Everything I need to know, I learned on the first day of Kindergarten

Last week I experienced one of many firsts; the first born started Kindergarten.  As you can imagine, it was a very exciting day for all of us.  The Kindergartner didn't think it was all that big of a deal really.  After all, he had been going to "school" for some time now.  In his mind, it was just a new building and new teacher.  The kid was calm, cool and collected.

The Kindergartner and I entered the cafeteria at the school with The Dad.  We were met by the soon to be step-mom and her daughter that is in fifth grade at the same school.  This was basically command central.  The principal welcomed all the new and returning students and offered some general info.  As The Dad and I walked The Kindergartner to his classroom, The Step Mom and Step Sis walked behind us.  The Dad and I held hands with The Kindergartner, at which time he tried to get The Dad and I to hold hands.  Ugh.  I play it off with desensitizing statements like "gross, your dad has cooties", and "that is The Step Mom's hand to hold, not mine".

We enter the classroom together and begin the transition.  Pictures, hugs, "I'm so proud of you", "have a great day".  The usual.  I asked The Dad if he would like me to take a picture of the three of them together.  He accepts.  He takes one of me and my big kid.  We all say goodbye and go our separate ways.

I had heard stories about moms and dads that get emotional on the first day of school for their first born.  I understand why.  I, however, was not emotional during this transitional moment.  That is, not until I got in the car to go to work.  It wasn't like someone turned on the facet full speed.  It was more like when you turn off the facet but you still have a slow drip.  As I sat in the parking lot of the school, I realized something.  I realized I was doing something right.    The Kindergartner has a lot of people in his life that love him and want what's best for him.  Although it sucks to see him loving on another woman like he does The Step Mom, it illustrates that he knows he can love both of us.  We were all there for him on his big day.  Together. Co-parenting.  I am not sure with whom I was more proud, The Kindergartner or us.

You Can't Handle The Truth

Everyone has trying times. We all experience loss in one form or another. These events can happen to us one at a time like a slow leak or they can come at us all at once like a roof caving in. The great thing about being human is that we can all empathize with each other during strife and triumph. Not everyone handles success well. I have met a few people that actually sabotage their own success because they do not feel they deserve it. Fortunately I am not one of those people, I deserve every bit of it! Not everyone handles stress well. On the other hand, some of us shine brighter than ever when they are in a pressure cooker.

Problems are not really the problem. Coping is the problem. Not everyone is equipped with the necessary tools to get through the times that challenge them. I used to be the type of person that, under stress, would withdrawal from others. My theory was “why do I want to bother others with this”, this is my deal. What I have learned over the last few years is that these are the times I need to reach out even more than usual. Of course I am selective to whom I reach out, not everyone can handle the truth about other’s vulnerabilities.

After one particular year of growth, I had many friends say to me they could not imagine how I got through it. A divorce, the death of my mom, job loss, and a whole lot of heartache can test the strongest among us. Although I understood what they meant, I think what they should have said was “How did you get through it”.

For those that cannot tell the difference between the statement and the question, let me elaborate. The statement focuses on the situation. The question focuses on the person. I admit I am guilty of this too. I want to show my compassion but I do not want to bring up a sore subject. Are we all so self absorbed we do not realize there is a difference? Is it that no one wants to hear it? Are we afraid of what we will hear? Do we think what we hear will make us look at ourselves in a way we may not like?

No man is an island. If we would stop and listen to others, we might learn something about them, and maybe ourselves.

Making Her List & Checking It Twice

I am a list maker. When I was younger, I considered my lists some sort of indication of how productive I was. It was the best feeling ever when I could toss out the list when everything was done. As I have aged though, I have realized I accomplish something important each time I cross off a task on the list. My list is never ending and I am never really able to toss the list all together. I always find something new to add.

Not all of us are list makers or planners. Some people are comfortable just taking things as they come. For control freaks like me, this would never do. If I could, I would always know what to expect. I would walk into a meeting at work with an agenda in hand and the meeting would follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, this never happens.

I am like my mother in many ways. Most of which I did not realize, or admit, until recently. My mother is a planner. A control freak I suppose. At the very least, mom is a list maker. Even now, in her weakest state, mom is making a list and checking it twice.

While visiting DC last weekend, Mom and I were talking and the conversation took a turn. I had prepared myself for the conversation but was still caught off guard. She began her requests with the question “what will you tell my grandsons about me?” She continued to tell me she did not want them to think she gave up. As I began to sob in her arms, I told her I was about to tell her the hardest thing I will ever tell anyone. I gave her permission to go to sleep and not wake up. I gave her permission to find peace and not be in pain any longer. I reminded her that, if in fact, she chooses to close her eyes and not open them again, that it is just her body giving up and not her spirit. Her spirit will live forever in everyone she has touched.

Mom went on to lay out what she wanted me to have of her material things. She wants to write a letter to one of her stepdaughters. She asked to speak to my boys and their dad. With each request she made, she checked something off her mental list. With each item she checked off the list, a weight was lifted.

Much like when you have a rough day and can’t sleep due to restlessness, Mom needs a clear mind to sleep soundly for eternity. She continued her list of requests with asking me to take care of my stepdad. Check. She asked me to work on my relationship with my sister. Check. She asked me to raise my boys with God and not be afraid to ask for help doing so. Check. She told me to be true to myself in everything I do. Check.

Unlike the lists I currently make, Mom’s list will end. When I look at the things on my list now, they all seem so trivial. Oil change, haircut, car tags, and cat food. My recent conversations with Mom have made me alter the things on my list a bit. Sure the things to do things to get done at some point, but I have added a few things as well. Call my sister more. Let the dishes sit until the boys go to bed. Write more. Sing louder. Talk more and text less. Nurture relationships.

Losing a parent is a part of life that some of us are lucky enough to avoid well into our adulthood. If I can find anything good about dealing with this in my early thirties, it is that I realize now, rather than later, that some things just aren’t as important as we make them. Just like kids growing into young adults, we all have to learn from our own mistakes no matter how hard our parents try to help us avoid making mistakes they made. My mother is still teaching me.

Making Her List & Checking It Twice

I am a list maker. When I was younger, I considered my lists some sort of indication of how productive I was. It was the best feeling ever when I could toss out the list when everything was done. As I have aged though, I have realized I accomplish something important each time I cross off a task on the list. My list is never ending and I am never really able to toss the list all together. I always find something new to add.

Not all of us are list makers or planners. Some people are comfortable just taking things as they come. For control freaks like me, this would never do. If I could, I would always know what to expect. I would walk into a meeting at work with an agenda in hand and the meeting would follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, this never happens.

I am like my mother in many ways. Most of which I did not realize, or admit, until recently. My mother is a planner. A control freak I suppose. At the very least, mom is a list maker. Even now, in her weakest state, mom is making a list and checking it twice.

While visiting DC last weekend, Mom and I were talking and the conversation took a turn. I had prepared myself for the conversation but was still caught off guard. She began her requests with the question “what will you tell my grandsons about me?” She continued to tell me she did not want them to think she gave up. As I began to sob in her arms, I told her I was about to tell her the hardest thing I will ever tell anyone. I gave her permission to go to sleep and not wake up. I gave her permission to find peace and not be in pain any longer. I reminded her that, if in fact, she chooses to close her eyes and not open them again, that it is just her body giving up and not her spirit. Her spirit will live forever in everyone she has touched.

Mom went on to lay out what she wanted me to have of her material things. She wants to write a letter to one of her stepdaughters. She asked to speak to my boys and their dad. With each request she made, she checked something off her mental list. With each item she checked off the list, a weight was lifted.

Much like when you have a rough day and can’t sleep due to restlessness, Mom needs a clear mind to sleep soundly for eternity. She continued her list of requests with asking me to take care of my stepdad. Check. She asked me to work on my relationship with my sister. Check. She asked me to raise my boys with God and not be afraid to ask for help doing so. Check. She told me to be true to myself in everything I do. Check.

Unlike the lists I currently make, Mom’s list will end. When I look at the things on my list now, they all seem so trivial. Oil change, haircut, car tags, and cat food. My recent conversations with Mom have made me alter the things on my list a bit. Sure the things to do things to get done at some point, but I have added a few things as well. Call my sister more. Let the dishes sit until the boys go to bed. Write more. Sing louder. Talk more and text less. Nurture relationships.

Losing a parent is a part of life that some of us are lucky enough to avoid well into our adulthood. If I can find anything good about dealing with this in my early thirties, it is that I realize now, rather than later, that some things just aren’t as important as we make them. Just like kids growing into young adults, we all have to learn from our own mistakes no matter how hard our parents try to help us avoid making mistakes they made. My mother is still teaching me.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Find Out What It Means To Me

I was barely nineteen when my mom met the man I now call my step dad. The irony of the situation is my mom hasn’t been married for about fifteen years. Mom and Neal met when they were both still married to other people. Imagine my dismay when I learned of their indiscretion. My self- righteous nineteen year old self could not fathom what on earth they were thinking when they made the conscious decision to disrespect their current commitments. After all, in all of my nineteen years I had acquired more wisdom than either of them in their combined years (insert sarcasm here).

Mom and Neal were transferred to my birth state of North Carolina in 1997 and I soon followed them from Missouri my sophomore year of college. The decision to live with my mom and her new beau was not a difficult decision; after all, I had no money to speak of and no prospects of a job. Upon arriving to my new home it was obvious Neal had a way about him. To put it lightly, Neal and I did not always get along. There were many times the man made me cry at the dinner table. His comments or questions were never an attempt to hurt me, but to make me think. The only problem I had is his efforts worked.

Neal was, and still is, a stubborn man. He likes things a certain way and rightfully so. Neal has been in the construction industry for nearly forty years. He manages projects. He manages people. He facilitates. Although he has not been on his current job site for almost three weeks, Neal is still managing and facilitating. This time though, he is not constructing another East Coast hotel. This time he is facilitating the care of the love of his life. I watch this man bath my mother, rub lotion on her, take her to the bathroom and then I watch him quietly fall apart. I watch this big, strong construction man, with his wrinkled face and callused hands from years on the job, cry like an infant, and my breaking heart melts.

During my last visit east to visit my mother, Neal and I were walking from the hospital to the car after seeing Mom. I carefully brought up the subject of how mom wanted to be “taken care of”. It was my vain attempt to bring up burial services at a very emotional time. Neal laughed and said “your mom always said you and I were more alike than we want to admit”, “I was just thinking about turning her car in since her lease is up in two months”. We continued our walk to the car in silence.

Neal has three children from his marriage. Like me, his children were not pleased about how his relationship with my mother began. In their defense, Neal had been married to their mother for nearly thirty years. My mother, on the other hand, was married to husband number four and frankly my sister and I were not all that impressed with him. All of Neal’s children; two girls and one boy, live with their families in the town which I currently live. Laura is married with two teenage boys and runs a daycare out of her home. My two boys have had the privilege of being in her care during infancy. She is an example to mothers, daughters, wives, sisters and friends, and has forgiven her father. I am so lucky to say she is part of my family. Although I do not have a relationship with Laura’s brother and sister, I know what kind of people they are because I know their sister and their father. One day I hope they will see what I see in their dad. What I see in their father is a devoted, compassionate man. A man of conviction. A man that has my undying gratitude and respect.

I Pee Near You!

It had to be at least ten years ago. I wasn’t married yet and certainly didn’t have kids. The boys’ dad and I were back in Springfield visiting friends and family for a New Year celebration. As far as I can remember, the evening started as most would have that night. The last thing I remember is being driven through the Taco Bell drive through on the way home. I can’t recall if the person giving us food at the window used English as a second language or if English was my second language for the night. As he handed us our bag of food he gave us his New Year greeting of “I pee near you!”. At first I thought it was just me, since I was after all being the one driven. Once we pulled away from the drive through Brad looked at me somewhat perplexed and asked if I heard the same thing he did. Now you know why you may hear me say “I pee near you!”.  I am giving you a well wishes, not a warning.

I pee near you to you and yours!

Wordless Wednesday ~ Partners In Crime

Seperation Anxiety

In the twelve years hubs and I have been together, we have spent a number of nights apart that I could count on my hands. In the twelve years hubs and I have been together, we have only had separate careers for all of a year, maybe two. Most responses I get from others hearing this for the first time is something like “wow, you must really like each other” or “I could never tolerate my spouse that much”. We will both readily admit that hubs has the patience of Job and should be sainted for dealing with my antics, so he is really the one credited with our success all this time.

Like many couples, hubs and I met at work. However, after that organization moved us around the country together for a couple of years, we started a business together. Now it just feels odd to get up and do separate projects. We have a good rhythm to our routine; he has his strengths, as do I, and they fortunately compliment each other’s weaknesses. We are a good team.

It is really odd when you temporarily lose your right hand. The left hand tries to pick up the slack but can never fully complete the task. The man has a semi-annual fishing trip with his family friends at The White River. The trip is so good for him. He bonds with his man people; doesn’t shave for days, smoke cigars, plays cards, and occasionally gets a line wet. He comes back better than when he left; with his axe sharpened. He tells me bits and pieces of stories that he feels are acceptable for my “virgin” ears and he counts the days until the next trip.

This year he threw in an extra special trip to Canada with one of his brothers and his step dad. He was gone A WHOLE WEEK. I was a little worried (read: freaking out) when I heard how long he would be absent from our daily routine. My saving grace was the fact that the boys do go to preschool a couple of days a week. I knew I would be able to get some things done, or stare off into space like a zombie while they were gone. In preparation for his departure, I cleaned the place like my mother was coming to visit, freeze some easy to reheat meals and plan lots of activities to keep us busy and make the time fly.

Funny thing happened that week though; it wasn’t bad. Sure, I missed him; and so did the boys. Much to hub’s dismay we only had one night of dramatic “I miss Daddy” theatrics; and frankly that was because they were in trouble and think Daddy will save them from Nazi Mommy. Things ran as they normally would, some days even better (don’t tell Brad). I was even able to do some things I normally wouldn’t be able to do with Brad around. Most of you that know us might ask “what on earth does he not let you do”? First thing I did was go to the store and stock up on wine; then I came home and rearranged the furniture and finally….wait for it….it is s a biggie. I let the boys play with the shaving crème in the bath tub! As far as the three of us were concerned, the week was a success.

Fast forward to my girls trip to Florida this week. I too, will be gone A WHOLE WEEK. My already high anxiety level has now doubled. I know I will have a blast in Florida even though I am missing all my friends at Blogher. I also know that I cannot wait to start counting waves while catching up on my vitamin D therapy and my stack of books. I am, however, a little worried about what I am going to come back to when I get home. I know hubs is completely capable of caring for himself and the boys and the house, but have some issues with how effective they will be trying to do all of it at the same time.

The whole idea of these trips got me thinking about that saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. Although it is the case when I am apart from Brad, it is not always true with other scenarios. Does absence truly make our hearts fonder, or does the separation just give us the opportunity to learn that we are just in a situation of convenience. I suppose that is where the saying “out of sight out of mind” originated. When I presented this idea to hubs he laughed and asked, “are you worried I will learn to like to live without you while you are gone?”. Once my nervous laughter was over, I reminded him that he may be able to do so, but he doesn’t want to.

What do you think? Is it the subject matter (people, place, or thing) for which you long, or is it the fact that you just are away from it? From what have you recently been separated and what was it like when you reunited; was it what you expected?

If You Want to Walk on Water

You have to get out of the boat.

Fear is a powerful emotion.  It drives us to do things we may not want to do; just   things we may need.  Fear can also starve us from growing as individuals. One of my biggest fears is that of failure.  I have such high expectations of myself that there are times I do not even try to succeed in fear of failing.  I would rather not try so I can avoid not being perfect at something.  Golf happens to be something I would love to play more often but hate the fact that I am not constant.  Brad tries to tell me this is just part of the game but I have decided to stick to driving the cart, locating the beverage cart, and commentary.

In the past, fear has stopped me from potential personal growth as well.  You see, I love people but I have trust issues.  For the sake of keeping this "brief" let's chalk it up to something way back in the day that I can explain later.  This particular experience had a lasting effect on me.  This relationship impacted my romantic relationships as I grew up as well as my friendships.   Although you may not see it on the cover, the book does not tell the whole story inside.  You have to read between the lines.

I do not like to be in situations that make me vulnerable.  With that said, you can imagine why some may say I have "control" issues.  My rational is that if I am the vulnerable one in a scenario, I am not in control.

I am stepping out of my comfort zone this weekend; or should I say, stepping out of the boat.  I do not expect to walk on water at first, but I do expect to be changed.  I was recruited to be a volunteer mentor at the Boys and Girls Town of Missouri Changing Prisms retreat. This is the description of the event from the website:

Changing Prisms is a two-day, task-oriented workshop that provides the young women of Boys & Girls Town with an opportunity to work side-by-side with women who are successful in both their business and personal lives. Throughout the workshop the mentors provide support by sharing personal life-changing experiences, help the girls identify anxieties that keep them from being successful in their endeavors and work with them to establish goals that are realistic for them individually.

Mentors and licensed therapists lead 40 girls as they work in small groups to complete a variety of diverse activities that are both intellectually and physically challenging. Because of the intensity of these tasks, the young women experience immediate gratification, improving their confidence and self-esteem and developing positive coping and social skills.

To put it lightly, I am petrified.  I know I am going to get more out of this than I think I can ever give to these young woman.  I am honored to even be considered a mentor for the cause.  I have no idea what to expect.  My fear this time is exciting, yet rather than immobilizing me, it is motivating me.  I fear if I do not go, what will I miss.


To move out of our comfort zones, we must face our fears.  When the disciples saw Jesus walking on the lake, they were terrified. ‘It’s a ghost,’ they said, and cried out in fear” (v. 26). They were crossing the lake. The wind was blowing. They looked up and saw somebody walking on the water. They were scared! Peter had to deal with his fear to get out of the boat. The boat was his comfort zone. The rough water might have made him uncomfortable, but he had been in rough water before. He had never seen anyone walk on water.  When Peter stepped out of the boat, he stepped out of his comfort zone. I wonder what his first step looked like when he put his foot onto the water. His heart must have been pounding! He had to face his fear to step onto the water. Peter did pretty well for a few steps. He was actually walking on the water! Peter was walking toward Jesus. Then he took his eyes off Jesus, and his
fear started to get the best of him. He noticed the wind, and as his faith gave way to fear, Peter started to sink.  When faith gives way to fear, we always start to sink. To move out of our comfort zone, we must  face our fears. Fear will keep us in a circle of what is predictable and comfortable.  If there is something you fear, face it. Stop running from it. Walk toward it.

First I have a two hour drive...then I will walk.

The Icing On The Chemo

I am not sure how she does it. I feel like I take copious notes and I know I do not get all the information she gives me. How does my mom keep track of the schedule, the drugs, the tests. How does she pay attention to what the nurses are telling her while she sits in a recliner dressed up like a science experiment?

I have been bad about documenting mom's progress. It is true, "out of sight, out of mind". I suppose after our visit to DC in April I felt relieved. Mom had energy and responded well to the treatment. The inflammation was decreasing and the tumor was not growing. I felt safe. Don't get me wrong, I knew "we", meaning mom, was not out of the woods. I didn't want my thoughts, or our phone conversations to be surrounded by this intruder. That is how I looked at this cancer. The intruder that took my mother's immortality. Isn't that what we think of our parents? That they will live forever and be just a call away forever? Or is that what is known as "taking it for granted".

They finally figured out the intruder had a name. Not just cancer. We now now the intruder's full name. You know how the media tacks on a middle name or initial to the criminal. Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, etc. Mom's intruder, AKA Adenocarcinoma of the lung. This type of cancer is very common and is typical in non smokers and you guessed it; those that have quit. Makes you think twice about quitting huh?

The new information has allowed mom's doctors to have a more defined approach to her treatment. The new regime includes three weeks of treatment; one on each Friday. Then a Friday off. The desire is to shrink the tumor to a very small size. Hopefully small enough that other methods can be introduced to the fight. Radiation and Cyber Knife are two that are in the discussion fold at this time.

Although it is a base line, her blood work is looking good. The real story will be told with a CT scan being done in four weeks.One of the cancer factors that was 1996, dropped to 589, then to 529, went up to 645 and now is 208!! That is great news. The LDH that was at 25 is now at 16.9. So she currently has good factors. The white cell count had dropped below 1000 but corrected itself and is now up to 1108. They will not give her shots until after it stays below 1000 for 2 weeks. This concerns me a little because mom is prone to infection anyway. She always has a sinus infection and for the last year or so was always on an antibiotic. The red blood cells are good but a little thin-they are running a new lab test this week to determine if they want to start mom on liquid iron. This is not that surprising since mom has had issues with thin blood as long as I can remember. What can be an issue here is hemorrhaging. Mom hemorrhaged pretty badly giving birth to my sister at only 5-ish pounds and was experiencing some nose bleeds when they changed her treatment a few weeks back. She had a staph infection in her nose and they ended up having to cauterize some blood vessels up there. As if she didn't have enough going on.

The doctor is very pleased with the results to date and is in shock mom is still working 10-12 hour days while going through chemo. He mentioned in his whole case load he has two patients that are still working.

Oh wait! Make that one...Mom got FIRED today.
*That is all I am allowed to say at this point. I will update you all when I can.

The Icing On The Chemo

I am not sure how she does it. I feel like I take copious notes and I know I do not get all the information she gives me. How does my mom keep track of the schedule, the drugs, the tests. How does she pay attention to what the nurses are telling her while she sits in a recliner dressed up like a science experiment?

I have been bad about documenting mom's progress. It is true, "out of sight, out of mind". I suppose after our visit to DC in April I felt relieved. Mom had energy and responded well to the treatment. The inflammation was decreasing and the tumor was not growing. I felt safe. Don't get me wrong, I knew "we", meaning mom, was not out of the woods. I didn't want my thoughts, or our phone conversations to be surrounded by this intruder. That is how I looked at this cancer. The intruder that took my mother's immortality. Isn't that what we think of our parents? That they will live forever and be just a call away forever? Or is that what is known as "taking it for granted".

They finally figured out the intruder had a name. Not just cancer. We now now the intruder's full name. You know how the media tacks on a middle name or initial to the criminal. Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, etc. Mom's intruder, AKA Adenocarcinoma of the lung. This type of cancer is very common and is typical in non smokers and you guessed it; those that have quit. Makes you think twice about quitting huh?

The new information has allowed mom's doctors to have a more defined approach to her treatment. The new regime includes three weeks of treatment; one on each Friday. Then a Friday off. The desire is to shrink the tumor to a very small size. Hopefully small enough that other methods can be introduced to the fight. Radiation and Cyber Knife are two that are in the discussion fold at this time.

Although it is a base line, her blood work is looking good. The real story will be told with a CT scan being done in four weeks.One of the cancer factors that was 1996, dropped to 589, then to 529, went up to 645 and now is 208!! That is great news. The LDH that was at 25 is now at 16.9. So she currently has good factors. The white cell count had dropped below 1000 but corrected itself and is now up to 1108. They will not give her shots until after it stays below 1000 for 2 weeks. This concerns me a little because mom is prone to infection anyway. She always has a sinus infection and for the last year or so was always on an antibiotic. The red blood cells are good but a little thin-they are running a new lab test this week to determine if they want to start mom on liquid iron. This is not that surprising since mom has had issues with thin blood as long as I can remember. What can be an issue here is hemorrhaging. Mom hemorrhaged pretty badly giving birth to my sister at only 5-ish pounds and was experiencing some nose bleeds when they changed her treatment a few weeks back. She had a staph infection in her nose and they ended up having to cauterize some blood vessels up there. As if she didn't have enough going on.

The doctor is very pleased with the results to date and is in shock mom is still working 10-12 hour days while going through chemo. He mentioned in his whole case load he has two patients that are still working.

Oh wait! Make that one...Mom got FIRED today.
*That is all I am allowed to say at this point. I will update you all when I can.

She's Got The Look

As I am sure you can imagine, when I was younger I never got in trouble. I was an absolute angel and parents could only hope their kids would be half as good as I was. OK Mom, stop laughing. I know you stayed up many nights while I was in high school just praying I would make in home in one piece, or even make it home. I recall that I may have been a little sassy at times to my mother and although I deserved a slap in the mouth for my tone, my mother never used physical force with me. Well, except when we were in public. You see, rather than embarrass me, my mother would do me a favor by kicking me under a table or pinching my arm. This was her way of saying, "straighten up miss thang", without having to say the words. Mom was gracious like that, but I did not realize it until I became a parent. Not only did mom use the under the table kick or pinch, she had a look. You know the look. The one that says, "you know you are doing something wrong or stupid and need to stop before you get in trouble or I embarrass you".


I had previously mastered this look with hubs for public settings. You know ladies, when your husband says something inappropriate or embarrasses himself and you are trying to tell him without words. Hubs is pretty good about recognizing this look but I recently realized that Little Man recognizes it too.

It is a glorious day when all you have to do is give the look and get results. Now I don't have to give him instructions multiple times. I don't have to worry about his hearing, because I know he sees me! Today I utilized the look at the dinner table and received an instant response. I heard angels sing and my mother's voice.

I know there will come a day the Little Man, like me, will get a little too big for his britches. He may do what I did to Mom and decide to call my bluff while in public. I was known to say to mom after one of her "reminders", "why are you kicking me mom?". This was not received well but mom rarely if ever pursued the issue until we got home. I am not sure I will have that much will power to keep my mouth shut. I may have to pull him by the ear to the ladies room and really embarrass him.

So tell me. What techniques do you use to get your kids attention without words?

She's Got The Look

As I am sure you can imagine, when I was younger I never got in trouble. I was an absolute angel and parents could only hope their kids would be half as good as I was. OK Mom, stop laughing. I know you stayed up many nights while I was in high school just praying I would make in home in one piece, or even make it home. I recall that I may have been a little sassy at times to my mother and although I deserved a slap in the mouth for my tone, my mother never used physical force with me. Well, except when we were in public. You see, rather than embarrass me, my mother would do me a favor by kicking me under a table or pinching my arm. This was her way of saying, "straighten up miss thang", without having to say the words. Mom was gracious like that, but I did not realize it until I became a parent. Not only did mom use the under the table kick or pinch, she had a look. You know the look. The one that says, "you know you are doing something wrong or stupid and need to stop before you get in trouble or I embarrass you".


I had previously mastered this look with hubs for public settings. You know ladies, when your husband says something inappropriate or embarrasses himself and you are trying to tell him without words. Hubs is pretty good about recognizing this look but I recently realized that Little Man recognizes it too.

It is a glorious day when all you have to do is give the look and get results. Now I don't have to give him instructions multiple times. I don't have to worry about his hearing, because I know he sees me! Today I utilized the look at the dinner table and received an instant response. I heard angels sing and my mother's voice.

I know there will come a day the Little Man, like me, will get a little too big for his britches. He may do what I did to Mom and decide to call my bluff while in public. I was known to say to mom after one of her "reminders", "why are you kicking me mom?". This was not received well but mom rarely if ever pursued the issue until we got home. I am not sure I will have that much will power to keep my mouth shut. I may have to pull him by the ear to the ladies room and really embarrass him.

So tell me. What techniques do you use to get your kids attention without words?

A Jack of all trades...

Happy Father's Day Hubs!

A Jack of all trades...

Sweet Sweet/The Memories You Gave to Me

Although I normally don't like to, I think it is safe to assume that each generation strives to give their children more than they had as children. There is a constant battle between time and money. We need to work to pay the bills but in the end, what matters is how much time we spend with our children not how much money we spend on them.

Like the good business owners we are, hubs and I reevaluate our business plans once a year. We do the same for our home as well. It too, is like a business; we have titles, responsibilities, and a budget,. Most importantly, we have goals; goals for ourselves, for our boys, and for our family. As things evolve, so too, must our business plan.

We had a change of plans recently. We moved from our 4500 square foot home to a smaller home with just under 3000 square feet. I was thrilled with the move for many reasons. One story to clean rather than two. The boys sleep on the same level as we do. Almost two acres for the boys to explore and play. A pool. A hot tub. Great school district. Oh yeah; a much smaller mortgage.

The smaller monthly payment affords me the privilege of working from home. I get to spend as much time with my boys as they can tolerate. It is not always sunshine and lollipops, but the majority of the time I wouldn't change a thing. I know how lucky I am.

My parents split when I was eight, so my sister and I were raised by a single mother that struggled to make ends meet. Although my mom was not able to stay home with us, I have fond childhood memories. We lived in a suburb of Kansas City and spent many evenings with my grandparents. As I grew up they were like a second set of parents to me. My mom made every effort to make our house the place to be. Her goal was to have me and my sister and our friends have a fun and safe place to hang out. Not only was it the place to be, many times I found friends there when I came home from school or work. My mom was the mom that kids talked to about stuff they were too nervous to say to their parents.

Growing up in the city did not offer me many opportunities to explore the woods but I spent most of my time outside. This was back when you could ride your bike a few houses down tot play and your mom would whistle when it was time for dinner. I remember going on walks to the nearest park with my friends. The park was about a mile away; not sure if I would let my grade school boys do that.

We had a pool in our backyard so summers were wet. I find myself thinking of my mom often as I realize at bedtime, that I am still in my swimsuit. Mom lived in her swimsuit. She would put it on as soon as she could and was in it while she laid us in bed. To the dismay to some neighbors and the pleasure of others, she even wore her swimsuit to do yard work.

As I watch hubs teach Little Man to swim I think of my father. Dad taught me to swim in our pool and would be happy to know hubs is using the same tried and true techniques that made me the fish I am today. Now, if we could only get Little Man to open his eyes when he closes his mouth. I told him to keep his mouth closed so he doesn't drink the water and not only does he shut his mouth but can't seem do to so without the eyes going too. Can't get very far like that.

The best thing about our new house is what I consider my favorite summer memory. I can smell it a half a mile away from our house. I roll down my car window when I turn on our street and the aroma hits me and the summer memories begin to flow. Swimming the the back yard. Swinging in the neighbors yard. Picking strawberries in the backyard. Picking the grapes from the vines in the arbor. Riding my bike. The smell of Coppertone.

This sweet smelling vine lined our fence line and I would eat the sweet nectar as often as I could. There is an art to eating honeysuckle and I have now passed this tradition onto my boys.

Moving to the new house has provided us the opportunity to change our lifestyle. We are getting back to the basics, and if that means my boys get to have memories like mine, who could want more?

Sweet Sweet/The Memories You Gave to Me

Although I normally don't like to, I think it is safe to assume that each generation strives to give their children more than they had as children. There is a constant battle between time and money. We need to work to pay the bills but in the end, what matters is how much time we spend with our children not how much money we spend on them.

Like the good business owners we are, hubs and I reevaluate our business plans once a year. We do the same for our home as well. It too, is like a business; we have titles, responsibilities, and a budget,. Most importantly, we have goals; goals for ourselves, for our boys, and for our family. As things evolve, so too, must our business plan.

We had a change of plans recently. We moved from our 4500 square foot home to a smaller home with just under 3000 square feet. I was thrilled with the move for many reasons. One story to clean rather than two. The boys sleep on the same level as we do. Almost two acres for the boys to explore and play. A pool. A hot tub. Great school district. Oh yeah; a much smaller mortgage.

The smaller monthly payment affords me the privilege of working from home. I get to spend as much time with my boys as they can tolerate. It is not always sunshine and lollipops, but the majority of the time I wouldn't change a thing. I know how lucky I am.

My parents split when I was eight, so my sister and I were raised by a single mother that struggled to make ends meet. Although my mom was not able to stay home with us, I have fond childhood memories. We lived in a suburb of Kansas City and spent many evenings with my grandparents. As I grew up they were like a second set of parents to me. My mom made every effort to make our house the place to be. Her goal was to have me and my sister and our friends have a fun and safe place to hang out. Not only was it the place to be, many times I found friends there when I came home from school or work. My mom was the mom that kids talked to about stuff they were too nervous to say to their parents.

Growing up in the city did not offer me many opportunities to explore the woods but I spent most of my time outside. This was back when you could ride your bike a few houses down tot play and your mom would whistle when it was time for dinner. I remember going on walks to the nearest park with my friends. The park was about a mile away; not sure if I would let my grade school boys do that.

We had a pool in our backyard so summers were wet. I find myself thinking of my mom often as I realize at bedtime, that I am still in my swimsuit. Mom lived in her swimsuit. She would put it on as soon as she could and was in it while she laid us in bed. To the dismay to some neighbors and the pleasure of others, she even wore her swimsuit to do yard work.

As I watch hubs teach Little Man to swim I think of my father. Dad taught me to swim in our pool and would be happy to know hubs is using the same tried and true techniques that made me the fish I am today. Now, if we could only get Little Man to open his eyes when he closes his mouth. I told him to keep his mouth closed so he doesn't drink the water and not only does he shut his mouth but can't seem do to so without the eyes going too. Can't get very far like that.

The best thing about our new house is what I consider my favorite summer memory. I can smell it a half a mile away from our house. I roll down my car window when I turn on our street and the aroma hits me and the summer memories begin to flow. Swimming the the back yard. Swinging in the neighbors yard. Picking strawberries in the backyard. Picking the grapes from the vines in the arbor. Riding my bike. The smell of Coppertone.

This sweet smelling vine lined our fence line and I would eat the sweet nectar as often as I could. There is an art to eating honeysuckle and I have now passed this tradition onto my boys.

Moving to the new house has provided us the opportunity to change our lifestyle. We are getting back to the basics, and if that means my boys get to have memories like mine, who could want more?

Udder Lies

Call me a sucker:

A sucker for blue eyes.
A sucker for cowboys boots.
A sucker for a cook out & beer.
A sucker for a good dancer.

After high school I moved from Kansas City to Springfield to go to what is formerly known as SW MO State. I spent about a year in 417 land and then moved back to my birth state of North Carolina. I worked and played in the Tar Heel state for about a year and moved to Connecticut with some friends. Still young and free I was able to go where the wind blew. Things did not feel right in Connecticut so I packed up and moved back to KC on the advice of my sister. Sis informed me of this fabulous new job she had for a great computer company with a marketing theme based on a cow and a box.

I began working for the cow computer company by attending an eight week training program. Consider it a crash course in computers before the Internet was readily available and the hottest selling item was a 166 with 16MB; we called it "The Happy Meal" as it was packaged with a 15" monitor and ink jet printer for 1599.00.

During my eight week boot camp we eat, sleep and breath cows and computers. The class spends all day together and then socializes at night together. There was a great mix of people from all walks of life. We enjoyed our time together but I enjoyed one particular class mate more than others. I was smitten with Daddy the minute I saw him in his cowboys boots and v-neck sweater. He was charming and funny and knew more about my home town than I did, which intrigued me since he had only been there a couple of years. The strange thing was, although we all knew each other's names, we did not use them, we used what I will call "stage names". Kind of like strippers, but with clothes and less money or attention. The first thing they do is change our names. We would be working in a call center setting so you can imagine how many folks have the same name: I don't want my commission going to someone else. We are told to pick three names that we like and the one that is available will be our new identity. Our new name will even go on our name badge. My new identity would be Kendall and Daddy was known as Gannon.

Our training was close to an end when Daddy mentioned to me he was having a celebration cookout at his house in honor of our graduation. He drew a map for me and gave me his number. I was a little nervous and decided to dress like I didn't care. I wore my black cowboy boots, jeans, white button down, and my Yankees ball cap.

When I pulled up to the house as indicated on the map I thought I had read the directions wrong. There were no cars in the drive and no one in sight. I rang the bell to be sure. Daddy answered the door. I walked in to his Westport home to hear David and David on the stereo and no grill in sight. The only thing in the fridge was the brand of beer I was known to drink, some ketchup, and some relish. So much for a cookout. Daddy and I had a beer and talked a while. He looked at his watch and said "I guess it's just me and you tonight". (Maybe becasue he did not invite anyone else from training)

We never made it to dinner but filled up on drinks and dancing. Before I knew it he had taken over my spare closet and had stolen my spare key.

Can't get enough of stories like this? Check out Ramblings By Reba

Udder Lies

Call me a sucker:

A sucker for blue eyes.
A sucker for cowboys boots.
A sucker for a cook out & beer.
A sucker for a good dancer.

After high school I moved from Kansas City to Springfield to go to what is formerly known as SW MO State. I spent about a year in 417 land and then moved back to my birth state of North Carolina. I worked and played in the Tar Heel state for about a year and moved to Connecticut with some friends. Still young and free I was able to go where the wind blew. Things did not feel right in Connecticut so I packed up and moved back to KC on the advice of my sister. Sis informed me of this fabulous new job she had for a great computer company with a marketing theme based on a cow and a box.

I began working for the cow computer company by attending an eight week training program. Consider it a crash course in computers before the Internet was readily available and the hottest selling item was a 166 with 16MB; we called it "The Happy Meal" as it was packaged with a 15" monitor and ink jet printer for 1599.00.

During my eight week boot camp we eat, sleep and breath cows and computers. The class spends all day together and then socializes at night together. There was a great mix of people from all walks of life. We enjoyed our time together but I enjoyed one particular class mate more than others. I was smitten with Daddy the minute I saw him in his cowboys boots and v-neck sweater. He was charming and funny and knew more about my home town than I did, which intrigued me since he had only been there a couple of years. The strange thing was, although we all knew each other's names, we did not use them, we used what I will call "stage names". Kind of like strippers, but with clothes and less money or attention. The first thing they do is change our names. We would be working in a call center setting so you can imagine how many folks have the same name: I don't want my commission going to someone else. We are told to pick three names that we like and the one that is available will be our new identity. Our new name will even go on our name badge. My new identity would be Kendall and Daddy was known as Gannon.

Our training was close to an end when Daddy mentioned to me he was having a celebration cookout at his house in honor of our graduation. He drew a map for me and gave me his number. I was a little nervous and decided to dress like I didn't care. I wore my black cowboy boots, jeans, white button down, and my Yankees ball cap.

When I pulled up to the house as indicated on the map I thought I had read the directions wrong. There were no cars in the drive and no one in sight. I rang the bell to be sure. Daddy answered the door. I walked in to his Westport home to hear David and David on the stereo and no grill in sight. The only thing in the fridge was the brand of beer I was known to drink, some ketchup, and some relish. So much for a cookout. Daddy and I had a beer and talked a while. He looked at his watch and said "I guess it's just me and you tonight". (Maybe becasue he did not invite anyone else from training)

We never made it to dinner but filled up on drinks and dancing. Before I knew it he had taken over my spare closet and had stolen my spare key.

Can't get enough of stories like this? Check out Ramblings By Reba

Being Neighborly

We welcomed a new neighbor on Friday. Actually he had a large welcoming committee. Neighbors lined up at the off ramp near our neighborhood to wave him home. There was a large line of cars bringing him to his new resting place. I lost count after 20; I could not keep track of all the motorcycles with flags waving in the wind. I looked in the cars and noticed men and women of all ages; many in uniform.

Our home is on the way to the veteran's cemetery. Since moving to our new home in February we have seen about 6 funeral processions. They are all significant because the men and woman that lie there have given the greatest sacrifice. For some reason, though, this one was different. This young man was only thirty; just a few years younger than me and Daddy. The young man was wounded in combat. Although he did not die from the gunshot in his shoulder he died from infection after the fact.

The boys and I watched the cars pass the house while we sat on a big rock in our front yard. The American flag that hangs in the yard waved in the wind and would provide sun or shade depending on the wind. The flapping sound the flag made caused Little Man to look up and see what it was. It was odd, how he had his hand on his forehead to block the sun while looking up; I wish I had had my camera at the time.

Little Man asked if he could see "the little boy" that was "going home". I explained that although I call him a "boy", he is really a man. Like Daddy is a man; even more man than some much older than he was. We talked about being a soldier and what that means. We talked about the different branches of the armed forces. We talked about his Daddy, all his grandfathers, and many others in our family choosing to join. Although I know he doesn't truly understand what it all means, I wanted to plant the seed. Our children are so fortunate to have so many choices, I want to make sure they understand why and how they do.






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*Although I did not create this I thought it was appropriate.