Thursday, December 11, 2014

Happy Birthday Sesame Street!


“Well, what do you know? It turns out I’m older than Sesame Street,” I said to Tom the night that PNR printed the story about Sesame Street, (probably the first show I remember watching), turning 45. I never even stopped to think that I might be older than the show that helped me earn a badge in Brownies by teaching me to recite 1-15 in French. This same show taught me those same numbers in Spanish as the children I babysat watched the Hispanic version when we moved to the Lansing Area. What kind of childhood show causes an adult of 46 to hum “do doo da doo doo” every time she hears the word “phenomena?” My children watched Barney when they were toddlers and I can guarantee you they don’t sing “I’m the elephant elevator operator!” every time they enter an elevator! They did watch Sesame Street for a short time when they were young, but it really didn’t seem to be the same. It was a different generation and the target audience didn’t seem to be my Upper Peninsula bred, dinosaur-loving kids. Even though they don’t have the same fond memories it doesn’t stop me from thinking of Big Bird’s giant nest whenever I would see that eagle’s nest on the billboard somewhere near Alanson. Cookie Monster with his googly eyes, who only ate cookies (NOT vegetables! I’m sorry, but that’s just wrong), and Grover were friends of mine. And I loved to count with the Count. I’m even old enough to remember SS before there was an Elmo. I am also a person who was impacted by the life lessons that show taught me. I mean, doesn’t everyone my age know that you should NOT eat crackers in bed? Thank you Bert and Ernie. I don’t even think I would ever use the word “grouch” if it hadn’t been for Oscar. Not to mention calling my kids “Oscar the Grouch” at times. I had some real life friends there too. Maria was probably my favorite human on the street. I can still hear her voice talking to her Muppet neighbors. I can also hear Kermit the Frog singing “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” Even after I became too old for the people in my neighborhood (the people that I meet each day), I never felt too old to sing “One of these things is not like the other. Three of these things are kind of the same.” to my classroom full of second graders. Does it make me feel old knowing that I’m older than Sesame Street? No it doesn’t. In fact it’s quite the opposite.  I want to say Happy Birthday to a show that impacted my life in more ways than one…cookie.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Being a Great Aunt is Just Great!

I am extremely excited to share that I have recently acquired the title of "great aunt." In September my niece and her fiancé welcomed a baby boy into the world. I used to think of a great aunt as someone with blue hair named Mertyl or Dotie. But now that I am one, I think of it more along the lines of being an aunt who just got a promotion. Being a great aunt is almost as awesome as being a grandma without the added grandmotherly responsibilities. I saw that diapers were on sale at Meijer and thought to myself, "I should buy those for Leslie." Now a grandmother really should buy the diapers, but a great aunt doesn't feel the obligation that the grandma might feel. And let's face it, I'd much rather say that I'm a great aunt than a grandmother. I sort of think of myself as a grandma-in-training. My sons aren't anywhere near ready to get married, so I would prefer that they not bestow me with that title just yet. Of course I'll be thrilled when the time is right. It just isn't right now. It's funny to me that not very long ago when I heard the term "great aunt" I though "old." But when Leslie told me she was going to have a baby I was so excited I could hardly stand it. And by the time little Carver came into the world I was telling anyone who would listen that I'm a great aunt. I continue to pass these milestones that are supposed to make me feel older and for some reason I feel the same. I feel like the worlds youngest great aunt. It's so surreal to me that I'm a great aunt that I feel like it should be called something different. Seriously, I remember my own great aunts and they seemed old; really old! My great aunts on my moms side were called "aunties." They had grey hair and made hand painted paperweights. They seemed to be on the cusp of the hereafter. But I wonder if they were like me. Maybe they were pushing 50 and just as excited to be great aunts as I am now. I'm learning that age is just a number and being called a "great" anything doesn't define me. I'm also learning that a title like "great aunt" doesn't mean I'm old. It simply means exactly what it says, that my niece just had a baby and it doesn't make me feel old. It makes me feel just great.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

When is it Time to Say Goodbye?

            I don't return home to a loud bark or a wagging tail anymore. These days I go into the house with bated breath, wondering if the curled up ball of orange fur is going to open her eyes and gingerly arise so that I can lead her to the door to go out. I know there will come a day when her eyes won't open; when she won't get up. Actually we are hoping that will be the case. Neither Tom nor I have it in us to make the decision to end another pet's life. We did that with our cat and it was simply too traumatic for both of us. In fact, we swear he is haunting us because of it, but I'll save that story for another time.
Molly, our 14 year old Golden retriever/beagle mix has had several near-death episodes and yet death eludes her. One was nine years ago when she ate enough indoor-outdoor carpet to snake through her entire intestines and leave a loaf of bread sized ball of it in her stomach. But she was only 5 then and we couldn't end the life of a good dog just because of a little carpet-eating habit. Major surgery and about $900 later she was home and on the mend. In 2007 she had a severe injury in to her back that had us thinking "this could be the end" and yet again, with a little bit of doggy Motrin, she was back to her old self. About two years ago we started finding her standing in front of walls just staring, unresponsive. A trip to the vet came back with a diagnosis of dementia (we didn't know dogs got dementia either). The prognosis was 6-8 months and we sadly went home with another prescription to help manage pain. Once again she miraculously recovered. About a year ago she began leaving us presents of the most unpleasant kind. It wasnt a life-ending problem. We just needed to be more diligent about letting her out and insisting she leave the porch. But you know when they start losing their ability to "hold it" the end is usually approaching.
             "We're nearing the end boys, (again), and you should start preparing yourselves to say goodbye to Molly-Moll" we sadly said. That was a year ago. I even started a little Facebook album called "Mondays with Molly" in which I'd post cute or funny pictures of her, thinking it would only go on for a few weeks. I finally quit after about 8 months. Earlier in the summer she had to be carried down the stairs. This must be it, we thought. I asked for prayers from friends. She hasn't been carried down since. She has arthritis and getting up and down is a bit of a struggle for her, but with her medicine she still manages to run laps around the yard like a dog half her age. Every bag of dog food I think to myself "This will probably be the last bag." The same is true with each new bottle of medicine. 

For Tom and I, the hardest part is knowing when is the time to say goodbye. Everyone we talk to tells us that we will just know when it's time. I'm pretty sure that Molly knows it's ultimately up to her and based on the past, I think she's just decided that she isn't going anywhere. And that's ok with me.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Surviving my "Year of Crying"

Welcome to my Year of Crying. It isn't a year of crying over lost loved ones like 2010-11 was. It's more like my year of crying, 2011-12 when Robby was a senior in high school. In fact, I have been preparing myself for this year of crying because I remember every "last" that got me choked up to the point of tears the first time around. This year of crying began at this past spring's CHS commencement ceremony as I teared up watching my emotional friends return to their seats after handing diplomas to their graduating seniors, knowing that I would be doing the very same thing in approximately 364 days, (note to self: get waterproof mascara). This year of crying will be different though. It will be a year of lasts as my youngest son goes from a high school senior to a college freshman. I will cry on his last first day of school, his last first football game, and his last final football game. I'll be on the bleachers wiping away tears during his last first wrestling match and during his last tournament of the season. I will be misty-eyed though homecoming and prom pictures. I'll choke back tears as he pole vaults for the last time and as we go on college visits. Mostly, I will cry because I am not ready for this to end. I'm not ready to be done being the mom of school-aged children although I realize that even if I had 10 children, there eventually must come a time when I would be forced to pass into the next phase of life as the parent of adult children. Tom and I wonder what we will do on those quiet Friday nights in the fall, and the long Saturdays in the winter. There will be a gap between school aged children and grandchildren that we have been preparing for since the kids got drivers licenses and summer jobs. Even though I pray that this year will creep by I know that like everything else in life I will blink and it will be over. I will try to enjoy each moment, every report card, every joyful event, every heart break, every win, and every loss. Because in June 2015, life must carry on in new and hopefully exciting ways not only for our children, but for Tom and I as well. So if you see me and I am in tears, don't worry. They are tears of sadness for what must pass and tears of anticipation for what is to come. I will survive my year of crying because that anticipation far outweighs the wad of damp Kleenex in my hand.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Farming...City-girl Style


I have many hobbies that I enjoy, but gardening isn’t one of them.  I still consider myself a “city girl” even though I’ve lived up her for over 20 years. I grew up with a mom who was and still is, in my opinion, a “master gardener.” When I was a kid we always had a fairly large garden every summer and then a pantry stocked with canned fresh fruits and vegetables all winter. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her passion or talent for gardening and canning. Tom and I tried growing vegetables, but after a few frustrating summers, our garden now consists of several sorry looking strawberry plants and 5 blueberry bushes, only one of which produces berries. I always want fresh summer vegetables, and since becoming a vegetarian, they have actually become quite an important staple in our house. This spring I discovered Bluestem Farm in East Jordan. They are a CSA, which a farm where you purchase shares, and in return you receive whatever quantity of, in my case, vegetables you order on a weekly or bi-weekly basis. The catch is that you don’t pick what you want. You just take what they bring, which means whatever is in season. Since I only have a vague idea of what I’m getting from week to week, it’s literally like having a vegetable Christmas every Monday! I have only discovered one problem. When one gets enough produce to feed a small herd of sheep, one must first, know how to process and preserve it all, and second, have the patience and attention span to do so. I need to clarify that my fruit and vegetable processing skills include stuffing freezer bags with corn and making freezer jam, neither of which require much time or effort. I did attempt real jam last summer with real canning jars and I need to be honest. The amount of time and effort it took did not in any way pay off with the 6 pints of runny jam that resulted from the process. Since my family is unable to consume such a large amount of vegetables coming in week after week, I had to do some research in order to find quick and easy ways to preserve things like greens and beets, hopefully which involved freezer bags. If I don’t, my fridge is overflowing with produce that we can’t possibly finish before it’s time to pick up the next delivery.  What a problem to have, right? I’m not complaining though. I am thrilled with our decision to buy this share and support one of our local farms. We are loving the new and diverse range of produce, much of which I have never voluntarily bought at the store. Mary, from Bluestem, gives us recipes, tips, and advice in her weekly email. All of which makes the whole process a bit less overwhelming. I am happy to report that I don’t have to be a master gardener/canner in order to live like one. All this city girl needs is an ample supply of freezer bags and a lot of fresh produce.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Got Your Manners?

Wow, it's the middle of July and I just realized that I didn't post my June column! Where is the summer going? I may be a teacher, but I'm definitely not hanging out at the lake. Work beckons 12 months of the year! Well, here it is. Enjoy!

"Doesn't anyone have manners anymore?" I grumbled to my husband yet again as we left the grocery store. I don't know if I'm just overly sensitive, or if there really is a lack of manners in our society. When my friend Lynn's son was much younger, she would cheerfully call out "Got your manners?" as she dropped him off at our house. "Yup!" he would respond as if he had "please" and "thank you" neatly tucked into his pocket. I thought it was such a sweet reminder that I started using it with my own kids. When I was a kid, my mom was a stickler for manners. I'd say "Can I have a cookie?" And she'd respond with, "I don't know, can you?" Although it never happened I vividly remember being reminded that I might feel the pain of a fork in the back of my hand if I reached across the table for food as "Please pass the corn" was an expected exchange at our dinner table. I have carried on the expectation of common courtesy in my own classroom. For instance, if a child asks for something I ask, "Do you have nice manners?" while waiting for a "please" or "thank you." Young children are usually in a hurry to get where ever they're going so I am constantly saying "Say excuse me!" There used to be a Dear Abby-type column in the paper called "Miss Manners" for people who were unclear about the whole concept of being polite. It was a question and answer column mostly having to do with etiquette. The answers always began with "Miss Manners says..." I actually think we do a pretty good job at teaching our kids to use their manners, but somewhere along the way we seem to forget to "practice what we preach," which brings me to my irritation at other shoppers in the grocery store. When I need to push my cart in front of another shopper I usually say "excuse me." Then in my head I wait for the "oh that's ok" that never comes. Sometimes I get a little obnoxious and repeat "excuse me!" In a louder voice as if they didn't hear me the first time. Or when someone pushes their cart in front of me or grabs something off of a shelf that I was looking at I again, assume an "excuse me" is coming. I even say "oh! I'm sorry!" which is frequently met with a blank stare or less. This kind of behavior has transcended all socioeconomic groups. I have nearly been run over by drivers in the nicest cars without even an "Oops I almost hospitalized you" wave of regret. It's almost the opposite; kind of a "You shouldn't have been in that clearly marked crosswalk glare" instead. I guess my point is that I think the world would be a much happier place if we all made sure our manners were neatly tucked in our pockets before we left home. At least grocery shopping would be for me.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Something Suddenly Came Up!

I have a confession to make. I'm not a very eager helper. You are probably thinking that it can't be true because I'm an elementary school teacher. After all, teaching is a helping profession  isn't it? In the confines of my day job, I do consider myself somewhat of a helpful person. I help kids all day long. And I also like sharing lessons and ideas with my colleagues. Outside of my job I like to help out at church and don't mind helping my friends. My shortcomings arise whenever my husband asks me for help. I feel like I have quite a few of my own housework type responsibilities that I take care of with little or no help from the three guys I share my home with. So when I hear "Hey Honey, Can you come out here for a minute and help me?" Let's just say I'm not one to drop whatever I am doing and dash out to the garage to hold a flashlight in the freezing cold. My husband is a busy guy. He works all day then runs a small business out of our home at night. Sometimes he needs another set of hands. I find myself conjuring up projects so I will be too busy to help. It's cold in the garage! A couple of weekends ago some trees had to come down in the yard. I made sure I had plenty to do around the house so as not to get roped into dragging tree limbs into the back yard all day long. I actually managed to avoid it and was quite pleased with myself. That is until I went to school on Monday. A friend of mine was telling me about her sore neck and shoulders that occurred from helping her husband fell trees and drag limbs and branches around all day Sunday. Suddenly I didn't feel so proud of myself. So this past weekend I made amends. I have been wanting our back deck to get finished and convinced Tom to work on it instead of cutting down more trees. Ordinarily I would come up with my usual list of have-tos in order to make myself scarce. However, I knew that the job would not only be the deck railing but assembling the new deck furniture. I decided that in order for this project to take less than two full weekends of Tom doing it by himself with two reluctant sons, that it was time for me to jump in and help. I am happy to report that a sore neck and shoulders later, I assembled all of the new deck furniture while at the same time handing Tom tools and helping him level posts. So maybe this means I've turned over a new, helpful leaf!
"What's that Honey? You're planning on cutting down more trees this weekend and you need my help? Shoot! I would, but something suddenly came up!"