Reasons to Celebrate

Remember when you looked forward to birthdays? Me neither. Still, like my dad always says, any day on the right side of the dirt is a good day. So, last week I faced another annual celebration with a positive attitude. And you know what? It worked. I spent the whole day celebrating another notch on the birthday belt. I reminded myself that a good friend of mine never got to see the birthday I was celebrating. That's when I started counting my blessings.

1. I'm relatively healthy. Apart from the ubiquitous arthritis and a recurrent bout of plantar fasciitis (which would probably go away if I was smart enough to quit playing tennis), I'm in good shape.
2. Both my parents are still around. With those kind of genes, I should make it long enough to see Paris Hilton become a grandmother.
3. A couple of years ago, I got to take my dream trip to Italy. I could have died happy after that but God decided he wanted me to see a few of the spots we missed. We're going back later this year.
4. I have a husband who loves me and two kids that can tolerate being in the same room with me. On my birthday, my son actually took me to dinner and didn't even bolt right after the last bite was eaten!
5. After years of threats, I actually wrote a novel. More importantly, I completed a first revision and am awaiting the arrival of an actual 252 page paperback with my name on it.
   

I could go on and on. Stopping to count your blessings has a way of putting everything in perspective. In fact, when I think about it, lots of wonderful things have happened in my fifties so edging closer to sixty doesn't scare me nearly as much it used to. As long as I keep learning; as long as I keep moving; as long as I keep trying to grow, getting older can't get me down. As far as I can see, there's only one bad thing about getting older. Those pests from AARP and the Scooter store. They, and their buddies at the Hearing Aid Center, just won't leave me alone. If I could find a way to get off their mailing lists, maybe l wouldn't think about getting older at all.

Here's to Dads

This blog is normally about the adventures of motherhood. Today I'm going to give dads their due.

I've had the great opportunity to closely observe two very different styles of fathering in my life. My own dad, raised with six sisters, has always been in touch with his emotional side. He's smart, funny and as generous as Mother Teresa. Like most dads he's taught me about sports, finances, home repair and car maintenance. But, thanks to those sisters, he's been an unending source of support and encouragement.

My children's father brings his own gifts to the party. He's more rational than emotional but is still quick with words of praise and never shy about hugs. He values order and organization (something his wife continues to work on). His strength and determination, hard work and preparation have inspired our kids to set goals and believe in their ability to do anything they set their minds to. They can ask him about any subject from business to bougainvilleas and he'll usually have an answer. Since he's the most talented person I know, they can ask him how to do just about anything and he'll be able to tell them.

My kids are so lucky to have these two men in their lives. And so am I.

You Cannot Be Serious

Tonight I found out a shocking secret about my husband. No, he isn't having an affair. No, he hasn't embezzled funds from his place of business. No. What he confessed was something completely unbelievable. He has never paid an overdue fee at the library. Being the proud, not to mention frequent, benefactor of our local literary emporium, I expressed profound incredulity at this fact. "Never?" I asked. "You've never forgotten about a book; never lost a book?" He stared at me as if I had two heads. "Absolutely not. Why would anyone do that?" he replied, in imminent danger of being struck by the nearest heavy object.

Library fines are just the tip of the iceberg. He's never run out of gas; never paid a dime in credit card interest or late fees and never forgotten about a scheduled appointment/meeting/lunch date. He has agenda books as old as our children that are referenced frequently and protected like valuable first-editions. His life is a study in discipline, order and logic. In short, the exact opposite of yours truly.

I try. God knows, I try. I make lists. I put things on the fridge calendar. I even tried a Palm Pilot. Problem is, you have to remember to take the list with you, you have to glance at the calendar, you have to input info into the personal assistant. All of these minor details seem to be beyond me. And since I can no longer remember what I wanted when I get to the top of my staircase, I think it's safe to say that ship has sailed.

So, I'll have to be content with the satisfaction I felt today when I made my latest trip to the library, walking out without paying a dime. That makes me two for two. I know I'll never land on my husband's planet but, if I stay focused, I'll finally be able to orbit it for awhile. The downside is, that library better organize a decent fundraiser. They're going to miss me.

Second Chances

Exactly how many chances are we human beings entitled to? That's a question I've been wrestling with ever since my daughter announced that she's reconciling with her ex. Theirs has been a tempestuous relationship in the best of times and decidedly unhealthy in the worst. After more than a year of drama, her father and I were more than relieved when, after numerous break-ups, they finally went their separate ways. Now, after a couple of months, they've decided to forgive, forget and try again. And they want us to be, if not happy, okay with that.

I'm not stupid. I know people, especially young people, make mistakes. God knows my errors in judgment and dealing with relationships could fill a rather large, somewhat entertaining book. I try not to hold a grudge; I know how important it is to forgive. But when you mess with one of my kids, all bets are off. I want to preserve the close bond with my daughter; I don't want to drive a wedge between us. Trouble is, I keep remembering that Maya Angelou quote, 'When people show you who they are, believe them'. And, while I know people can change, I also know they usually don't. So, if I decide to welcome this guy back into the fold and he ends up resorting to his previous, verbally abusive behavior (or worse, escalates into something physical), how am I ever going to deal with that?

My daughter reassures me that it won't happen. He's a changed man. He's grown up. He's gotten his act together and is treating her like a queen. She's already convinced. Her father and I are going to take a lot longer.