Category Archives: family

Fixer of Broken Things

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Fixer of Broken Things

A great tree fell in the forest of life on this day a year ago and I am sad. I miss the colors of fall, the snow on winter branches, the shelter for spring birds and the clean air he so effortlessly provided. He made our world a better place and asked for nothing in return, except perhaps, some pasta.

I talk to the ghost of my father in-law daily, I miss him every day. He was a quiet man, a man of action, a family man, a zen master. He could pop over any time and I was always happy to see him. Not even a hint of internal – oh shit I need to….his visits only brought joy – a smile, an enthusiastic hello, would you like some coffee/breakfast/lunch/anything and it truly would have been my pleasure to serve….just the pasta, that’s all he wanted.

He would spend hours at our house, pulling weeds, fixing things, dawdling in that classic old school Italian way, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, the dog at his feet hoping for a crust of bread which, he always shared as he exited his car in our driveway. He was the fixer of broken things, the finder of stuff (he knew where everything was), the quiet gardener, the happy chef, a humble man who loved his family.

When the kids were little they would become attached to tiny toys that were given in party bags, random gifts and tchotchke items. One of a kind special things that were beloved and irreplaceable or at least hard to find. If something broke it would be set aside for Nonno to fix. His success rate was pretty high somewhere above 90%. He had that Italian mind designed to solve problems and find solutions, curious and steadfast in his thoughts, the man had an abundance of patience.

He painted when something needed to be painted. He organized, he cleaned, he made himself useful, he had to be productive, it was in his DNA. Like a border collie, he needed a job. He was happy here toiling around our house during the day and when he was done he would drive the 8 minutes back to his house. Freedom and independence without isolation.

He could sew too. My daughter had a brief stint in the Daisies and the Brownies and I never sewed a single patch, Nonno did that. He even sewed the dog’s toys back together. He could do stuff with gorilla glue and duct tape that defied the laws of physics, truly a fixer of broken things.

If I’m honest he fixed me as well. I didn’t grow up with a father in my life. He showed me what a good father was, I felt loved and appreciated. Perhaps that’s why I never lost patience with him popping in unannounced or declining invites to the kids events. Behavior which annoys me when someone else does it. I simply enjoyed his company and knew he loved us whether or not he attended the Holiday Concert.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year. It feels like yesterday and another lifetime all at once. I don’t know how that’s possible, it just is. My husband seemed distracted and down today. He’s horrible at remembering dates so I didn’t want to remind him if the date slipped his mind. Why scratch the scab?

I popped in his office and asked if he was OK. Told him I thought he seemed distracted. His response let me know he didn’t realize the significance of the date – he asked if it was “that time”. That usually gets a steely gaze from me, on this day I practiced restraint…then he asked if I was OK, suspecting I was hormonal. I responded with a cheerful “just checking on you, I’m good”.

I’m not good.

 

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Coming Soon, the TP1CGAF

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Coming Soon, the TP1CGAF

I’m at a food store at least six times a week. Two of those times are for the elderly clients that I take out for errands, the rest are for my family. I have to amuse myself at the grocery store because I’m there so much. I also spend more time than is needed in the parking lot.  It’s my escape when I need some urgent “me time” and yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds, thank you for noticing. I also sneak in a few rounds of Word Stacks in case you weren’t already judging me too harshly.

One of the things that I find funny lately is the advertising for toilet paper. The commercials for TP are awful – especially the one’s that boast about how clean your ass will be if you use their product. There’s also significant shelf space dedicated to adult wipes because apparently we’ve forgotten how to do that properly.

The thing that got me today though was the number of rolls that the manufacturer claims to represent in a package. A package of 6 rolls will now replace prior packs of 1,272 rolls (OK 12, close enough). Made me envision the next iteration of TP manufacturing when they try to get a year’s worth of toilet paper on a commercial grade spool. It may not fit in your bathroom but it will last the average family of four 12 months (Manufacturer disclaimer: unless your family comes down with a stomach bug then maybe 11 months and 17 days).

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Bob at Charmin is currently working on the latest innovation within the toilet paper industry. The TP1CGAF. it lasts one year for a family of four. We can’t cure cancer or the common cold but dagnamit we won’t rest until no one has to change the TP roll for at least a year. Amazon may gripe about delivering this through Prime.

I’m waiting for AI to take over this task, in a few short years, Rosie the Robot will fetch your next roll of TP and place it on the holder facing toward the user as G*d intended.

 

Bonus points if anyone wants to guess what TP1CGAF stands for in the comments.

I Left My Heart…

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I Left My Heart…

We just returned from the land of Tesla, Sweaty Betty & Rothy’s, aka, San Francisco. The hubs had a business meeting and the kids had spring break so we turned it into a family vacation. In my former life, I went to Cali on the regular for work, mostly Irvine and Oakland so I squeezed in plenty of LA and SF weekends and Geezus that was like 17 years ago already. (Takes a moment to shake the cobwebs from her mind and contemplate the time space continuum, that was an intense 3 seconds.)

I must confess that I’ve gotten really lazy about planning trips. I used to create schedules, print out maps and have a list of recommended restaurants on the ready. Now I’m like F-it, Google will tell me whatever I need to know in the moment. So maybe Google is making me more zen or maybe it’s just the lazy or her step sister, tired. (insert yawn it feels like 5 am to me, what time zone am I in again?)

The trip starts out in the usual way, complete chaos with undertones of panic, dread and excitement. The timing of the trip meant that we would get in late Saturday evening and host Easter dinner twelve hours after getting home. That meant cooking and cleaning ahead of time (chaos). The panic and dread come from flying alone with my kids (the hubs went out ahead of us). This isn’t new, I’ve been traveling with my kids alone since they were 1 1/2 and 3. They are teenagers now, some things are easier. They can amuse themselves with inflight entertainment on their phones and I don’t need to walk them to the toilet or “assist”. The days of sticker books, toddler snacks and Max & Ruby videos on a continuous loop are long behind us.

I still sit in the center seat to preempt fights over the arm rest and “accidental” elbows to the ribs. Our seats were in row 39 (of 40) for both flights with a round trip dose of screaming babies in row 40. Of course at some point during the flight I envision all three of us dying is a fiery plane crash….or worse, the scenario where I get sucked out through the disgusting excuse of an airline toilet, plummeting to my untimely death with my pants around my ankles, kids watching in horror from an airplane window as they shove at each other to get a better view…..part of me is at peace as I speed to the permanent sleep, knowing I won’t have to referee anymore of those fights.

All kinds of awful scenarios go through my mind, I suddenly have the imagination of Stephen King. I glance at the horrors of my own making, then I  crumple them up and toss them into a mental trashcan until the next flight when I’ll pluck them out and unfurl them again…like some dreadful relative that stalks the periphery of your life. Wow, that went dark for a hot second, moving on.

We stayed at a really cool place, the Inn at the Presidio built in 1903, it has been repurposed from it’s original use as housing for unmarried officers. We were fortunate to get one of only 22 suites in the main building. The amenities included continental breakfast and daily happy hour with wine and cheese (& OMFG good chocolate chip cookies). The inn is located within a park, truly an oasis within San Francisco. Once you’re tucked in for the night, you forget that there is a bustling city within a 10 minute walk. We would have forgotten we were in SF all together if not for the distant fog horn gently reminding us throughout the night. It was glorious.

Since I’m married to a nerd, he scheduled a tour of the Tesla factory. Knowing my daughter would roll her eyes so hard that they would actually exit her body during the tour, we opted out. So the boys went to Fremont and the girls walked over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Sausalito.

We had a beautiful sunny day which is not a given in SF. Parts of the walk were daunting….OK, scary as hell. The bridge was fine, loud but safe, the descent into Sausalito, not so much. When you get over the bridge, you shadow the freeway traffic until the exit for Alexander Avenue. Once you get on that road, walkers are on a narrow shoulder getting buzzed by a swarm of bicyclists with varying degrees of skill (or lack thereof).

I find it amazing that a city will rent out so many bicycles to people who clearly have no idea WTF they are doing. The bike shops give them a map, a pat on the head and wish them well in one of the most heavily trafficked areas in the USA which by the way, has a tendency to be shrouded in fog. What could possibly go wrong? We were thrilled and grateful when we made it to the sidewalk in Sausalito which posed signs forbidding bicycles. No bicycles on the sidewalks, thank you!

Sausalito is gorgeous. It is a quaint town overlooking Richardson Bay and the Golden Strait which, fun fact, is why that famous International Orange colored bridge is called the Golden Gate Bridge. Back to Sausalito, it’s expensive as hell. The median house price hovers around $1.4m which honestly seems low for the area. That calculation includes a cluster of houseboats which are interesting on their own.

My daughter and I got lunch – I ordered an $18. cheeseburger and she ordered from the kid’s menu (under duress) and we switched meals. Let me tell you the kid’s fillet of sole was delicious (I sounded like a cannibal when I read that out loud). After lunch we went out in search of socks because my daughter wasn’t wearing any with her Converse and at about mile 7 that was getting annoying. She picked out a pair that featured the GGB and screamed tourist with flair. A couple of hours in we were ready to take the ferry back to San Francisco.

While waiting for the ferry I decided to sit on a bench next to a heavily bearded man and his little dog too (I really hope you read that last bit like the Wicked Witch of West). At first he just seemed like an eccentric street performer. He started teasing his dog who was having a cookie and wasn’t willing to share. Then he picked the dog up and they had a full on shouting match. After a few minutes he started saying disparaging things about his ex-wife and her parents which prompted us to leave and get in the ferry line half an hour early.

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My daughter and I found seats on the ferry and I left to get us water and a snack. My parting words were “save me a seat honey”. I got back 10 minutes later and all three seats were taken. I asked my daughter what happened, assuming she just forgot about me, she had a slightly panicked look on her face. I hovered close by. When the person in the aisle seat moved I took that seat leaving one person between my daughter and I, we will refer to her as Typhoid Mary. Actually she probably had the flu or a bad cold, there was a lot of coughing and nose blowing. TM did not appear to speak or understand English so a seat exchange wasn’t in the making. After several persistent coughs followed up with some serious nasal discharge, I decided to move. I got up and aired myself out. My daughter stayed in her seat and amused herself with her phone seemingly unaware of the cootie circus happening within her orbit.

When the ferry was getting ready to dock I came back to check on my daughter and encourage her to exit so we could get ahead of the 80 bicyclists that would also disembark. I got more panicked looks with some rapid hand movement and overly expressive eyebrows….not a lot was said. She’s half Italian so she’s pretty good with the hand signals. I got the gist of it, she wasn’t leaving early.

Eventually Typhoid Mary got up and exited the row. That’s when I saw my daughter’s beloved Panic at the Disco beanie sitting in the sit that TM just exited. She sacrificed the beanie to save me a seat. The interesting bit is that the beanie had a small glass bottle filled with erasers in it which, didn’t seem to bother our recently departed friend. Also, my daughter mentioned that she plucked a bug off her own eye in transit letting out a muffled scream that I missed. I was either in the beverage line or gazing at Alcatraz as we went by.

So we left the ferry with all of our items and a bag of unopened pretzels that were no longer wanted. San Francisco has a big homeless population so I suggested that we give the pretzels away to someone who might be hungry. The first homeless person we encountered resembled the giant from the Game of Thrones during the Battle of the Bastards.

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Seriously the dude was maybe 4 inches shorter than the giant and vomited into a garbage can in front of us. We decided to keep the pretzels a little longer.

A few minutes later we passed by a bench that had a shopping cart next to it filled with blankets and random items. I suggested we see if that person wanted the pretzels. I approached with my daughter next to me. He was a big guy (smaller than the giant) with the largest nose ring I have ever seen. I asked him if he wanted the pretzels and he snatched them out of my hand with a grunt. We didn’t stick around for idle chatter or philosophical conversations.

At this point we were making our way to Pier 39 at Fisherman’s Wharf aka, the biggest tourist trap in San Francisco. I didn’t mind my girl wanted to visit the sea lions. At this point my cell phone was under 20% so I turned it off to conserve energy. The plan was to take an Uber back to the inn once we finished at the pier. We were about 11.5 miles into our day at this point.

While we were walking on the pier my daughter mentioned that she would like to get some more sassy socks and *poof* behold a sock store appeared. We got lost in there for half an hour and left with two pairs of socks and an idea of where the sea lions hang out. Ten minutes later, satiated with our sea lion viewing, we were ready to go back.

As I was opening the Uber app, my phone died. Totally dead, barely a warning just snapping a photo of a sea lion one minute and fade to black the next. Fortunately there were taxi cabs at curbside so we pretended it was 2008 (before Uber ruled the roadways) and went back to our room. It was a fun day and I hope my daughter will reflect on it with the same fondness I will….so maybe, I left a wee bit of my heart there…in San Francisco.

I Did Not Blend In

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I Did Not Blend In

So this weekend was kind of interesting…I went to a bridal shower for the first time in about 15 years. Wow have things gotten out of hand.  The party had a “World Travel” theme complete with props, a DJ, trivia games about the couple and a sea of Spanx laden ladies. There were confetti airplanes, flowers made of maps, luggage tag favors and a custom hashtag for the couple, they went all in.

I’m casual by nature and practical in my approach to clothing. Sure I want to look good,  comfort goes a long way though. I knew that flats would be out of the question with this bunch so I stepped up my game with some neutral 3 inch heeled ankle boots. I probably got them at Marshalls for $29.99, that’s my way. They’re cute and they dress up jeans with the right top. I drove my sister in-law and we agreed on our style prior to the event. We were seriously under dressed. Not what you want to do when you prefer to blend into the scenery.

The venue was in Staten Island and it was gorgeous inside. Chandeliers, a water view, beautiful window treatments, it was stunning. We knew we were in trouble as soon as we walked in. The guests looked like they were at a formal wedding. These ladies brought their A game – sequins, ruffles, prints, red-soled shoes, high end all the way. Meanwhile, I’m rocking my new mom jeans which advertise their ability to “cover muffin top” (I wish I was kidding). I wanted to die but I was hungry and this place is known for good authentic Italian food. I decided I could die after I ate, I stand by that decision.

It was a buffet so naturally there was a line. As I was standing there in the most casual outfit within a three mile radius, I noticed the line of asses at the buffet. It was mesmerizing. All kinds of asses – big, little, wide, flat, pancakes and bubbles on display in all their glory. I respected their confidence, I veer too far in the other direction. I’d wear a mu-mu if it was socially acceptable. I’d alternate with gym clothes, easy peasy. *Sighs* imagines life in a mu-mu. 80ba22001c642d83f830130a50199dbe--simpsons-art-simpsons-funny.jpg

It wasn’t just asses on display, boobs were everywhere. It was 2pm and I saw side boob, is that the new norm because I thought side boob was reserved for after 8pm? The DJ kept encouraging people to dance, while bright sunlight streamed in. Maybe I’m old (OK old and under dressed) but I like to get my boogey on at night with an appropriate amount of darkness. I also prefer to dance with the hubs and this was a ladies only event. I’ll just say it now – “Get off my lawn!” Ahhh, that feels better.

To add insult to injury, I was having a sh*t hair day. I got it cut a week ago and I’m still adjusting to it, not good. These gals had all kinds of stuff going on with their hair, professionally coifed, extensions or a damn impressive ability to use appliances that have always eluded me mainly the curling iron. I wanted to spruce things up, I even borrowed a curling iron from my friend. Sadly I did not have time to practice because something came up with my kid during the time I had allotted for that trial run.

So to recap, sh*tty hair & mom jeans, I did not blend in. I was having an off day and I was surrounded by women that could be extras in a Sopranos reboot or a new variation of the Housewives enterprise. My SIL and I decided that we really need to take things up about 1,000 notches for the wedding. Some of the outfits at the bridal shower cost more than the book value of my 2010 Honda. I can’t even imagine what they will wear to the wedding. Have you ever found yourself over or under dressed?

Cheese for the Win!

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Cheese for the Win!

I had to take Blanche to the vet today. For those that don’t know, Blanche is the made up name of my real dog. Things are top secret here at my blog and one can’t be too careful. Getting Blanche to go to the vet is a bit of an ordeal. The problems start when I try to get her in my car. Usually a couple of treats do the trick.

Me (Attempting fake enthusiasm, comes off like a Kindergarten teacher with a massive hangover): Come on Blanche you can do it!

Blanche: Nope

Me: Come on girl, there are two treats in here (holds up a treat, then pats the back of the SUV).

Blanche (yawns, turns head in opposite direction)

Me: Get in here!

Blanche (walks away)

Me (Mutters “bitch”, goes inside. Announces to the hubs that we are at DEFCON Level 3)

Hubs: Want me to get her in there? I can do it, want me to show you?

(For the record, my husband thinks he can do EVERYTHING better than me or anyone else. Most of the time he can, I’m just not interested in his 30 minute tutorial on the perfect inflection to coax the dog into my vehicle. We also have 12 minutes to get to an appointment which is 10 minutes away. So visualize your favorite meme for “Ain’t nobody got time for that!)

Me: No. I know how you do it and I can’t muster up the fake enthusiastic voice. I’m going in for cheese.

Blanche: Did someone say cheese?

Me: (Tosses cheese in the back of the SUV) Get your ass in the car.

Blanche: Alright

It should be noted that Blanche is a 90 pound mutt who turns into a kangaroo dog as soon as we pass the threshold at the vet’s office. I don’t mean one of those cute docile kangaroos that you can actually pet in Australia…no she turns into big red, the roo that will knock your teeth out and put you in a coma. She has a smile on her face the entire time and I’m just blocking the blows like I’m in the ring with Tyson circa 1986. I don’t come out of these visits unscathed, I’m scratched up and broke by the time we leave.

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This is Big Red’s Tinder profile pic.

Fortunately there were no other animals in the waiting area when we arrived. I try to speak to the receptionist while my kangaroo-gorilla-dog bounces up and down like Tigger on cocaine. My eyes convey a cry for help and they usher us to the scale. I find this amusing because 1) It’s my least favorite part of going to the doctor myself. Does anyone like getting weighed in a public space? 2) Getting Blanche to stay still on the scale is worse than trying to get her in the car. It’s like threading a needle with overcooked spaghetti. After several attempts we agree on a number and get directed to an examination room.

Blanche proceeds to lose her ever loving mind in the room when it’s just the two of us. I can only image what the office staff thinks is happening in here. Furniture is being moved, the scraping sound of dog nails on the linoleum…I may have said calm your tits a little too loud. After an infinity a vet and a technician came in to administer her shots and do the exam.

My dog, crazy as she is, becomes surprisingly compliant during the exam. She doesn’t bark, growl or show any indication of her big red ways when there are witnesses. Leaving the staff to think I must enjoy rearranging office furniture while speaking curtly to my dog when no one else is in the room. She got her shots, threw some punches (at me) and we got out of there for the mere cost of a car payment.

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Blanche showing off her lady beard. She resembles a Dr. Seuss creation.

Muber (Pronounced: Moo-Brrr)

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Muber (Pronounced: Moo-Brrr)

Last weekend I commented to another mom friend that I am in the “Muber” stage of parenting. I’m not necessarily to the go-to person in my kids lives unless they need a ride, also known as the teenage years. It’s not all terrible, sure the pay still sucks and they trash my car but sometimes I gain some insight.

It’s hard to know what your kids are up to all the time unless you are tracking them like the CIA.  We have limits on their phone use, protocols to prevent 24hr access. The goal is to protect them from predators and make sure they don’t stay up all night on Snapchat, freedom with boundaries. They need the space to make decisions, room for mistakes, it’s how we learn.

So when my kids want a ride somewhere, especially if they want me to drive their friends, I give an enthusiastic “YES!” It’s my only chance to observe how they interact in the “wild”. The bits and pieces of conversations I hear between friends in the car gives me some insight into their teen world that I might otherwise miss. So for now, we are in the Muber phase which, will soon transition into Holy-shit-teen-driving-car-insurance-is-expensiveAF phase. Be careful out there.

 

 

Grief Fog

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Grief Fog

Apparently there is a Mercury Retrograde phase right now which means we are all ripe for disaster my friends. Mercury is a bit of an asshole whilst in retrograde and this year March, July and November are on track to be awful. Here’s a link if you want your head to explode with all the retrogradey stuff….OHSHITMERCURYRETROGRADE

Mercury aside, I have been feeling all the feels today. You ever find yourself driving and suddenly realize you can’t remember the past 15 minutes? You’ve been on the road so many times that you slip into autopilot and you aren’t really aware of your surroundings. The past 10 months have felt like this for me. First my Father in-law got sick and passed away, then four months later I lost my own father. I’ve been in a grief fog ever since. Sure I do all the things that need to be done but I’m a muted version of myself.

During this process I haven’t been fully aware and in tune with the world including my small community. I know I’ve missed some important stuff and I haven’t been present in my usual capacity. Last night I found out that a local parent has been having chemo treatments for several months, I had no idea. Year ago me would have set up a Sign Up Genius and initiated a meal train, the current version of myself found out haphazardly in a group text. I’ve clearly been out of the loop bogged down in my own muck. I’d beat myself up about it a little more if I had the energy, I don’t.

Grief is a process, it isn’t a stage or a series of milestones that you pass and then it’s behind you. It becomes a part of you…sometimes it’s a tiny speck and sometimes it envelops you. If you are grieving, I hope you are patient with yourself…you deserve that.

 

 

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The Lonely Middle Years of Parenting

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The Lonely Middle Years of Parenting

Parenting kids in middle and high school is such a complicated and lonely space to be in. When our kids are little we tend to share a lot about them. Holiday cards, social media posts, small playgroups, sports teams and parent clubs. The little cherubs happily pose for the camera without a whiff of self consciousness.

Somewhere around 5th grade things start to shift. The kids no longer want you to go public with what you think is cute. Concerns about privacy, social status and damage control start to creep into your thoughts. The kids disappear from your social media feed and you keep things under lock and key. The difficult stuff is whispered to your closest friends, a very limited set of eyes and ears. Even with those confidants the experiences are exhausting and isolating at times.

I’ve had days this past month that have absolutely gutted me. Pain for my child which housed a kaleidoscope of emotions; profound sadness, love, pit of my stomach fear, impatience and resignation. Fortunately the low points have been transient, replaced with more hopeful experiences, it goes in and out like the tide. I can only imagine the despair of families that reside in the muck for extended periods of time. I’m sure those parents are around me, they just aren’t talking about it.

The why of the reasons for not discussing things openly are a complicated stew of ego, protection, shame and insecurity. Shame that maybe we failed as a parent somehow – gave too much or too little. We were too involved or not vigilant enough. We haven’t properly adjusted the sails, we hit the gas when we should have braked and now we are spinning out of control.

The first inclination is protection. Protect the child at all costs from labels, embarrassment, bullies, the boogeyman, mistakes or misunderstandings that can negatively impact their future. That’s a tall order and some days I feel so small, minuscule, a speck of dust, insignificant. At this phase in their lives, your kids generally care more about friendships than family, at least temporarily. Another jagged pill to swallow, the person you want to help most in the world doesn’t necessarily want your assistance or your opinion. They will however, happily relieve you of $20. or the car keys when they start to drive.

Insecurity is the ghost that haunts us all whether we care to admit it or not. Insecurity is married to shame maybe not officially but they are at a minimum shacked up together. If I’m honest, this is the piece of parenthood I feared the most before we had kids. Knowing that I would make mistakes as all humans do. I also knew that making mistakes as a parent would cause me intense pain. Mind you I haven’t had colossal failures, just the usual varieties; having a more impatient tone than intended (this is called yelling), being a few months behind on the dental check up, and not being a constant shadow on their social media.

I’m sure some parents and kids skate through this phase without a pimple or a tear shed, I think those are the unicorns. Most of us take a deep breath and remind ourselves to have a friendly tone when we knock on our child’s bedroom door. We worry about over/under scheduling, setting reasonable expectations that neither diminish goals nor create neurotic overachievers. I’m still searching for that sweet spot of challenging my kids so they can bend without breaking.

 

First Bird of the Day

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First Bird of the Day

I had another visit with Rob and Laura today. For those that aren’t familiar, Rob and Laura are a couple in their 90s. I take them out for errands and shenanigans twice a week. The usual stops are the laundromat, grocery store and the post office.

Today’s visit included a feed store which is a happy place for my friend Rob. I checked the stash last week and knew we were running out of everything. We left the feed store with 55 pounds of bird seed which included: black-oil sunflower seed, Nyjer thistle and striped sunflower.

My knowledge of birds and bird feed is microscopic as this is all new to me. I have been filling their various feeders for the past three months and I can vouch for the popularity of the chosen seeds. This morning I found a little bird (perhaps a finch?) that managed to get inside the globe shaped feeder. He was having a feast in there. I did a quick search online to see if I could find a picture that was similar to what I witnessed, no luck. I did however find a bird feeder which can be attached to the window (Featured photo Bird Feeder) in such a way as to taunt your indoor cat. Seems like a a pretty miserable thing to do but cats give as well as they get so game on Tiger.

While we were driving Rob told me lots of bird stories. One was about how he and a group of bird nerds (my term not his) counted the hawks that were migrating to Mexico. He told me his group counted twenty-five thousand hawks. Which caused me to have a bunch of internal questions that I did not voice – mostly things like how can you be sure you didn’t count the same bird twice? Did you ever lose count and have to start over? What part of Mexico? Were they staying at an all inclusive? So. Many. Questions.

Then we talked about Maine. Every September a bird watching group would go stay in New Hampshire and then drive over to Maine to bird watch. His oldest daughter joined the group on several occasions. One time they were driving from New Hampshire to Maine and they were cut off – at which point his adult daughter gave the aggressive driver the middle finger. She then proclaimed that everyone had seen their first bird of the day.

 

I Get To…

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I Get To…

Every so often the Gods of social media send a pearl of wisdom my way. This morning I was browsing Facebook when I saw a photo that caught my eye. The original post was from Kristen Hampton of WBTV Good News, it featured a handwritten sign which stated: I get to…

According to the original post, Kristen saw that note at a friend’s house. A friend who is currently undergoing chemo for what is described as an awful cancer. Kristen’s friend explained that “I get to” is a substitute for “I have to” and the simplicity and sheer gratitude of that suggestion is inspiring.

I get to is a gentle reminder that all of this is temporary. Whatever problems we have individually and collectively, it’s all so transient.  The kids we wait on will leave the nest (eventually), the aging parents we care for, they’ll also move on to a more permanent place, that boss you can’t stand likely won’t be in your life in five years and on it goes. The list of daily chores and obstacles can seem impossibly long and arduous. I get to is a beautiful, gentle reminder that this is all temporary, so enjoy the ride.

I get to recognizes that it is a gift to be able to tick off the list of things to do for ourselves and others. A reminder that we can control the narrative of our own inner voice.  It reminds us that we are fortunate to have the physical and mental capacity to do the things that need to be done. A suggestion that we have the ability to choose a more positive frame of mind, one grounded in gratitude.