A New Moon

Cole is one week away from move-in day. Next Sunday we'll drive to our beloved Iowa City to unload his college gear at Hillcrest Dormitory–my old dorm and his big sister's old dorm. Is he ready? Are we ready?

I've noticed a certain maturity in Cole lately. Things like doing laundry without me prompting him, even if he mixes reds with whites. Or getting a replacement license on his own after losing his wallet. (We found this out after his new license came in the mail. In all fairness, he's had plenty of practice at replacing lost ones.) Or, reading books on his own. Sure, it's the Twilight series, but hey, it's reading.

We've somehow managed to celebrate the end of this era. It's almost like the high school graduation season that would never end. Since May there's been a virtual graduation ceremony, a live, socially-distanced ceremony, grad parties with lots of hand sanitizer, an impromptu prom, a last hurrah vacation with some fatherly mooning amidst a beautiful South Dakota backdrop, and a senior soccer sendoff allowing mothers to sport their cool soccer gear at least one more time while watching the boys battle it out with their buds on the field. Despite the pandemic, every single event has been a wonderful tribute to the kids we raised and the friendships they've cultivated.

There's not a parent who doesn't feel a gaping hole when they send their kids out into the world. I still feel that hole with our 23-year-old. But that hole is peppered with excitement about the future. Yes, there's a lot of yuck in the world right now. But I can't help but feel hopeful for our kids. They still see a giant, blank slate in front of them. If anything positive can be taken from this past year, perhaps it's the space and time that came from the screeching halt of activities. I know we all yearn for those activities. But perhaps it allowed some of our kids to do a bit of window gazing and deep thinking, when they weren't playing Clash Royale, of course.

Cole wants to start packing today.  He's also been having some very serious thoughts about the career he wants to pursue. A good sign. He's starting to truly think ahead! But he also wants to watch New Moon with me. Also a good sign. He's still living out some of his tween fantasies. You can't grow up all at once. You shouldn't grow up all at once. Or maybe ever. Perhaps we should all relive our tween fantasies once in a while. That would mean Charlie's Angels for me.

I completely expect to become immersed in nostalgia as soon as we walk through the doors of Cole's new digs and I smell the same weird, stale odor that greeted me in 1987. I clearly remember the blank slate before me. It was exciting, but terrifying. No matter what's happening in the world right now, I know it will be the same for our kids just starting out: a wonderfully, scary time. But more wonderful than scary.

So, ready or not... here we all go.

Return to Self

I was listening to a Rachel Hollis podcast the other day when the topic of anxiety in women came up. It was suggested that when dealing with anxiety you should ask yourself, "Who are you trying to please?" I didn't hear much more of the podcast because my mind got stuck on the question. I began to list everyone I wanted to please. Then, my answer became clear in a hurry. Everyone. I want to please everyone.

happy family on vaca

I don't think it's the worst quality – to be pleasing. But obviously trying to please everyone is a recipe for early heart disease. Or at least some major heartburn. I think back to the days of family trips when our kids were young. I couldn't wait for these vacations – times to make great family memories! And we certainly did that. We reminisce about those times frequently. But I also remember, all too clearly, those feelings of angst when an annoyed father came into direct conflict with an exhausted kid. I took it as a personal failure if everyone wasn't cheery. As a matter of fact, I still do. In just about any situation. Ridiculous? Undoubtedly.

I realize that I've also been raising our kids to have this "please everyone" quality. It's partially why I have been so obsessive about their every action. "What are you doing? Who's going with you? Did you make sure to ask so-and-so along? You're not drinking are you?"  (So, the last question was geared to please a worried mother. Namely, yours truly.) But I'm trying to back off. I doubt my kids have noticed, but I haven't been texting them a million times a day. I haven't been giving my opinions on how they should or shouldn't react to certain situations. I haven't been telling them where they should go or where they need to be. (Of course, having Life360 allows me to monitor their locations so I know where they're at at all times. This is just a pure necessity for moms of all ages. I can't believe my mother doesn't use it on me.)

utter joy? or terror?

Right now, I'm going through an awakening. Our oldest has landed a real job and even has her first car loan. Our youngest is a month away from starting college. I'm not one bit nervous about settling into empty-nestedness. (I still really like my husband.) But I'm trying to determine how to dissolve the child-rearing anxiety and replace it with constructive concern as our kids transition into adults.

Part of this process, I think, involves returning to me. What does this mean? I'm not completely sure yet, but I think it means shedding some of these anxieties by doing stuff – like going on a motorcycle ride with Doug without worrying that the kids will become orphans. Or going tubing with other moms without worrying that my screams or muffin tops will embarrass the family. Or just listening to our kids without giving the advice of a chronic people-pleaser. Hopefully, the kids will love this new maternal, less-opinionated, less-helicoptered response! And if they wonder what's wrong with me? I will simply say, "Lots of things. But here's what matters: I love you. And I trust you'll figure stuff out."

And so will I.

Letter to My 2020 Graduate

The graduation invitations are rolling in now. And we parents of the class of 2020 are crossing our fingers and toes with the hopes of actually having the parties. Am I sad that our son's senior year was hijacked by a pandemic? Undeniably. But here's the truth: I was going to be a sappy mess anyway. So, with our youngest nearly out of the house, I'd rather focus on the pride and love I feel for the kid. Thus, here's my letter to him on his High School Graduation:

Cole–

When I was pregnant with you, I wondered how it would be possible to love another child as much as I loved your sister. Then you came out, almost exactly on schedule (always so punctual), and I learned how the heart can expand. After your father nearly fainted, and Dr. Markham had to heave your big melon out of my stomach, they placed you in my arms. And I fell in love all over again.

Cute Cole. Head Tilt and All.

From the time you were a baby (even during your crabby, collicky phase), you've been a ray of light in our family – and not just because of your blinding white hair. Superheroes were not merely a childhood fascination. They were, and still are, a philosophy. While I took pause at your fascination with Darth Vader, it never bothered me one bit that you wanted to grow up to be Spiderman or Batman. I knew you would embrace the responsibility of any kind of power. And while you might not swing from rooftop to rooftop saving lives, you certainly understand how to impact others by showing simple kindness to anyone and everyone. I loved it when you called me out on getting unknowingly snippy at the doctor's office, worried I had hurt a nurse's feelings. (I did call back and apologize, much to their surprise and appreciation.)

BFFs in Isolated Celebration

Your zest for people and life is so abundantly clear. With you, everyone and everything is your favorite or the best. Every meal is your favorite, as long as there's no cabbage or strawberries in the recipe. Every movie is regarded as the best of all time in some obscure critic's list on the Internet. And your friends are always, always the best. No matter what happens, they are the best. While we might give you a hard time about your phone, I completely understand why you connect with people. Your bright and empathetic personality makes everyone's day. All 90 streaks of them.

Beyond your great personality, it's such a joy to watch your talent. We have loved watching you excel in soccer and do well in just about any sport, as long as you could sprint! But here's what I love about your attitude toward sports: You love them. You enjoy them. But sports aren't everything to you. You've been a talented artist since you were a toddler. You're articulate and can speak to a crowd at the drop of a hat. And if given a choice between playing soccer or watching a newly-released Marvel movie, I think you'd be genuinely torn.

There are so many more things about you that make me smile:

• Your ability to diffuse me immediately when I'm upset with you. You never get defensive. You just agree. This is both maddening and impressive.
• How you can play Call of Duty until the enemy has been completely annihilated, but you'd never shoot a living thing.
• Your happy whistle, announcing your entrance – even at 1:00 AM in the morning.
• How you tell us more than we want to know because you trust us. You don't even seem to mind a few lectures after your tell-all, parent-flinching stories.
• Your sense of humor and ability to quote movie lines with perfect timing because of the high quality parenting you received as a child.
• How you play with our dog, the cat and your bottle-fed calf.
• How much you respect Jim Halpert.
• Your capacity to eat and eat and eat as if you have a tapeworm, and then say no to ice cream simply because you're not hungry. No one eats ice cream because they're hungry.
• How you cry right along with me during movies. I love this.

I love all of these things and more about you. There's no doubt in my mind you were born to have an amazing impact on anyone and everyone you meet. Your goodness, desire to achieve, and ability to love without judging will take you far in life, bud. 

Wishing you all the joy, peace and success in the world, Cole. And, of course...

May the Force Be With You.

Love,

Mom

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...