Let's Put on a Wedding

When I got married thirty years ago, I booked our church, found a banquet hall that had our date available (and featured family style dinners for $21 per person including open bar), and bought a dress for under $200. I picked out bridesmaids' dresses and flower arrangements and found a decent photographer. After that, I figured my work was done. And it was. I showed up on the big day, said "I do", and partied for the rest of the night. Today, if you don't want to pony up thirty or forty-thousand dollars, you have to get a lot more involved.

This past weekend, I saw what can happen when a group of loving, dedicated friends and family get together to help start a young couple off on their marital journey without breaking the bank. For two days (and many months leading up to those two days) a "village" of hard-working people did everything and anything necessary to ensure the bride and groom would have the wedding of their dreams. They strung lights, carried tables and chairs, arranged flowers, baked goodies, ran errands, hung decorations, practiced music, and calmed nerves. In the end, they turned an empty field and bare barn into a garden paradise and twinkling wonderland. Despite the summer heat and a rapidly approaching deadline, there was little complaining and a whole lot of laughter while everyone worked toward one goal - to give the best day of their lives to the much-loved bride and groom.

So, forget about those Kardashian-style extravaganzas that cost a million bucks and end in a couple of months. Forget about going into debt to feed over-cooked prime rib to 300 people you're not even sure you sent a Christmas card to last year. Forget about running away to some remote island destination wedding with you and your ten best friends. This is the way to do it. Surround yourself with people who love you, throw some chicken on the bar-b-que grill and pour some chilled Moscato into a Mason jar glass. When you're done, you won't be looking at a drawer full of credit card bills and you'll never have to ask yourself that question that creeps up on most of us once in a while - 'I wonder how everyone really feels about me?'

You'll have an album of pictures that tells you all you'll ever need to know.

A Beautiful Day

When you’ve had a few beautiful days, you get to know what they look like. They usually aren’t the big, special days that we all expect to be amazing but are usually over-hyped spectacles that don’t live up to expectations or overworked occasions that can’t be enjoyed due to sheer exhaustion. No, beautiful days are the ones that sneak up on you, the ones that start out small and build to a conclusion that usually involves looking up and saying, “Thank you”.

A golf tournament isn’t supposed to be a part of one of those days - a wedding, yes; a trip to Venice, yes; a golf tournament, I didn’t think so. But today, strolling around the grounds of Medinah Country Club with my husband, my dad, and my sister, was as good as any day walking under the Eiffel Tower.

Sharing a sunny September day with three of my favorite people reminded me once again how lucky I am. Despite the fact that our "picnic" under one of the enormous oak trees cost $36.50, the day couldn’t have been better. My dad, so happy to be there with his girls, walked around like he owned the joint. And he kind of does. After working there for 23 years, he knows just about everything there is to know about the place. Seeing his excitement about the Ryder Cup coming to “his” club made us all appreciate the time together even more. We only had a few hours before he needed to do a shift change with other members of the family (he wants to make sure everybody gets their chance) but it was enough.

As I get older, I realize more and more how little one really needs to be happy. Time spent in the sunshine with people you love is more than enough to make one beautiful day.

Wearing the Other Shoe

A few days ago, I wrote about how much I've been needing alone time; how I haven't exactly been much of a people person. I told you how tough I've been on my poor husband (I think I actually called him a "girl" for wanting to spend more time with me - I know, horrible). But everything I said was a plea for understanding. Everything I wrote was an explanation of how I often feel possessed by emotions (or lack thereof) that I do not understand.

It seems as if God has been listening to Alanis Morrisette lately as my life has definitely entered Isn't It Ironic territory. Today, I came home to find my daughter in a less than sociable mood. Sitting in a chair, glued to her computer, she barely acknowledged my presence. By the time I pried the fifth word out of her mouth, I came to the realization that I was getting a taste of my own bitter medicine. And it didn't go down very well.

While I could identify with the mood she was in, I sure didn't like having to deal with it. I had things I wanted to say to her. I had things I needed her to hear. I wanted to engage in a conversation that would last longer than three sentences. But I knew it was futile. I knew I had to wait. I knew there would be another, better time.

Now I need to learn to back off and wait for it.

Winning Big

There's no sound a mother loves more than a telephone call from her adult child inviting her to hang out. It doesn't happen all that often and sometimes there is an ulterior motive attached but when the invite is as string-free as the one I got the other day, well, there's not much that can top it.

This chance to spend some time together came out of the blue. My son announced that he was taking his girlfriend to the local casino the next day and asked if I thought my mom would be interested in accompanying them. When I stopped laughing (my mother, an inveterate gambler who has never been known to fold any hand of poker, would spend her last hours sitting in front of a slot machine if she could), I encouraged my son to give her a call. A few hours later, I actually heard back from him. "We're meeting at noon tomorrow. Do you want to come?" he asked. (Just as back story, the entire family has been promising my son's girlfriend a trip to the casino since she turned twenty-one six months ago.) While I may not like gambling as much as my mom (that wouldn't be hard), there was no way I was passing up the chance to spend an afternoon with my kid, especially when it was an afternoon I hadn't coerced him into.

Somehow, I ended up leaving the place $125 richer (yes, I finally won something on those stupid two cent machines). But that wasn't the best part. After losing money at the casino, my son agreed to have a late lunch with his dad, his grandparents and me. We didn't have much time together (my dad, great guy that he is, had to run to another obligation for his other daughter) but at least this time it wasn't my son itching to leave as it has been in the past. Not only did he hang around after my parents left, he also showed up two days later for dinner and the Olympics at the old homestead. I know it sounds crazy but all this surprise togetherness made me feel a little like Sally Field after she won that Oscar.

He likes us; he really, really likes us.

The New Normal

Another Friday night. This used to be my favorite time of the week. School and/or work was over and I could look forward to sharing a pizza as well as a weekend with my family. Now that the kids are moving on, Fridays are still great but they're not quite living up to their former glory.

Take tonight. I'm sitting here in my family room, completely alone, trying to run through a couple of online Italian lessons (Vorrei avere la zuppa del giorno - I'd like the soup of the day to you non-Italians) before coming up with a topic for this blog. The house is dark; my husband is watching some nature or history channel on the non-HD TV in the basement and my daughter is up in her room getting cozy with her computer. I know I must be getting old because all I want to do is turn off all the gadgets and blow the dust off the old Scrabble board. There are just some nights when 'Words With Friends' won't cut it.

I guess I shouldn't complain. The son we rarely see did manage to squeeze us into his busy schedule tonight. Never mind that he stayed just long enough to consume a quarter of the extra large pizza we ordered before hustling off to see a movie with his honey. Good thing I'm not proud; I'll dangle free food or just about anything else to entice my kid to pop his old address into his GPS and find his way back over here. For a few minutes we were all together. For a few minutes it felt like old times, hanging around the kitchen on a Friday night with a pizza. For a few minutes I forgot that we're all going in separate directions.

But now that I'm sitting here in a dimly lit, painfully quiet room; with nothing to keep me company but the words pouring on to my computer screen, I remember.

Monday, Monday

I remember a time when Sunday night was my least favorite time of the week. The realization that the weekend was just about over would set in around dinnertime and put me in a funk that would last until well past the dreaded Monday morning alarm. Never an a.m. kind of gal, Monday and I were not friends.

That was then. As I've mentioned, Sundays have lately been reserved for weekly visits from the parents. They come down for dinner, sparkling conversation, and whatever sports are on TV. Last night we sat on the deck and listened as they regaled their granddaughter with stories of their past; how they met, their first jobs, and what their parents were like. My twenty-five year old daughter couldn't have been more interested, asking question after question of her obviously flattered grandparents. The NCAA March Madness may have been playing on most TVs in America but ours remained silent. We had better things to do.

These days, I have to say I have a whole new respect for Mondays. Thanks to a change in my work schedule, I don't get up as early as I used to and now I wake up a whole lot happier, remembering special moments from the night before. I may have originally started writing this blog to celebrate the idea of my children moving out of our house but evenings like last night make me hope my daughter sticks around for awhile.

Three generations sitting together for hours on a warm not-yet-Spring night sharing stories and pineapple upside down cake gets you thinking. And it also makes for some pretty wonderful Monday morning memories.

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.

It's Only a Game

It's taken me a couple of days to bring myself to talk about it. As anyone who reads this blog regularly knows, I'm a bit of a sports nut. Okay, more than a bit. Instead of January, February, March, etc., my calendar reads football, Australian Open, hockey, The Masters, Wimbledon; well, you get the picture. I support all the Chicago teams but I am an especially rabid Bears fan. Unfortunately.

Sunday was a sad, sad day for Bears fans. Hoping against hope that this unbelievably lucky streak that they've been on all season would hold until they made it to the Super Bowl, I invited my entire family to share in the glorious victory over the hated Packers. We didn't get the victory. We didn't even get any points on the board until the second half. What we did get was an exciting (although totally predictable) ending. We also got acquainted with our third string quarterback. Seems like a nice guy, which is more than I can say for our first stringer.

The day wasn't a total loss. My family brought tons of food and lots of alcoholic beverages. There was even a giant chocolate cake to drown my sorrows in. They're a fun group; they refuse to let anyone wallow. If I have to have my dreams crushed, these are the people I want to have talking me off the ledge. As they pulled out of the driveway, I thought about how much worse it could be.

I could be dreaming about the Cubs winning the World Series.

The Parents Are Coming, The Parents Are Coming

One of the worst things about getting older is the fact that your parents are getting older too. After attending the funeral of the mother of one of my co-worker's, I spent this weekend reflecting on just how lucky I am to have both of my parents in my life. At eighty, they are still relatively healthy, able to participate in most family activities (okay, bowling is out) and live just a short distance from our home. They are two of the most generous, kind, intelligent people you would ever want to meet and I know how blessed I am to have them swimming in my gene pool.

How do you ever let such special people know how much you appreciate them? I have no idea. There is no way I can ever repay them for the loving, secure foundation they provided me. There is no way I can ever make up for all the money spent, hours worked or all the other sacrifices they have made to ensure my health and happiness. Now that I have adult children who are struggling to find their place in the world, I realize more than ever what a great combination of love and discipline; support and encouragement my own parents were able to provide. Now that I think of it, I'm getting a little angry. Why did they have to go and set the bar so damn high? It just makes the rest of us look bad.

Since it's impossible for me to truly show them how grateful I am to have had them as parents, I'm opting for doing the next best thing - feeding them. Every Sunday they have a standing invitation for dinner accompanied by HD baseball/football/golf/whatever. The sport isn't important; it's just an excuse to get them to come down for a few hours of conversation and gluttony. It's not always fine dining (yesterday it was Sloppy Joe's and pound cake) but they always make me feel as if it is. Great. Just one more thing I have to thank them for.

Thankful

Yesterday was one of the best Thanksgivings ever. The food was fantastic; everybody pitched in and brought a few dishes including a few that we had never had before and the fresh turkey purchased at Costco didn't have any of that chicken broth injected into it or hormones and antibiotics fed to it before it had the bad luck to land on our dinner table. Of course, his bad luck was our good fortune. He was absolutely delicious; he tasted like what I remember turkey tasting like before the executives at Butterball decided we all wanted 15% sodium solution added to our yearly feast.

In case you might think I'm dwelling too much on the food, there was much else to be thankful for in our household. Our daughter, who's been struggling with some tough emotional issues, is doing much better. She spent the entire day with her family and we were all the better for it. We ate early and spent the rest of the time playing games and talking instead of mindlessly watching football (not that there's anything wrong with football; I'll be watching my share this Sunday).

Last but not least, I'm almost done with my novel. It may not be great (yet) but it is almost done. The crazy challenge I took on almost a month ago to write a 50,000 word novel in one month is nearly over and I can hardly believe it. I did something I never imagined I could do - I surprised myself. At my age, that's really something to be thankful for.

Leftovers

Outside of Thanksgiving, I've never been a huge fan of leftovers. I guess I'm easily bored. I don't want to have the same meal two days in a row. But since my part-time job has taken over my life, I've discovered the beauty of coming home to a meal that I can reheat.

I used to love to cook. I watched Julia Child before she was cool and wasn't a bit intimidated by the complicated recipes. In fact, I enjoyed the challenge of recreating her dishes and the accolades I got for doing so. Once we had kids, those days were over. Not only did they prefer chicken fingers to coq-au-vin, I no longer had the time or the energy to cook anything that required more than fifteen minutes of my time.

Now that the kids are grown, my urge to flex my culinary muscles occasionally resurfaces. Just last week I whipped up a shrimp risotto that Julia would have been proud of. But yesterday, it was a simple roast beef dinner that reminded me of something my mom would have made. Tonight, it was roast beef dinner 2 and it went over pretty well. Amazingly, there's enough left for another meal. Do I dare?

Soul Sisters

I always wanted to have a big family. When I was younger, I envisioned myself with five kids. In a perfect world, I imagined three girls and two boys. What I didn't foresee was the fact that I wouldn't become a mother until I turned thirty-three. After that late start, I'm grateful that I had two, especially because I got to experience the joy of having both a boy and a girl. My son has been an amazing gift. Never having had a brother, he taught me about all the typical boy stuff and we now have an incredible bond that I wouldn't trade for anything. My only regret is that I wasn't able to provide my daughter with a sister.

Yesterday, I spent the day with my own sister. We hit Panera for something to eat and then an early movie where we admired the acting chops (and shirtless body) of one Josh Duhamel. We then walked around Costco before heading back to her place where we solved many problems of the world sitting at the kitchen table. On the ride home, I thought about our fifty-six year relationship and wondered how someone who had once caused me so much irritation could have turned into the best friend anyone could ever have.

As children we rode the sibling roller coaster. Only fourteen months apart, we started out as playmates and partners in crime. Later, in our teenage years, my need to mother and critique her every move drove us apart. It wasn't until her marriage that we started growing closer. We have helped each other through marriage(s), kids, job changes, overseas moves, financial difficulties and health problems. She is the kindest, most supportive person I have ever met. She's a much better listener (and secret keeper) than her sister and there isn't a mean bone in her body. I can honestly say that there's no one I'd rather spend time with than the little sister at whom I once threw a metal spatula. I am annoyed, however, that she got closer to having that once envisioned perfect family. She was lucky enough to have four kids. One of them, her only daughter, has assumed the role of big sister to my deprived firstborn.

Guess my little sis had my back on that one, too.