Looks like the polarization of America has finally infiltrated my own backyard - my daughter is now dating a gun-toting, Ron Paul t-shirt-wearing, liberal-disliking (I won't say hating - he's also very religious) boyfriend. As I may have mentioned, my kid can be a little attracted to extremes. Her last boyfriend was a pot-smoking hippie type who liked nothing better than blowing off his part-time job, grabbing his camera and guitar, and heading out to commune with nature. While his dream job was running a medical marijuana farm in Oregon, her new beau has two actual jobs and an overwhelming desire to help people. It doesn't exactly zero out an NRA affiliation but, I'll admit, it's admirable and definitely a step up from the selfish, all-about-me types she's been attracted to in the past.
As someone who can't quite pick a political side (other than a firm belief that the 2nd Amendment does not refer to everyone having permission to walk around with semi-automatic weapons), I'm a little torn about how I feel about this relationship. On the one hand, I'm thrilled that she's happy; that she's found someone who treats her with respect and kindness. He can wear all the incendiary t-shirts he wants if he continues to be good to my girl. But I also know how hard it is to maintain a relationship with someone who has such passionate opinions about everything. It's not easy to hear your own voice when drowned out by fevered filibusters. She's come so far in her journey to discover who she is, I'm worried she might set aside her own convictions to please him; I'm concerned that her opinions won't be valued.
But I know I'm getting ahead of myself. They've just been dating for a month, one very intense month. The whole thing may burn itself out before he even gets the chance to slap a "Guns Don't Kill People, People Kill People" sticker on her bumper. And, if it doesn't, I'll just have to do my homework, polish my debating skills, and give him a run for his money.
After all, I've been known to have a few opinions of my own.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Silver Linings
Now that the re-construction of my basement is complete, I'm reminded how often events that feel so horrible at the time have a way of turning into something positive. Even the ugliest, most difficult times have a way of revealing some hidden blessing somewhere down the line. The Bible encourages us to thank God for hardships but that's a pretty tall order, especially when you're in the middle of one. It's usually much later, after the worst of the trial is over, that we can appreciate what we gained from going through it.
One famous incident in our family is the canoe ride. Many years ago, when the kids were still in grade school, we took a trip up to northern Wisconsin. My husband, an avid outdoors man who had camped his entire childhood, suggested we visit an outfitter who would set us up with everything we needed to spend a couple of days in the wilderness. Unfortunately for him, his wife had come from a family whose idea of roughing it was arriving at the Holiday Inn without a reservation. But I decided to be brave. Armed with my copy of USA Today (a girl has to have some comforts of home) I took my place in the canoe and waved goodbye to civilization for the next 48 hours.
Nothing terrible happened for awhile. I watched as my husband taught our kids to set up a tent, gather firewood and keep food away from bears (that tidbit definitely snapped my head out of the newspaper - bears, what bears?). We spent the night on a tiny island and actually woke up with all limbs intact. Always a good thing. I was beginning to think this camping thing wasn't so bad.
Not so fast.
On the way back to the meeting point, the clouds started to roll in. Off in the distance, we could see the sky illuminated with ominous streaks of lightening. That's when my very level-headed, very calm husband shouted, "Paddle like hell before we all fry like eggs!"
Everything was a blur after that. All I can really remember is the sound of my children screaming "We don't want to die" or something of that nature and the rolling boom of approaching thunder. When we finally reached the shore, I cradled my frightened children and delicately chastised my husband ("Are you crazy? You scared the crap out of all of us!!).
You've probably figured out by now that we didn't fry like eggs that day. The storm passed and we (reluctantly) climbed back into the canoe and paddled back to the drop-off point where the outfitter was waiting to pick us up. We camped many times after that but, despite many memorable moments, nothing ever came close to creating the kind of lasting impression that that canoe ride did. And now, fifteen years later nothing makes our family laugh harder than remembering my husband's desperate plea.
So, whether it's a sewer back-up that ruins your basement, the sudden loss of a job, or a harrowing canoe ride, it's important to remember that, when the dust clears, you can end up with a beautiful new basement, a chance to start your own business, or a memory that can unite your family in familiar laughter forever.
Those silver linings may be tough to find sometimes but, if we look hard enough, they're usually there.
.
One famous incident in our family is the canoe ride. Many years ago, when the kids were still in grade school, we took a trip up to northern Wisconsin. My husband, an avid outdoors man who had camped his entire childhood, suggested we visit an outfitter who would set us up with everything we needed to spend a couple of days in the wilderness. Unfortunately for him, his wife had come from a family whose idea of roughing it was arriving at the Holiday Inn without a reservation. But I decided to be brave. Armed with my copy of USA Today (a girl has to have some comforts of home) I took my place in the canoe and waved goodbye to civilization for the next 48 hours.
Nothing terrible happened for awhile. I watched as my husband taught our kids to set up a tent, gather firewood and keep food away from bears (that tidbit definitely snapped my head out of the newspaper - bears, what bears?). We spent the night on a tiny island and actually woke up with all limbs intact. Always a good thing. I was beginning to think this camping thing wasn't so bad.
Not so fast.
On the way back to the meeting point, the clouds started to roll in. Off in the distance, we could see the sky illuminated with ominous streaks of lightening. That's when my very level-headed, very calm husband shouted, "Paddle like hell before we all fry like eggs!"
Everything was a blur after that. All I can really remember is the sound of my children screaming "We don't want to die" or something of that nature and the rolling boom of approaching thunder. When we finally reached the shore, I cradled my frightened children and delicately chastised my husband ("Are you crazy? You scared the crap out of all of us!!).
You've probably figured out by now that we didn't fry like eggs that day. The storm passed and we (reluctantly) climbed back into the canoe and paddled back to the drop-off point where the outfitter was waiting to pick us up. We camped many times after that but, despite many memorable moments, nothing ever came close to creating the kind of lasting impression that that canoe ride did. And now, fifteen years later nothing makes our family laugh harder than remembering my husband's desperate plea.
So, whether it's a sewer back-up that ruins your basement, the sudden loss of a job, or a harrowing canoe ride, it's important to remember that, when the dust clears, you can end up with a beautiful new basement, a chance to start your own business, or a memory that can unite your family in familiar laughter forever.
Those silver linings may be tough to find sometimes but, if we look hard enough, they're usually there.
.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
In His Room
Sometimes emotional moments sneak up on you. Birthdays, Christmas, pouring over old home videos, those are the ones you prepare for; those are the ones you see coming. Replacing sewer damaged carpet in the basement hardly sounds like something that would set off the waterworks. But, today, that's exactly what happened. And it wasn't really about the carpet. It was about moving stuff, his stuff.
My son moved out of the house over a year ago. At the time, I had trouble with the abruptness of the move; the fact that there was tension between us. But we worked through it. I know he's better off on his own. I know he had to move out to gain the independence and maturity that he's showing now. The trouble is, he has an awful lot of his stuff still hanging around. Most of it is piled up in his old room gathering dust, waiting for him to have a place big enough to store it. Usually, I just keep the door closed. But, today, I needed to move his stuff in order to have room to temporarily house other stuff from the rooms about to be re-carpeted.
As I walked around the room, hanging up clothes and pushing unwanted objects to the side, I spotted a few of his drawings. There was a sketch of a tennis shoe from several different angles. There was a pointillistic chalk piece of Charles Tillman in motion. There were reminders everywhere of his talent. But that wasn't what did it.
It was a teeny, tiny skateboard. I was gathering a few of his old toys when I stumbled on his collection of miniature skateboard paraphernalia. I remembered how much fun he had collecting the ramps, the stairs and the bridges. I remembered how many hours he spent playing with all the tiny replicas of the boards he dreamed of having in life-size versions. And, when I picked up one of those boards, my eyes misted over. Just a little.
He's a man now but, for just a moment, standing there in his old room with that tiny skateboard in my hand, he was my little boy.
My son moved out of the house over a year ago. At the time, I had trouble with the abruptness of the move; the fact that there was tension between us. But we worked through it. I know he's better off on his own. I know he had to move out to gain the independence and maturity that he's showing now. The trouble is, he has an awful lot of his stuff still hanging around. Most of it is piled up in his old room gathering dust, waiting for him to have a place big enough to store it. Usually, I just keep the door closed. But, today, I needed to move his stuff in order to have room to temporarily house other stuff from the rooms about to be re-carpeted.
As I walked around the room, hanging up clothes and pushing unwanted objects to the side, I spotted a few of his drawings. There was a sketch of a tennis shoe from several different angles. There was a pointillistic chalk piece of Charles Tillman in motion. There were reminders everywhere of his talent. But that wasn't what did it.
It was a teeny, tiny skateboard. I was gathering a few of his old toys when I stumbled on his collection of miniature skateboard paraphernalia. I remembered how much fun he had collecting the ramps, the stairs and the bridges. I remembered how many hours he spent playing with all the tiny replicas of the boards he dreamed of having in life-size versions. And, when I picked up one of those boards, my eyes misted over. Just a little.
He's a man now but, for just a moment, standing there in his old room with that tiny skateboard in my hand, he was my little boy.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Just the Invite I Needed
Okay, so I missed a day. I should have written a blog on Friday but, as I used to tell my math teacher when she badgered me about that missing homework, I have a good excuse. God heard my prayers about needing a week or two in a cabin in the woods and answered them in the form of a phone call from a good friend who invited me to her lake house for the weekend. It was such a wonderful break, I'm going to overlook the fact that He misheard my prayer by a week or so.
After a 3 1/2 hour drive, we settled in to her cozy place just long enough to get back into the car to head into the town of Beaver Dam, a thriving metropolis of 16,000. All I want to know is: how does a town that small have an Italian restaurant that good? Then, it was back to the house to talk, read, and finally, sleep (once that dive-bombing fly left my room - but I'm not complaining).
The next morning, I was up at 7. Not my usual hour to rise on a weekend but the sun and the promise of a tennis match was all the incentive I needed. So what if she beat me 6-0, 6-1. The trade-off was more than worth it; two days of reading, talking, eating, floating on the pontoon boat, more reading, more talking, and, oh yeah, a night of outdoor games where I discovered that I'm pretty darn good at beer pong.
Just in case you think this was a weekend of all play and no work, let me assure you, it was not. My friend, who's quite the little slave driver, made me earn my keep by suggesting I break out the screwdriver and help her re-align her screen door that had popped out of its track. I'm pretty sure I broke a sweat before we rewarded ourselves for a job well done by opening that last bottle of wine.
And, just so you know, in a few weeks she's making me go back to help her clean out her shed.
It's a rotten job but somebody has to do it.
After a 3 1/2 hour drive, we settled in to her cozy place just long enough to get back into the car to head into the town of Beaver Dam, a thriving metropolis of 16,000. All I want to know is: how does a town that small have an Italian restaurant that good? Then, it was back to the house to talk, read, and finally, sleep (once that dive-bombing fly left my room - but I'm not complaining).
The next morning, I was up at 7. Not my usual hour to rise on a weekend but the sun and the promise of a tennis match was all the incentive I needed. So what if she beat me 6-0, 6-1. The trade-off was more than worth it; two days of reading, talking, eating, floating on the pontoon boat, more reading, more talking, and, oh yeah, a night of outdoor games where I discovered that I'm pretty darn good at beer pong.
Just in case you think this was a weekend of all play and no work, let me assure you, it was not. My friend, who's quite the little slave driver, made me earn my keep by suggesting I break out the screwdriver and help her re-align her screen door that had popped out of its track. I'm pretty sure I broke a sweat before we rewarded ourselves for a job well done by opening that last bottle of wine.
And, just so you know, in a few weeks she's making me go back to help her clean out her shed.
It's a rotten job but somebody has to do it.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
It's Not You, It's Me
I don't know if it's my age, my lack of hormones or the heat but I'm not exactly a people person these days. While I'm not packing my bags for a move to Walden Pond, the idea of spending a week or two in a cabin by myself sounds pretty darn appealing right now. Twenty years ago, I could never have imagined saying such a thing. The thought of spending that much time without the possibility of conversation would have filled me with fear. I needed people to feel whole; I didn't know what to do when I was alone.
My husband, on the other hand, always had a need for alone time. When we first got married it bothered me. Why did he want to get away from me? Why did he want; no, need to have so much space? Now I know. As is often the case with husbands and wives, our timing was just off. Now that I appreciate the benefits of enjoying my own company, he is feeling lonely and left out. Now that I understand what he was talking about a couple of decades ago, he is lobbying for more togetherness. I don't want to hurt his feelings but I'm trying to figure out who I am now that I'm not a full-time mom. I need some (maybe more than some) time alone to find the answers.
But, if there's any justice in the crazy world of relationships, we should be on the same page by the time we hit seventy.
My husband, on the other hand, always had a need for alone time. When we first got married it bothered me. Why did he want to get away from me? Why did he want; no, need to have so much space? Now I know. As is often the case with husbands and wives, our timing was just off. Now that I appreciate the benefits of enjoying my own company, he is feeling lonely and left out. Now that I understand what he was talking about a couple of decades ago, he is lobbying for more togetherness. I don't want to hurt his feelings but I'm trying to figure out who I am now that I'm not a full-time mom. I need some (maybe more than some) time alone to find the answers.
But, if there's any justice in the crazy world of relationships, we should be on the same page by the time we hit seventy.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
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.
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.
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