Another Christmas has come and gone. This was a particularly special one as it included a great day spent with extended family a few days before Christmas and a full day with my immediate family (including a brand new son-in-law) on the 25th. There was time for an inspirational church service, a couple of amazing dinners, one highly-competitive, entertaining cookie contest, Secret Santa deliveries, and one miserable football game whose pain was dulled with several glasses of Cabernet. Yes, Virginia, it was a good Christmas but that doesn't mean I'm not happy it's over. Here's a few reasons I'm grateful that I have 360 days to get ready for the next one:
- I can stop eating 3000 calories a day
- My credit card can retreat to my wallet for longer than forty-five minute intervals
- I will no longer be tortured by Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time. (I used to love you
Paul McCartney)
- I won't have to scroll through 125 pages of Etsy looking for Zelda memorabilia
- I can spend one entire day at home enjoying my new slippers, cozy blanket, and Teavana teapot (Santa obviously thinks I'm 103)
- I can stop baking (see reason number one)
- I can stop looking for a comfortable position to wrap presents. Next year may have to be done
standing up at a very high table.
- Lifetime and The Hallmark Channel can go back to chick flicks that don't include disillusioned
Christmas tree sellers who fall in love with the fake Santa hired by their long-lost son or daughter but who's really a multi-millionaire coming to town to save it from being torn down to build a ski resort.
- I won't have to set foot in the post office. Oh, wait, yes, I will. I still have one package to mail.
And finally, without the pressure and chaos of shopping, baking, wrapping, and eating, I can sit back and appreciate the glory and beauty of Winter as it settles in for its open-ended Midwestern run. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Now that Christmas is over, I can get the heck out of here, lose the fuzzy slippers and start sipping a Pina Colada on a beach somewhere.
Who's with me?
Monday, December 30, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
Merry Wedding, Happy Vacation
I would like to tell you that I'm one of those people who has their Christmas shopping done by October 1st. On second thought, maybe I wouldn't want to tell you that as those kind of people aren't usually looked on with a whole lot of fondness. But you get my drift. It must be nice to have all that craziness out of the way before the snow starts falling and be able to sit around and watch the rest of us lose our minds trying to find something to throw in a box for Aunt Minnie.
This year has been a whole new kind of crazy. After hosting my niece's baby shower in late November, our daughter's DIY wedding in early December and planning for our first cold weather vacation in ten years, I have to admit that Christmas has only recently shown up on my radar screen. Not one present was purchased before last Friday. I'll bet you all feel a lot better now, huh? But, you know what, it's all going to be okay. Much to my surprise, one very productive shopping day at local retailers and a couple of visits to a few favorite online sites have brought me to the happy conclusion that I'm going to make it. Everyone is going to have something under the tree. It may not be fancily wrapped, it may not be exactly what they wanted but there will be something there.
The Christmas cards may have to wait until next year. (Does anyone mind getting my long-winded update letter late anyway?) The Christmas cookies may not get made (unless my extra sessions on the treadmill actually help me get that bathing suit on and I have something to celebrate). And we might have to settle for that sad Charlie Brown tabletop tree that might manage to hold five or six of our most treasured ornaments. But there will be a Christmas.
For a horse that left the gate as late as I did, that feels like a win.
This year has been a whole new kind of crazy. After hosting my niece's baby shower in late November, our daughter's DIY wedding in early December and planning for our first cold weather vacation in ten years, I have to admit that Christmas has only recently shown up on my radar screen. Not one present was purchased before last Friday. I'll bet you all feel a lot better now, huh? But, you know what, it's all going to be okay. Much to my surprise, one very productive shopping day at local retailers and a couple of visits to a few favorite online sites have brought me to the happy conclusion that I'm going to make it. Everyone is going to have something under the tree. It may not be fancily wrapped, it may not be exactly what they wanted but there will be something there.
The Christmas cards may have to wait until next year. (Does anyone mind getting my long-winded update letter late anyway?) The Christmas cookies may not get made (unless my extra sessions on the treadmill actually help me get that bathing suit on and I have something to celebrate). And we might have to settle for that sad Charlie Brown tabletop tree that might manage to hold five or six of our most treasured ornaments. But there will be a Christmas.
For a horse that left the gate as late as I did, that feels like a win.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Period of Adjustment
You would think that someone who has been writing a blog about moving out of the motherhood for four years would be welcoming the permanent exit of one her children with relief and gratitude. And such a person might be out there. It just isn't me.
I miss her.
And while I know she hasn't shipped off to Siberia or chosen to live her life without the benefit of electronic communication, she has packed up the last of her belongings and left the nest to move in with some guy she keeps referring to as her "husband".
Okay, I know this guy is something special but where was he when she was throwing up spaghetti at 2 am, huh? Where was he when she had a science project that was due in twenty-four hours? Where was he during those awkward middle school years? Or rebellious high school days? That's right. Nowhere in sight. And now, after we've done all the hard work, he comes along and snatches the finished product right out from under our noses.
I miss her.
Their new apartment is adorable, decorated with wedding gifts and pilfered items from both of their previous places of residence. She calls me regularly with questions about cooking. She sends me funny e-mails about Breaking Bad. She posts her latest photos on Facebook. It's all wonderful and I'm honestly beyond thrilled that she's found someone to share her life with; someone who makes her happier than I've seen her in a very, very long time.
But I still miss her.
I miss her.
And while I know she hasn't shipped off to Siberia or chosen to live her life without the benefit of electronic communication, she has packed up the last of her belongings and left the nest to move in with some guy she keeps referring to as her "husband".
Okay, I know this guy is something special but where was he when she was throwing up spaghetti at 2 am, huh? Where was he when she had a science project that was due in twenty-four hours? Where was he during those awkward middle school years? Or rebellious high school days? That's right. Nowhere in sight. And now, after we've done all the hard work, he comes along and snatches the finished product right out from under our noses.
I miss her.
Their new apartment is adorable, decorated with wedding gifts and pilfered items from both of their previous places of residence. She calls me regularly with questions about cooking. She sends me funny e-mails about Breaking Bad. She posts her latest photos on Facebook. It's all wonderful and I'm honestly beyond thrilled that she's found someone to share her life with; someone who makes her happier than I've seen her in a very, very long time.
But I still miss her.
Monday, December 2, 2013
One Beautiful Bride
I am now a mother-in-law. Yesterday, my little girl, the one who used to dress up in Belle's ball gown and Dorothy's ruby slippers, stepped into her own fairytale dress and walked down the aisle to say yes to her Prince Charming.
It wasn't your typical wedding. The "church" was a multi-purpose room decorated by the hands and hearts of family and friends. The "after party" was held at the church center and included a homemade cake and champagne followed by a little dancing and fellowship. The "reception" was an intimate dinner for thirty-five at a local Italian restaurant instead of an over-the-top banquet hall extravaganza for 250.
It was nothing like I once envisioned and so much more than I could have ever imagined.
Our girl didn't need all that other stuff. She got exactly the day she wanted, simple and personal and every bit as special as she is. She walked down the makeshift aisle with a smile that wouldn't quit. She glowed as she promised to forever love and honor the grinning young man at her side. She sat at the piano (yes, she did) and sang a love song she had written for her new husband and brought the entire room to tears.
My husband and I could do nothing but look on with pride and more than a few sniffles. After a rough couple of years, our daughter was happy; truly and completely happy. She sailed through the rest of her big day with ease and grace. Through it all, I never saw one minute of doubt; one shred of nerves; one iota of stress. Unlike a lot of brides, she enjoyed every minute of the day and she did her best to make sure that everyone else did too.
While she and our new son-in-law are off on a well-deserved honeymoon in the Mexican sunshine, my husband and I are trying to catch our breath. But it's going to take more than a day or two to get used to this new reality - the one where our child is gone for good. Oh, we know she'll be back for dinner on a regular basis; we know she'll be back to "borrow" that black sweater with the silver buttons but it won't ever be the same. This is it. After years of teaching, caring, and worrying we've finally arrived at the day that we knew was coming; the day we have to relinquish our child to someone else.
The only thing that makes it easier is knowing that she just may have found someone who actually deserves her.
It wasn't your typical wedding. The "church" was a multi-purpose room decorated by the hands and hearts of family and friends. The "after party" was held at the church center and included a homemade cake and champagne followed by a little dancing and fellowship. The "reception" was an intimate dinner for thirty-five at a local Italian restaurant instead of an over-the-top banquet hall extravaganza for 250.
It was nothing like I once envisioned and so much more than I could have ever imagined.
Our girl didn't need all that other stuff. She got exactly the day she wanted, simple and personal and every bit as special as she is. She walked down the makeshift aisle with a smile that wouldn't quit. She glowed as she promised to forever love and honor the grinning young man at her side. She sat at the piano (yes, she did) and sang a love song she had written for her new husband and brought the entire room to tears.
My husband and I could do nothing but look on with pride and more than a few sniffles. After a rough couple of years, our daughter was happy; truly and completely happy. She sailed through the rest of her big day with ease and grace. Through it all, I never saw one minute of doubt; one shred of nerves; one iota of stress. Unlike a lot of brides, she enjoyed every minute of the day and she did her best to make sure that everyone else did too.
While she and our new son-in-law are off on a well-deserved honeymoon in the Mexican sunshine, my husband and I are trying to catch our breath. But it's going to take more than a day or two to get used to this new reality - the one where our child is gone for good. Oh, we know she'll be back for dinner on a regular basis; we know she'll be back to "borrow" that black sweater with the silver buttons but it won't ever be the same. This is it. After years of teaching, caring, and worrying we've finally arrived at the day that we knew was coming; the day we have to relinquish our child to someone else.
The only thing that makes it easier is knowing that she just may have found someone who actually deserves her.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
To Everything . . .
This past weekend I helped host a baby shower for my niece. Thirty-five of her nearest and dearest had accepted the invite to make the trek to my house to drink punch, play a couple of harmless games and oooh and aaah at appropriate intervals. Of course, they had no idea when they checked that "yes" box on the invite, that they were going to have to travel through monsoon-like conditions that included numerous tornado sightings but, happily, that didn't deter many of them. The weather may have been bad enough for a bunch of tough-guy football players to take a seat for a couple of hours but women on their way to a baby shower for someone as special as my niece? Not a chance.
As usual, my family was running behind when the first guests arrived. No problem. We hastily enlisted our new labor force and everyone pitched in to finish the last minute decorations and food preparation before the guest of honor arrived. Luckily, her baby bump prevented her from seeing my still unwashed kitchen floor as she pronounced the surroundings "beautiful" and "perfect".
After munching on an assortment of goodies (including mini-wieners and meatballs - don't blame me, it was her mom's idea to follow that "it's a boy" theme to its logical culinary conclusion), it was on to the gifts. And that's when I started getting a little misty. As she unwrapped colorful bouncy chairs and impossibly tiny booties, I remembered. I remembered the waiting; the anxiety; the hopefulness. I remembered the intense anticipation that washed over me as I prepared to be a first-time mom. Maybe it was a million years ago but I could feel everything she was feeling as if it were yesterday.
But it wasn't. My daughter is getting married in a couple of weeks and my son is planning a cross-country move sometime next year. I'm about to wrap up Act One of my mothering career and someone I love's adventure is just beginning.
Turn. Turn. Turn.
As usual, my family was running behind when the first guests arrived. No problem. We hastily enlisted our new labor force and everyone pitched in to finish the last minute decorations and food preparation before the guest of honor arrived. Luckily, her baby bump prevented her from seeing my still unwashed kitchen floor as she pronounced the surroundings "beautiful" and "perfect".
After munching on an assortment of goodies (including mini-wieners and meatballs - don't blame me, it was her mom's idea to follow that "it's a boy" theme to its logical culinary conclusion), it was on to the gifts. And that's when I started getting a little misty. As she unwrapped colorful bouncy chairs and impossibly tiny booties, I remembered. I remembered the waiting; the anxiety; the hopefulness. I remembered the intense anticipation that washed over me as I prepared to be a first-time mom. Maybe it was a million years ago but I could feel everything she was feeling as if it were yesterday.
But it wasn't. My daughter is getting married in a couple of weeks and my son is planning a cross-country move sometime next year. I'm about to wrap up Act One of my mothering career and someone I love's adventure is just beginning.
Turn. Turn. Turn.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Oops, He Did it Again
Twenty-five years ago today I was basking in the glory of having done it again; I was savoring those indescribable moments of bliss and gratitude that wash over any new mom blessed enough to welcome a healthy baby into her life. My son was less than twenty-four hours old and I spent the day cradling my nine and a half pound bundle close to my heart knowing that, yet again, there was another person in my life for whom I would throw myself in front of a speeding locomotive.
Flash forward to this morning. As I struggled to work off the effects of the paperback-size slab of lasagna and less-than-perfect cake I baked to celebrate said bundle of joy's birthday, I got a phone call. My darling baby boy was a tad hung over from his late-night celebration with his friends and was wondering if I might be willing to step in and relieve him at our mutual place of employment. (Damn. That sounded like such a good idea at the time.) As usual, he promised to do just about anything I asked for this one little, teensy-weensy favor (including cleaning my house - I've got to hand it to him, the kid does know his target audience) and, by the time I hung up the phone, I had been sweet-talked into giving up my day off.
I didn't give in without a fight. I told him no. . .twice. But somewhere between his lament about two hours of sleep and struggling to fight off a virus brought home by an under-the-weather girlfriend, I gave up. So, I'm going to slap on some clothes, gain a few "I've got the best mom in the world" brownie points, and go in and get some of my own work done in the process.
But he better feel a whole lot better tomorrow. That locomotive is nowhere in sight and he has a lot of cleaning to do.
Flash forward to this morning. As I struggled to work off the effects of the paperback-size slab of lasagna and less-than-perfect cake I baked to celebrate said bundle of joy's birthday, I got a phone call. My darling baby boy was a tad hung over from his late-night celebration with his friends and was wondering if I might be willing to step in and relieve him at our mutual place of employment. (Damn. That sounded like such a good idea at the time.) As usual, he promised to do just about anything I asked for this one little, teensy-weensy favor (including cleaning my house - I've got to hand it to him, the kid does know his target audience) and, by the time I hung up the phone, I had been sweet-talked into giving up my day off.
I didn't give in without a fight. I told him no. . .twice. But somewhere between his lament about two hours of sleep and struggling to fight off a virus brought home by an under-the-weather girlfriend, I gave up. So, I'm going to slap on some clothes, gain a few "I've got the best mom in the world" brownie points, and go in and get some of my own work done in the process.
But he better feel a whole lot better tomorrow. That locomotive is nowhere in sight and he has a lot of cleaning to do.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Thinking Pink
Being a child of rock and roll, I've been to my fair share of ear-pounding, earth-shaking musical events. While I was never into heavy metal or anything that might possibly be responsible for any impending hearing loss (although it would be a lot cooler to blame it on prolonged exposure to AC/DC or Aerosmith), I was quite the regular concert goer back in the days of Billy Joel and Elton John. Oh, sure, as I got older I threw in a couple of side-trips to see Vince Gill and Reba McEntire but that was only after my daughter came along. Before she forced me to appreciate country, I was strictly a rock and roll girl.
I have to admit I haven't been to a concert in quite some time (unless you want to count those hours spent sitting on the lawn at Septemberfest listening to Heart or hanging out at The Last Fling and catching Rick Springfield's 8,478th rendition of "Jessie's Girl). The closest I've come, celebrating my hubby's birthday with Ravinia tickets to see Diana Krall, was a couple of years ago and that could hardly be mistaken for a rock concert.
Tomorrow, I'm going to change all that. Tomorrow, I'm going to make up for my concert absence with a vengeance. I'm going to accompany my daughter to a Pink concert. We've had the tickets for months (and probably paid more for them than I did for all my Billy Joel tickets) and now I've got another chance to relive my rock and roll days one more time.
I like Pink. I think she's smart, funny and writes clever, insightful lyrics. And just because she's more of an edgy bad-ass than I ever could have been, it doesn't make me appreciate her musical abilities any less. There's just one problem. It's one thing to listen to someone's CDs or download their music onto my MP3 player; it's another to brave the traffic and head into the city with twenty-thousand fans young enough to be my grandchildren to listen to someone put on a show with an end time that's way past my curfew.
But, I've decided I'm up for the challenge. I'm going to get out of the house on a Tuesday night. I'm going to get the chance to hang out with my girl for a few hours and I'm going to take the opportunity to remind her what a cool, relevant mom she has.
I just hope she doesn't notice the earplugs.
I have to admit I haven't been to a concert in quite some time (unless you want to count those hours spent sitting on the lawn at Septemberfest listening to Heart or hanging out at The Last Fling and catching Rick Springfield's 8,478th rendition of "Jessie's Girl). The closest I've come, celebrating my hubby's birthday with Ravinia tickets to see Diana Krall, was a couple of years ago and that could hardly be mistaken for a rock concert.
Tomorrow, I'm going to change all that. Tomorrow, I'm going to make up for my concert absence with a vengeance. I'm going to accompany my daughter to a Pink concert. We've had the tickets for months (and probably paid more for them than I did for all my Billy Joel tickets) and now I've got another chance to relive my rock and roll days one more time.
I like Pink. I think she's smart, funny and writes clever, insightful lyrics. And just because she's more of an edgy bad-ass than I ever could have been, it doesn't make me appreciate her musical abilities any less. There's just one problem. It's one thing to listen to someone's CDs or download their music onto my MP3 player; it's another to brave the traffic and head into the city with twenty-thousand fans young enough to be my grandchildren to listen to someone put on a show with an end time that's way past my curfew.
But, I've decided I'm up for the challenge. I'm going to get out of the house on a Tuesday night. I'm going to get the chance to hang out with my girl for a few hours and I'm going to take the opportunity to remind her what a cool, relevant mom she has.
I just hope she doesn't notice the earplugs.
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