had a great trip. While we were there, we took a trip to the zoo and went to dinner at Dan and Mandi’s favorite Mexican restaurant where we sang to Mom since her birthday was just around the corner.

                Shortly after returning from our trip, I got a note in the mail. Mom thanked me for the birthday dress I’d gotten her, and complimented my parenting. I smiled as I read it, thinking, “You were right there with me, coaching me on what was best.” Addie will know Grammy through stories and pictures, and she will know her through the characteristics I learned from her as a mom, role model, and friend.

                March 21 will forever be anything other than a normal day in my life. With time, perhaps I will see the daffodils growing and smile without tears rolling down my cheeks. For now, I treasure the memories of birthdays I shared with her.

                Happy birthday, Mom.

Dreams

Dreams

                I love to sleep.

                                When I sleep, I dream.

                                                When I dream…

                                                                Mom is alive.

I see her in restaurants and in theaters and driving in other cars

                Until the lady turns her head.

I see her in the wardrobe hanging in my closet

                                                That I am now able  to wear.

I smell her when the right combinations of the right perfume and lotion passes by

                Or when the right scented candle is burning.

I smell her when I am cooking one of her delicious recipes

                                                Or when I walk into my dad’s house.

I hear her when I hurt myself

                “*sigh* Jame…”

                                Or see a puppy

                                                “Awe!”

                                                                Or sometimes when I speak.

Mom is alive…

                                                When I dream…

I dream when I sleep...

I love to sleep.

Super Salad

Super Salad

Perspective is an interesting thing. Sometimes we see life in a certain way, thinking we know the whole story, but then someone enters our lives in a minor way and says or does something that makes us think differently and can change our lives drastically. 

                March 20, 1968, 12-year-old Karen and her family went to dinner at Fuddruckers. On the 19^th, David got to decide on dinner, and on the 21^st, Karen got to decide, but on the 20^th, the two kids discussed and agreed upon a place for dinner, and that year, they chose Fuddruckers.

                Bob pulled the white Chevy into the parking lot and rushed around to open the door for Joyce. Roger, David, and Karen filed out of the car and happily followed their parents into the brand new restaurant. The wait was short, and the kids sat on one side of the booth while Bob and Joyce subtlety held hands on the other side. With her parents in Pueblo and his in Mississippi, it wasn’t very often they had a night out.

                The spunky young waitress approached the table in her yellow dress covered by a white apron. Karen thought that roller skates would complete the outfit, but she didn’t say it. She didn’t feel like it would be very nice to say to another adult, since she now considered herself an adult.

                “Hi! I’m Peggy! Welcome to Fuddruckers! What can I bring you to drink tonight?”

                Joyce and Bob ordered Pepsi (Joyce with extra extra ice), Roger ordered root beer, David Sprite, and Karen ordered iced tea. After all, she was a teen now.

                A few minutes later, Peggy returned with perkiness for all. She handed out the drinks and straws and asked if they were ready to order.

                Joyce gestured for Karen to order first, and in her most sophisticated voice, she said, “I would like a mushroom burger with Swiss, please.”

                “Okay! Super salad?”

                Karen sat up a little taller. She felt so grown up! The waitress wasn’t just asking if she wanted a salad, but instead a super salad?!

                “Yes, please.”

                Peggy looked a little confused. “Soup or salad?” she asked again.

                “Yes please,” and this time, Karen made eye contact to ensure Peggy saw her this time.

                Peggy looked at Bob and Joyce, and then back to Karen. “Salad or soup?” she tried once again.

                Karen turned crimson and looked down. She no longer felt very grown up.

                “Salad, please.”

                Sometimes we hear what we need to hear to match who we think we are. Sometimes, we aren’t yet who we think we are, but we still need that little push to get there. 

Meant to Be...

If it’s Meant to Be…

                This is not my story. This probably has major errors. This is the way I’ve pieced the story together after hearing bits here and there from my mom, dad, grandparents, their friend Joyce, and my uncles. I like the story, even though it’s not mine.

                She was 18, beautiful, and spunky. She had just broken up with her high school sweetheart because she and Cody just didn’t have the same dreams or plans for making their dreams come true. It was her first day at her new job. Her mom’s friend Joyce thought it would be perfect for her. This was the job that was going to earn her enough money to backpack through Europe. That would be the trip she needed before growing up and going to college. So she thought. What was this new job really? This was the job where she would meet her soul mate.  

                He was 25, tall, handsome, and sophisticated. He had been working there for some time now, getting used to American culture again. When he returned from his Peace Corps mission in Peru, he decided this would be the job to get him through until another worldly adventure proposed itself. This would be the job to earn him some cash so he could spend frivolously if that’s where his self-declared bachelorhood took him. So he thought. What was this job really? This was the job where he would meet the woman who would change his life.

                Joyce was showing her around, introducing her to people. Joyce had a plan… Let him see her from a distance to peak his curiosity, and he will come to her. Joyce’s plan was simple, yet brilliant. She watched him when he glanced at this new employee. She watched him as his face went white. She watched him as his mouth gaped. She watched him when he commented to anybody within two feet of him.

                “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” He didn’t even realize he had said it out loud until his buddy’s laughter startled him.

                “Yeah right, Jim! Good luck with that!”

                Jim scowled at his buddy and moved toward this woman. What’s wrong with me? He asked himself. I don’t believe in fate. I don’t want to get married. Why am I still walking? And he reached out his hand to greet his beautiful new co-worker. “Hello. I’m Jim,” he said.

                “Hello,” she replied shyly as she shook his strong hand. “I’m Karen.”

                That’s the softest hand I’ve ever felt! What is wrong with me?!

                He asked her out.

                She offered to cook him dinner. What am I thinking? I don’t know how to cook!

                He said yes.

                All day long, they caught each other and got caught by the other sneaking a look. “What am I thinking?” they both asked.

                Karen called her brother. “Roger! I need your help! Please come cook dinner at my apartment tonight for my date and me!” and as it baked, “Please go before he gets here!”

                Fate? Destiny? Was it meant to be? It sure felt like it!

                But then Jim’s next worldly adventure came along. As his voyage headed toward Singapore, his eyes filled with tears. What am I doing? This is what I want! This is what I’d planned! So why does it feel so bad?

                Karen looked at the desk that had been Jim’s. Her eyes welled up. If it’s meant to be, it will be. In the meantime, I should learn to cook.

                He couldn’t stay away. He returned to Denver, proposed to her, and they got married in September.

                She entered his workplace and changed his life. He introduced himself and changed hers. Some things are just meant to be.      

Daffodils

Daffodils

I love early spring

Before it technically starts,

When the weather teases with sunshine

And the snow mounds truly depart.

I love early spring

When the trees are still bare

And the grass is still brown

And bulbs pop up everywhere.

I love early spring

With daffodil teacups

Bloom on their saucers

And other bulbs start to erupt.

I love early spring

Where on the table is a vase

Daffodil teacups stand tall on the table

So Dad can see the smile on her face.

I love early spring

As Mom’s birthday gets near

And her perfect match (my dad)

Arranges flowers for his dear.

I love early spring.

With the hope of long life and love

My mom and dad together

Like a gift from above.

I love early spring

And know that it’s true

Life must go on

But Mom, I miss you.

Planting Seeds

Mickey Mouse

                I loved Mickey Mouse as a kid! Not a little little kid, but a just-entering-my-teens-but-I-don’t-really-want-to-grow-up kid. I painted the bottom of my bedroom black and the top of my room white. I found a Mickey Mouse border and put it around the middle of my room. For my 14th birthday or 15th Christmas (they’re so close together, it’s hard to remember), I got a Mickey Mouse bed set. I don’t know exactly what it was that I loved, but I loved Mickey Mouse.

                My parents didn’t see a problem with my quickly-developed obsession with Mickey Mouse. I imagine they were somewhat relieved that it was Mickey Mouse rather than boys (I wasn’t disinterested in boys…just kind of waiting for them to catch up in height!). “Boys will see her Mickey Mouse room and run!” I imagine they told each other. We went to Disneyland when I was 15, but not before then… coincidence? Maybe.

                Between the two of them, my parents would have knocked Einstein’s socks off with their intelligence! At 16, my brother told some tattoo artist that he was 18 and got a Red Dog tattoo. He thought he hid it for a couple of years. I took the opposite approach and told my parents that I wanted a Mickey Mouse tattoo. My mom said, “Do you really want to grow old with Mickey Mouse getting older and older on you? You’ll be an old lady with a wrinkly Mickey Mouse? Do you really think you will love Mickey Mouse forever? Is there really any symbol you are certain you will always want permanently stitched on your skin?”

                “Of course!” but the seed of doubt had been planted.

                The following Christmas, as I was beginning to tug the tape off of a hand-sized gift, my mom groaned. “Keep in mind that your dad has a warped sense of humor,” she said. “That’s from him, not us,” she added.

                “What the heck?” I thought. “His humor is strange, but I think my humor is a lot like Dad’s, but as I looked in the little box and saw Mickey Mouse stuck in a mouse trap, I thought, “What the heck?! That’s just mean!” and the seed sprouted and was growing.

                I never did get a Mickey Mouse tattoo. Actually, I never did get any tattoo. My brother covered his big Red Dog with an enormous lion head, and the sprouted seed of doubt had grown into a small plant. By the time he verbally shared the fact that he regretted getting the first one and then feeling obligated to cover it with something and settling on the second one, the little seedling had turned into a humungous tree!

                What do I permanently want stitched to my body? Well… until August 6, 2010 when we found out Mom needed hospice care and death was inevitable, nothing. There was no mark I permanently wanted on my body. I don’t have a tattoo of her face or name or breast cancer ribbon or birthday, but I know that with me in some way at all times, I need my family and friends, and in those relationships, I will carry the wisdom and strength of both of my parents. I want to be able to say to Addie Lu when we are in Disneyland Paris with Michelle and Haven in 14 years or so, “I know you love him, but will you always love Mickey Mouse? Do you really want a wrinkly old mouse on your ankle or hip when you are an old lady?” and I want her to say, “Of course!” because then I will know that Grammy planted the seed! And for Christmas that year, right before her birthday, she will receive a Mickey Mouse stuck in a mouse trap, and at that time, Grandpa will be watering that seed of doubt!

Two Peas in a Pod

Problem Solver

                For as long as I can remember, people have told me that I look just like my mom, and because I have always admired her so much, I also try to be like her. She was beautiful inside and out, and when she smiled, her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. She was kind, caring, smart, ambitious, and had a remarkable ability to make everyone she knew feel like they were the most important person in existence. When I went to Outdoor Lab in sixth grade, I received a card with a sweet note from her every day during mail call… even the day we arrived!

                People never told me I looked like my dad. The only thing they ever said was, “Oh, Jamie, were you named after your dad?” He is brilliant, quiet, and thoughtful. He is thorough in his explanations of how things are (and in his writing) to the point of over-talking a point, makes people feel at ease, and is patient to the point where he waits for problems to work themselves out.  

                In addition to being beautiful and absolutely amazing, my mom faced challenges head on and solved them before they got worse. Growing up with two older brothers, there were always cute boys around, and when we reached adolescence, their friends got cuter! One day Greg and his friend Kit returned to 65^th Place with their computer in the Radio Flyer, complaining about the jostling the Gateway had undergone. They scrounged the houses for extra towels and blankets to line bottom of the wagon, and just as they were tightening the belts they had linked together around the computer, my mom got home from work and said, “Why don’t you just have your other group members come to our house to work on the assignment?” Genius! I would have offered to help find cushioning for the computer (though at the time, all I could do was peek out the window over the back of the couch).

                Before I got my frog-pants pajamas, I wore nightgowns to bed. As a little girl, these were floor-length with long sleeves and a little bow around the lace collar. As I got older, my nightgowns got simpler and eventually were oversized t-shirts. They were light and comfy in the summer, and as I got taller and taller, they got shorter and lighter. One summer evening as bedtime was approaching and my brothers were preparing for their cute friends to spend the night, my mom knocked on my bedroom door.

                “Hey Jame. Dad wanted me to talk to you about your nightgowns, and he thinks that you should wear shorts or pants underneath, especially when your brothers have friends over.”

                Blush. “Okay,” and later that weekend, I bought my first pair of frog-pants pajamas.

                Now that I’m a mother, I see that my mom’s request was as much from her as it was from my dad, and that my dad asking my mom to talk to me about it was dealing with a problem the same way I would… hope the problem would solve itself, and when it got bad enough, take an indirect approach to making a change. Looking at how my mom solved problems and comparing it to how my dad solved problems… I’m as much a piece of my dad as I am of my mom!

Making Dreams Come True

Pass it On

                One cool winter evening nearly 20 years ago, my mom took my sister and me to see Disney’s Beauty and the Beast on Ice. It was like a dream to see larger-than-life clocks, candlesticks, and silverware spinning and Belle dancing on white glistening ice. We had fluffy pink cotton candy to make our fingers sticky, and left the coliseum full of dreams – Mom of seeing the Broadway version of the show, Becky of being an ice skater, and me of living in a little French village where I would be swept off my feet by a kind and gentle man. Mom eventually got to see the Broadway version at the Buell, Becky was an ice skater for a season, and I lived in Paris and was swept off my feet in Denver, so dreams do come true!

                Dad invited Addie, Jeff, and me to attend Ralston Valley’s version of Beauty and the Beast this evening. It’s nearly spring, so Jeff’s baseball schedule has already started to consume his weeknights, so I left work (after an ever-so-graceful presentation at a staff meeting), raced home, grabbed Addie’s Belle dress, Sleeping Beauty high heels, Ariel crown, and Addie, and returned to Arvada for dinner and a show.

                Two. Addie is two. So naturally she wanted to walk in her high heels and long dress. Grandpa was able to strike a deal with her, and he carried her to the sidewalk before she began her I’m-two-and-big-enough-to-wear-high-heels balancing act, and she didn’t want to hold my hand because then it didn’t look like she could do it her independent little self. We made it up the stairs and into the beautiful, but packed theater and found three seats together… in the very back row! Truthfully, there can’t be a bad seat in the house, but some are more convenient than others with a two-year-old.

                30 years ago, I was 15 months old. 30 years ago, I decided I wanted to be potty trained. Throughout my childhood, Mom said things like, “I didn’t want you potty trained yet. Diapers were so much easier,” and, “You insisted on using the potty rather than a diaper, so whenever we went anywhere, I had to know where the restrooms were located. Three toddlers and public restrooms are a pain.” Throughout my childhood, I thought, “Wow! Look at me! I was potty trained at 15 months! I hope my kids do that!”

                A year ago, Addie was 15 months old, and when she started going in her princess potty, Dad said, “Like mother, like daughter.” I thought he was referring to Addie being like me, but I am slowly realizing he could mean me like my mom. Don’t get me wrong… I like that Addie can take care of potty all by herself, and the fact that she can really do the whole process by herself has freed up a little of my time. But, whenever we go anywhere, I have to know where the restrooms are located, and if we go somewhere and stay in one spot for awhile – like a Rockies game or musical at the high school – I have to be prepared to see only part of the show because I don’t trust the world enough to let my two-year-old go potty by herself in a public restroom.

                “I want to watch Beauty and the Beast with Grandpa,” Addie said as we sat down. We pointed out the gigantic book on the stage and then music started playing. The lights dimmed and the show began.

                Addie saw Belle and said, “She’s singing, Mommy.”

                “She is honey, but you have to whisper.”

                “Okay,” she whispered.

                These little conversations went on for several scenes before Addie said, “I want to go potty.”

                I thought, “Of course you do. We have been in one spot for twenty minutes, and though you love Beauty and the Beast and dancing and singing, you need to move.” I whispered, “Hold it for a little while longer. We will go at intermission.”

                “Okay,” she whispered, but two scenes later, “I want to go poopy.”

                “She’s good!” I thought. “She knows that gets our attention faster than potty these days!” I whispered, “Hold it for a little while longer. We will go at intermission.”

                “Okay,” she whispered, and I began whisper-pointing out different things on stage to take her mind off of getting out of the dark theater.

                By the time Beast showed Belle to her room and Belle sat on the canopy bed talking to the dresser, Addie wasn’t just restless…she was exhausted. “She’s sleepy,” she said.

                As we exited the theater and I apologized to Dad for not getting to see the whole show, he said, “That’s okay. It was really just a fun way to spend time with you guys. Didn’t Mom take someone to see Beauty and the Beast on Ice?”

                At that moment, I realized that I am not the only one who dreams of passing Mom on to Addie and her cousins through things she loved to do, and I was reminded that Mom is not the only one getting passed on to my Addie Girl. 

Tooth Fairy

Tooth Fairy

                Teeth gross me out. I mean, in a mouth, lined up straight, white, and in a smile, they’re great. Teeth are certainly helpful for chewing Extra sugar free gum – Mom gave me a couple of pieces of each morning to chew throughout the day in junior high – and for biting into Christmas toffee hidden in the freezer. We need teeth and dental hygiene has become an important part of my daily routines since I had to have a root canal the day I flew to Paris. However, loose teeth, teeth that are hanging on by a thread, teeth that can be twisted all the way around are gross.  

                Many many years ago, before any of the Mayer kids had braces, our baby teeth had to come out. G. Mayer… no, that’s too obvious… let’s call him Greg M. had a loose baby tooth. It was so loose that it could bend forward and backward, creating a 90^o angle. Mom had heard from of a friend that a friend of a friend of a brother’s friend had pulled his son’s tooth out without actually touching the tooth, and she thought it might be worth a try.

                She found some string and tied it around the doorknob to the front door. She took the other end and carefully secured it around the tooth. Greg M. was excited. It was his first loose tooth and he had heard great things about the Tooth Fairy. “She loves teeth and pays three quarters if you leave them under your pillow!” his friend Kit had told him.

                Mom had butterflies in her stomach. Could this actually work? Could this keep her from having to touch any of the next 79 slobbery, bleeding, wiggly teeth that would fall out? Perhaps!

                “Ready, Greg?” Mom asked as Becky napped and Dan and I watched the show.

                “Eh-ie,” Greg replied.

                Slam!

                Greg stood still. His face was turning white. The string was still hanging from his mouth.

                “Oh no,” Mom breathed as she rushed toward him and pulled down his lip. “Get a towel,” she directed Dan. Like lightning, he was back from the kitchen, pushing the towel into her now-bloody hands and she pressed it against Greg’s bleeding gums.

                I was at the door with my little pink scissors, trying to cut the string loose. Tears were blurring my vision, making it harder to see my work. Dan opened the door and created some slack in the string and pop!

                Mom was putting the crimson-stained towel in the wash, Dan was removing the remaining string from the doorknob, Greg was washing the evidence off of his chin, and Becky was getting up from her nap when Dad walked in the door. Mom told him the whole story with her big green eyes, Dad set his briefcase on the counter, and then he went to his room to change out of his suit. A few minutes later, he emerged in his tan Dockers’ shorts and polo shirt (casual clothes) and guided Greg into the dining room where the light was brightest. He looked at Greg’s gums, wiggled the tooth, and went to draw out a plan.

                In the meantime, Mom went into the dining room, “Sorry, hon,” she said, and she twisted the tooth out. Greg gasped, and when she dropped the little tooth in his little hand, his eyes got big and his smile got bigger. Mom accepted the fact that she would likely be pulling out 79 more baby teeth in the next nine years.

                At least the Tooth Fairy would take the teeth away.

                -----------

                Well, when we started cleaning off Mom’s dresser in September 2010, we found a Joslins box, and when we opened the box, we discovered that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t care for teeth either!

Mother Karen

Mother Karen

                I’m not overly confident in many areas of my life. There are things I feel confident in (like I know my daughter is amazing, and I know my husband is a great organizer who gets work done), but for the most part, I am who I am, and I am okay.

                The exception to this is my family. My mom was the most amazing and extraordinary woman imaginable. I love my grandmother, and she is obviously great since she raised my mom, but when ranking extraordinary women, my mom blows everyone out of the water. She didn’t get the attention that Mother Theresa got and she didn’t directly work with quite as many people, but she’s right up there with her!

                The hard thing about having such an amazing mom is that it’s really hard not to sound like a one-upper any time mom situations come up. I can’t stand one-uppers (Does that mean I am one?), so I try to keep my thoughts to myself about the better way my mom would have done something or reacted to something or treated someone.

                Here, though, on ThreeRedStones, I get to tell it like it is (or would have been if cancer hadn’t won).

                I have a friend who has decided what she wants to do after high school: she wants to be a teacher. Obviously, I think this is great! I am careful to plant some seeds of reality in her mind about the actual time commitment and the challenges with balancing a family and a class full of kids, but really, teaching is an amazing and rewarding job. Her mom doesn’t see it that way. My mom wouldn’t have gotten mad about wanting to skip the military to go directly to college to get into teaching faster. My mom wouldn’t have discouraged me from going into teaching because of the pay. My mom wouldn’t have tried to convince me that anything would be better than teaching. My mom heard my heart and knew that making a difference in kids’ lives, helping kids find out who they are, and working with the daily joys of kids was the right decision.

                My mom heard my brother’s plans to go into the military, and instead of telling him the million reasons he shouldn’t join, she asked that he at least talk to the Navy before signing anything. The result: a Dan who has traveled the world, lived in Hawaii and invited everyone to visit, and who safely (relatively) lives in Oklahoma with his beautiful wife and kids. The point: she knew the military was the right decision for him, but helped him find the safest way for his mental and physical health so that we all get to keep him.

                My mom heard my other brother’s plans to marry Erin. YIKES! Did she tell him not to? No. Did she tell him Erin was crazy? No. She just helped him put the wedding off long enough that he had no option but to see it for himself! The point: she knew Erin was not right for him, but knew that if she said that, she would push him away, into the arms of a crazy girl and we’d never see any piece of him again! Because of this magnificent maneuver, Greg is married to the sweetest, kindest, most caring woman since my mom here in Colorado where we get to keep him!

                Without my mom, clearly I wouldn’t have my brothers and sister, and without her way of reading people and kindly guiding them in directions that were right for them, we wouldn’t be the strong family that we are, working together to do what she would have done. It’s unfortunate for everyone else that Karen wasn’t their mom too.

Wedding Dress

Wedding Dress

                “When I get married, I’m not going to David’s Bridal,” I remarked after an unpleasant bridesmaid dress experience.

                “Okay,” Mom said, but the look on her face said, “When you’re getting married, we’ll talk.” She wasn’t ever very good at hiding her true feelings.              

               

                When Jeff proposed, I cried. When I told my mom, she cried.

                “Let’s go to Anna Be’s!” Mom suggested.

                I saw the prices, my eyes bugged out of my head and I turned as white as the eccentric dresses. My mouth said, “Wow… these are so fancy.”

                “You don’t have to buy your dress here. I just want you to have the whole experience,” Mom said as Anna Be poured us some champagne.

                It was an experience, all right. Since the dresses are all handmade, the options on the rack were all teeny tiny. Regardless of the number of sparkles or how poufy or feathery a dress is, when the back is wide open, it really turns a bride away.       

                “How about Amanda’s Bridal next weekend?” Mom asked, hoping to wipe away the discouraged look from my face.

                “Okay,” I said, but the look on my face said, “I’m never going to find a dress that fits.”

                Amanda’s went well. I loved every dress that I tried on, and was ready to buy one that had made my mom’s face say, “Wow!” However, her mouth said, “We know where to find it, but you don’t need to buy yet.”

                She was right, so we kept looking. We tried a couple of Cherry Creek consignment shops thinking we would find an amazing dress at an amazing price. We didn’t.

               

                I opened the mailbox and pulled everything out. A catalogue for my roommate fell out and on the cover was a stunning wedding gown!

                “That’s it!” I said before seeing David’s Bridal across the top. “Ugh… I’ll just go try it on, and then see where else I can find it,” I told Rufus as he twitched his gray tail at me.

               

                I didn’t even tell my mom I was going. I approached the girls up front and pointed to the dress in the window. “I’m here to try that on,” I said.

                “Great. Do you have an appointment?” the one said in a cheery voice.

                My face said, “No,” so the girl said, “It’s okay, it just may take a little longer for someone to be available to help you.”

                My face replied, “You have three employees standing behind you, not currently helping anyone,” but my mouth was much more polite, “I understand.”

                I gave her my information and she suggested that I browse the racks to see if there might be anything else that catches my eye. I hadn’t even gotten halfway down the first aisle when Susan greeted me.

                “Jamie? Hello! Welcome to David’s Bridal,” and she spewed their procedures at me.

                20 minutes later, I was in a dressing room drowning in chiffon and other poufy material. My friends helped me into the dress that I was there for.

                “Oh,” said my mouth and “Bummer,” said my face. The back was amazing and stunning, but the front was so plain.

                My friends helped me into the next dress… the dress I had taken off the rack because it made me laugh. I was sure it was going to be hideous! Who puts black flowers all over a white wedding dress?! I pushed my way through white pouf, found the door handle, and pushed it open. I stood up on the pedestal and turned to face the mirror.

                Tears came to my eyes and my jaw slacked a bit. Who knew that I would love the dress that I was trying on as a joke?!

                I raced from David’s to DIA to pick up my sister and race back to David’s to show my maid of honor the dress that I didn’t know was the dress of my dreams! I put it back on, exited the room with a huge smile on my face and was greeted with a look of horror on hers.

                “You don’t like it?!” I said in shock.

                “I… I just don’t think it’s you. Any dress is going to look beautiful...” she sputtered, but Becky’s face still said, “ICK!!!”

                We were back at David’s later that evening with Mom and Bonnie. “They will settle this,” I thought. “They will love it!” I thought.

                I put it on and it felt right. I felt beautiful. I smiled, turned the handle, and pushed the door open. Mom’s face said, “WTF is that?!??!?!” Her mouth said, “I really want you to try this one on,” and she pushed a dress toward me.

                I couldn’t believe it! I turned to walk back into the dressing room and got a glimpse of a girl at the end of the hallway mirror, stepping onto a pedestal. “Ugh! Who wants a wedding dress with black flowers all over i—oh crap.”

                I took the dress off, put on the one that Bonnie, Becky and Mom had found, and never looked back. Except to laugh!

                People have commented on my inability to hide my thoughts because my face gives everything away. It’s a good thing I got that from my mom or I could have ended up with a truly hideous wedding gown!