Finally, She Writes

Last week a longtime coworker/friend dropped off a graduation gift for Cole. While I had been ticking along all day, just doing my job, this singular, sweet act made me burst into tears. Apparently, beneath this oh-so-calm countenance is an emotional volcano boiling up inside me.

My family is healthy. I have a job which keeps me busy. For those two things, I'm deeply and undeniably grateful. God is good to me. I know this. But there's this part of me (the part which sheds tears over the sight of college towels) that seems to lack a certain resiliency. It annoys me actually. Some people are just so darn strong. As a matter of fact, there are these people I know who seem to bear an incredible resiliency. They actually are knocking my socks off during this crazy pandemic. These people happen to be our kids. I have no doubt they inherited this from their father.

Zenlike Alex

Our smart, recent college-grad daughter was laid off her job – like many others. And despite her hypochondria-tic tendencies, she seems amazingly calm about the situation. (She does live in Denver, where calm seems to be the prevalent mood – must be the mountain air, ahem.) Anyway she's running with Bruce-dog, sporting only a few injuries from the puppy's ADD issues. She's cooking healthy and creative meals with her chef roomie. (He's a real chef.)  She's writing and sending pitches. She's making music and posting covers. She's thinking deeply about her future. And here's the cool thing: she's talking to her mother more than ever, meaning, she's actually answering my calls. It's usually quite nice... until I start down anxiety road and become crazy mom, trying to convince her to do things like go back to school. My wish. Not hers. Alex has always had a strong vision for her life, and this environment is only making her more focused on her dreams. Her dreams. She's a clever girl, and luckily, she's patient with me as I navigate parenting an adult, trying my best to back off. (She is still answering my calls, Thanks God. Who else can I talk to about Mrs. Maisel? Not the boys in my house!)

Power Up, Cole.

Cole, on the other hand, has had his senior year and final soccer season ripped away from him – like many others have. And while we all know and understand why, it doesn't take away that pit in your stomach when you see the game on the calendar that was supposed to be played, or the grad party that was supposed to be celebrated. But I don't see Cole moping or wallowing. A little sad, yes. But for the most part he's optimistic. He's seems pacified that the grad parties will be delayed, and that he'll perhaps get to play with his soccer team at the Iowa Games this summer. In the meantime, when he's not doing homework online, he's working on projects! He's begun to explore the old house with his buddies (presumably with social distancing tactics in place). And guess what they've found? Treasures for sure... like two GIANT dead raccoons in the old house and cave. It doesn't get much better than that. He's also become Chip Gaines – using same said buddies to convert a basement storage room into a "man cave." (Apparently, Cole needed different scenery than his bedroom which for all intents and purposes smells like man cave to me.) No matter, I was pleasantly surprised by his domestic ambitions. Previously, this storage space was chock full – you couldn't actually walk through it without climbing over mounds of carpet, dead bugs, and painting supplies. Now it's spic and span, hosting the foosball table, a TV and a gaming system. I was like, "Cole! Where did you put everything?" He was like, "That's just the thing, Mom! We reorganized everything and put it all under the stairs." I was duly impressed... until the next day when I went into the furnace room to find where much of the crap had gone. But it's okay. I'm glad he's keeping himself occupied. I'll have him tackle the furnace room next. And then the next room he shuffles the crap to. This should keep him busy, until college in the fall.

So, those tears I talked of earlier? Maybe they aren't really a sign of weakness. I think they were the realization that life goes on, perhaps with a new appreciation of things. Gifts given to your kids. Facetiming with your daughter. Filling a planter with your husband on a beautiful spring day. Having lunch with your parents. Going on a walk with your sister-in-law. Making Snapfish books with your son for that eventual grad party. Looking at the new baby cows. And, of course, as always, watching The Office.

Stay well, friends.

So much to explore. And appreciate.

Four Tickets to Paradise

So, this is paradise.

That was my thought twelve years ago when we went to Cancun with friends. In our late thirties at the time, Doug and I promised we wouldn't let our passports expire. Never! We were gonna travel the world! But then, you know... life. We discovered quickly it was much easier to travel domestically with kids. So, now, with the kids nearly grown, we decided to return to that beautiful place where rum flows like water. Good water, not from Mexico.

The adventure really began in the airport. Before going through security, I asked Cole (several times) if he had any liquids in his bag. "No! No! Of course not." Then he got that questioning look on his face. "Wait. Is toothpaste a liquid?" We chuckled and assured him he would be fine. I was actually impressed he remembered toothpaste. Then we went through, shoes off, electronics and bags in the trays, and waited for our stuff. Cole's duffle bag was being held back. We watched as Mr. TSA pulled out a full bottle of shampoo. Then a full bottle of body wash. Cole tried to explain to Mr. TSA, "Oh, those are really old." Yeah. The argument didn't hold so well. TSA guy tossed the bottles, with a sly smirk on his face. Well, at least Cole wasn't paged over the loud speaker to retrieve his boarding pass that was found on the ground. This time.

Alex's screening wasn't exactly smooth either. She began to tell me the story. Not having seen our daughter for nearly two months, I was struck how her sweet, rosy cheeks reminded me of her innocent toddler days. She continued her story. As it turned out, she was asked if she was wearing any metal in (ahem) a delicate, bra-line area. Her mother told her that no good would come of that type of piercing. But it did bring us a good laugh.

They grow up so fast.

waves crashing

Then the adventure continued.

I discovered quickly that the trick to mastering Zumba is to perform the sexy dance moves in water. I was actually quite good. Well, I felt like I was quite good. My confidence was quickly dismantled during a heated game of keep-away in which I pulled my Achilles. I had to drop out. I slunk back to my beach chair and read with the other moms while the other fathers played with their kids in the pool.

Not only did I excel in Zumba, but I clearly mastered the art of sunscreen... unlike the rest of my family. While Doug might be a pro in the game of keep-away, he's challenged in the area of sunscreen. In his defense, the sun in Iowa isn't nearly as powerful as the sun in the Yukatan. Hardly ever the self-conscious type, he was very concerned by the streaky burn on his chest. I assured and assured and assured him that it didn't look bad. Then some old lady came up to him and said, "My God! Don't you know how to apply sunscreen?" Doug laughed politely and said, "Yeah, I missed a few areas." Then, she disgustedly replied, "Well, I guess so."

But old, crabby ladies couldn't possibly ruin the vacation at the luxurious Dreams resort. (Shout out to Four Seasons Travel!) We dressed up every night to enjoy fancy food at fancy restaurants. We ate squids and snails. We listened to great live music. We took a cocktail class where we didn't learn a thing, but thoroughly enjoyed seven beautifully-poured shots with names like "Shit in the Grass." We played beach volleyball in which we middle-aged parents beat our athletic kids as pretty twenty-somethings watched in amusement. We took periodic breaks from the sun after discovering the "Core Zone." We played endless games of ping pong in which Cole clearly dominated much to his father's dismay. We played pool in which Doug clearly dominated much to his own delight. We eventually got kicked out of the gaming area, not realizing the Core Zone was only for ages 13-17. But just wait. We'd show them...

On the night before our departure, the resort held a Family Trivia Night. I insisted. As we poured into the theater, my family quickly observed the number of really young families with really young kids. So, I double-checked with the staff. "Was this event for all ages?" Absolutely. So, I grabbed the clicker and instructed the Kramfam to take seats. The game began and it was quickly evident that our ages had some advantages. Halfway through, they flashed the scores. We were slaying it. A little embarrassed, I leaned over to Doug and asked if he wanted to leave. "Screw it. Let's take it to them." Always the competitor. After 25 questions, the game ended. We had a feeling we had kept our lead up, but we had missed a few toward the end. So, we'd have to wait. However, you see, it wasn't just a simple announcement of the winner. It was a ceremony. The emcee built excitement by announcing third place winners first. A sweet little girl came up to get their family's prize. Then the second place winners were announced. Another sweet little girl came up to get their family's prize, at which point Alex skedaddled to the bathroom which was bullocks because she answered most of the questions! Then... it came. The announcement. Team Kramer had won. No one in my family would go on stage. I had to do it. Like moms do. So I sheepishly walked to the stage to collect a plethora of gifts. Maracas. A pouch. A key chain. A t-shirt. A bracelet. A pretty painting from a handicapped artist. I did end up giving most of the gifts away to kids in the audience. Except the painting. Dammit. We earned that.

Getting home was another story. Without belaboring it, we missed a connecting flight in Houston and had to stay over another night. It was a long 24 hours, but we finally made it back to Omaha. We were following a group of men that we had seen clear back at the beginning of our journey from Mexico.We were all tired. A bit delirious. Suddenly, I hear a loud "PPPPPPHST." Did that man really just break wind on us? Or, to be more accurate, did he just drop an atomic bomb? I didn't trust my hearing by that time. But I did trust my sense of smell. I looked at Doug. He looked at me. We tried like hell not to laugh. The poor guy was probably exhausted as well. Or maybe he just got really comfortable with us by that time.

So, despite the hiccups at the end of our travels, it was a top five vacation. I'll admit I was a little sad to leave. I guess that's the thing about paradise. It doesn't ever get old.

We dressed up every night. There seems to be no evidence. All beach/pool photos.

Pick a Direction. Now Go!

Doug likes to tell the story of his high school graduation gift from his parents: a suitcase. What better message to send to an 18-year-old than "time for you to leave now"? I don't remember my gift, but I distinctly remember crying all the way to Iowa City as my mother smiled encouragingly, reminding me that I would soon be a Hawkeye and my homesickness would fade in no time.

Our parents knew what they were doing. Doug eventually left the homestead, and my homesickness evaporated within days.

Alex designed her dress. Age 12.

We now seem to be at that point on the parenting spectrum. Alex the Eldest graduated from college last May and moved to Denver to make a splash in the world of journalism. She had crushed it in college, after all. Fast forward eight months. Writing jobs are drying up. The food industry pays well. Living is expensive. Daughter is in a funk. Adulting sucks! And just when we were ready to suggest she consider going back to school, Alex declares herself an entrepreneur! With her creativity and tactile proclivities, she's starting a fashion design business for the niche market of drag queens. Now she wonders about taking some business classes. At one time she would've scoffed at that ludicrous idea.

On the other hand, Cole the Youngest is in his last semester of high school, and he's suddenly panicking about choosing the right career path. (It was so much easier when he knew he was going to be Spiderman or a Major League Soccer player!) Does he really want to pursue Exercise Science? What about art? Art design maybe? Or maybe he should reconsider history? What career will ensure him of a penthouse like Justin Timberlake in Friends with Benefits? And a girlfriend like Mila Kunis?

A strong Spidey sense. Age 4.

Important life questions. For sure. So, what's a parent to do?

Doug takes the practical approach: Make sure you find a job that pays.

My approach is a bit less practical: Make sure you find a career that makes you happy.

We're both correct, of course. But there's another element that can be a difficult concept to grasp: make sure you're contributing. It sounds almost formulaic, but it doesn't mean much unless it's fused with a bit of passion and sincere empathy. This doesn't mean you need to solve world poverty, although, that would be nice. It also doesn't mean you need to pull down six figures, although, that would be nice as well. It simply means you made a positive difference in someone's life.

I just finished reading a great book called Britt-Marie Was Here by Fredrik Backman. He's an amazing author with a gift for depicting the most ordinary, yet compelling characters. There's a very profound point in the story when Britt-Marie begins to understand her purpose. The chapter begins with this:

"At a certain age almost all the questions a person asks him or herself are really just about one thing: how should you live your life?"

Britt-Marie is 63-years-old, by the way. As parents, we try to instruct our kids every step of the way when we, ourselves, are also trying to figure it all out. We've made mistakes, and we learned. We made more mistakes, and we learned. We'll make more mistakes, and I hope we will learn. But all throughout, we found many moments of happiness – especially when we realized we were making a difference.

So, kids... pick a direction and go. We'll try not hover. And when you fall down, we'll know you're on your way to great things.

Do You Speak Cinema?

When Alex was just a fuzz past two-years-old, I had to give her a talk about something she shouldn't have done. It was a gentle scold – as mine have always been (and not terribly effective, I might add). But she was only a toddler, and at that age, who knew if she really got what I was trying to say. By the end of my lecture, I asked her if she understood. She stood tall in her crib and replied, "Because being brave doesn't mean you go looking for trouble, right?"

Straight from The Lion King.

In terms of raising kids, that scene is what you might call foreshadowing. Doug and I might've failed in many respects of childrearing, but we did one thing right. We bestowed upon them a fairly deep knowledge of cinema. And now? They are fluent in movie-speak. There's rarely a family outing without a hefty dose of lines from some of the classics.

Here's me trying to get someone to go for a walk:

"Who's with me? Ahhhhhhhh!"  (John Belushi, Animal House, motivating the Deltas to avenge their expulsion from Faber. Then running out the door without anyone following him. Ahem.)

Or, here's Doug responding to Alex who is describing an outfit someone was wearing:

"I remember her wearing black. Everyone was wearing black. I thought it was a fashion thing." (Bill Murray in Scrooged, responding to the ghost of Christmas Present, when she reminded him that his secretary's husband had died.)

Or, here's the family giving compliments to an unknown chef at a restaurant:

"Ugly as sin. But a sweet girl. Helluva a good cook." (Randy Quaid in Christmas Vacation, talking about the Yak Woman, one of his son's circus associates.)

Or, here's Cole facetiming his buddy for a total of ten seconds without a greeting or a good-bye, only needing to know the start of game time:

"When you get your answer, hang up."  (Brad Pitt in Moneyball, when contacting various agents in making trade deals.)

Or, here's Doug wafting the blankets in my face after passing gas and I'm telling him to stop:

"Well, if you don't want me to..." (Fever Pitch. The response to Jimmy Fallon after asking his buddy "Why you shaving my balls, Doc?")

Or, here's any of us saying goodnight, with a deep, unrelenting hug:

"I hate good-byes!" (Jim Carrey, in Dumb and Dumber, as Mary Swanson's driver, whom he just met.)

Or, here's Cole taunting his father into a fight:

"Don't try it Anakin! I have the high ground." (Obi Wan Kenobi, in his fateful light saber fight with the Jedi who becomes Darth Vader. But you all knew that.)

Or, here's he-who-must-not-be-named (hint: Cole or Doug) belching or farting in a way that should clear the room while the rest of us are are screaming how terrible it is:

"Terrible, yes. But great." (Ollivander the Wandmaker in Harry Potter, speaking of the evil Voldemort.)

There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of more quotes we use on fairly frequent basis. But I think "that'll do, donkey, that'll do."

I remember as a child that there was a common notion that TV and movies were going to be the ruin of us. (Thankfully, this was not a sentiment my parents shared.) Well, as a solid Gen X'er, I can say with a fair amount of confidence that TV and movies didn't ruin us. It kind of made us, really. Storytelling has been around since the beginning of time. And no matter what form it takes (books, movies, even video games), it will always connect us. As we begin this new year with a load of new movies to take in, may the force be with you.

What quotes have become part of your family's language? I'd love to hear them!

Star Wars. Nothing but Star Wars...

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.

An Unconventional Gratitude List

Someone asked me the other day if I was still blogging. Of course, I am! But the last several blogs have mostly been in my head. I had a beautiful essay on the beauty of harvest after riding in the combine with my husband one night. It was somewhat self-aggrandizing for someone who doesn't do much on the farm except sing in a combine. That post got cut. (I'm a tough editor.)

So, here I am, back to it. Tapping the keyboard on my day off – the best way to burn off those turkey day calories – thinking deeply about gratitude. I could bore you all with the standard litany of thankfulness: God, family, friends, dogs named Percy who are so adorable sleeping in front of a Christmas tree and not barking or pooping. But I'm not gonna do that. (Disclaimer: I do not believe God nor family to be boring. Insert sign of cross.)

I sent out a survey to the Kramfam, asking them to name something unconventional they are thankful for. It took some time before I received any response, so here are a few things I came up with in the meantime:

• Untangling lights. So frustrating. So satisfying. Once I've unraveled a strand, I always wonder if I shouldn't have become an engineer. I'm sure unraveling lights is similar to building bridges.
• Having in-depth "top-five" lists with my son. E.g., top five movies not a part of a franchise, top five movies within a franchise, best superheroes... you get it. Hubby and firstborn think these conversations are silly.
• A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Indisputably, the best novel ever.
• Being an alum of a superior writing school school with sports programs that make any win seem like a national championship title. Black. Gold. Black. Gold.
• Being a child of the 80s when video killed the radio star. #Def_Leppard #I'llMissThoseJeans. (Shameless plug?)
• Day drinking on my days off. The recipe of choice:
  
          *1 shot of North 40 Vanilla Bean
          *1 Can of Fresca (or Diet Squirt)
          *1 Squeeze of Orange
  
  For best effect, mix and drink fast. Make another. And then another. Sponsored by Lonely Oak Distillery. 

Just in! The unconventional gratitudes from Alex, the eldest of our children:

• Salt. It makes gross shit taste great.
• Hands, and a sense of rhythm so I can play music.
• Bruce (the dog) because he's strange but beautiful.
• Not to be sleeping on a friend's couch anymore, to have a bed of my own.

She's profound and broke. And she did graduate from the best writing school in the world. 

After a little prodding, I finally heard from the boys in the family unit:

From Doug, the patriarch:

• Iowa Hawkeyes beating the Nebraska Huskers... and (in quieter voice) the ISU Cyclones.

That's it for the hubby. Well, there were other things I choose not to repeat.

From Cole, the youngest:

• Girls
• White Christmas lights.
• Snow

"Because all of them are pretty." 

Our son added that he hoped girls would read this and be impressed. He is 18 and doesn't realize that my audience doesn't include a whole lot of teenagers. As a matter of fact, my audience doesn't include a whole lot of anyone, really. But it doesn't matter! I'm happy to have a few moments to reflect, to write and make a few of you smile. Oh yeah! I just remembered another gratitude: Smiling! In the immortal words of Buddy the Elf, "I love smiling. It's my favorite!"

As we kick off this holiday season, I hope you all continue to think about those unique things we take for granted... like readers of inconsequential blogs. With that in mind, thank you. Seriously, thank you. I appreciate having a forum to tell a story or two. 

"We are all storytellers... there isn't a stronger connection between people than storytelling." 

-Jimmy Neil Smith

A Twisted, Beautiful Day

I love Saturdays.

But today was weird.

I completely intended to sleep in until at least 7:30 – a nice reprieve from my normal 5:30 alarm. So, when I woke up at 4AM with a splitting headache, I was a tiny bit frustrated. It's normal for me to have a headache, so I follow a strict routine in attempt to cure. I start with a prescription dose of ibuprofen and put together an ice pack for my head. After securing and balancing a Ziploc ice bag on my head, I fell back asleep. When I awoke a few hours later, the ice had melted. So I picked up the bag, carelessly. Then, as it began to split wide open, I literally froze, feeling helpless as the broken bag waterboarded me. There's nothing quite like having a cup of icy cold water pour all over your face. Apparently, I had used a plethora of ice. After waking Doug up with a bloodcurling scream, there was nothing I could do. Except laugh with my hubby. It was kind of funny.

Then, minutes later, after changing out of my soaked t-shirt, I found my son standing at our bedroom door.

"Mom?" he said as I wondered if he was sick. (It was still quite early, mind you.)

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "But Percy puked all over the floor."

Percy didn't just puke all over the floor. He spewed like a volcano, all over the shag carpet. His particular brand of lava was chuckage of cheesy chicken and corn which really bonded nicely with the carpet fabric. All before 7:30.

But it was still Saturday!

Halloween finds. Great price. Great look.

After all was cleaned up, Cole and I decided to make a quick trip to Wal-Mart. Nothing perks me up like a shopping trip of any kind whatsoever. And we needed to pick up important Halloween supplies. We had pretty good luck! Upon checkout, the cashier asked me if I had good eyes. I wasn't sure where she was going with this, and I hesitated to respond. She asked me again. This time a little impatient. So I said, "I think so." (My eyesight isn't that great, but I panicked.) She asked me to read a UPC number on the Batman shirt I was buying because the tag had been cut off. Well, I failed. Twice. The font size was like "1"! And I'm 50 years-old for goodness sake. I sent Cole back for another shirt with a tag as the line behind us began to grow. Cole zipped back for the all important Batman shirt, so I bonded with the cashier and the guy behind me – trying to keep in his good graces. The nice cashier wasn't having a bad day. It was going fast for her! She had already been there an hour! (It was 9:00 AM.) That was good, she said, because often her work days didn't go so fast. She was really looking forward to Wednesday and Thursday – her days off. Anyway, the happy ending to this part of the day? We got the Batman shirt. And I feel like we made some friends.

This afternoon I decided to submit that winter is coming. I began to put away the outdoor furniture, sad as it may be. After making progress on that front, I thought to myself, what the heck. Let's transfer some of my lilies. A grave error on my part. Within minutes, I was covered with black pirate bugs who adored the taste of my skin. After doing the bug-get-off-me dance, I gave up on chores and showered. I was getting ready to make tatortot casserole, when Doug called for a water break. And he had a surprise! He told me he wouldn't be harvesting too late, and we could do something tonight. And I believed him. After nearly 30 years of this harvest dance, I believed him.

So, here I sit, in a really cute new vest, contemplating the events of the day. And I'm smiling. No matter what time the boys get in, it was a good day. Who cares about soaked t-shirts, dog puke and bug bites? My headache disappeared. I got to spend time with my son. I saw both my parents. My daughter texted me. The Hawks won. And I will soon have a beer with my hubby... even if we don't quite make it out tonight. It was a little twisty, but it really was a beautiful day.