Shopping with my Mother

A shopping day in KC...a long time ago...

Even though my daughter turned sixteen this month, yesterday I was sixteen, and my mother was 38 again. And we were taking a mother-daughter shopping trip while my dad holed himself up in the garage. We managed to have a good time...sans the rest of our families. Wink, wink.

I was simply along for the ride, truly not needing a thing. My mother was the one who needed a day away from her shop–as she rarely gets away. But by the end of the day, I noticed the creases on my arms from my bag straps setting in...as my mother only carried her one measly shopping sack.

"Mom! You need to get more stuff!" I exclaimed in a wave of guilt.

"Oh no. I got everything I came for," she stated in her humble way.

"You sure?" I confirmed, happily toting my bounty, in my only-child type of way.

She nodded, with a smile.

The day was great. We laughed at our atrocious, skinny legs, discussed books at great lengths, wondered about people who don't read (or only read Fifty Shades of Grey), boasted about my kids (a lot), and didn't worry about ANYTHING. And this part is really funny...my mom was really hungry all day. She usually eats like a bird and is slightly disgusted by people who over-eat. But she's on this steroid for a skin reaction. So, it tickled me to see her lick up the rest of my corn chowder. And nibble on some mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups! (She is so anti-sweets!) I couldn't help but giggle...

I know I've been crabby lately–all consumed by work. Certainly, I didn't need to go out and spend my wallet. That wasn't what mattered. The change of pace with my beloved mother was one of the best days I've had in a long time. It was a day to unload. I really did feel like a youthful daughter, on an outing with my wise mother, asking her for her opinion on just about everything and anything. It was a day to cherish. I love you, Mama!

Saving the Parental Face

The other night we had gone out to eat when I decided to tell our son a story how I had caught a napkin on fire at the very restaurant where were dining. The story included how I had shouted "Fire! Fire!" just before my hubby quickly doused the tiny blaze with some water. As my son rolled his eyes upon hearing the anecdote, I could see him imagining the embarrassment his mother would have brought upon him if he would've been there to witness the event. While I have sort of gotten used to embarrassing my spouse every once in awhile, I never thought I'd be the parent my kids would be embarrassed of. But...here I am. I am that parent.

So the cool factor seems to officially beyond my scope. It's a bit humbling. Last week a few of us parents holed up at Troy's Bar & Grill after a Pee Wee's baseball game. At one point of the night a flood of twenty-somethings trotted in with their swanky clothes and fancy hair and cool shoes. I glanced down at my mom capris, burying even further into my smart hoodie. I knew it was time for us to duck out before we had a chance to appear as if we were trying to fit in. My sixteen-year-old didn't happen to be with us, but all I could think was how she'd be begging for us to leave to avoid a particular shame. But in reality? That crowd didn't even notice us–the people in our family-zone bracket. They seemed to look right over the tops of our wisps of gray and increasingly pronounced bags under our eyes. So unless we started downing shots with the youthful troupe, we stood a pretty good chance of being ignored and saving our kids from any possible humiliation. 

I confronted my daughter about the issue. Asked her straight out if her parents embarrassed her. She was gentle–even offering, "Not always." But here's the kicker. She told me candidly that it wasn't her father that embarrassed her. It was only me. 

"Me? Why?"

"Just different things. Like your big smile when you talk to little kids. Even Cole agrees it's kind of weird."

Well. That's just me being wistful about my kids not being little anymore. And apparently, for good reason. They get awfully judgmental once they reach a certain age...Awfully judgmental. I think I can promise my kids this...I will never intend to shame them. Never. But given the history of parental/child relationships, I'm bound to make their eyes roll just a few more hundred times in their lifetimes.

My kids never embarrass me. They are always lovely!

The Driver's Seat

And she's off!

While I don’t actually remember my 16^th birthday, I certainly remember anticipating it. And believe it or not… it seems I have a similar level of excitement about my own daughter’s upcoming sweet event which happens TODAY. A milestone. Today, assuming no hiccups, the state of Iowa will let her loose to navigate the by-ways and highways. Should I feel nervous about her propensity to become lost, even in a town, such as Harlan, where she has schooled and leisured nearly her entire life?

Well, let me think.

The girl has proven her academic smarts. I won’t bore you with the details, because it would be over-the-top boasting–as we parents are prone to do. But she is a smarty-pants. So, it's slightly amusing, yet alarming, the girl is sooooo directionally-challenged. (And I really mean that in a literal-sense. She does appear to have life goals and all.) But it wasn’t but a few years ago, she was directed to walk her 'lil brother home from my bank to her grandparents (a fairly straightforward track of fifteen blocks with a few minor jogs). Apparently, without the coaching of her nine-year old bro, they would've made a circuitous trip back to the bank. And one of her most recent stints involved her and her gal-pals finding themselves on their way to Sioux City, instead of Omaha (destination:Westroads). Thanks God they eventually found the mall though. I'm not sure what she would've done without more skull t-shirts from Hot Topic. She hardly has enough of them and they are so adorable. Her mother loves them so.

Actually, I can't say much. I'm a bit directionally-challenged myself. When I worked in Omaha as a young adult, I pretty much memorized the map of Omaha so I knew how to get around the city. (No such thing as Google Maps you know. Just an impossibly large, clumsy document that we romantics still like to use.) Luckily, I found my way to important places like...Target (for stuff not like skull t-shirts). My husband couldn't figure out how I could navigate Omaha, but not have the ability to point to north. Well, north is overrated. I just need to know what I need to know. And I think Alex has inherited my sense of direction. So, if that's the case, I guess I have nothing to worry about, right? She seems to be on the scent of some pretty decent shopping trails. Even if she gets off the beaten track, she'll find her way. And ff there's one thing that's for certain about Alex, it's this: she's determined!

Happy Sweet 16th to my pretty girl! Wherever you find yourself...make sure it's in a place with good cell phone coverage.

It's June!

I turned the calendar today, and noticed that we have reached the month which officially announces the beginning of summer! (Confession: I even found some Christmas greenery today that somehow meshed fairly well into the drab spring we've been having.) Needless to say, I'm happy the kids are home on their school break...even though I will seethe with jealousy at times about the mothers who get to stay home with their brood. But I made my choice to "lean in," as Ms. Sandberg would say. So, I'll make the best of it.

The kids have already been leaning in on their own this summer. Besides their daily chores (which they tend to gloss over fairly quickly without much elbow grease), they are also working for their grandparents and caring for their new kittens...when it occurs to them. Alex works in my mother's shop, and seems to be a very conscientious employee. (Of course fashion tends to be fun sort of a job, so how can she not be?) And Cole has been learning a thing or two about motors as my father's apprentice, managing to squeeze a few bucks out of him, as well as plenty of trips to the DQ. But at least these kids are taking a break from their electronics. Hallelujah.

Speaking of breaks, I'm also on a bit of a break myself–having just finished my first Gotham Writer's Workshop which I found super fun. (How's that for a tantalizing description?) Anyway, get ready for another one of my assignments, a short story titled "The Dinner." I hope you enjoy reading... AND I hope your summer is filled with lots more reading, and, of course, sunny baseball games!

The Dinner

“Nana? Papa?” 

Hunger pangs evaporated the moment Laura entered the apartment. A full-court press of garlic, with a hint of dog piss, enveloped her. A barking, obese Chihuahua trampled over to sniff her out.

As she bent down to pat the the wiry terrier, he growled upon her touch.

“Taco Bell! How many times you gonna show me your teeth?” After a a few strategic scratches behind the ear, the dog stretched its legs on Laura. “Now I’m your best friend?” Lifting the pet into her arms, she wrinkled her nose. “Smells like we need to wash the spring thaw out your coat, mister.”

She walked into the galley kitchen to find her grandparents, preparing for dinner.

“There she is.” Grandpa Pete looked up from his newspaper, glancing at the clock. “Just starting to wonder about you.” He pulled himself up to lay the paper in a heap of other papers in a corner of the room.

“She’s not one bit late!” Grandma Susie said, coming over with a mitt on her hand, to kiss Laura on the forehead. “I told you to come around...7:00, didn’t I?”

Nana had told her 6:30, but Laura was unsure if her grandmother was making an excuse for her, or had simply forgotten what time she was to be there. Laura smiled in agreement. Laura’s parents would be mortified if they knew how late she had shown up to a planned meal with her grandparents. But Laura’s parents weren’t around anymore. And sometimes her shifts ran late.

Grandma Susie stepped back, eyeing the dog. “Did Mitzi give you a hard time? That dog has been barking so much lately.”

“Mitzi!” Grandpa Pete shouted. “That dog died ten years ago. You mean Taco Bell. That’s Taco Bell.”

Grandma Susie ignored the comment and went back to the oven. “Now. Let’s get this meal on the table.”

Laura put the dog down to wash her hands to help set up. While Grandpa Pete started to gather plates and forks, Grandma Susie opened the oven door and stared, vacantly.

“Nana?” Laura stood next to her grandmother. The oven air wafted its garlicky scent, stinging her eyes. “Should we pull out the roast?

“Oh, yes! Doesn’t it smell delightful!” 

Laura took the mitts out of her grandma’s hands, to pull the roaster out of the oven. As soon as she grabbed hold of the pot, she lifted it with more ease than she should have.

She set the pot on the stove and opened the lid to find garlic cloves, onion slices, and baby carrots. No roast. 

“How does it look?” Grandma Susie asked.

Taking a fork, Laura stabbed a carrot and tossed the steaming vegetable in her mouth. Laura blinked a few times, her eyes watering from the burning, sweetness dissolving in her mouth. “Carrots. Yummy.”  

She watched her grandpa filling up water glasses. He kept his eyes focused on the task, his hands slightly quivering. 

Laura hugged her Nana, feeling the loose skin, wrapped around her fragile frame. She wondered how many times Nana had forgotten to cook, or had forgotten to add the roast, and how many times Papa had never said anything. Then she looked to see the dog crunching his overflowing dish of dog food.

“I have an idea,” Laura said, letting go of her grandmother, and taking her grandfather’s trembling hand as he placed napkins on the table. “Let’s go out to eat. I’m tired of roast.” 

Grandpa Pete glanced to the oven. Then he nodded, his eyes heavy. “You know a café with good coffee? I could use some good coffee.”

“I do.” Laura turned to look at her grandmother who was giving Taco Bell more food. “We might need to stay up for awhile, Papa. And talk. I think we need to talk.”

Grandpa Pete made his way to his wife, who was now kneeled over, scratching her dog’s ears. He lifted her up, leading her out of the kitchen. “Sweetie? Taco doesn’t need anymore food. But we’re going out now. Laura’s taking us out to eat.”

Grandma Susie smiled at her husband. “Oh? That sounds lovely. We don’t go out much anymore. Do we?”

On Writing

So, my blog has taken a backseat lately. But my writing hasn't! I'm enrolled in a class through the Gotham Writer's Workshop. Since every week we're assigned a prompt, I thought I'd share a few of my short stories for any of you that enjoy a bit of fiction...

This short story titled The Date focuses on the element of "plot."

Incurably prompt, Ashley had arrived first. 

She had calculated her approach to conversation, using the newspaper format as her guide. Current events. The economy. Pop culture. While she always kept a working knowledge of any particular topic, she had really immersed herself in that day’s post. But of all the topics she had perused, it was the article on taxidermy that lingered. She had hoped to repress the details on that particular subject.

The longer she sat, or rather fidgeted with her phone, the more she regretted the idea. Nerves, she supposed. Her co-worker had set it up. The blind date. It would be her first time out with anyone since the divorce–the divorce that had turned the hot-shot marketing executive into a recluse. The moment she had learned of her husband’s indiscretion, she refused to consider forgiving him, no matter how hard he pleaded. The relationship was over once she found out how a night out with the boys turned tawdry when an old flame appeared. And despite her stoical declarations to her friends (“Thank God we hadn’t started a family yet”), she was devastated.

That was three years ago. Three years ago she declared that her career would be her spouse. But now, she was feeling the the loneliness of a life without a minute to spare. She had begun to pull out old photos, to confirm how once she had lived in a world that didn’t involve endless deadlines or seventy-hour workweeks. There was a time when she enjoyed the view of the ocean or took the time to play tennis. Maybe it was time to try again. So, she agreed to a blind date. No questions asked. At least it had given her an excuse to purchase this new sleeveless dress–if only she had brought a cardigan to keep her from shivering in the restaurant. Of course, she might’ve shivered anyway.

Just as she gave in to a piece of warm sourdough bread on the table, a voice forced her swallow a chunk whole.

“Ashley?”

She stood up to meet a lanky, blonde man, with deep-set eyes, dressed in a three-piece, pin-striped suit.

“No need to get up.” He coached her back down, to her seat, as she looked upon him with her own unwavering eyes. “I’m Ben.”

Ashley nodded. “My friend didn’t tell me your name. Only that I needed to be here at 7:00.”

“That’s just like Betts.” Ben glanced around. “Nice place. Have you eaten here before?”

“Yes, actually,” said Ashley. “We take our upscale clients here.”

Ben tilted his ear toward the music. “I suppose the Italian Opera music clinches the deals every time.”

Ashley squinted her eyes. “I’m not sure about Italian Opera. French love songs, for sure.”

Ben shrugged. “You say potato.” Ben picked up the menu. “You might need to help me order. I’m sort of a burger and fries type of guy.” He flipped the menu around. “Is this just the wine list?”

“That suit looks pretty swanky,” said Ashley, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, it’s very nice. Would be a shame to wear it only to McDonald’s anyway.”

Ben took a deep breath as the waiter took their drink orders.  “I’ll take the most plain-label beer you have.”

Ashley studied the wine list. “I’ll just have an iced tea.” The waiter turned to leave. “Wait. Make that a glass of Reisling.” 

Ben smiled at Ashley. “I figure if we at least made it through a drink together, the night might not be a total failure.” Ben clenched his hands together. “You look really pretty. Nice dress.”

“Thanks, Ben.” 

She looked away, at the fountain in the middle of the dining room. The rippling of the water muffled conversations around them. She noticed an elderly couple, in a lively conversation. She noticed another younger, middle-aged couple sitting in stony silence. Turning to Ben, she said, “I’m still really, really mad at you.”

“You deserve to be. But you never gave me a chance to beg for your forgiveness. Or even explain the events of the evening. I’m only asking that you at least give me a chance.” Ben looked down at his lap. “I know you’ll make fun of my trite words, but I’ve really missed you.”

He didn’t look up–until she took his hands. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown. “It’s nice to see you.” He watched her, waiting for her to say more. “It...feels nice to be with you as well. Let’s see how dinner goes.”

Ben nodded, biting back his lip. “So, what’s been going on with you?”

“Working. A lot.” Ashley sipped on her water. Ben sipped on his water. Then Ashley asked, “Did you happen to catch the article on the history of taxidermy today?”

Then the waiter brought their drinks, in which Ben insisted on making a toast.

“To...the mounting of animals.”

Ashley put her wine glass down, without a smile. Then she lifted her drink, tapped her date’s mug, and with a smile said. “I missed you too.”

Will Shop for Food...If I Must

I stopped into the grocery store the other night with an unusually cheery outlook. I left work at a reasonable hour and had no obligation to run a kid to practice or a music lesson. To put icing on the cake (if you consider a visit to the grocery store any sort of treat), no one was with me to drop Zebra Cakes or Doritos in the cart. I was sure to save an extra $50...and a little peace of mind.

As I settled in for my shopping trip, I smiled to myself as I noticed not one, but two, young mommies getting groceries with their tots. They were all so adorable, and for a moment I felt the nostalgia of toting my kids to the food mart, when their wondrous eyes glazed over all the forage on the shelves. But that feeling quickly dissipated. 

I merely made it to the produce section when the offspring of these two mommies (there must've been ten altogether) successfully cornered the store, leaving me fairly powerless to navigate. The memories came fleeting back. It was awful taking my kids to the grocery store! What was I thinking? I'd break out into a sweat almost every time, as I'd march my two dynamos through, clinging to the hope of no broken spaghetti jars.

So, back to my logjam in the produce. It rarely takes me long to shop in that section. So I was feeling all claustrophobic as the kids blocked me in with the fruits and vegetables. But I smiled, looking like the respectable business lady, as their sweet voices screamed questions to their mom about avocados. 

Eventually, I broke through the line, thinking I was home free. After all, I could sprint through the aisles, and swipe my necessities if I needed to. I could hear the circus behind me, but I wouldn't let them beat me.

I was wrong. 

I got all caught up in the yogurts. Damn yogurt selection. Soon enough, they were all ahead of me, blocking the aisles again. But I smiled at their adorableness and gave the moms the "I know what you're going through look"...all while strategizing a plan to avoid the little tarts.

Eventually, I  gave up and only filled up about half of my cart, which was my usually MO back in the old days, when I had my kids with me. My family was happy I came home with an unusual amount of junk food. Those aisles were about my only safe haven from the family of toddler terrors–apparently they were good moms.

Does anyone know when Amazon will start delivering groceries to rural Iowa?

Easter Musings and the Way They Dressed

I'm trying to decide when I transformed from the mom who obsessed over every detail of her daughter's pastel-hued easter ensemble to a mom who now tosses her kid's unlaundered, wrinkly shirt in the dryer for a few minutes before the family dashes off to Mass. I think it happened sometime between..."I'm too tired" and "Ok, you win."

I'm not ashamed to admit that much of my desire in becoming a mom has everything to do with dressing up the kids at easter-time. And when they're teeny-tiny, it's not so difficult. It's an achievement when you manage to dress them in some clever piece of clothing and the darling image makes you mouth"precious" all day long. Then they turn three. And if they have any sense of self, they begin to give you a little sass about the adorable outfits you've picked out. They also give you some guff about the painful and/or complicated accessories, like a requisite hat or strappy pair of sandals. But you shame them into wearing it, by telling them how much you spent. And of course, they don't care about that. So, you cajole them with more Cadbury eggs, so that they become even more monstrous. And you feel your plan backfiring when a sugar-possessed demon suddenly becomes super-empowered to tell you "I DON'T CARE" while she's destroying the purse, the hat and the matching shoes. (Boys might take a slightly alternative course, like destroy everything else in the living room. But either way, destruction has occurred.)

If you have a little boy and have dressed him up in a dapper sweater vest or tie, you might also have to contend with a husband who has already envisioned the boy being bullied as he dances around in his threads. Not even telling your hubby how much you spent will work. He just wants you to get the boy into something that de-sissifies him. But, it's too late now. It's ten minutes 'til church.  Hubby will just have to pout too. Or destruct something in the living room.

So, now that I've given my kids free reign to choose whatever they choose to wear on holidays, I have to admit a burden has been lifted. No longer do I need to be worried or distracted if any of my kids' wardrobes malfunction. Jeans and tee-shirts tend to perform fairly consistently, even though they're nearly as fun. But if I want to enjoy the days when my kids pouted, sighed and wrestled about their fancy garb, I look back and smile at photos like these...and they were worth every bit of struggle.

sad alex, forced to pose 

"Can I take off the tie now?"