A Mom's Job is Never Done. Hallelujah!

Last night after a tough night at soccer practice, Cole came home a bit crabby–unusual for the typically happy kid. So, I put on the mom-motivational hat, giving him the pep talk about staying positive, working hard, encouraging your teammates even when you're night isn't going so well, and so on...Who knows how much of it sunk in? It's a bit difficult to tell through glazed eyes. I'm sure he wasn't bored with my profound thoughts. I'm assuming his lack of response was from being too hot and tired. Right?

Then, after falling asleep, I got a text at midnight. My daughter had a horrible headache. As a migraine sufferer, my fear has been that either of my kids will inherit that insufferable affliction. So I texted her all sorts of advice: drink lots of water, take ibuprofen (with crackers), tie an ice cold rag around your head, give yourself a sinus massage, and so on. After we quit texting, I wondered if I should've sent her to the ER!

Instead of waking up refreshed, I woke up worried. Was Alex okay? Was Cole still discouraged?

A rare pic with me and the kids: the Princess and the Pooh.

I'm happy to report that both are fine. Cole hung with friends all day and Alex made it to her summer job. Here's the funny thing. Just as I'm starting to feel irrelevant as my place as a mom, BOOM! I'm needed again: advising a dispirited kid, being awakened in the middle of the night by a sick daughter. Not that I felt happy about either of their situations, but I was there for them. I have been trying to convince Doug we need to adopt some 5-year-olds, but maybe we're good. Maybe we still do serve a purpose.

Tonight, I'm sitting at home by myself watching old episodes of Glee. It's a good way to keep occupied as I stay on guard, at my post, until my kids need me again. Although, I wouldn't mind having someone besides my dog to watch these fantastic musical routines with...Duh! Maybe I should call my mom.

Happily Ever After

A few weeks before we were married my mother said something to me I won't ever forget. "Doug is a great guy. But you need to understand that no matter how much you love him, marriage is hard." I smiled and thought to myself, "Sure. Maybe for most people, but they don't know us!"

I don't have to tell any of you who have been married longer than a year, that my mother was right. Marriage is hard. (Imagine the courage of my husband who decided to do it twice!) But after nearly 23 years of wedded bliss and more stretches of empty-nest-edness, I'm happy to report we are really starting to get the hang of this marriage thing. With a bit of thought, I've determined that there are three distinct challenges in marriages to conquer: career, children and domesticity.

Career:

I was studying for my MBA when Doug and I met, so he knew I was going to be a career woman. I'm pretty sure that was part of the attraction–someone who was driven with a goal. He was also driven with a goal. We both fervidly agreed that we each needed to be happy in our own professional lives before we could be happy with each other. I still believe this to be true. But there was a slight problem with how each of us interpreted this belief. Doug and I both threw ourselves into careers without any real thought of supporting each other. I had to learn that he would simply be absent during the fall and spring. He had to learn that I might be gone at times as well for work–even traveling overnight. It took a while for both of us to really understand how we needed to support each other. And now? I will stomp through cow manure with him to fix fence. And he will attend a work event without bitching...as long as there is beer of course. But that goes without saying.

Children:

Who would've thought the thing that reflects your closeness as a couple could cause so much discord? For the year following Alex's birth, I was questioning how much I really liked Doug. (I knew I loved him, but liking was difficult–even with his ability to make me laugh.) Obviously, he loved the cute little baby, but he seemed to think of her as more of a pet than a responsibility. There were town-team basketball games to play, bars to keep open. One time, Doug and his friend, Pat, went golfing as their wives stayed home with the babies. The weather began to shift and tornado warnings were issued. It was upsetting. I was scared and wanted my husband to be home with us. So, I called Doug and said something to the effect, "It's really bad outside. You might want to watch the weather before you come home." What I really was saying: "GET HOME RIGHT NOW! YOUR WIFE IS NERVOUS AS SHE'S CLUTCHING THE BABY IN THE BASEMENT!" As it turned out, Doug hung up the phone, turned to Pat and said, "Hey! Stef says the weather is bad and not to come home right now." Thus, another late night ensued with a touchy morning in the Kramer household.

By the time child #2 came around, things had changed considerably. There was an understanding
that both of us had to raise the kids. Of course, it helped that Doug was getting too old to play basketball. And since #2 was a boy, there would be baseball lessons to teach. All kidding aside, we did began to understand each other's parenting strengths and we play to them the best we can. I happen to be the more nurturing type and do things like cut the kids' meat. Doug is more practical and knows that it's his job to teach the kids how to cut their own meat. The partnership has worked pretty well.

While raising kids certainly has had its challenges to our marriage, at least we have been committed to do the right thing for our kids' sake. Mistakes? For sure. But at least we've become a united front in this area. This means that the biggest challenge to our marriage has been...domesticity.

Domesticity:

In my opinion, there are three legs to this domestic aspect of marriage: cooking, household projects, and the horrible chore of cleaning.

I remember being quite proud of my young husband, many years ago, when someone asked him, "How can you stand your wife getting home so late from work? Don't you want supper made for you by then?" My very-evolved farm boy responded, "I don't expect her to cook for me. She works hard too." What a guy. But I'm not sure he completely adopted this philosophy, until recently. The "What's for supper?" mentality was too far engrained in his soul.While he didn't think it was right for me to do all of the cooking, he really didn't want to do it either. So for many years, we ate out a lot. Then, one day, we began to watch the Food Network. It honestly changed our lives and gave a boost to our marriage. We BOTH began to experiment in the kitchen with foods and flavors. Together, we found the joy and reward of making a savory meal. Now cooking isn't a chore for us. It's bonding time. Thank you, Bobby Flay!

I ran with this Food Network idea and began flipping the channel to HGTV. Sneaky, huh? Sneaky, maybe. But effective. As Doug and I would watch episodes of Fixer Upper, we began to get ideas for the house. Most recently, we've installed a limestone border, created a berm for our front flower bed, built a brick border for the fire pit, and have lots of ideas for new projects–much of them involve repurposing stuff from the old farmhouse for our current residence. I still can't believe how crafty we've become. Of course, I am much more of a director and Doug is very much the brawn. No matter, it works. Thank you Chip and Joanna Gaines!

PROJECT LIMESTONE. CHECK!

As for cleaning? We really don't have a great and fair system for this. Honestly, we both bicker about it a bit...mainly, because we both really hate to clean. But I have faith that very soon there will a new channel to inspire us to dust and vacuum more. In the meantime, we'll continue this marriage adventure by finding more and different ways to bond. Hey...I got an idea! Travel. We have yet to become addicted to The Travel Channel. No worries, Doug is great with the remote.

Headstart...in Chicago.

The Backseat

My husband and I are sitting in the backseat of what used to be our good car which has been handed down to our son. Cole is practicing the route to Council Bluffs for when he turns sixteen next month. This will come in handy for things like soccer practice and apparently dates, he says. Our baby is almost sixteen. Ready to escape.

Our eldest daughter stayed at college this summer, opting to make money and hang out with young adults in a fun town. Since she is waitressing, it's difficult for her to come home on the weekends. And if she happens to come across a free weekend, she'd prefer Chicago over Earling. Go figure. Anyway, I was determined to reunite our family nucleus, so on the 4th of July we met in Des Moines for lunch. We skipped barbecue and fireworks in favor of Chinese food, the bookstore, an action movie, and of course ice cream. (There were actually quite a lot of us celebrating our patriotism this way. I guess that's why they call it America, baby.) Anyway, the day was peaceful and filled with laughs. I felt sad when my daughter departed for Iowa City, since there are fewer and fewer times we get to be together.

When the kids were little, we'd always attend the Dunlap 4th of July parade. It was (and still is) the quintessential Iowa parade: billions of tractors, marching geese dressed up like cowboys, fire trucks who like the sound of their own horn, melty tootsie rolls, and pretty horses who practically wave to the crowd like beauty queens. Then one day as I was instructing everyone to put on their patriotic Old Navy tees before the parade, they asked, “Do we have to go?” It was Independence Day, and they were testing their independence. Sure they were older, but still pretty darn young. My heart tugged a bit, and I realized there would be many more moments like that. I had to adjust to the facts. The kids would continue to grow up. They would continue to have their own interests. They would choose what they really wanted to do, like miss parades. Effectively, they'd be the drivers of their own lives. 

I'm not sure I love sitting in the backseat. But I'm getting used to it. And to be honest, Baby Driver was pretty freaking entertaining. And as long as our kids never outgrow ice cream, they will always be the young toddlers in my heart.

"Kids! We're taking you to parade!"

"Just kidding. How about a movie?"

On Age

“Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don't take it off until you're thirty-four.”

That quote is from the late and great Nora Ephron. Unless you're Jennifer Aniston, most women over the age of 40 will relate. Yesterday I celebrated numero 48. It was a fun, celebratory day with lots of good wishes from lots of special people in my life. But it's impossible for me not think FORTY-EIGHT! OH MY GOD. WHEN DID I GET THAT OLD? My own father can't believe he's the dad of an old person. My kids, on the other hand, have always thought I was old. Nevertheless, I will continue to coach myself by saying things like, "Well, I'm not 50 yet." And when that milestone hits in two years, I'll move on and say things like "Well, I'm not 51 yet."

me concerned about age at 47

I used to work with a guy who would tell people he was 50 when he was actually in his thirties. Everyone would be like, "Really? You look so young!" I thought this to be an ingenious strategy. If someone is bound to lie about their age (unless they're under the age of 21), they tend to say they're actually younger than they are, which is kind of dumb really. If I were to tell someone right now I was thirty, they'd look at me and spout out some sort of lie like, "You look so good."  But they'd actually be thinking,"Whoa. That woman hasn't aged well." Best to stick with the truth probably. And why not?

There's much to be said about aging. I could go on about the wisdom you gain as you grow older and yadayadayada. Or, how it's nice to reach an age when you don't have to worry about how to pay your bills. But the truth is that each year brings its own challenges and rewards. Good stuff happens. Bad stuff happens. You figure out how to cope and you try to laugh along the way. Laughing is key as your body starts to take on some strange qualities. (When did my husband and I obtain such bad breath? How does that happen all of the sudden?)

I often find myself reminiscing about the days when our kids were cute toddlers and long to go back to snuggling and reading with them on the couch. Undoubtedly, I loved those moments. But there were the other moments too. The little spats with my husband on dividing up the work. Picking up the zillions of legos on the floor. (I still find them once in a while.) Drying the many tears that come with children. And the continual insecurity that time was going too fast and I wasn't doing everything I needed to be doing.

Then I reached 48. And I'm not so worried anymore. I can go to the grocery store without makeup and not care. My husband and I are as happy as we've ever been. The kids are fine–quite good actually. They can do their own laundry and make grilled cheeses.

Okay sure, my hair needs color every four weeks. There's this squish around my stomach that won't shrink no matter how much I diet. There are things like colonoscopies that lurk in my short future. It's all really okay. I know this because I can put on a bikini (in the privacy of my own home of course) and instead of cry, I laugh–a sure sign of maturity.

me with posse not concerned about age at 48

I Want to Run!

There were plenty of reasons not to go.

• It was going to be expensive.
• The boys might've had state soccer that weekend.
• Cole is playing summer league.
• Doug would most likely be spraying.
• It was going to be expensive.

Still. It was U2. The 30-year reunion of The Joshua Tree tour. Quite possibly the best album ever made according to the Stef Kramer book of music opinions. So I bought the tickets and made hotel reservations for the closest venue: Chicago on June 4th. Then I found out my cousin was getting married that weekend. Oh druthers! God didn't want us to go.

I decided we would sell our tickets. When I tried to cancel my hotel reservation, I was told, "No problem!" But I'd still be charged for both nights. What was going on? God was definitely giving us mixed signals. So after some hand wringing and an assurance from my cousin that there'd be no hard feelings, the trip was on. 

I took two days off from work. Doug scrambled to finish spraying before leaving. Cole told his coach he'd be gone. So with a touch of anxiety, we left for the weekend. Within a few hours, I had no regrets. The weekend was in the Top Ten strata. Why you ask?

My and my college pal, Laura.

• Met up with our busy and elusive daughter, Alex, in Iowa City just as the Arts Festival was going on. What luck! Doug and Cole couldn't have been happier to get their dose of culture.
• Had lunch with a college friend whom I haven't seen for 20 years. 20 years. It was a three hour lunch. (A three hour lunch!) Tears. Smiles. Memories of two 21 year-olds in 1990 getting 42 pitchers at Dooley's on their day-apart birthdays with hardly enough friends to drink all the booze. Lots of laughter.
• Talked with my hubby. I mean really talked. Not once did we discuss schedules or daily to-do's. And you know what? I really like hanging out with Doug. He's fun and good and likes to laugh. I'm so glad I married him.

Did I mention we saw U2? In Soldier Field? In all honesty, it wasn't even the highlight. It was the opening act, The Lumineers. Kidding! I won't deny the entire show was a delight. But the best parts of the weekend? Our kids hanging out together while we scooted off to Chicago. Seeing an old friend whom I still adore. Spending alone time with my cool and awesome husband. 

There's always a million reasons not to do something. So next time you agonize over taking that trip, I'd suggest focusing on the one good reason to do it: connecting with the people that matter to you. That's what Bono would do.

Rainbow Moments

I did snap a photo before it disappeared!

The other morning I went for a walk and spotted a rainbow! It was brilliant and fascinating–as rainbows tend to be. My mind drifted to consider the sequence of colors and if I ever colored them correctly as a child. Blue purple red? Or yellow orange green? When I looked up again, it was gone.

Last week my fortune cookie said, "Don't rush through life. Pause and enjoy it." Easier said than done. This would entail ridding myself of incessant worry. Am I making a difference at work? Have I spent enough time with my parents? Did I get that uniform washed? Should I continue to write? Can I pray just once without other thoughts invading my mind? Am I being a good mom? Could I be a better wife? Ha ha. Just kidding on the last one. I could not be a better wife. (That should get me some feedback.)

Living fully in the present. It seems to be a challenge in this world of bazillion obligations. After putting much thought into this topic, I have concluded that observing children can help. Alex used to drive me up the wall when she was little. Wherever we went, she had to touch and study anything that caught her attention. Colorful candy bar wrappers were a favorite. Instead of scolding her, maybe I should've taken her lead and learned to linger. Linger therapy. Maybe I'll market that.

Perhaps the key is to engage in those activities with so much sensory stimulation, the brain doesn't have room to process anything else. These activities can actually come in the sneaky form of responsibility. A mentoring trip to the zoo. A soccer game. A vocal concert. Even stargazing while taking the dog out for his nightly duty. There really are ways one can be fully present....even with a to-do list tapping at your brain.

Tonight I noticed the lilacs on my tree beginning to wilt. Rather than rushing into the house to feed my laundry machine, I sat in my flower bed picking at weeds–and breathed in the fragrance of my lilacs. I did this until I felt the storm rolling in. And you know what? I didn't even feel anxious about my undone chores. Not one bit.

Maybe I'm starting to get this living in the present concept. And it really does seem to be a gift.

Injury. Adversity. Life.

In the past year, Cole has suffered a concussion, a sprained ankle, a sprained shoulder, and a lower back stress fracture.

I don't think I've been a very good parent through these injuries. Obviously I was concerned–especially about the concussion. But for the others, I didn't want to believe he was hurt. There were games to play. Soccer. Football. Basketball. Soccer. Except for the concussion, it took a few doctor visits (and an x-ray or two)  to convince me my son was really injured. Why would I question my kid's pain when I know very well he loves to play sports and absolutely hates to sit out?

Because I'm a crazy parent. Like so many of us who love to watch their kid play or perform. Once our child displays a smattering of talent in anything (sports, music, chess), we begin to think big. Maybe he could play in college! Maybe she will become the next American Idol! If American Idol was still a thing, that is.

While I was a book and music nerd in my youth (unlike now), my husband was an athlete. He loved sports–still does. But he seems to have a healthier outlook about kids and sports. I.e., he's not a crazy dad. He doesn't believe that sports should be a venue for parents to flash their pride or expand their social network–although those are nice aspects. He believes the purpose is to allow our kids to experience the rewards of being on a team. And teach a little discipline along the way. Most of all, it should be fun.

But it isn't always fun. There are injuries. There are times when your kid doesn't get picked. There are times when other kids are jerks. Hmm. Sounds an awful lot like life.

As Cole was weathering these injuries, he became more frustrated than I've ever seen him. He couldn't shake the pain. He couldn't play. He actually told his coach that he wondered if he should stay in sports. My typically happy son was distraught. I wondered what to do. I had always subscribed to a certain philosophy: work hard, keep positive, and good things will happen. But after all of his injuries, I was beginning to wonder if this advice was setting Cole up for disappointment.

Cole's coach suggested a massage therapist. If it didn't work, Cole would probably give up sports. And I would be the parent who would help him find the bright side and carry on. And I would have to accept that my mom pins would languish in a drawer.

just like the pros...ha!

But the story has a happy ending, with the bonus of having a lesson learned. After months of back pain, the massage therapist employed the "cupping" method to heal muscles. And.... now? He's pain free! He feels great. He can enjoy his favorite sport again. And gratitude is flowing. The past year has been challenging, but our family has realized how adversity can give you perspective–trumping any concern about your kid playing sports. Health. A safe home. A loving family. A pantry full of food. Usually. Usually food in the pantry.

I came across the following article. Every parent should read it. While we moms and dads want success and happiness for our kids, we also need to make them understand the journey isn't always filled with cream puffs. And sometimes to get to the cream puffs, you need to eat your vegetables. Sometimes oatmeal.

http://cheerdaily.com/if-your-child-doesnt-make-the-team/

Sprained ankle? Your dad's got you, Bud.