I Think I Watch Entirely Too Much TV

Every so often I get hooked on a particular TV show. When I was a kid I used to pretend that I was one of the Brady Bunch. I watched every episode and wondered what it would be like to grow up in a family of 6 kids. I watched Laverne and Shirley and couldn't wait to live in a basement apartment with a fun and quirky roommate. I've seen just about every single episode of Beverly Hills 90210, some more than once. That show was what one might consider a guilty pleasure. I don't particularly know what attracted me to it, other than the curiosity of how the other half lives. Now my show of choice seems to be everyone else's too: Downton Abbey. I absolutely love that show. After just one episode I found myself watching entire seasons at a time just to catch up. Downton Abbey is a PBS Masterpiece Classics show about a wealthy family in World War 1 era Britain. The family lives on the fictitious Downton Abbey estate. The show also follows the lives of the servants. It is so well written that its story lines and characters stay with me long after 10:00 Sunday night. In fact, after watching several episodes In a row I find myself thinking in a British accent.  The funny thing is that the show does not make me want to be the daughter of a wealthy estate owner in the 1920s. I actually wonder how these people did not literally die of boredom. The ladies of the house would wake up and ring for breakfast in bed. Someone would bring up the food and pick out the days outfits.  Then they'd basically walk around and talk about arranged marriages, money, and other random stuff all while looking fabulous. Another show I can't seem to get enough of is the House Hunters series on HGTV. It is a show about people looking for a new house either here in America or over seas. As I watch I am literally amazed at how picky and shallow people can be. The potential home buyers say things like "I can't possibly be happy in a home without stainless steel appliances and granite countertops." At the same time I'm a little envious. We hear all over the news how teachers are over paid yet I watch marketing reps search for their second $500,000 home in Houston. I would have to win the lotto in order to even consider just one $500,000 home. I'm also curious about the families who just pick up and move their families to places like France and Brazil. These people are described as world travelers, but really don't seem to have any sort of income. I guess that's why there are shows like Downton Abbey and House Hunters. All of these shows have something in common for me. As I think about how life could be, I remind myself to be thankful for what I have. Yes, at times I live a little vicariously through those looking for the perfect home with stunning views while at the same time knowing that a home can still be  happy with appliances that don't match and laminate countertops.

Keep Calm. Spring is Coming

I was standing in my bedroom one day looking out at the beauty and tranquility of the gently falling snow. I can't describe the feelings that washed over me as I looked out at this "Walking Through the Woods on a Snowy Evening" scene spread out before me. Wait a minute. Yes I could. The feelings were anger, disgust, and frustration. This day in particular wasn't late November or early December, it was March 28th, the first day of my spring break. The previous day we has gotten a whopping 2-3 inches of heavy snow and probably the worst drive to work I had experienced all year. I reminded myself of the same thing I tell myself every year around this time. "It's OK. It will melt. At least it isn't November." Only this year it seems different for some reason. First, I usually find myself saying that to myself in early to mid March. Second, with the February like temperatures we had all through March, April is not turning out to be all that springy. Who's to say that once the lakes begin to melt we won't get April showers in the form of lake effect snow? I really am the kind of person who tries to make the best of it. I feel like if we have chosen to live up here we should take advantage of the winter conditions and do things like ski, skate, and snowshoe. That all sounds good on theory, but I haven't once done any of those things this winter even though I own both skis (downhill and cross country) as well as snowshoes. But enough is enough! I avoided going on Facebook to look at pictures of my friends' fabulous spring break extravaganzas and have forbidden my mom from sending anymore "It's 80 degrees here in Florida and look at pictures of my begonias!" emails. I am reminded of that old British poster that says "Keep Calm and Carry On" (in case you didn't know the original version because it's everywhere in every rendition imaginable). Only I have come up with some versions of my own:

Keep Calm and Keep Shoveling
Keep Calm and Wear A Sweater
Keep Calm and Buy Snow Tires

I usually refuse to wear socks after spring break as a point of protest, but I don't think that's going to happen for a while. And when this endless winter does finally make way for spring the last of the snow is going to melt like gangbusters. Then, well, just Keep Calm and Swim.

My Life in the Stands

This one was written in early March. It didn't make the paper. Enjoy!

It's Friday night and I have done the grocery shopping. Now the weekend is mine, I tell myself. But not so fast. Don't forget that the laundry needs to be done, we are volunteering at a youth wrestling tournament on Saturday and there's church and a play I want to attend on Sunday. Oh, and remember the stack of papers that need to be corrected and the lesson plans that still aren't finished. Since Early December our Saturdays have been spent in the bleachers at various varsity wrestling tournaments throughout northern Michigan. With my son making it all all the way to States this year we tacked on 3 more weeks to the season. Don't get me wrong. I love the sport of wrestling and I especially love supporting my son and his athletics. I enjoy supporting both boys in whatever they choose to do whether it's Sammy's sports or Robby's music and ministry. However, spending 8 hours sitting in bleachers after a two hour drive can test even the most dedicated parent. I always take a little ditty bag of stuff to keep me busy. I have even taken to letting school work pile up so I could take it with me on Saturdays. Even the excitement of the state tournament at The Palace of Auburn Hills quickly wore off as we stayed in the stands for the familiar 8 hour stretch. I have to keep reminding myself that we only have one more year and then it will be over. I do know there are parents who can completely relate when I utter that tiny prayer "Lord, please let this be the blizzard that calls off the tournament just this one Saturday." I understand that swim meets and volleyball tournaments can be just as brutal on the lower back and posterior. I really don't remember my butt hurting that much when the boys were younger. Maybe I just had more padding back then or the cartilage hadn't yet begun to break down in my hips. But besides the pain and discomfort of bleachers, Saturday tournaments reduce my weekends to the 5 hours after church on Sundays to get everything done that I can't do during the week. As much as I would like to say that everyone willingly pitches in, let's be real. Most of it falls on me. Fortunately another wrestling season is behind us and I am looking forward to a weekend of rest and relaxation. It just won't be this weekend.

The Endless Grouchy Teen Stage

"I am soooooooo over the grouchy teen stage!" I lamented to my aunt via text message. We started that stage of parenting when my older son Robby turned 13 and it continues with our younger son, Sammy, who is 17 and literally disgusted with our every word. I should have known. When our boys were toddlers I was having a conversation with a neighbor.
"I remember when my son was little. He was so sweet. Then he became a teenager and he turned on me." She warned.
"You must be a bad parent," I remember thinking. I was going to fill our home with positivity and open lines of communication. Wrong answer. I was quickly humbled to learn that I was just as bad at parenting because with each 13th birthday came a stranger. Apparently this isn't a new phenomenon. In her book, "Just wait till you have children of your own!" Erma Bombeck said that her children withdrew to their rooms when they turned 13 and didn't reappear until they were married. Where were my sweet boys, one who brought me wounded chipmunks and the other, who said "Watch Mom!" as he showed me tricks he could do on his rip-stick in the driveway? They talked to me about everything and had smiles that were contagious.
Now I find myself learning about my boys relationships through the gossip grapevine.
"I hear your son is taking so-and-so to Homecoming."
"Yes he is! She's a sweet girl. We're so glad he asked her."
Then I send the rage-filled text. "Really? I have to learn about your homecoming date from someone at school? Will you at least be kind enough to invite me to your wedding?"
I literally have to work up tears so they will tell me where prom pictures are going to be taken.
"I have raised you for 17 years and I can't even be there with the other moms when you get pictures taken? What have I done that is SO embarrassing? My mere presence is humiliating to you?"
"Take it easy Mom. I'll be sure to have someone's mom tag you on Facebook."
I know I'm not alone in this. One of my friends sat in her car for 20 minutes waiting to take homecoming pictures, only to learn that pictures were being taken at a different location.  Just asking simple questions evokes a hostile response with "that face." I recently said to Sammy, "Do you realize that the only time you're nice to me is when you want something from me?"
"No, he replied. I just asked you for gas money and I wasn't nice."

And there you have it. See you at your wedding!

A Few Simple Rules for Staying Home Alone

At parent teacher conferences I always get to talk to at a least a few parents who are raising boys and I think back to when our boys were young. They were pretty active and at times needed some pretty specific rules and guidance. Our boys are older now so we don't have much when it comes to rules other than, "Make smart choices," "Be home at a reasonable hour," and "Call if your plans change." They really aren't rules as much as they are guidelines. I am a worrier though. I'm the kind of parent that worries that if I don't say it, the worst might happen. I have said "Watch for deer" so many times that the kids thought it was funny to beat me to it and yell "Watch for deer!" on their way out the door. But then when Tom and I hit one with our motorcycle last fall I said, "See! It CAN happen. Anyone care to mock me now?"
When we first started leaving the kids home alone we had the fairly standard list of rules like "No fighting" and "No calling Mom or Dad for stupid reasons." Of course we had to be specific. "An emergency means someone has lost a limb, not Robby won't give me the remote." When they were old enough for whittling with pocket knives and air soft guns we would leave saying "No guns. No knives"  One day I specifically remember leaving for a ride on the motorcycle and as I swung my leg over the bike I called out "There's some steak on the stove!" Then at the same time Tom and I both yelled, "Don't eat the steak! There's yogurt in fridge" (obviously, someone could choke).
No guns
No knives
No solid food

For a while there it seemed like we were adding a new rule to the list every time we went out. Like the time we came home and one child had tied the other one up and left him in the back yard.
No rope

Someone learned that you could set fire to ants and leaves in the driveway with a magnifying glass.
No fire

"Robby broke the couch."
"How do you know he broke it. Looks fine to me"
"Well, we heard a huge crack when he hit it after jumping off the balcony."
No jumping off the balcony.

"Geeze! What can we do?"
"You can stay upstairs and watch a movie. Your brother can stay downstairs and play xbox."
I'm thankful that those days passed us by without serious injury or fire department intervention. These days when we leave all we say is "Clean up after yourselves and don't forget to feed the dog." And the response?  "OK. Watch for deer!"

Let me Tell You About my "Children"

Back in January I eagerly entered this column in the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. The results came out and I wasn't one of the winners, which was disappointing, but I can finally publish it. Enjoy!

I guess I just assumed that bragging about my children would always come naturally. Maybe not. A few weeks before Christmas, a neighbor of ours hosted a holiday open house as a sort of "get-to-know-you" evening. I should probably mention that our neighborhood isn't a young, up and coming area full of families with young kids. It is predominately people our age, (mid to upper 40's), and older. As we were chatting with folks we knew and acquainting ourselves with neighbors we didn't, I found myself talking mostly about our pets. People would ask about our kids and I would say, "We have two boys; one is 17 and one is 20. But let me tell you about our cats!" I seemed to blather on and on about how Nova is an expert mouser, or spent 45 minutes describing the medical concerns of our aging dog. The funny thing is the conversations like that were mutual. When do we stop bragging about our children and start swapping Instagram photos of our cats like I do with my friend Bridget? I have not seen one picture of an old friend's adult daughter on his Facebook page, but I could name every one of his 4 dogs. Our next door neighbor and I were discussing her previous dog, Ivy and also the current one, CJ, when she mentioned something about their son and daughter-in-law. Son? Those people have lived next door for 7 years and I had no idea that they even had children! And likewise, she couldn't get my kids' names straight but she could easily name our dog and recall the name of our last cat. I have known for a long time that the circle of life begins with your pets as "kids" and then when the real kids come along the pets become animals again. What I didn't know is that when you can't gush over those adorable pictures of your kids with green beans smeared over their faces anymore because they are now grouchy teenagers who want nothing to do with you, the next likely step is to revert back to those sweet furry friends who can't get enough of our affection. This went on and on at that party.
"Did you know the cute little dog on the corner, Angel, died? And what's the little girl's name again?"
"Yes, of course I know you. You are the one with the beautiful German Shepherds."
I'm sure this stage is temporary as we patiently await grandchildren. But until that time I'm going to need a bumper sticker that says "Let me tell you about my beagle/golden retriever mix."

Feeding Boys--2 Years Later

A few years ago I wrote a column about the challenges of feeding teenage boys. At the time we were going through roughly a gallon of milk a day and couldn't keep food in the house, now I find myself at the other end of the spectrum. My guys are older. Both are driving and have jobs, sports, and other social obligations or responsibilities that take them away from home quite frequently. In the old days I'd spend an hour or so coming up with a weekly menu. This worked out pretty well until we turned the corner into jobs and drivers licenses. These days my menu consists of 2-3 meal ideas with the hopes of having at least one night with everyone home. Meat stays frozen until the last minute and I make sure we have lots of eggs and cereal. Poor Tom has been the one who seems to suffer the most because if I find out the boys won't be home for dinner I figure there's no point in making an elaborate meal until he says "What's for dinner?" And I say "Oh, um eggs." Or Ill try and act like I had a plan by saying "fried egg sandwiches!" Sometimes we have one of the boys and a friend home so Ill make dinner. Then just before dinner is ready they will say "We're heading out. Sorry! We'll grab something in town" and then Tom and I are stuck with sloppy joes for the next three nights strait. One particularly annoying situation occurs when I make dinner expecting one or both boys home and when they arrive I tell them that dinner is ready only to be informed that they have already eaten elsewhere. Again, Tom and I are eating cream of something casserole leftovers for a few days. As you can tell, I'm kind of an all or nothing person. If we all aren't going to be here I'm not crazy about putting in the effort to making a big meal if its just going to be the two of us at the table separated by a laptop and an iPad. Transitioning into empty-nest hood seems to be a process of slowly making adjustments here and there. I am learning to cook for two while being ready for four. I seriously understand why empty nesters eat out a lot. Its just easier. Our weekly family dinner has evolved to JW Fillmore's after church. It's still a challenge feeding boys. However, the challenge seems to be knowing when and how much. One thing I fairly certain of is when the transition has been made and its just Tom and I, he probably won't be requesting eggs for dinner.