T-shirts, shoes: Same difference

This is one of the t-shirt quilts my mom made for Tom.

After the overwhelming response I got from last month’s column, I felt it would be fitting to write a follow-up. The parent of one of my students came up to me during meet-the-teacher day at school and the first thing he said was “No, I don’t understand the shoe thing. My wife has about 50 pair of shoes!” Once I figured out what he was talking about (Oh yeah- I write a monthly column!), it suddenly occurred to me that my husband has a t-shirt collection that easily rivals my vast assortment of shoes. So of course I told him that. But I couldn’t get that out of my mind because it seems like women get called out on our shoes, but we choose not to talk about that dirty little secret which is a man’s vast array of t-shirts. It might not always be on purpose, like Michelle’s husband who has acquired his through various events sponsored by his work, which usually get passed on to his son. What I am talking about here is those who hoard t-shirts. Every memory must be sealed through the purchase of a commemorative t-shirt. Jeff Foxworthy once said “You can find out anything you ever wanted to know about a redneck by his t-shirt collection.” Although a guy doesn’t necessarily have to be a “redneck” to have this type of collection. My friend Kari was losing the battle with what seemed to be hundreds of 100% cotton memories that her husband was not willing to part with. She did manage to free up some dresser space when she convinced him to preserve those memories with a t-shirt quilt. When I found myself being squeezed out of my precious shelf space in our closet with yet another Harley-Davidson t-shirt, my mom offered to make Tom a quilt. That was all we needed to be able to do a clean out of sorts. My mom put together two amazing quilts with what he had reluctantly sacrificed. I guess the thing that kept cropping up when I put the question to a Facebook poll, was that these men just won’t get rid of shirts without a fight, even if they really only wear a few with the rest permanently being squished by the weight of the more beloved shirts. When we say “You never wear these, so why don’t you get rid of them?” we usually find ourselves accused of trying to destroy precious memories. Tom still accuses me of getting rid of the shirt he got in the Bahamas when he was twelve and I forever stand by the argument that it just disintegrated in the wash, captured by the lint trap in its final moments. Whether its shoes or shirts, no one is innocent here. So if your husband or significant other makes yet another unnecessary comment about that Payless bag in your hand, simply repeat those famous words from country singer Miranda Lambert: “We’re just like you, only prettier.”

Men: Don't Try to Understand the Shoes

Sorry I'm a little late getting this one up. I'm consumed with second grade! Here's August's column!

There are some things about women that will always be a mystery to men, like our love of shoes. I went to Walmart recently to purchase plastic shoe boxes to use as book totes in my classroom. I needed roughly 40 boxes because I was sorting my books into categories. When I told the cashier that I had 8 five-packs she looked at me funny. “What are you using those for?” When I explained she said “Oh, I thought you had that many pair of shoes.” I laughed for a second, but then I said, “Well, actually, I probably do.” When she looked at me with a shocked expression, I continued with “uh, that includes sandals and flip-flops too, you know?” Then suddenly the woman behind me in line piped up “And the shoes you don’t wear anymore.” Then the cashier joined in and described a pair of boots she only had worn once because they were so uncomfortable but she couldn’t bear to get rid of them. My love affair with shoes began when I was in high school. A friend of mine had a 3 tier shelf that extended the length of her closet and was covered with shoes. She had seasonal shoes, boots, athletic, casual, and dressy shoes. I gazed with envy at that beautiful shrine of shoes and decided then and there that I would have to have just as many. Fast-forward to 2012 and my 40+ pair of shoes. My husband doesn’t seem to understand my need for a variety of footwear in an assortment colors and styles. The topic came up in a conversation with our friends a few months ago. Lisa had gotten a new job and would need shoes she could wear to work and stand on her feet in all day. She needed two pair- one brown, one black. Her husband didn’t understand the need for both brown and black as the shoes were a bit pricy.  While I thought she could uses several other colors, depending on her wardrobe, my husband piped right in and explained how I have to purchase a new pair of athletic shoes every time I take up a new sport, which in his opinion was utterly ridiculous. You’d think that after 20 years of trying to explain it to him he’d understand my reasoning. The shoes must fit the purpose in both color and style.  I think my friend Keni summed it up best when she was explaining to her son the reason why his younger sister would be getting the room with the bigger closet in their new home.  She said, “Boys only need 3 pair of shoes: school shoes, gym shoes, and church shoes, but girls need lots and lots of shoes.  So your sister needs the bigger closet to hold her shoes.” So simple, yet so true.  I guess there are just some things guys will need to accept without ever fully understanding. Love me-love my shoes.

The Quest for Cool

I realize that there are many parents out there who are around my age (40-something) who want to be "cool" in the eyes of their children and their friends.

They dress well and drive awesome cars. They hang out with their kids and their kids see them more like friends.

I also know that there are some who want only to be parents, and if nerdyness is part of that equation, then so be it.

I fall somewhere in the middle. I realize that most likely no matter what I do or how hard I try to be "cool," my attempts will be met with rolling eyes or "Stop, Mom!" While I do try to dress in style, when Robby's friend asked, "Why does your mom dress like she's in our grade?" I took that into consideration and adjusted my wardrobe accordingly.

Recently I got my dream car. Well, it's one of three dream cars, but a dream car no less. Tom and I happened upon a 1979 VW Super Beetle convertible.

We decided not to let this one go by and took the plunge. I was so excited! And to me and almost everyone I told, the response was the same -- "Cool!"

Of course "cool" is relative, generationally speaking.

When we brought the car home the boys both said that they wanted to learn to drive a stick so they could also drive it. Ah, success. They thought it was cool, too! While being cool in my sons' eyes isn't on the top of my priority list, it is a nice validation from time to time.

Tom got to work on making some necessary mechanical upgrades as I waited out the rain in order to drive the car.

The week after we got it, we were getting ready for church and when I was barking my usual Sunday morning orders to get in the car, I heard Sammy say, "We aren't taking that goofy Bug, are we?"

Wait a minute. Goofy?


Is my adorable little car not cool in the eyes of my teenagers after all? How could we have gotten this wrong? They want to learn to drive it, so wouldn't that make it cool in their eyes?

So while I've come to accept that for now I am just a huge geek in their eyes, there will still be a small part of me which hangs on to the notion that someday I'll hear those four magical words -- "Wow mom. That's cool!"

Uninvited Guests

A few years ago, when we were on our way to the hospital to visit a sick relative, one of my sons said, “I don’t want to go. I don’t like hospitals. They make me uncomfortable.” My response was simple. “Sometimes we have to do things that make us uncomfortable so that we can make those we love happy.” He seemed to accept that and we went about our visit. Recently my husband came home and excitedly announced “Jerry Joe is getting married! The wedding is Saturday in the U.P. and I want to go!” My responses were the usual wife-type responses to this. I reminded him that we can’t go to a wedding reception that we weren’t invited to. It’s just rude and there’s a name for that, it’s called “wedding-crashing.” But he protested that because it was Jerry Joe’s wedding, that it didn’t matter if we were invited or not. I know that to men, invitations are simply a formality. I think men feel that verbal notification from a friend-of-a-friend is good enough. Tom hadn’t seen Jerry since we moved here 12 years ago and was determined to go. As the day approached I drug my feet and tried desperately to find something else to distract him. When Saturday arrived, not only were we still going, but we were riding the motorcycle. I was just beside myself. Now we were going to a wedding we weren’t invited to, dressed totally inappropriately for a wedding and with helmet-hair. Tom assured me that it would be similar to one we attended about 15 years ago in Barbeau (also in the U.P.) in which those in attendance wore jeans and concert t-shirts. When we arrived, not only were there no concert t-shirts, but the reception was obviously a formal affair. I was livid. I informed Tom that if he wanted to embarrass himself that was fine, but I would be waiting for him in the lobby. Tom proudly walked right through the tastefully dressed guests and up the stage stairs and sat down at the head table right next to Jerry, who at that time was sitting up there by himself talking to someone directly in front of him. I stood in the doorway and watched as after a couple of minutes of not being noticed, Jerry suddenly turned around and saw Tom sitting there with a big grin on his face. Jerry just lit up as the two old friends reunited. We ended up staying for a quite while as Tom caught up with more old friends. He was really happy. On the ride home I was reminded of my statement to my son all of those years ago. Yes, sometimes we do have to do things that make us uncomfortable. I know it sure made Tom happy and that in turn, made me happy too.

Column published June 23, 2012

The Phenomenon of the Extra Kid

When someone said the average family has 2.5 children, I think I know what he meant. We have two kids.  When Tom and I decided to stop at two kids I thought it was a good idea at the time. I was a working mom and I convinced myself that I shouldn’t have more kids to simply put them in daycare. A year after we made the decision “final” I began to struggle. Had we been too hasty? I struggled for years with that decision even to the point of looking into adoption. But what I didn’t realize is that I didn’t need to beat myself up too badly. All I had to do was wait for the extra kid. Our family is really no different than most. I think most parents can agree that there is usually at least one extra kid hanging around at one time or another. When I was growing up Chris was our extra kid.  She called my mom and dad “Mom and Dad.” She ate dinner at our house 2-3 times a week and spent the night at least once a week. Tom’s extra kid was Brian. Tom spent a lot of time at Brian’s house and Brian went on sailing trips with Tom’s family.  If you’re still not sure what I mean, the extra kid I’m talking about is the one who is around much of the time. The extra kid is the one who is at the house so much that your grocery bill is affected. He even knows where the sheets are so he can make up his couch when he stays. You have stopped saying “Make yourself at home” because he already does. This is also the kid who is around so much on weekends that if he isn’t there you start to wonder where he is. In addition to that the kids don’t even ask if he can come over anymore. He is just suddenly here with a friendly “Hey Ms. Hovie, Mr. Hovie.”  He also becomes part of the family routine. He brings in the groceries, takes his plate to the sink, and feeds the dog or helps with the dishes if he’s asked to. You also just figure that the unidentifiable clothes in the laundry belong to him. Our extra kid is even in line for hand-me-down clothes. There are many advantages to having this additional part-time family member. He loves everything I cook. He is always polite and never gets mouthy.  Actually it’s really the ideal situation. We’ll miss him when he leaves home, but won’t have to pay for college. We’ll attend his wedding but won’t have to pay for that either. So if you’re young parents wondering if you made the right decision to stop having kids all you have to do is wait. Your extra kid will be along in no time and you’ll love him like he’s one of your own. I know I do.

Jay is our "extra kid" on the left.

Spring Break RV Style

We have not been known for our outstanding family vacations. To tell you the truth, when the four of us return from a family vacation speaking to each other, we deem it a success. Because of this, our family vacations are either brief (no more than two days) or spaced several years apart. I don’t know why cramming the four of us into a vehicle for more than 2 hours brings out the worst in us. I mean, we should be able to travel and have a relaxing time, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to work out that way for us. It was with some trepidation that we told Robby that we would take him wherever he wanted to go on his senior spring break. We were relieved when he chose Florida because we are familiar with that state and how to get there, but nervous because that would mean 25 hours in a cramped car together which at times has been a deal-breaker. We tried to avoid that by looking at airfare, but the prices were not within our anticipated budget. So we decided to try renting an RV. The other problem we have is that the four of us all have completely different ideas of what fun is. As the trip approached I suffered a couple of migraines worrying that we just wouldn’t be able to come to any sort of agreements about where we would go in Florida or what we would do. Tom surprised me the most saying that it would be “great” and that he was excited to go.  We had one spirited (to say the least) family meeting about our activities and settled on a few different things to do. I was actually looking forward to ride in the RV. I had daydreams of whipping up a delicious meal while we tooled down the highway. I quickly realized that my imagination had obviously gotten the better of me. The night before we left I had an attack of vertigo and found myself mostly confined to the front seat.  Moving around in an older RV heading down the highway is far from smooth sailing. It’s more like hurricane sailing. I didn’t get sick, but I have a variety of bruises from being thrown around as Tom kept us from getting sucked into the path of a passing semi or rear-ending someone in the bumper to bumper stop and go traffic in Indianapolis. Since we could usually go no faster than about 63 miles per hour, the trip to Florida took about 5 hours longer than expected. But a funny thing happened. We all got along. It’s amazing to me that a little space and an on-board bathroom does wonders for peoples moods. We got some much needed R&R and quality family time. I can honestly say that we had a good trip. Actually, I’d have to say it was outstanding.

A Wrinkle in Time

This is my 24th Column! Happy 2 year Anniversary to me! I can't believe that two years have passed since I started sharing my life with my readers. I love writing and this has been a great outlet for me. I continued to be surprised when complete strangers comment on my column. Thanks for 2 years of encouragement (and material-haha).
Dawn

Published March 24, 2012:

I found a new wrinkle recently and I am not happy about it. It’s a horizontal line between my nose and upper lip. I’m guessing it’s some sort of laugh line. I think the name is misleading. I may have gotten it from laughing, but I’m not laughing now. I’ve watched the progression of wrinkles closely for years now. I figured that I would be looking at premature wrinkling due to my sun abuse in my younger days, yet I continue to be surprised at the appearance of those pesky fine lines. The frown lines (a much more appropriate name) were the first to appear. These are the prominent horizontal wrinkles across the forehead. When I had bangs it was easier to cover these up, but because of the motorcycle helmet, bangs are no longer an option. For years I have seen those crinkly crow’s feet on the corners of Tom’s eyes, but they have not seemed to go much further on him. Of course, wrinkles are distinguishing on a man, right? I have been preparing for wrinkles for years, starting with moisturizer in my early twenties and although there are people who are still surprised that I am 44, I can clearly see the elasticity disappearing from my face. When I wake up from a nap the telltale pillow dent can stay on my cheek for hours. My husband smirks and says “Sooooo, did you take a nap today?”  One morning I wore a crocheted hat to work and the bumps from it stayed on my forehead almost until lunch. The only good thing about that was that they distracted from my frown lines for a couple of hours. So I moisturize more with specific creams targeted for specific areas of my face like my eyes. I would consider more drastic measures but I hate needles so Botox isn’t an option for me. Plus I have seen too many rubber-faced women on TV who probably look worse than if they had just let the wrinkles progress naturally. My aunt once told me that she is embracing her wrinkles and trying to love each one. She is 10 years older than me so maybe she’s a little further along in the process of acceptance than I am. I’m sure I’ll get there some day. For now I plan to continue on my daily regimen of cleansing and moisturizing along with religious use of sunscreen.  Unlike grey hairs that can be covered in dye, wrinkles are a daily reminder in the mirror of middle age and the approach of old age. But I guess if I have to acquire more wrinkles I’m going to make darn sure that they are the ones that are named for laughing.