A Short Story on Independence Day

 Last week Doug and I traveled to Denver to attend Pride with our daughter, Alex. It was fascinating, fun and a wonderful celebration of people of all identities. Not everyone has the luxury of having a space where you feel safe and loved. But love and kindness abounded, at least for that weekend in Denver.

Beyond Pride, we had another interesting interaction last weekend as our Uber driver, Mahad, took us out to eat. He was a young man from Sudan. He had a soccer shirt on, so we obviously had a lot in common. Like the clueless, American binge watcher soccer mom I am, I asked him if he ever watched Ted Lasso. Of course, he didn't know what I was talking about.  Then I switched gears and asked him what brought him to the United States. "This!" he explained––the money and opportunity. He had a little girl and a pregnant wife in Africa. And he could support them so much better with the money he made here. He talked about how he missed them and couldn't wait until they came and visited him. Then I asked a question in which I was a little nervous to hear the response. I asked him how he liked the United States. And his answer? "100% love it." The answer shocked both Doug and I a bit, as we constantly hear the depressing news of racism and divisiveness in our country, which I have no doubt is real. But it was small breath of fresh air to hear this young African man talk about how safe he felt and how much opportunity he had here.

As we celebrate the 4th of July, I hope we can remember we're still a young country trying to sort out the ideals of democracy and equality for all. We have our challenges, for sure. But it's stories like Mahad's, a grateful man looking to build a good life for his family, that should remind us what we stand for and give us hope––for individuals of all kind.

Happy 4th Everyone!

Controlling Christmas

It's been quite a holiday season. There's been everything from seeing Jesus Christ Superstar to fighting sickness to partying on a holiday party bus to announcing a reorganization at work to fighting sickness (again) to hosting Christmas for the first time.

It's been a mix of wonderment, fun, illness, anxiety, excitement, and... a bit of sadness.

Last weekend, I had somewhat of a breakdown. It seemed that a simple cold had pushed me over the edge of this sensory-laden season. My hubby knew better. After some empathetic questioning, he forced me into an epiphany. It's an epiphany he's tried to help me see almost since the day we said I do. Here it is:

I can't control everything.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

No matter how right I think I am. (I had to modify that sentence. It originally stated "no matter how right I am.)

I can't control everything.

It's s difficult mantra, me thinks, particularly when a mother has to accept that her children are technically adults.

Alex had to work the days before and after Christmas, so she wouldn't make it home for our favorite family holiday. I get this. That's why I asked her to look into a plane ticket that would bring her back just for one day. I'd pay! Even Alex wouldn't let me purchase the $800 ticket. "Mom, I'll be home the following week." Sigh. Okay.

Cole has hardly given any notice of his gifts under the tree. There's not one sign of wrapping paper rips. There's been no counting the number of boxes. I keep coaxing him, but he won't even shake his presents! Either he's spoiled because he has everything already, which is a very distinct possibility. Or, he's eighteen. Sigh. Okay.

We celebrated Christmas Eve at my parents house, performing the usual fun rituals like eating, playing games and watching a good old-fashioned holiday movie like Animal House. But it was sans Alex. So we sent her a loving video message just before leaving for the midnight Mass, which was incredibly lovely and beyond peaceful. But it was missing an important element: the sound of my daughter's voice singing Silent Night next to me in the pew. After the service, Cole told us that we had a video message from Alex. "Mom, you're gonna cry." And I did. It was our lovely 22-year-old telling us how much she missed us and couldn't wait to come home. While it broke my heart, it also made me just a little bit happy. She still loves us.

A rare frown. Still adorable.

The next day was a blessing as we hosted Christmas on the Kramer side this year. Instead of wallowing in self-pity about how our kids are growing up, I was busily distracted with things like food, wondering how we would get my sister-in-law's locked keys out of her car (along with the chicken tortilla soup), strategizing on how to get the alcoholic white elephants, and being completely entertained by Carson, part of the newest generation of cuteness. And Alex showed up after all! Via Facetime, albeit. But she was there, showing off the lovely Frida Kahlo painting her roommate had given her.

Families grow up, expand and relocate. Thank goodness for Facetime and family group texts with funny GIFs of Elf and Cousin Eddie. Holiday traditions may transform, but we still manage to connect and show our love for each other. That, my friends, is what we can control. As a matter of fact, it's probably the only thing worth controlling.

Hope your holidays were magical.

Toddler Sock Wisdom

Today as I was rummaging through one of my cupboards, I came across this:

A toddler sock. Never mind my poor housekeeping skills. I was instantly sad. Yesterday I had toddlers. Now those toddlers are 21 and 17. Not that I miss wiping poopy butts. I absolutely do not. And I find great joy in watching our kids turn into fine young adults. But here's what I do miss: my unmistakeable purpose. As in wiping poopy butts.

Right now I have a disgusting cold sore in my nose. (Sorry for the gross nature of this blog post so far.) It's something that happens when I'm stressed or overwhelmed. Of course, I can't admit this to my husband, because he will accurately point out that I do this to myself. (And who can stand a spousal "told ya so"?) But he's probably right. I don't need to teach a class, but I do. I don't need to help my mother at her shop, but I do. I don't need to write a book, but I do. I don't need to work at the bank, but... wait, yes, I do need to work at the bank. My point? I seem to fill in any little crack of time to the point of cold sore or migraine hell. Yesterday, I realized why I do this when I found that little toddler sock.

Every mother either remembers or looks forward to the day she can shop at a supermarket (do people say that anymore?) without having to mediate a meltdown or worry about a pile of apples tumbling on the floor. Going to the grocery store without a toddler seems to be one of the first benchmarks of parental freedom. Before that day, our world consists of ensuring the kids are fed, bathed, schooled, soccer'd, etc. So, when I wrote my first book about ten years ago, I'm guessing Cole had learned to cut his own meat. No, that's not right. I think that was last year. But he probably, most certainly, had learned to wipe his own butt, somewhat anyway.

Wrong colors, Kiddo!

Don't get me wrong. I'm still a mom, first and foremost. But I feel like I'm more on-call than 24/7. And in between signing up for ACTs or wielding a stressed out college girl, I dabble in these other roles in my life which I completely enjoy. But that's the key: dabble. Not immerse. Dabble. It might save me on Abreva. (That's cold sore medication for those of you who haven't had the joy of pustules in your nose or mouth.)

And perhaps, just perhaps, I should be stepping up my maternal helicoptering in spite of having nearly grown children. I discovered yesterday that kid #2 is considering the wrong state university! Excuse me, I have some talking to do before the next cold sore sets in and Cole forgets his Hawkeye pedigree.

Pulling off the Band-Aid

The other night I was walking a track around a soccer complex filled with intense youngsters wearing colorful uniforms and the most adorable, tiny cleats. As I watched pure exuberance chase soccer balls, my heart sang and stung just a little. Weren't those my kids just only a few short years ago?

watching them play is still fun

Last weekend we traversed (in our Traverse!) to Iowa City to enjoy the first football game of the season. The plans were to meet up with our good friends and catch a glimpse of our college-aged daughter. And a glimpse is all we got. She's a busy girl with a full course load, a job, and friends who do't go out until after 10 PM. Crazy kids.

I'm so proud of our kids who are focused and have goals. Alex will become a journalist tackling social issues. Cole will either be an MLS soccer player or something else. (He really is talking about the "something else" possibilities.) 

Sometimes it just hits me. My usefulness as a parent is waning fast.

I was expressing this sentiment to a recently-retired friend of my parents. This is how he responded:

I remember when we took Michael to Luther College in 2001. Everything I had read said to not prolong the "tearing" apart by lingering at college after getting him settled into his dorm. They told us that parents weekend was just six weeks away and a good time to linger. So, with an abruptness we took him, moved his stuff in said our good byes and departed. It was rough on me and I was full of tears in the car pulling away. It was not that I was first experiencing his independence that we trained him to have but the finality of it all that the corner actually turned. Since that date our times together are richer and better with time. A beer or glass of wine are not required to make this so but they are a compliment for part of the times we are now together.

Beautifully-worded, Chris Hoffmann.

an Iowa City party sans the daughter

Last night I was completely sacked out when my son came home after midnight. He had driven a carload of kids to Council Bluffs to see the movie. The kid just turned sixteen, and I don't even remember saying goodnight to him! According to Doug I said, "Home so early, Cole?" Bad mom? Nah. I'm a good mom who has a proclivity for deep sleep. As most mothers understand, deep sleep is typically not an option as your kids grow up. Maybe, just maybe I'm pulling off the band-aid. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy that deep sleep – and every other moment as it comes.

Fear, Faith and Fresh Skunk

Despite the cranky storm signals blasting our phones, the boys and I lingered a bit long at a McDonald’s in Council Bluffs the other night. (No french fry was wasted.) Besides, the weather seemed fine...there. Even after we left, the sky was blue. It had been a fine day and my stomach was full, rolling from the fast food frenzy.

Then, as we edged closer to home, the memory of the storm signals haunted as ominous, black clouds swirled over the sky. I even closed down Facebook to watch the weather.

As we drove deeper into scary, I did a sign of the cross and a hasty, heartfelt prayer. Once we hit Portsmouth, I suggested to my hubby we take cover at Charlene's. Do you even know where Charlene lives? Not exactly, but...Hubby shook his head and communicated his intent to avoid hail bullets on the car.

Doug's pedal floored the metal and we clipped, clipped, clipped as lightening approached us. Raindrops didn't just patter, they pounced the windshield. I felt my heartbeat speed up. I continued my conversation with God, explaining how I didn't really care about hail hitting the stupid car. I just didn’t want us to get swept away in the storm. Please God, I said, just get us home.

I had just begun to consider how impressed I was by my son, who was quietly sitting in the backseat not saying a word. Perhaps he had grown out of his fraidy-cattedness! That’s just about when I heard, “Whoa! It's storming! I've been napping!” Fear took hold–of two of us anyway.

As we turned on to the last leg of our road, I saw two bright lights from Westphalia in the distance. Whenever I see two bright lights together, I'm always overcome by a sense of calm. Because it's my sign. They are the eyes of my guardian angel. We were going to be fine.

So on the last stretch of the trip, as Doug raced full-speed ahead, we hit a bump. (I thought I had seen something on the road.) Then after a few seconds, it was sufficiently clear. We had hit a skunk. The car wreaked. And I had gone from reveling in my faith, thankful for our safety, to shallow disgust. My new car smell had been eradicated in mere seconds. Then I slapped my cheek. Hadn’t I just been telling God how I didn’t care about the car? I only wanted us to be safe! I swear I heard God laughing at me. Then I laughed at myself. Such a human.

Anyway, skunk still wafts a bit in the car. But I can handle the smell. My family is safe.

Use Your Brain

A few of my peers were giving me a bit of grief about my last blog. Not so much on content, but on word choice, i.e., vocabulary. "I don't EVER hear you use those words." No, not out loud and certainly not all the time.  What they don't realize? Perhaps my lexicon is grandiose and slightly poetic!  (Usually after reading some particular piece of classical literature.)  And last weekend, despite being in the middle of a Dave Barry read and watching Animal House at the same time, my brain was pouring out with either sublime or pertinent words without a single glance at a thesaurus. Go figure.

At other times though, my brain utterly fails me.  I can't think of the name of the most simplest of objects, like that thing that holds water. You know? That you drink out of? When you're thirsty? Do you know yet? That thingy? That I'm pointing at right now? Yes, that's it! A cup.

I do the same exact thing with numbers. Despite what my husband may tell you, I pretty good at solving math problems - especially those that are algebraic in nature. But I'd be lying if I told you that I have never misplaced a decimal in my head a few times and completely miscalculated my savings in store, wanting to argue with the clerk at the checkout, but having enough experience to know that her cash register is probably smarter than my brain and not wanting to embarrass my daughter anymore than I already have by saying something that I no idea could be embarrassing...but I digress.

My point: Whether it's math, reading or using a dusty old vocabulary stored deep within some hemisphere of our cerbrum, shouldn't we engage our brain as much as possible? My favorite method: scribbling a few witticisms in attempt to hone my wordsmith skills. But I'm guessing Alex likes the math exercises for one reason only=>

I BET SHE SAVED A BUNCH!

Mommyhood or What?

Okay, looking through my last few posts I'm wondering if this is really a family blog, or simply a site to post photos of my flowers and pets? What happened to those days when I used to dress my kids up and snap photos after photos? Well, they don't much let me dress them anymore. Nevertheless, I'm still a parent. And it's still a parenting blog...so back to...what's their names again?

My kids have had an ABUNDANCE of together time this year. One thing about living in the country - summer break lacks time for hanging out with pals...so, this weekend (that most magical weekend of the year when citizens of Earling join together to raise money for our Parish) will allow them to run free on the streets of Earling with their buddies and spend as much as their Dad's cash as possible.

Last night we let them each have a friend stay over after setting up stands. (Perhaps a weak moment, since my home is a disaster and chock full of Oriental Trading toys for the kiddie stand). Then they requested to ride the 4-wheeler this morning, which I absolutely hate by the way. I said yes (again, another weak moment). After all, how often do they go outside without a constant nudging from me or their father? Anyway, I'm happy to report there are no injuries...and I did get a photo op out of the deal. Notice the flannel pj bottoms in the middle of July?
Like I said, they dress themselves these days. Okay, but I also must seal this post by sharing my pretty white lilies. I don't think they've ever bloomed before. Truly I don't believe them to be more beautiful than our children. But they are lovely, aren't they? Kids and lilies, alike.

Law of Least Effort

According to Deepak, Wednesday is all about the "Law of Least Effort." This spiritual mantra means that often a better result will come when less effort is applied. I have some difficulty with this one since I was raised to believe hard work is the key to success. And for the most part, the hard work formula has worked for me. So, I've really tried to figure out when this spiritual law works. Well, most recently the shades began opening...

Every year, as I pull my Christmas decoration out of storage, I vow to make my house an inspiration of decor. Then I start working on some decorating task. Three hours later, I've usually created some abominable eye-sore. So lately, I've pulled back. And just throwing a few things together without much though seems to work better for me. So, this year I decided to let the kids decorate the tree. They're still working on it, as they feel like it. But I have to admit, so far it's my favorite tree.

I hate to admit it, but perhaps my kids will outsmart me with this particular spiritual law....however, note that it took me two days to blog on this theme. (I really wanted to pull out the laptop on Wednesday night to impart my knowledge to my mass of 8 followers. But I told myself NO! I'm tired and today is about the Law of Least Effort...)

Guess what else happens at 40?

So I wake up yesterday, thinking about my schedule, when it hits me. It's doctor papschmere day.

At 3:45 that afternoon, I answer pleasantries from my doctor as he takes a peek at my you-know-what. "So, Doug getting a little nervous with all this rain? Uh, try and relax."

I'm as relaxed as I'm gonna get for the next thirty seconds. And just as we seem to be wrapping things up, my doctor throws in an extra surprise. "You're going to hate me for this, but now that your forty, there's one more thing I need to check..."

And before I know it, I'm clenching my teeth and holding my breath. Then I think about my hubby's sarcastic remarks before I left the house. He intimates that I'm probably looking forward to the annual exam -- as if it will be some sort of a sexual experience. Alright Dear, those comments just bought yourself a ticket to see Dr. Jellyfinger himself. Isn't it wonderful growing old together? Maybe we can schedule a couple of colonoscopies together in the next few years.

On a side note...for the second year in a row, my doctor disagrees that a tumor is growing in my stomach. If the jogging doesn't shrink the abdomen, I might have to demand an ultrasound.

Finding Laughter is Easy in our House

While I typically look forward to the first snow of the season, October 10th is a bit early for me. I looked out the window and my mood turned subfusc (meaning dark,gloomy...sorry, it happened to be the Word of the Day yesterday and I couldn't resist). But now the sun is shining, the snow is almost gone and Cole has fortunately provided me more reasons to laugh:

Today at lunch.

Part 1: A fart. A glance at Cole. Baby-blue guilty eyes. And then the remark, "Sorry, that was an inappropriate fart." As opposed to the appropriate fart...

Part 2: Lunch diverts to a conversation about surnames. Cole asks, "How do people get their last names?" My hubby quickly responds, "From their grandparents." Of course, Cole then asks, "How do they get their last names?" My hubby quickly responds, "From their grandparents. And they got their last name from their grandparents...." And before the pointless question/answer session goes too far, I interject.

"People of European descent typically have last names that are associated with their trade. For example, Grandma Ruby's last name 'Molgaard, in Danish, means a mill that stands on the farm. Have you ever noticed how many Danish last names end in "gaard" which means farm. I'm not really sure what Kramer means in German..."

Apparently, no one was interested in my dissertation and Cole decides to profess his own theory. "I think God makes up our last names."

We all ask, "Why?"

'Like duh' divulges his attitude as he responds, "Jesus?"

We shrug.

"Jesus had a last name. Jesus CHRIST."

Of course, Mr. Christ. That's why I pay for a Catholic education

YELLOW

Yellow. Look outside, what do you see? Yellow. I love yellow, but it's starting to depress me. Yellow grass. Yellow fields. Yellow weeds in ditches. Yellow sunflowers.

I went into my closet and what did I see? Yellow. I keep buying yellow shirts. I just bought a yellow (mustard really) purse. I even noticed a pair of yellow shoes on my shoe rack today. What does yellow signify? I looked up "yellow" in my handy resource tool, Wikipedia, and found out that

"Yellow echoes the dual nature of red. Though yellow evokes feelings of happiness, when we are confronted with too much yellow we become annoyed or angered. Yellow typically symbolizes sunlight, joy, happiness, earth, optimism, intelligence, idealism, wealth (gold), summer, hope, air, liberalism..." eventually these words turned into "cowardice, dishonestly, yada yada yada..."

So perhaps I'm suffering from just a bit of yellow overload and need a break...but wait not yet...the Hawks only lead by 14 to 3 at halftime...I think I can handle the color for a teensie bit longer.

Speaking of yellow. And ugly. Have I ever shared a glimpse of our long-tongued transient tomcat we call Shrek? He's a beaut. And if I had any doubt about being a cat whisperer, he's my proof. I've got the feral monster eating out of my hand. Literally.

A Birthday Celebration

This week we celebrated Doug's birthday. For so little planning, it turned out to be a great success! A few highlights included

*Recycled gifts from Cole including a Dolphins helmet and Eragon, the novel.
*Much entertainment for the whole family from a quaint little coffee table book, titled FARTS.
*Art in the form of a chocolate cake by Alex. Has anyone ever microwaved Betty Crocker chocolate frosting? Give it a try!
*A little too much wine (for me).
*Not quite enough beer (for Doug).
*A surprise visit from my cousin and her husband! It was like I planned a party.
*A little diddy, composed by Cole, which referenced beer drinking...hmmm. Too much Nickelback or too much male-bonding with Doug and godfather Jim?

The delightful evening was topped off by a spine-tingling rendition of Happy Birthday and zero proof of any girlfriends for my hubby. Who could ask for more?

Shopping Trip: Day 1 Report

I write this as Mom applies the final touches of her cosmetics before we step out to our 2nd Day of my 40th Birthday weekend shopping trip...just a few notable updates:

*Alex had great luck at Forever 21. She now will be able to attend Sturgis next year.
*Mom and I have only purchased one identical item and it's merely a sweatshirt from Gap, and they are completely different colors (light coral and dark coral).
*Much too my relief (and I think Mom and Alex's), it appears that my summer shoe drought is OVER! I have been pained by my inability to find shoes this season. However, yesterday the floodgate opened.
*We were too late for Julie and Julia, so caught The Proposal instead. A must-see if you're in the mood for laughter.

Through out the commotion of our purchases, I lost my pj's last night. Luckily Alex found them in my suitcase after "a treacherous scavenger hunt through the maze dresses, shoes, jackets, gloves and funky jeans."

Good news...Alex didn't kick last night. Mom didn't snore. I only giggled a little.

We're off... to feed the starving child.

On Making Ribs

Tuesday night was my rib experiment. I have only a few suggestions for any other considering the venture:

1. Give your self a few hours to make them.
2. Buy 1.5 pound rib rack PER SERVING, not for entire family of four.
3. Read the recipe entirely through before beginning. You might just change your mind.

Last night, Doug suggested a restaurant. I think he was just really hungry...

*****************

Tomorrow, Alex, Mom and I take off for Kansas City for an all-girl weekend of shoe-shopping, chic-movies and laughter galore...I'm taking the laptop, so I'll keep ya'll updated on our progress. This sounds much more fun than making ribs, heh?