Marauders

They will take the gas that is left over from this summer that sits in the shed for the lawnmower.  They will take the roll-over minutes and the upgrade meant for the pay-or, not the use-or.  They will take the car keys. They take the last donut.  They will take up a whole afternoon and a whole paycheck if you let them.

Damn kids.

Down to one car

What an eventful week...not all good, not all bad. Yes, as the title says we three drivers with three jobs are down to one car. Mine bit the dust on Monday. It was only $124 to tow it home. I was expecting the $300 range, so I'm allowed to say "only". My mother was visiting this week. Yes, she was in the truck when it decided to spew oil onto the windshield. I do remember remarking on how I didn't see anyone toss a cup of coffee out the window on the freeway just then. Mom remarked back that she didn't see anyone do that either. That's when I noticed my oil gauge peg lounging, resting, napping at the bottom of the dial. Big sigh here. Like I said, I picked the truck up, got it home, and I'm dusting it off to ride again.

Thank god for friends. Have I mentioned lately how much I have come to truly appreciate my friends? And not just times like now. I mean to tell you we have watched plenty of football games together and eaten our share of nachos for the year together along with that. What surprises me is how friends rally around when the going gets tough. It's this friend that talked me through possible scenarios for my truck drama, who then stopped over that Monday night after work to look under the hood. He popped back in yesterday to watch under the hood while I cranked the car up to see which hose is spewing oil. His wife borrowed me a car to get my mother back to the airport on Friday morning before work. I am blessed.

So now we are down to one car. Thing One is working a second job. Thing Two is picking up extra shifts as fast as they become available and I am riding my beloved bus with new and different connections to get where I'm going. Grocery shopping is difficult. It is a timed event to shop and get the car home in time for someone to go to work.

Yesterday I started the "Log". What I mean to say is I started a small notebook to record every nickel, dime and penny I spend. I'm going to need a vehicle sooner rather than later. I had hoped to change my homestead, find a house with some sunshine. It seems I should make a vehicle my priority. Either way, to dispel the Money Boogeyman I will be watching him to see where he hides, where he rears his ugly face, what treasures he drags away kicking and screaming this time - rather than just letting him have the shadows I'm installing an halogen light fixture to see what needs to be rearranged so he has less access to my money. We'll see what comes of this. Hopefully a car, or a home, or both.

Other stuff happened this week that were awkward, uncomfortable and some downright frightening. Deja Vu moments left me worried about future scenarios. It's an uncomfortable time. It's life. I'm surrounded by love, and that helps. That helps a lot.

Oh, Thing Two will only be here for another three weeks or so....big sigh...Life happens. What an adventure.

22.5 Average

The average age of my grown children is 22.5 years. My son and his girlfriend are visiting this week. So far I'm able to keep up with Thing 1, Thing 2, Son and Significant Other during this visit. It's not necessarily easy. No one seems to get horizantal, as in bedtime, until 2 am or so. I wonder by putting in an 8 hour day at work and then going on to play with them in the evening if I may actually be "besting" them at the stamina game.

I remember playing like my babies when they were still in diapers, lying on the floor kicking their feet in the air. So, I'd try it. That stuff wore me out (never mind looking silly). But I kept up with them. Geesh, here I am 20+ years later still keeping up with them.

Last night was home video night. I've not heard my offspring laugh so hard, so completely, in years. They thought their dad's mullet was hilarious. They laughed even harder to see their brother with a mullet of his own (at age seven) in the very next scene. They howled in laughter at the dog pushing one of them off the sofa. All three were riveted to the tv for the next scene, entranced. Amazing stuff. I enjoyed watching them laugh more than watching the video they were watching.

Oh, I want to go home and crawl into bed. Yet, more than that, I want to arrive at the restaurant fresh and full of pep for the great dinner we have planned. Time is too short. I'm grabbing every speck laid before me.

Cheeseheads

Yes, we are Cheeseheads. And PROUD of it! We now have the cheese to prove it. Go Peeackers Go!! I so love SuperBowl Sunday. Valentines Day is nothing compared to SuperBowl Sunday.

Hmm...interesting. I've started writing in the "we" instead of the "I" mode. I come home and either make dinner or get served dinner. No more popcorn for dinner. The girls want a real meal. After dinner last night Thing Two picked up the guitar and played me "Blackbird" from the Beatles. Two nights ago she had come into my room with a handwritten piece of paper of bar chords. She wanted me to show her finger placement. We talked about bar chords, finger strength, learning new stuff. Last night she played a tune for me. Several times she played it actually. I so appreciate the guitar the girls presented to me for my birthday last month. It had been three years since a musical instrument had been in the house. I missed it. Last night I was reminded why.

Family is forever. Music is comforting. Love does last.

Pay Day Party and a Dressing Down

My new roommates, Thing 1 and Thing 2, and I had our first successful Pay Day Party. The first one didn't work so well. At least we tried again.

Has anyone ever noticed that talking about money among loved ones is almost certain to cause a little friction, maybe a defensive attitude, maybe a shouting match or slamming doors? Or driving away with the checkbook? Okay, it doesn't get that bad at my house (though it used to). Talking to my daughters about their financial obligations sucks. Either one of them will shut down, or become defensive and leave the room with strained mumblings of, "not today, Mom." They need some assistance, if nothing else, at least in the ability to sit down and look at the figures, hopefully to get in the habit of regular financial maintenance for their lives. In an attempt to instill some life habits I set up the Pay Day Party.

On Pay Day we have a party. It comes with food and drink, a calculator, bank statements (most up to date printed) and bills. The first time I announced a Pay Day Party no one took me serious. And then they got upset because they had other plans to hang out with friends. "Oh, Mom...." the television got turned off as they singularly and together left the house to go "hang out". I tried again.

Last night we had a wonderful, delicious, actually funny time at our party. When I got home from work the television was already turned off. Frozen pizza (baked of course) and a couple shots and then we talked numbers. We talked Christmas gifts (calculator). We talked transportation and food (calculator). We talked old bills hanging over our heads and how to get to the other side (no calculator - just keep it on the back burner, but turn it up, tabled for next time). It was really pretty cool. Everyone has a plan of action for the next week (including me). We will report back at the next Pay Day Party in two weeks on how each of our projects went. There's an implied code of silence between now and then, but I get the feeling the silence will break when the projects get tackled successfully. We'll see. We all sat happy at the table when these lively money conversations became exhausted. Thing 1 said, "Yep, Let's do this again."

And then the girls started in on me. I got a dressing down as I haven't had in quite some time. "Mom, we need to do something about your hair." (I'm between cuts - I don't know if I should keep growing it or not...I dunno) "Mom, can we go shopping for you? You really shouldn't go shopping without a second opinion." "Mom, you're so young - you need to look it. I'm gonna make sure you do." "You've got to update your wardrobe, really. There's stuff there that shouldn't be." Thing 1 comes up behind me and starts telling me how to get my hair cut. "It's too full in the back. Really, let's lighten it up back here. And then the front let's swoop it down this way. It's not meant to be behind your ears. It frames your face beautifully, let's use it this way." She's running her fingers through my hair - re-shaping everything about it.

I was being tag teamed. I was being corralled. There was no stopping it. They were on a roll. I was merely a pawn at the table while they fussed and feathered. Good thing I'd had a few drinks. It was fun, it was loving. Except that this morning I'm feeling a little wounded. Or bruised, or something. I have a maybe-I-should-go-hide, kind of feeling. This is foreign to me.

One should not let two very young, very beautiful ladies tell one what works and what doesn't. What doesn't work is probably what one is doing.

I'm on a Boat

So are Thing 1 and 2 - I'm going to have to beat them with a stick today to get them to send the photos they took of me...(yeah, right...like that would work.) One of my favorite things to do is to ride the ferry across Puget Sound and back. I love the view, the feel of a boat (albeit a big one), the people watching, and the feel of going nowhere - just going.

Somebody's sister

I talked to my little brother Monday night on the phone while I waited for the bus. I live in Seattle. He lives in Manhattan. My 5:00 pm is his 8:00 pm. I prefer to talk on the phone after I get home for the night. I also prefer to talk to my brother when he is awake. I'm not so good with time management - in that, I have not made a concerted effort to talk to my brother since August. I miss him.

My mother fills me in with the major events in my brother's life. So to hear he has bought a new home is humongous. I heard the news in late October, maybe it was November. I don't know. I just know the kids are doing great and the whole family will be moving to temporary digs while the new place is getting a major overhaul before they move in (seems fixer-upper is an understatement). Thing is we are chatting on the phone yesterday, laughing about moving and up-heavals and discussing the differences between the Webster meaning of "fixer-upper" and Realtor-ese meanings of "fixer-upper" and various other terms. It's no big deal. But, I feel better today. I always feel better after talking to my brothers.

My little brother has been meaning to call me when he read an article in the NYTimes. Tuesday morning he sent me the link. It seems my brother has been meaning to call me since October 25th. Gee Whiz! You'd think we're from the same family!

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/26/health/26essay.html

Oh, that's right...we are.

Christmas at our House

It started when I moved to Wisconsin. Before that, the Christmas tree was put up the week before Christmas. Once I got to Wisconsin it became paramount that the Christmas tree be set up the Friday after Thanksgiving. Then the official date was moved to Thanksgiving Day - preferably while the dishwasher is running and the kitchen only half cleaned up after The Feast. Now that the girls are once again living with me all things from their childhood are being adhered to with more verve than previously. Our Christmas tree is up for an entire month.

Traditionally, on Christmas Eve the lights are left on all night in anticipation of Santa Claus. No other night of the season are the lights left on ALL NIGHT. The trees were always cut trees. From a parental/homeowner point of view I didn't sleep Christmas Eve night for fear the house was going to catch on fire. I mean really by Christmas Eve, a full 28 to 30 day old sitting in water, like that makes a difference, cut tree with a bunch of warm lights just waiting to heat to a level of smoke and spark and we are all doomed. By the time morning, or first light, or earlier than first light, came around and the kids came stampeding down the stairs it was all spectacular and magical and presents and lights and missing milk and cookies and wondrous. As parents we did good work.

Many years ago I bought a boxed tree. I had moved out on my own and getting a boxed tree was the only way I was assured I would have a tree for many years. I was afraid of lean years and the ability to keep the magic flowing. I was being sacrilegious - yet at the time I truly felt I was "stepping out". I love this tree. Now that I have put it up several years in a row it has become somehow important that this tree, this particular boxed tree, should be erected. It's pre-lit - I love that part. It's white - I love that part too. The girls have taken over the construction of the tree. So we have Christmas at our house already this year. The predominant ornament - origami cranes in various colors. Somehow it seems fitting, maybe you have to know me.

The tree is still never lit ALL NIGHT long. That is reserved for the final special night. So this morning when I got up and walked through the apartment to start my coffee and the tree was still on I was a bit taken aback. I left it that way. It makes a good night-light. As the coffee maker started it's gurgling, I headed for the shower. Thing 2, who's bed since she moved in is the couch, opened her eyes and plaintively said to me, "Santa didn't come last night."

Traditions are good. They are stabilizing. They can confuse even the most steady of semi-adults. I kissed Thing 2 on the forehead and told her to check again in 26 days.

Sprites

And so the Old Woman came home to put the flowers on her table and the finishing touches to her saucepans before her guests arrived for dinner. Earlier in the day she had swept the broken floorboards and set the small wooden table for the meal she was to share. On the way home she had stepped off the path to pick some flowers. The Old Woman had not wanted to be seen picking flowers like some maiden. Though the village was far away she did not want to hear the ridicule that would come to pass if she were seen as frolicking or otherwise not behaving. The flowers just off the path and into the woods were vibrant with blue and yellow and the Old Woman could not help but smile as she gathered these flowers to adorn her meager table.

The Old Woman turned to walk back to the path and go along on her way home. A sprite flew in front of the Old Woman and blocked her way. The Old Woman blushed to be found in the woods with her hand-picked flowers, even by a sprite. The sprite hovered in front of the woman and smiled back, “Where are you going Old Woman, with my cousins in blue and my neighbors in yellow? Where would you take my friends and family?”

The Old Woman was surprised to hear the sprite talking to her. She was even more surprised to hear the flowers she had picked would be the friends and relatives of a sprite. “The flowers are so lovely. I wanted to bring them to my cottage to grace my table tonight as I have friends and relatives too that are coming to share a meal with me this very day.” The Old Woman began to gather up the flowers in her basket to hand them back to the sprite. Though the Old Woman was not sure how a sprite would re-plant what she had picked, she was nonetheless willing to believe the sprite would want her friends and family returned.

The sprite was quite pleased with the Old Woman’s response. “Please keep the flowers as they are picked for your table, and Grace is their middle name. Yet, know this that if you will take my cousins and my neighbors to enjoy your meal, then you will have no problem accepting myself and my sisters to enjoy your meal as well.”

The Old Woman became nervous. She had few dishes prepared and only a bit of tea to share with the guests she had already invited. The Old Woman was not sure what a sprite should eat, but she was trying to remember if any sugar was in the larder, or if any cream had been put by in the morning. She spoke as clearly as she could to the sprite. “I have so very little to offer you or your sisters. There will be only mortals as old as I for guests and we are set in our ways. I am sure I have not enough food to fill your bellies, nor enough interesting conversations to set to your ears. If you will still come, you are welcome, but I know not what I can feed you. I am sorry I cannot offer more. I am most grateful for the flowers and I thank you. I am sure you will not wish to come.”

The Old Woman hurried back to the path with her basket of flowers. She looked out over the wooded landscape wondering how many sprites had seen her, and how many sisters a sprite can have. The Old Woman saw no sprites, or fairies, or elves. She saw lovely blue flowers vibrant in the shadows of the tall thick trees. She saw broken expanses of yellow flowers almost bright enough to make sun rise from the forest floor. She was glad of all the relatives and neighbors that flourished in the wood. The Old Woman then hurried home. Her guests would be arriving soon.

The Old Woman had found an earthen jar to place the flowers in. They graced her table quiet agreeably. The Old Woman opened her door for the Seamstress and her daughter, the Woodsman and the Sawyer. They enjoyed a small meal together and spoke of weather and of passings. As the dishes emptied and were put by to wash, and the tea was served the Old Woman heard a tap, tap, tapping at the window. She saw the glowing light that a sprite will shine in the dark when it is happy. The Old Woman was aghast that all the food was eaten and she and her guests were already enjoying the end of the meal cup of tea. She had hoped the sprite would understand she had so very little to offer that the sprite would not come.

The Old Woman excused herself from her guests and went to the window and opened it for the sprite. In washed a handful of sprites. They filled the room with their glow and their laughter. The Seamstress and her daughter looked up from their tea and smiled at the sprites then smiled to each other. What a lovely surprise. The Woodsman and the Sawyer stood up as the sprites flittered into the room. They did not know where they should go or if the sprites were nuisance or guest. The Old Woman was surprised and smiled in spite of herself to see her guests were shocked and amused by the change in their evening. The Old Woman assured the Woodsman and the Sawyer to take their seats and enjoy their tea for as long as they wish. Though the Old Woman offered, the sprites would take no thimble full of tea, nor would they take the bit of crust, for this was all the Old Woman had left to offer.

Yet, the sprites fluttered about the room and lit upon the table laughing together and merrily dancing around the tea cup of the Seamstress and her daughter. The Old Woman’s guests heartily enjoyed the entertainment and clapped along as the sprites sang. Eventually, the Woodsman invited the Seamstress’s daughter to dance along. The sprites glad to have a merry spirit join them circled around the room lighting the corners and the ceiling as all the guests, and the Old Woman too, took to the broken floorboards and danced for a tune or two. The sprites shared their laughter and their smiles. They played merry songs and told jokes for everyone. The evening came on and the dinner party stayed late without a single candle being lit. The sprites lit up the room more than any candle could.

At long last the Seamstress and her daughter, happy and full and tired, excused themselves to go home. The Woodsman and the Sawyer excused themselves to walk the ladies home. The Old Woman hugged them all and bade them a good walk and a lovely night. As the door shut behind her guests the Old Woman turned to see her small cottage bright and cheerful. The blue and yellow flowers seemed to smile from her table. Her heart was full. Her house was haven. Her friends were family. The sprites gently flew up to the Old Woman one by one and each quickly kissed her on the cheek then flew back out the window into the night. As the last sprite left and the cottage was dark the Old Woman closed the window and standing before the window stuck the match to light her candle. In the glow of the candle her window made a mirror. The Old Woman saw a young maiden staring back at her, and smiled.

Homecoming has changed

I stayed downtown last night after work for a lecture and book signing. It was wonderful. I'm glad to get away for a little entertainment - interactive and all. I didn't get home until quarter to ten. I jumped on a late bus from downtown to take me to the nearest Park & Ride near home. It was late. I left the house at six a.m. and by then it was almost ten p.m. as I stood under the non-shelter waiting for my daughters to swing through to pick me up.

I watched the truck pull into the lot and the headlamps do the quick blinding thing. I smiled because they are here. I smiled because I can see they are both in the truck. May opened the passenger door to swap seats to the back. Except she didn't. She stood there in front of me and said, "You are so beautiful. I am so glad you're my mom." I can hear April from the driver's seat laughing at her sister's randomness. May, still chattering on as she got back into the truck said, "They say if you want to know what you will look like when you get older just look at your parents. I am so lucky. You really are beautiful, Mom."

For that moment while I am taking my seat and shutting the door to the truck I felt absolutely beautiful. I've always known my children were beautiful. Last night I got a taste of it.

What I really like...is coming home. My girls make coming home more than it was while I lived alone. They really are beautiful.

Being Newly Adult

Deciding to like something is as much a decision as deciding not to like something. There is no better or worse, things just are. Stuff needs to be dealt with. Buck up, deal with it.

If I said this to my daughter right now she would blow a gasket. At least here I don't have to bite my tongue. Thanks for the outlet.

Interior Design or...

Interior Design or What I did this weekend.

And here for viewing my before pictures and after pictures. I had thought the room was clean when I started. But picture clean and live-in-it clean are two completely different types of clean. This was not a weekend of "clean" meaning "hide", which usually works. This was a weekend of cleaning as in toss it out(old) to make room for stuff to come out of the box(new). empty boxes and all my notes on life (which have been known to take up the entire room)

more empty boxes - they've been offered up on Freecycle. Hey, they're good boxes.

Has been reconfigured into...a bedroom worthy of calling "Home".

Note: Wicked witch's ruby slippers - She's gone. This just isn't Kansas. Time to start over in living color.

New Chapter

While the back story of Marathon Madness continues, I will be adding a character layer for my daughter moving to Washington state. She will be arriving on Tuesday. She too is making a leap and kick-starting life. I don't know how much stuff she gave away or sold, I just know she is moving out here too.

This weekend I have put aside the time to make her room welcoming. I have picked up a bedside table for her. I have a chest of drawers (on loan) and a blow-up bed (on loan as well). I started cleaning out the closet last weekend. I still have work to do there to finish emptying that closet. I would just like for her to have a room to call her own. Yet, (there's always a 'yet') I'm leaving the Thanksgiving/Christmas decorations in the closet. I think she'll get over it.

Some things coming out of her room will be moved into the living room, my room has the chest of drawers that needs to be moved, and the living room needs some rearranging to make everything fit against walls so I don't have to climb over furntiure to get to the kitchen - always a chore that way. I've invited a friend to bring her strong arms over to help wrestle furniture. If she doesn't respond by tonight I'm calling in my reserves (also known as new friends).

It's a new chapter for me, for my daughter...life never really slows down, now does it?

Sons & Mothers

My son moved away today. It's been a hard day for me. He, on the other hand, is wonderfully happy to be starting life again. More power to him.

Vaya con dios.