D is for Done

Done.  I am done with school.  I am done with early mornings and I am done with packing lunches.  I am done with homework, I am done with projects and I am especially done with projects that require poster board or tri-folds.  I am done with kids being stressed about testing or kids being too relaxed about testing.  I am done with emails home saying "School isn't over yet".  The kids are definitely done.  I was in the library at school helping out today and the noise in there was amazing.  I was also in the cafeteria at school today and the noise in there was tremendous.  You could feel the noise rumble in your chest like a herd of elephants approaching the closer you got to the cafeteria.  God bless those teachers and the school staff the next few weeks; they deserve combat pay.

I haven't been this eager for the end of school since I was in school myself.  Usually I am the parent who knows exactly how many days of summer vacation are left three days into summer vacation.  Seeing the big pencil hanging from the ceiling of Target in mid-July gives me a Christmas morning kind of feeling when I see it.  I like to buy the school supplies in the beginning of August and lay them out on the dining room table as a warning to the kids and as a beacon of light for myself.

In the beginning of the year, I pack lunches with thought and care and nutritional value. I cut off crusts and write little notes about how much I love you or you make me proud.   I use reusable sandwich bags and tiny containers housing tiny healthy snacks.  By now most of the reusable bags are lost, the containers have no lids and I am packing Reese Puffs instead of sandwiches because they claim to be fortified with iron and I choose to believe them. 

Homework?  I am over homework too.  They tell me they don't have any, I choose to believe them.  This did lead to a harried, hurried project involving posterboard and copious tears from the 5th grader last night but I am focusing on the life skills she is learning.  Don't put things off to the last minute and unlike your mother, always have posterboard in the house.  Spelling tests?  Listen you are three weeks away from the end of 3rd grade, if you can't spell these words by now, well, there is always next year.

Maybe it is because my 5th grader had such a hard year this year and her usual enthusiasm for school and learning has been whittled away to lethargy about school.  I want her to have the summer to rest up and get ready for middle school.  Or maybe it is because school is such a chore for my 3rd grader and he is tired of holding it together and I am weary of holding him together.  Maybe it is once that damn STARR test is over that everyone is just too depleted to keep going.  Why don't they have those tests the last week of school?

Realistically, I know that summer vacation can seem endless as well.  We don't  have any travel plans this summer.  No camps lined up.  I know it will be 100+ every day and the kids will be bored with being home.  I know they will use every glass and plate in the house and leave them all over.  I know they will eat more food in a day than I planned on for three days.  I know I will have great plans of forcing math facts on them thinking that with all the time we have they will finally embrace and learn them and that they won't. I will get tired of swimming and applying sunscreen and washing towels.  I know.  But as of right now, it just sounds so much better.

Suit Up

We have had a lovely spring here in Texas.  There are years when it goes right from pretend winter to summer, but this year we have had mild temperatures, some rain and everything is fresh and blooming. Verdant even.  Slowly the days are creeping up to the high 80's and even 90's and I know that it is coming.  The heat..., the ever present sun...., the wearing of bathing suits.  Ugh.  I make it my mission each year to pack away my bathing suit on Labor Day and not break it out again until Memorial Day.  I know that there are people who like to swim year round (sickos) or even for as long as the weather will allow (weird) but I am not one.  We do a lot of swimming here in the summer and by August, even the kids are tired of swimming and I am tired of pretending I look good and am comfortable in my bathing suit.  Oh I had some years where I rocked the beach attire (ages 16-18 and 25-28), but right now I am a mom who does her best to be healthy and buys her suits based on functionality and price. 

There is a vulnerability about wearing a bathing suit for months and I blame the whole purchasing of a bathing suit on why I also find it soul sucking.  First, don't order one from a magazine.  You are not 20.  You are also probably not 6'1" and weigh 120 pounds and you will not be airbrushed into perfection along with your new suit.  There is no doubt you will be disappointed when your suit comes and you put it on, only to see you and not the nubile young coed from the magazine.  Second, trying a bathing suit on in a store is demoralizing.  Have you ever looked worse than you do standing under all those fluorescent lights in your underwear with your pale and pasty winter white skin illuminated and reflecting back to you?  And not just the front view.  You are looking at yourself from every angle imaginable.  I don't own a full length mirror for this very reason.  I put things on and assume they look fine until a glimpse in someone's mirror or reflective window tells me otherwise.  I don't want to see what is behind me...that is why it is behind me! 

I am not alone!

The steps to actually trying on a bathing suit just strip away your self-esteem step by step. Bathing suit sizing makes no sense and no matter what size you normally wear, you will need something 4 sizes bigger.  You will struggle into the suit and step back to look and wonder if it is your underwear under the suit making your hips look bulgy and misshapen so you will pull the sides up, down, back all the while wondering how long it has been since you shaved.  You will then put on the top or adjust the top and see if your children will be horrified when faced with your breasts and the way they have been pushed, pulled and squeezed into the top.  You jump around to see how much more is exposed and bend at the waist to see if you can keep your dignity if you should drop something or have to pick someone up.  No, you cannot.  Finally you give up, pick the color you like the best or the cheapest one and head to the check out.  I do advise you to do this before you absolutely need to.  I once waited until June and ended up at Kohl's at 7:45 in the morning because I had to have a suit THAT day and ended up looking like a mad cow all summer.  Seriously, a black and white splotched tankini was the best I could do.  A look around this morning confirmed that I destroyed any and all evidence of that in pictures.

Luckily I did get a cute suit last year that will work again.  I will wear that until the bottom pills completely or the sides split.  And I also have my one piece red suit that Bill picked out a few years ago and fulfills some Baywatch fantasy of his I never knew about.  Really all I need is a cover up that doesn't make me sweat and I will be ready, if not willing, to enter bathing suit season.  We are headed to the pool tomorrow; I have been bribed into it two weeks early with the lure of wine and chitchat. 

I tell Bill all the time that when I hit 60 or 65, I am going round.  At 5'3", my body wants to be round and by that time in my life, I am going to stop fighting it.  I am going to eat ice cream every night if I want and I will be able to have Doritos in the house again.  I am going to order my "housedresses" from the back of magazines and coupons in the Sunday paper and they will snap and zip and have nary a piece of elastic, or hint of a waist, anywhere near them.  And come bathing suit time, well, I am just going to put my feet in the pool and smile.

For My Dad

My dad will turn 70 this Sunday.  70 is amazing because it is 70!  70 is also amazing because he was diagnosed with thyroid and tongue cancer in October of last year.  He has had a rough go of surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy since then, but he has made it.  He has beaten it.  He gets to celebrate 70!

My dad was born on May 12, 1943. We think this is a picture of him as a baby.  I say we think because it says Peter on the front but it also says "Peter?" in shaky handwriting on the back.  He was the third baby born at home and I don't blame my grandmother for blocking things out. 


Peter?


When you have someone you loved diagnosed with cancer and you are not sure the outcome, they and you spend a lot of time reflecting on their life.  There is a lot of wondering if they will come through surgery, if the chemo will work, if this is their last Thanksgiving or Christmas or will they make 70?  I spent a great deal of time thinking about my Dad, about my childhood, about the relationship I have with my Dad as an adult, about the memories my kids have with him.  My dad is not a perfect man, he is flawed, he has failed, but in the end I am so very proud of who he is and so very proud to be his daughter.

One word that sums my Dad up in its entirety is service.  My Dad is a server.  My Dad graduated high school and joined the navy to serve his country.  He got out right before Vietnam and when the Navy wouldn't take him back he tried to get into the Army and I think even the Air Force because if there was a war, he wanted to serve.  Luckily for me and my siblings, no one took him.

Handsome?



My Dad then went on to serve his town by being a police officer and later detective for the Town of Lancaster.  My Dad loved being a cop.  He loved the chases and the camaraderie.  He loved the late nights and he loved being part of something big.  Really, what I think he loved most was serving people, helping people in bad situations and helping people stay safe.  As a result of being a police office, my Dad knew everyone in town.  We didn't go anywhere where people weren't saying hello or how was he today.  When I was little I thought that was awesome, when I was a teenager it embarrassed me to no end and as an adult, it makes me a little envious.



(I put this picture in just so everyone could see my Dad's late 70's afro)

After he retired from the police force, my Dad struggled to find work that left him employed and fulfilled.  This is when he started serving his community.  He ran for judge.  He lost, but he knocked on a lot of doors and listened to a lot of people.  He then join the Lions Club and began serving through them.  And by serving I mean recruiting new members, grilling hot dogs, attending benefits.  I don't think there is a Pancake Breakfast he hasn't been to in the last 25 years.

Above all though, my Dad really served his family.  My Mom and Dad have been married for 45 years. I am not sure they always liked each other, but they kept at it, no matter what and showed us what it meant to love and persevere in hard times. When we were little, my Dad worked two jobs and went to college. He showed us responsibility and endurance.  My Dad took time to coach our softball team when we were little and to show up at our band concerts, field hockey games and track meets in high school.  He showed us support and encouragement. 

My Dad has an unfailing sense of right and wrong, and by God, don't wrong him because those Arenas can hold a grudge.  My Dad loves a joke and the dirtier the better.  He laughs so hard before he can tell the punch line that he has shown us not to take ourselves so seriously.   My Mom has often referred to my Dad as "Peter Pan" ,sometimes very lovingly as in "oh Peter, you charmer!" and other times exasperatedly as in "Dammit Peter".  I like to think of my Dad as Peter Pan; as believing in the good, in expecting a happy outcome, in making time for fun.  So keep trudging Dad, and remember, it's the second star on the left and straight on til morning.

Happy Birthday, I love you. 







Change of Plans

The weather tomorrow is supposed to be perfect for the party I was planning on throwing.  It is only going to be 60 (chilly for us) and rainy and I thought that would set the perfect mood for my pity party.  I would do my volunteer stuff up at school, run my one errand, come home and put my flannel jammie bottoms back on and start wallowing in my misery.  I was looking forward to caterwauling on the couch, followed by a big plate of boo-hoo brownies and an emotional turn through all the bad choices and events in my life.  I would then finish with an exhausted nap.

is it still one brownie if it comes out in one piece?

The catalyst for all this planning was being rejected yet again for another job where the interview went exceedingly well, I was definitely qualified and really thought this was it.  It was not.  I found out about an hour before I had to go to work on Monday and this did not leave me time to throw myself on the bed and sob about what a loser I am.  Tuesday was busy with more work and kids and still not enough time to really beat myself up and encourage all the negativity swarming in my brain.  Sure, I was so grouchy at work that one of my co-workers slid a bag of peanut M&Ms over to me and said "Eat them.  Please."  I didn't want to spend the week yelling at the kids because they are annoying me for being happy, so I thought I should just section some time out to be miserable.  Any time I had a bad thought, I would just shelve it and say "we'll talk on Thursday".  I even announced to my family that I would be having my pity party on Thursday and no one was invited. 

5am came early this morning and while I was not excited to get up, I noticed I was not feeling as beaten down as yesterday.  Bill and I had our coffee and visited and I think I said three inappropriate words before 5:20am (new record) and we laughed.  The kids woke up happy and I didn't have to tell anyone to brush their teeth (also a new record).  The look of absolute horror on the 11 year old's face due to my car dancing made me belly laugh and the 9 year old wants a dance party when he gets home today.  I then went to kettlebell and was strong and it was a fun, new workout.  On the way home I started thinking about how I actually told Bill on Monday to stop telling me all the ways I was wonderful.  I thought about how my 11 year old hugs me every time she has walked by me the past three days or how my 15 year old facilitated all the dinner conversation last night because she knew I didn't feel like it.  This made me start to think that maybe things aren't so bad.  Maybe I am so lucky that instead of a pity party I should just stop and count my blessings.  (I am so glad no one actually said that to me because I may have punched them in the face).

I do wish employers would treat people that they don't hire better.  I know we are plentiful and I know you have a lot to do because you are employed, but we are still people.  We have feelings, we have aspirations for the jobs you dole out so solicitously.  Don't be condescending when we call, we are just trying to plan out our lives.  Send a letter or a quick email; I would gladly take a form letter that had one nice thing about me in it.  Even if you didn't like me, tell me that you liked my skirt, give me something so I can get back out there and do it again. 

So here I am about 24 hours out from my planned pity party and I think I am just going to cancel it. Besides, my errand tomorrow is threading and that woman works magic! I always feel 5 years younger and 10 pounds lighter when I leave there and this doesn't lend itself to pity.  I am, however, still changing back into my flannel jammies when I get home.