Being Ten Again

I discovered when I return home to visit my Mother for an extended time that I revert to my ten-year old self. In the past week I have gotten accustomed to my Mother making my coffee, baking my favorite treats, and the biggest perk is a late night trip to the dairy bar for ice cream with sprinkles.

I also enjoy my quiet time and  relish my morning walks. It was on my last walk I returned home over an hour late and was reminded as I entered the house.

“Where were you?”

“I was on my walk.”

“You were supposed to be back over an hour ago!”

“Well! I took the back trail of the cove and forgot how long it would take me.”

“Don’t you realize there are bears on that trail?”

“Yes! Yes! I do! But luckily for me I didn’t see one!”

“Well! You should know better next time!”

“I do know better!”

I then stomp off  red-faced with my coffee and hop into the shower to cool off.

It is at that moment I revert from being a calm adult to an exasperated ten-year being told what to do, where I should go, and what time I am expected to be home. At those moments I take a deep breath realizing parents will always worry about their children regardless of age. It’s just a fact of life that I will always be her ten-year old kid!

Do your parents ever make you feel like you are ten?

The Sound of Silence

We went for a hike along The Hayburger Trail  and on our journey we came across an open meadow full of warmth that invited us in for a rest. We stopped in the middle and admired its beauty.

My husband told my children , “Be very quiet! Lets stand still for five minutes  and see what animals will appear.”

We all stood back to back looking out across the field a butterfly first greeted us, and then a lovely song from a bird filled the field with serenity. We all stood waiting, watching, and enjoying the peaceful moment.

It was that special moment my family and I  stood connected in silence looking out into the wilderness. We watched and waited but no animals appeared in our midst.

As we broke our silence we turned to face each other, looked each other in the eye, and looked down. We all burst out in laughter as we realized we had circled a large pile of bison dung in our silence. If any one of us had moved back on step we would be bringing a small treasure home with us on  the bottom of our shoe.

It was the perfect Sunday to revel in nature’s serene beauty and laugh a little along the way.

How do you enjoy the silence? Do you find peace in nature?

Don’t Mess with My Mom

My Mom is a force to be reckoned with and she will be the first tell you exactly what you don’t want to hear at the most inappropriate time. Especially if you live in a Pollyanna bubble like me! But that is life!

We have had our differences in the past  like most mother and daughters.  It was my obnoxious teen years  that tested her limits. And I know for a fact that I have pressed many  buttons,  as soon as the drawer opened, the spoon  came out, I would make  a mad dash for the door!

I think spoon haunts me til this very day!

My Mom also has another side that I don’t talk about enough. It is the side that when you are in need she is there with a phone call, she knows when to help when the chips are down, and she will always be there for you.

I remember as a young girl coming back from the grocery store with  her in her stealthy grey Station wagon.

A lone man swaggered along the sidewalk.

My Mom slowly drove by him very slowly, gave him the stink eye, then shook her finger at him exclaiming, “I’m watching you!”

She sighed and looked to me, “That bastard beats his wife. I can’t stand him! If he was married to me he would be dead! No questions asked.”

My young eyes looked at her in disbelief but I knew she was telling the truth. Nobody would ever mess with my Mom!

If there is one thing my Mom is she is a fighter, she has gumption, and she always looks out for her friends. The one thing she taught us  is to stand-up for ourselves and take no prisoners when duty calls us too.

Family sticks together through thick and thin!

I might crack the occasional menopausal joke her way or test her limits for old times sakes. But  as her daughter it is my duty to test those limits!

I wonder if she will like her gift Fifty Shades of Grey….

What do you love about your Mother? How will you be celebrating this Mother’s Day?

Snow Birds and Broken Appliances

My husband was  recently on the phone with his parents and they were discussing their annual  trip to the Florida Panhandle.  They are the typical snow birds that descend south every winter  spreading their tiny wings to fly out of the freezing cold chicken coop.

I was eavesdropping , I could hear my husband, “You are driving where for a microwave? The same microwave that you had when I was a kid? Let me get this straight – you are taking your microwave with you to get it fixed in Alabama?”

However, I learned many years ago never to breathe a word about his parents appliances or their need to hold onto everything. It was a lesson I  learned the hard way!

My mother in law had her eyes on The Kitchen –Aid mixer it was like a red sparkly bike that was calling her name. It was with impulse she purchased a new kitchen-aid and handed her  Braun mixer down to me.

It was within that brief time the Braun and I were together we  were a happy couple baking until our hearts content from bread to pastries. It was until that one fateful spark that changed everything!  My beloved mixer was gone and floated up to the appliance heaven in the sky.

It was weeks later over lunch with the in-laws popped  my mother in law asked, “Do you still have the mixer? The kitchen-aid just isnt’ the same.”

I’m already the black sheep, the art student, opinionated women, that stole her golden boy. I could never do right and knew that I was going to have another strike against me the moment I opened my mouth…

“Um! Well no!” I stammered.

“No?”

“Well it broke.”

My father in law chirped “You what? You threw it out?”

“Yes. It broke.”

They both had stunned looked on their faces waiting for me to finish as if I had just dropped an F-bomb in church.

In my own defense I proclaimed “ It was made in the sixties!”

They both gave me a ghastly look that I had done some great injustice to the world and couldn’t believe I acted without the thought of the consequences it would have on them.

I clarified “Well it was old! And we didn’t know how to fix it…”

It was with that I was given another look.

“Do you still have the bowl?”

I exclaimed out of  nervousness, “Yes! I kept the bowl! I love it! It’s wonderful just for day-to-day baking.”

“Can I have it back?”

And it was with that I handed back the bowl never to be trusted with second-hand appliances again.

So as my husband got off the phone he gave me a look and said “Why don’t they just buy a new microwave?”

I looked at my husband with the knowledge of never insulting their appliances, “Honey, it must be the one they love forever. The breeze along the river would say  Just let it be.”

How far would you go to rescue your appliances? Would you drive to Alabama to get it fixed?

Hooters: It’s Where You have a Hoot!

As my son and I walked through the  mall attempting to decide where to eat.  His eyes looked up at the bright orange sign and said, “Why don’t we give Hooters a try?”

I sighed, “Umm. Let’s go somewhere else that you might like to try!”

“Mom! Everybody says Hooters is the place where you have a hoot!”

“A hoot?”

“Yes! A hoot!

“Who says that?”

“I don’t know! I just heard it.”

His nine-year old eyes innocently looking up at me, “Can we go?”

“It’s not really a place to have a hoot. It’s just a restaurant. And I have heard the food is terrible.”

“But I want to try it!”

“How about you pick something else? And we can have ice cream afterwards?”

I know the great parental bribe! I have never pretended to be  above it. At the same time, it was my last attempt to change the subject. How did I explain to my son that I did not want to eat at Hooters because the woman were objectified in short shorts and low-cut tank tops. Was it really time for this conversation?

“Mom! Come on! Please! Please!”

If anyone was stubborn it was him and he wasn’t giving up!

“It looks fine. Can we go?”

And with that I diverted the subject, “Let’s have lunch later, and go check-out the skateboard shop.”

Crisis averted! But who knows for how long?

When is the right time to discuss the objectification of woman and sex? Can it be avoided? If so, for how long?

 

Bubble Wrap and Freedom

As the end of the school year comes around the bend, I  have watched with pride how far my little men have  strided  and grown learning from their own failures and successes. I watch in awe how spirited they have become -  I wonder is it time to unravel some of the bubble wrap that surrounds them? It was just this weekend my nine-year old taught me an important  lesson knowing when it’s time to let go of the reins.

“Mom! Do we have any strawberries?”

“Yes! They are in the fridge. I’ll get them for you in a minute.”

“It’s okay Mom! I got it!”

I hear him open the utensil drawer, shifting through it, and peaked my head around the corner.

“What are you looking for?”

“The cutting knife.”

“I’ll cut them for you.”

“No mom! I can do it!”

Instinctively, I walked over getting the knife out of the drawer ready to begin slicing the strawberries for him. He put out his hand for the knife looking exasperated.

“Mom! I’ve done it before.”

“When?”

“When you were gone one afternoon and dad was downstairs working in the basement. I just did it. And I didn’t cut my fingers. Just let me do it.”

I handed over the knife and hovered over him watching intensely as he chopped up the strawberries.

“Be careful. Watch your fingers.”

“I know Mom.”

It was with that he carefully cut each strawberry,paying attention to every detail, ensuring his little  fingers were safely away from the blade.

Once he was finished, “See I did it! You know I’m going to be in grade 4 next year. I can do this stuff.”

It was with that small moment of hovering over my son, watching him grow to become more independent and responsible. I knew it was time to loosen the reins and give him a little bit more freedom.  If I want him  grow to become the confident young man he is meant to be, I can’t always hover, and  must slowly unravel  just a little bit more of  the bubble wrap that I have constricting him.

Do you think we give children less responsibility these days? How do you know when it’s time to unravel the bubble wrap?

The Threat of Liver

I have a confession my son is a picky eater and I have failed at expanding his food horizon. In the past, I scanned every parenting magazine, forum, and sought advice from friends. But nothing seemed to entice him to eat if he didn’t want to eat what was on his plate.

I am also guilty of catering to his whims, and have been known to cook two separate meals. One for him and one for us. However, our last supper turned into a disaster. I had made lasagna, fresh bread, and  salad. What’s not to like?

My son looks at it, picks at it, twists it on his fork, his pleading eyes look at me, “Do I have to eat this?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I don’t like lasagna!”

“Since when? You ate it without complaint the other week.”

“May I just be excused and go to my room?”

It was with that one question something inside me said, “No! You will sit there and finish it. It’s lasagna and there is nothing gross about it. So eat it.”

“Do I have too? I just don’t like the taste.’

“It tastes like spaghetti.”

“Fine. I’m not eating.”

“Fine. You sit there until it’s eaten.”

My husband looked surprised, my youngest son Robert gobbled his with delight, and Alex sat there with tears welling up in his eyes.

“I just don’t like it!”

“Alex do you even know what gross food is?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t think so. How about this? You either eat this lasagna or I go to the store and purchase liver. I will come home and you can help me cook it then you will eat it. It will be then you will discover what gross food is!”

“I’m not eating it!”

“You won’t eat the lasagna then you sit at this table until I get back from the store.”

I went to the entryway, grabbed my keys, my purse, and put on my shoes. My husband looked up pale wondering if he too had to eat liver. He also knew that I meant business and sat quietly watching the events unfold before his eyes.

” This is your last chance! Eat the lasagna! Or I will leave, go to the store, and buy liver! You will then eat it and learn the meaning of gross. The choice is up to you.”

I then began the final countdown, hand on the door knob, ready to leave “10, 9, 8, 7, 6,5…”"

“Fine. I’ll eat the lasagna. I hate it but I will eat it.”

It with that one threat of liver which forced my picky eater to finish his plate of lasagna. I still shudder the thought of cooking liver and onions. Even I can’t stomach the stuff…

Do you have a creative solution to getting picky eaters to eat? Is there one food that you can’t stand the taste of?

Blogging: Where Do You Draw the Line?

Mr.MBA usually doesn’t read my blog but sometimes on the occasional chance he gets curious and visits my  little online world. This morning as we were eating breakfast we were having a discussion about his broken nose. He looked at me curiously, “You are not going to blog about this are you?”

“No! I’ll leave your poor nose alone.”

“Good!”

He then looked at me, “You know I’m thinking I might have to begin thinking before I speak. Maybe I should trademark everything I say?”

“Why?”

“Well! If you are going to keep mentioning me in your blog.”

I burst out into laughter “Yes! All insightful great one! Please do!”

It was with that we went about our morning business and making plans for the day.  As I looked over the morning newspaper I began to think there are many things I share with readers but also there is a line that I won’t cross in my personal life. I believe some conversations and some events in life are best kept private regardless of how good of a story it is to tell.

So, I want to know are there things you refuse to blog about it? Do you have a line that you don’t cross when it comes to life, family, and career? If so where do you draw the line?

A Mop! A Mop! A Cleaning Lady for a Mop!

I once had ambitions  just like Richard the III and dreamed of my own matriarchal  kingdom. It would be  a shiny beacon that would make Martha Stewart envious of my organizational skills. In the past week I have washed, scrubbed toilets, and de-cluttered  almost all of the closets. It was only within moments my homes squeaky clean appearance was tarnished…

The aftermath of my madness was questionable, but what lead to this madness? Was it that I gave Mr. MBA too much free rein last night when he did the laundry? Or was it  giving the kids too much freedom in their room  not policing where they put their toys and laundry? I’m unsure where or when my madness occurred but when it did everyone took cover!

I awoke this morning groggy, getting breakfast ready, packing lunches, listening to the sound of my coffee brewing in the tassimo (my one trusted friend ) it was when my little man yelled, “Mom where are my socks?”

“Your Dad put them away last night they should be in your top drawer.”

“They’re not!”

My second son, “Mine are not either!”

My husband came trudging down the stairs in his wrinkled dress pants and shirt. I gave him the once over “Did you stuff the dryer full?”

“Yes!”

“Why would you do that everything is going to be wrinkled!”

“Don’t worry I’ll fix it.”

He went downstairs and put his wrinkled clothes in the empty dryer. I thought to myself not a word just I just need my coffee.

“Mom! I still don’t have any socks!”

I wandered upstairs and looked at his room. My ears began to turn red “Where is your floor? What have you done? I just cleaned this yesterday!”

He gave me his sweet eyes, “I don’t know!”

I went back to the kitchen to discover the dog in the garbage. It was everywhere the remnants of last nights spaghetti sauce. I was biting my tongue, keeping my cool, the dog gave me the look, and took cover in her crate.

Mr. MBA reappeared smoothed out and ready to face his day! “Did you put away the kids clothes last night?”

“Yup!”

“That’s funny I can’t find their socks. I’ll go look in the laundry room.”

As I hit the bottom of the basement steps,  and entered the family room. I looked and discovered a pile of clean socks in the centre of the floor.

“Mr. MBA could you come here!”

I heard the foot steps slowly come down the stairs. “Yes!”

“What’s this?”

“It’s the kids socks.”

“Why are they in the middle of the floor?”

“I thought they could just match as they go!”

“You thought? You thought? You thought they could  match and go?”

“Is that what your mother did?”

“Well no!”

“So do you think I want to look at a pile of socks every time I watch TV?”

Mr. MBA slinked up the stairs “I think I better go now.”

All of my Better Home and Garden dreams thwarted with a blink of an eye. I felt dizzy with the onset of madness and all  I could do was declare  “A Mop! A Mop! A Cleaning Lady for a Mop!”

Have you ever been driven to madness?

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