The Grocery Store Chronicles

It's that time of the year! When trips to the grocery store are fast, frequent and furious. (Well, okay, perhaps the entire year of 2020 has embodied the fervor of holiday grocery shopping.) Whether you're a Hy-Vee or Fareway fanatic, these stores are the place to be. A home away from home. The place to grab your milk. The place to let Eddie or Joe educate you on all things meat. The place to crash carts with the same person over and over again as you zig zag through the store trying to remember where they moved the Parmesan cheese.

As a kiddo, the grocery store was a magical place that earned me a Kit Kat for being good. Or if things weren't going so well, a threat of getting sent to the car. Sitting in the car wasn't only an acceptable form of punishment in the 70's, it was condoned by mothers who really had no escape.

As a teenager, the grocery store was quite possibly the worst place to be, especially if I had to tag along with parents. Much to my dismay, Mom would usually pick out the lane with the cutest grocery bagger. I tried to play it cool, even as she offered me the Kit-Kat for good behavior.

As a college student, the grocery store was a wonderful place again, especially if I was with my parents who were always generous enough to subsidize a cart full of Ramen noodles, and a few Kit Kats for good measure.

Then I landed my first job after college. I knew I had really made it when I could proudly glide right past those Ramen Noodles wearing my heels and a smart blazer.

When I became a parent, admittedly the grocery store lost its magic. Getting groceries with any child under the age of 8, wearing heels (smart blazer or not) is simply hell. No longer was it acceptable to send kids to the car for bad behavior. And Kit Kats were hardly a bargaining chip. My kids were the masters of manipulation. Getting a Kit Kat was merely child's play for them. If we didn't exit the store without at least an additional $50 worth a crap, I could safely assume they were ill.

I clearly remember the day I was able to get walk into Fareway without the kids. Handel's "Hallelujah" greeted me as I walked into the door. The heavens opened and golden rays of lights shined brightly over the produce as I was able to actually deliberate on which apples I wanted to buy. 

As I tiptoe into this brave new world of empty-nested-ness, one thing has becomes clear–especially during the pandemic. Our grocery stores are treasures. One week after the Kramer family garbage disposal (aka Cole) left for college, I spent $300 on food for Doug and me. I was well-aware we had no kids at home. At first, I thought perhaps I was either channeling some guilt for not having enough snacks at the house for the kids (as I was often reminded of) or guilt from feeding our family too shittily throughout the years in the name of convenience (potato chips as a veggie type stuff). But I think more than anything, I was just relishing.

Someone mentioned to me that it appears we're starting to settle into this new world of no kids in the house. Perhaps my grieved expression has faded a bit. Not that I don't miss our kids terribly. I do. But it has occurred to me that I could and should relish more moments that don't involve the kids–like spending time watching Jerry Seinfeld with my hubby, listening to a friend at work, sending funny texts to my parents, or staring at the meat counter debating whether to try the salmon or the cod. 

For me, here they are...cat and dog included:

Pride, in the Name of Love

Alex came out to us three years ago during her junior year in college. While I had always told our kids that it truly didn't matter to us whether they were gay or not, the announcement took me by surprise. I wasn't upset with her, obviously. I was more upset by the fact that I hadn't known all along. Shouldn't a parent have an inkling about these things? I mean, my goodness, what about those crushes on Nick Jonas and Rami Malek? Or those guys she dated in college? The ones we never met? Or never wanted to meet us?

Love the hair. Love the girl.

Needless to say, Alex has taken a painful journey which included a fair amount of Catholic guilt and therapy. It can take a lot of courage to admit to yourself who you really are. No one comes out of the closet because it will make their life easier. They come out to live a more authentic life. If there's one thing I do know about Alex, she's as authentic as they come, despite the smurf-blue hair.

Why bring this up now? Three years after the fact? Well, I usually focus on feel-good topics for this blog. I wasn't quite sure how to weave this topic in. And truthfully, I didn't want anyone to judge my darling daughter. But something happened this week that makes me compelled to write about it.

Doug, Alex and I were FaceTiming this week when our normal light-hearted conversation turned serious in a hurry. (I won't go into the details of why our talk turned, but it was a bit on the political side.) Anyway, through the course of the discussion, Alex told us some terrible things that have happened to her and terrible things that have been said to her. Crushing things. As a parent, there's nothing worse than the feeling that you can no longer protect your child from hate or evil in the world. I was sickened and heartbroken over the fear she lives in–a fear that she bravely faces every day.

Then she told me something that made me completely upset with myself.

At one time Alex asked if I would walk with her during PRIDE. Apparently, I told her "That's your thing, not mine." I don't remember saying this, but I'm guessing I came across that I didn't want to be associated as gay. What a jerk thing to say. I didn't mean to say that I didn't support her. I'm just not a big parade, demonstrator type person (unless of course, it's a Disney parade, but that goes without saying.) But what Alex heard was, "You live in your gay world. I'll live in mine." She didn't push the issue, but I clearly hurt her feelings without realizing it.

I will support and defend our kids to the end of the earth as long as they strive to do good and treat people with respect. Alex works for a non-profit organization that helps sex trafficking victims. She has strong convictions about eliminating oppression. She intends to dedicate her career to fighting injustices. How can I not be proud of that? I'm not only proud of the work she does, but of the person she is whether that be gay, lesbian, bisexual, straight, transgender or non-binary. And if you don't understand some of those categories, that's okay. My hope is you don't judge or hate anyone who identifies as something different than yourself. My hope is that we can all learn to love and accept each other. And, certainly, that should begin with your family.

Alex, sign us up for the next PRIDE event.

God Bless and Peace. 

Last Tour: RIP EVH

 For my mom it was John Lennon. For me, it was Eddie Van Halen. 

It was probably somewhere between my eighth grade and freshman year. 1983-ish. Someone was playing a Van Halen cassette tape on the pep bus to a football game. The first few bars of that chaotic, yet genius guitar soliloquy called Eruption punched me in the gut. Who was this amazing band who electrified The Kinks and seemed to play one thousand notes a second?

Now, I had already been a music fan. I faithfully listened to my mother's Beatles records as a kid. I had a nice collection of 45s: Blondie, Hall & Oates, Nick Lowe, Michael Jackson. My first two real albums were The J. Geils Band and Joan Jett. But nothing would prepare me for the love-at-first-sight when I listened to Van Halen I all the way through. Six thousand times. I quickly acquired their other albums. Van Halen II. Women and Children First. Fair Warning. Diver Down. I knew exactly how long to rewind my cassette to hear Little Guitars over and over again. Until the player ate my tape, of course.

Then something amazing happened.

1984.

I clearly remember Otis12 on Z-92 introducing the new album "featuring Eddie on the keyboards." And while the music was clever and catchy, something even more wonderful was about to happen: videos. Oh my goodness. How I loved videos.

Now, I had certainly had my share of childhood crushes: Shaun Cassidy. Leif Garrett. Scott Baio. But it was different with Eddie. I was fourteen, for one thing, so I was obviously mature. And Eddie Van Halen was so much more than just a cute pop star. He was a cute rock star, clearly evidenced by the Jump and Panama videos. I never tired of watching him shred the guitar with his sweet smile and kick-ass hair which I sort of replicated in my teen years.

I can't think of high school without a Van Halen soundtrack going through my head. Van Halen was literally at the top of my favorite band list. (This was a very real list that I shared with anyone who was interested in my music preferences.) I had a Van Halen pen which I faithfully used for taking notes and dawdling the VH logo throughout the day. I argued with anyone beating a bible and labeling the band as "Devil's Music," insisting that Running with the Devil was obviously a metaphor. To this day, I will not forgive a few of my friends for going to Van Halen's last "David Lee Roth" concert without me as I sat in my bedroom pining, vowing to let nothing stop me from seeing the band next time they came around.

Unless, of course, the band broke up, which, of course, they did.

You know the rest of the story. Sammy Hagar came around. I liked the new Van Halen, but it wasn't the same for me. Those early Van Halen songs were raw, unexpected and a celebration of youthful recklessness. I was transitioning into adolescence. While I wasn't a terribly reckless teen, I appreciated the sentiment and applauded anyone with the audacity to live a bit on the wild side. Van Halen was that world for me. Even if it meant watching them on Friday Night Videos or listening to the albums in my room. Thankfully, I would explore that world a bit more in college. My roommate and I would even pay homage to Van Halen by decorating our ceiling with red and black electrical tape in the image of Eddie's guitar. (It hardly damaged the paint.)

Other bands eventually snuck their way into my heart. Def Leppard. U2. Coldplay. But none of the charismatic front men of those bands would ever replace Eddie Van Halen. He was my very first, my very best rockstar crush. His music, his style, his influence on a nerdy, young girl will be forever tattoo'd in my heart.

Rest in Peace, Eddie.

And Now We Sleep

When I was in college, a million years ago, I remember my mother telling me how she worried less about me in college than when I came home on visits. I would smile, thinking she was only saying that to make her only child feel less guilty about being away. Ha!

The Kramer household has gone through yet another transformation in the last few weeks. Cole has settled down in Iowa City. (Okay, "settled down" isn't quite the right phrase with one disciplinary fine so far.) And Alex has just signed another year-long lease in Denver. We are officially in the empty nest gang. And while my heart hurts when I drive by the school, now acutely unaware of extra-curricular activities, and I long to bitch about the piles of shoes under the dining room table, smelly socks under the couch, dirty dishes on the living room floor, I've come to an important realization. I'm sleeping unbelievably well.

I hate to brag, but I've always been a fairly solid sleeper. When Doug and I were first married we'd crawl into bed and chat about our days as newlyweds do. But within minutes, I'd be responding in gibberish, talking about things like the horses we didn't have. You see, it takes me approximately three minutes to fall asleep after I hit the pillow. Back then, we would joke that when we'd have kids, Doug would need to be the one to get up with them since I fell asleep so quickly. Then we had kids. Mysteriously, Doug began to sleep sound as a pound. And I would awaken upon the slightest creak which was most certainly something that would bring harm to our kids.

Between crying babies, toddler nightmares, sick kids, teenagers going out, teenagers staying in (and having friends over), it's simply not possible to have peaceful sleep for the first 18 years of a child's life.Until, of course, they leave for college.

It didn't happen immediately. The first week, I found myself sitting in bed, stalking Life 360 to see where the new college student was and where he had gone that day. I was also texting our Denver-ite more to fill in the new silent gaps. Our Denver-ite likes to respond to texts well after bedtime, so I was awakening upon the dings just as I had been awakened by those slight creaks all those years ago... In other words, I was not sleeping like that mythical baby. Yet.

Then something happened. I began to bore of stalking Cole. I started calling Alex at sensible times so she couldn't text me in the middle of the night. And Doug and I began planning things. Projects to do. Places to go. Foods to try. Drinks to make. Golf clubs to hack. We were quickly reminded of our early married days. And you know what? Those were really fun days. And the days are beginning to be that fun once again.

Cole was home over Labor Day. We were ecstatic to see him. But it wasn't the worst to see him go back to avoid the worry that comes when he is out with his buddies–just as my mother had said all those years ago. He's not here. Alex isn't here. But they are well. And we can fall into a deep slumber with hardly any worry at all... except for, of course, that annoying, nocturnal bladder.

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