My Favorite and My Best

Today, Bill and I celebrate our twelfth wedding anniversary! Because neither of us were strangers to marriage when we got married, we promised each other that we knew that it was a life-long commitment this time and agreed that mostly happily ever after was what we could expect in our future.

We were married on July 18, 2001 in Florida at a Justice of the Peace and it was the most beautiful wedding I have ever seen.  The lady who married us was so excited to be marrying someone and was as teary as we were by the end.  Really, all I saw was Bill: just locked eyes with him while my heart was screaming WOOHOOO!!!!!!  It was a very good day.

tee hee!  look how young we are!

Within 18 months of meeting each other, we were married, had a baby, moved into a house and Bill started a new job.  Talk about stress!  Additionally, I gained a three year old stepdaughter and she and I took to each other well until we all lived in the same house.  We like to tease her about how she commented that I should “take my stuff and bring it back to my own house” and they like to tease me about how I thought it was perfectly okay to beat a three year old in a foot race. Who knew?  Within three years, we had another baby and another move, this time to a new city AND another job.  It is no wonder those first five years flew by.  We are both hard pressed to remember more than just pieces of it.

Like any couple who have been together for more than a decade, we have seen our ups and downs.  There are times when we love each other much more than we like each other.  Times when I think if he gives me that polite Canadian face with the tight smile and dead eyes one more time when I know he is really so mad he should yell, I will scream.  Times when I am not nearly as funny as I think I am.  And don’t even get me started on 2010 – definitely NOT the year of the McMahons. 

Marriage is work.  It is trying even when you don’t want to, it is being gracious when you would rather be mean and it is remembering all the reasons you fell in love with this person while the daily grind beats you both down.  It is having a partner to shoulder responsibilities, to share in the joy of your children and to make you feel loved even when you are feeling most unlovable.  It is about finding what works for you.  We went to a seminar once about “Love and Respect”; how men need to feel respected and women loved for a marriage to endure.  After ten minutes in, I looked at Bill and said “I respect you”.  He replied “I love you.”  We left and had margaritas instead.  Worked for us!

When I think about our lives together today, I just keep thinking “Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered and it keeps no record of wrongs.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-5)  Thank you, Bill McMahon, for being patient, for being kind, for being supportive and loving and committed to not only me, but to our family.  Thank you for telling me I am beautiful when I am not, or for supporting me in things that bore you to tears but make me happy.  Thank you for being a great dad.  For loving our children and teaching them table manners, math and leading by example.  You are showing our son how to treat women and our girls how they should expect to be treated by someone who loves them. 

“It always protects, it always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres” (1Corinthians 13:7) Thank you for always making me feel safe.  Not just because you are muscley, but because you never give me a reason to doubt our love and our life together.  Thank you for being the sunny optimist to my cautious realism.  Thank you for trying.  And trying.  And trying some more.

“Love never fails.” (1 Cor 13:8).  Well, of course it can, but we choose every day not to let it.  Thank you Bill McMahon for enduring all the bad, for celebrating all the good and for sticking with me for whatever the future will hold.  I love you and will love you and thank God for you every single day.

.....And I Will Go to Texas

I moved to Texas when I was 19 with a solemn agreement with my friend that we would give Texas and each other six months before we decided if it was going to work or not.  That was twenty years ago and I am still here.  I have periodically wanted to move back home (Buffalo, NY) AND we have considered other places with job opportunities, but Texas is home.  However, despite having lived in Texas half of my life and almost all of my adult life, things keep popping up to remind me I am not a native.

 

1.  Bluebonnets:  I do not have any pictures of my children frolicking among the bluebonnets.  Three kids, nary a one. I do think there is a picture of my stepdaughter as a baby with some plastic bluebonnets, but she not sitting in a field of them.  For those of you who don’t live here, the bluebonnet is our state flower. Our children learn the Legend of the Bluebonnet in school, we are forbidden to mow them, transplant them or kill them outright.  However, it is perfectly reasonable to trample down fields of them in order to get a picture of your kids among them.  I don’t get it.

 

Pretty, right?

2.  Sonic.  Sonic stresses me out.  Why do you they have those slanted spots to pull into and a drive thru?  Is one faster than the other?  Is eating in your car while parked more fun than cramming fries in your mouth and driving with one hand?  Do you tip the people who bring your food out?  What if you use the drive thru – do you still tip? Why?  Plus, and they may run me out of the state for saying this, the food kind of stinks.  To be fair, we don’t eat a lot of fast food, but when the kids say the ice cream tastes weird, that is saying a lot.  They are not really discerning when it comes to ice cream.

3.  BBQ.  Up north, anything you place on a grill to cook is BBQ.  This can be hamburgers, hotdogs, chicken, veggies – when it touches the grill, it all becomes BBQ.  In Texas, BBQ is beef.  Brisket slow-cooked in foil for hours requiring grown men to stand around it grunting and periodically poking it through the foil while debating the ingredients in their rub or sauce.

4.  Football.  Don’t get me wrong, I like football but no one in my family bleeds orange or crimson or, God help me, silver and blue.  My son picked the Philadelphia Eagles as his favorite team and Bill and I don’t care much one way or the other.  And we will root for anyone playing against the Dallas Cowboys.  (Whew! I am getting my Texas card revoked for that I am sure!)  This started during the Superbowls against the Bills back in the 90’s when my friend and I pretty much ran for our lives outside a Target for mistakenly wearing Bills gear out in public and enraging Cowboys fans.  If there was ever a chance of my being publicly stoned, that was definitely it!

5.  Mexican food.  Actually, not only do I get this, I THANK YOU Texas for Mexican food.  Tex-Mex, whatever.  Up north, the best Mexican food can be found at ChiChis.  ChiChis.  If you have never had to eat at one, stop and thank the Lord right now.  It is Mexican food made by people who pronounce the “j” in jalapeno.  Bland, blah and tomatoe-y.  Thank you, thank you for fajitas and queso and enchiladas and margaritas and tasty-yummy-happiness on almost every corner.  (Notice I left off tamales.  My first encounter with tamales, no one told me you take off the corn husk first.  That was a lot of chewing trying to get that first bite down, let me tell you.)

My throat hurts just looking at this.

Finally I have to say that you will never, ever hear me ask “Is it hot enough for you?”  Is it over 80?  Then yes, yes it is and I will assume the same for you.  I shudder a little when my kids say treadmeeeel instead of treadmill, but they tease me for the hard “A” sound that won’t leave my words. I did stop saying “you guys” after a few years here but I still cannot say “y’all” without giggling a little inside.    I will never blend in totally, but I stick out less than I used to.  Twenty years will do that.  Twenty years.  Ugh, that makes me feel old!!!

Tradition

I think that everyone should have a 96 year old neighbor living across the street from them.  It really gives you perspective on things.  When they first moved in, I took cookies over to our neighbor and his much younger bride.  (Bride.  They were newlyweds!)  He thought this was a wonderful gesture and proceeded to remind me each time someone new moved in that I should do the same for them.  So I would – sometimes happily, sometimes grudgingly, but he was right, it was a nice thing to do.  He also hated to see women mowing the lawn.  Any time he saw me out there cutting the grass, Bill or I would hear about it later.  He would provide us with a comment, a harrumphing tone, or a haughty eyebrow indicating his disapproval.  And again, in a way, he was right.  Not in that women shouldn’t cut grass, but women who hate to cut grass and don’t have to really should not.  Bill likes to cut the grass and I was not really helping him at all by periodically butchering the lawn.

Our neighbor took an active interest in our kids, in the families around him and in doing so made all of us get involved with each other as well.  It is easy to just pull into your garage at night and forget that there are families living along side you raising their kids as you raise yours.  He and his wife have an uncanny way of getting us to be invested in those around us.  For a long time, they were front and center at all the neighborhood activities, showing the rest of us that it is wise to make the time to invest in others.  They showed us that it is important to carve out a sense of community and to truly get to know the people along your fence line.

Our neighbor is a quiet member of that Greatest Generation.  He served in World War II, but he deemed his service not as important as others.  He would not talk much about the war or his part in it.  He would dismiss it like it was no big deal but he was out there at sunrise every holiday that required a flag, unfurling his American flag, hoisting it up and smartly saluting it before going back inside.  The first time I saw him do this, I was instantly choked up.  There was something so beautiful in this old man who stood a little more stooped over each year, but became ramrod straight when it came to saluting his flag.  

Sadly, we have watched our neighbor’s health decline over the last few years.  All of us holding our breath as he walked to the mailbox, not sure if he would get there or not, but there was no way to offer this proud man a hand.  Or as his hearing declined, conversations became more of loud HELLLOOOOOS and thumbs ups rather than discussions on things.  It was hard for this proud man to decline, hard on his wife to shoulder it and sad for the rest of us to see a cornerstone of our community crumbling.  When he was taken to the hospital last month and things looked very dire indeed, we sat down and told the kids.  They both burst into tears and our 11 year old said “But he has always been there.”  He has a sense of permanence in both their memories and his presence has been a source of continuity and comfort for all of us.  However, I think that what this man has instilled in all of us the most is a sense of tradition.  

Ditcionary.com defines tradition as the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs, information, etc., from generation to generation, especially by word of mouth or by practice.  Our neighbor has helped us to realize that tradition can be so much more than that.  It can be starting something and following through with it every time whether you feel like it or not – like in the case of cookies for new neighbors.  Or that tradition can ensue when you take the time to get to know the people around you and start sharing your life and your children's lives with each other.  Or that simply, tradition can be that you continue to do what someone has done before you.  In our case, with our neighbor winding down his days in hospice, we chose to honor him and his sense of tradition by continuing to raise his flag for him.  It was a beautiful and bittersweet moment on the 4^th of July as my Canadian husband and 9 year old son unfurled our neighbor’s American flag, hung it with care and then stepped back to salute it, just as our neighbor would have done.  

It didn’t take much time or effort but it helped cement for us that with just a little forethought and some consideration, tradition can be a constant in our lives as well.  Thank you, Bentley.

A New Normal

I have news.  Exciting news!!!!  Ready?  I have been offered a…..full….time….JOB!!!!!  Can I get a WOOHOO?!?!?!  I will be working in a high school library come August and I am thrilled!  HOORAY!  The funny thing is that I was actually offered two different jobs the same week – the when it rains it pours deal I guess.  I hemmed and hawed, I made a chart, and I compared and contrasted and went with the one I felt would be best.  Whew, all that interviewing over and a new chapter about to begin – have I ever mentioned how bad I am with change?

Once the thrill of being offered a job settled down, anxiety started to creep in. Anxiety to me is like a rat running around and around on a wheel in your head that keeps you from totally paying attention to what is going on around you or listening clearly or even thinking clearly.  I tell you, there was a pet store full of rats running around up there.   

I have not worked full time in a long time.  Like before kids long time.  I have been fortunate (i.e. saddled with debt) in that I have been able to be at home with my kids this long.  With my kids in different schools next year, I need to figure out what to do with my son after school.  Why does elementary school get out first?  Why can’t middle or high school get out first so that the girls could watch their brother and make my life easier?  I am a wreck trying to decide if I should find someone to watch him at the house or enroll him in something at school or something offsite that will pick him up.  I know my daughter will forget something vital each day and I keep picturing her waiting for the bus in the rain.  Am I crazy?  This is Austin, it rarely rains and certainly not every day.

Other craziness that has been spinning around is when can I kettlebell? Or volunteer at school?  Or bake?  Or take a nap during the week?  These little rats of insanity going around and around in my brain have led me to make many proclamations based on hormones and my fear of change.  Kids will now do their own laundry.  Kids will learn to cook.  Kids will actively engage in helping to make pizza or I will not make pizza any more.  Luckily for the kids, Bill reined me in before I could make more proclamations and completely ruin summer.  “We have time” he said, “We will figure this stuff out”.  He is so wise and calm to my crazy.

I did stick with the proclamation that kids will do their own laundry.  I watched my son fold his the other night and while it took him 45 minutes, he did it.  It made me think of all the other things he could do if I stopped doing them for him.  Maybe he will have better luck with friends if I am not there trying to smooth over his social awkwardness.  It made me realize that my daughter will definitely forget things she needs for school, but if I am not there to run them up to her each time, I bet she will forget them less often.  And I can always buy her an umbrella for the 4 days a year it does rain.  Maybe if they are hungry enough or bored enough, they will be the ones starting dinner and they will learn to cook.  And maybe if I back off a little, they will help make pizza on Fridays and Friday Pizza Night will be a real tradition, not just mom making pizza. 

I have been aware lately how big my kids are getting.  It is hard not to notice when two out of three are taller than you and that they no longer smell like puppies when they come in from outside; they just smell.  It is time for me to work more and it is time for them to do more and this change is a good thing. The new normal that will develop is a good thing, it will just be new.  Whew.  I have banished the rats from my head and am looking forward to this change– just in time to enjoy the rest of summer!  And my NEW JOB! WOOHOO!!!!

Book Blahs

I am twitchy and out of sorts.  It has been way too long since my last one.  I can’t concentrate; I am fidgety and impatient.  I need a good book to read and I need one now! Summer for me is usually a time where I like to read and read and read some more.  When I was a kid, I lost a whole summer to the Little House books and as a teenager I was back to school before I knew it thanks to John Jakes and his epic sagas.  

I took the kids and my mom to the library last week and they scampered around finding armfuls of books.  I found audio books for Bill and his long commute (“The Omnivore’s Dilemma” seemed like a good idea at the time) and then looked around for me.  Nothing.  Not one book caught my interest or invited me to crack the spine and read more.  Not one.  I thought maybe it was because I had interviewed there and they did not hire me and I was being subconsciously childish towards the books in an “you don’t want me, I don’t want your books” kind of fashion, or maybe it was because I found myself face to face with “Little Bee” again and was too disgusted to look further.  I just couldn't find anything.  Later in the week, I did check out some books from work but they were not the good book fix I needed either.  Meg Wolitzer’s “The Interestings”?  Not so interesting at all. The most interesting thing about the book is its fruit striped cover; I gave up after four chapters.  Dan Brown’s “Inferno”?  I finished it, but I skimmed an awful lot along the way and kind of wished that Robert Langdon would not find his way out of this one.  Perhaps reading such excellent children’s literature has left me disdainful of adult fiction?  "Wonder" and "The One and Only Ivan"  are two books I recommend instantly when people ask if I have read anything good lately.

I want to find this year’s “Gone Girl”.  And no, “Reconstructing Amelia”, you are not it.  I want characters I love right away like the ones in “Me Before You” or characters that are so terrible I feel immediately better about myself and am compelled to continue.  Sometimes during the summer, I like to revisit   favorite authors and see if there is a book of theirs that I haven't read yet. A little PD James for wit, snarky dialogue and a cast of heinous characters only a British author can truly develop, some Larry McMurtry for a Western that is not really a western, or maybe some Marion Keyes for an Irish woman in her late 20’s who is trying to get her life together and loved by her quirky, sister-laden family.  No interest in any of them this year. Sigh.  When I was younger, I used to reread favorite books all the time but now I think rereading is a little pointless.  Or maybe I just have less time to read and like what I am reading to be new. 

I need to find a page-turner.  A read until my neck is sore and my eyes are burning kind of book.  One where you lose track of time and your surroundings and the kids ask for things and you agree to them while saying “Mommy is reading” and later find yourself dishing out ice cream for dinner because you said okay earlier. I want a book that is so well written and so absorbing I find myself with a book hangover when I am done reading.  So help, please, and quickly!  

Kettlebell, Kettlebell, Kettlebell

I know.  Kettlebell, kettlebell, kettlebell.  Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.  I have been taking a kettlebell class for the past 18 months and have probably bored people to tears talking about it the last 17 months and 30 days.  I kind of feel like I am selling Amway or Mary Kay when I approach people and say “Have you heard about kettlebell?” 

Kettlebells

Prior to kettlebell my main form of exercise was half-hearted running around the neighborhood.  When my son turned 4, I looked at myself and the additional weight I was carrying and knew I could not call it baby weight anymore; it was all mine.  My early attempts at running were slow and short-distanced.  I rewarded myself for running with handfuls of chocolate chips thinking “I deserve it, I ran today.”  As evidenced by my brother’s wedding pictures, this was not healthy thinking and I ended up gaining more weight.  Eventually my distance increased and the dread I used to feel about running slowly faded.  I still wasn’t fast, but I was out there, pounding the pavement and calling it exercise.

When a friend forwarded me a groupon about a kettlebell class at Punch Kettlebell , I had never even heard of a kettlebell but thought that if I didn’t have to run outside when it was 85 at 7am, I was all over it.  We went to the workshop and learned the proper way to swing, to clean, and to press and got introduced to the ropes.  My heart was beating out of my chest with exertion and I was so sore the next day, I knew it had to be good for me.  I was awkward, incredibly awkward, at first with how to hold the bell, how to swing, and it was not uncommon for me to hear “STOP!  What are you doing?  What is that?!”  Oddly enough, I found this encouraging rather than intimidating.  The trainers wanted me to be good at this and so did I. Slowly, I got stronger, less awkward, and more competitive.  (Thank you Karen and Jenny)  I could move more weight and didn’t have to go home and take a nap after class anymore.  I knew enough to help new people in class and encourage them.  Last week I heard “Watch Rebecca, she knows what she is doing” and I felt like I had won kettlebell gold. 

Ropes and no, that is not my arm.

Every class is different, every trainer has a slightly different style and you are never quite sure what the day will hold.  Will it be Ropes Gone Wild or the dreaded 300? Will you warm up doing moves you haven’t tried since grade school?  We unfortunately warmed up doing crab walks and bear crawls the day my friend’s ten year old son was there and he still can't look me in the eye.  Kettlebell is not just lifting weights; it is an intense cardio and all over workout. (Average calories burned in one hour of kettlebell range between 500-1000!) You are using your core for every single move and your abs will let you know!   I especially like Punch Kettlebell because the classes are small enough that you get to know the people you are sweating with.  We encourage each other, we cheer on the beast-mode in each other and engage in very friendly competition.( I do advise you to be friendly otherwise I will privately name you things like Sweaty Guy, Toe Shoes or worse.)  I have walked in to class feeling defeated or overwhelmed by life and left there feeling invincible.  How can you be angry anymore after 20 big slams on the rope or feel defeated when you have just push pressed more than you did last week?  Physically, I have not felt this strong since I played sports in high school.  Even with my bum toe, I can do 90% of every workout and the trainers have been not only accommodating of my injury, but creative in what I can do instead.  And no ladies, you will not get bulky. You will get toned and lean and strong.

I live in a neighborhood where all the women are doctors, lawyers, CEOs, hold multiple degrees or are incredible activists for the community.  They run the PTA like a Fortune 500 Company and carry this over to their exercise as well.  They are marathon runners, tri-athletes, long-distance bikers.  I have been intimidated and exhausted just watching them.  Until kettlebell.  Kettlebell is my marathon.  It is my triathlon.  I love to share it with my friends who text me early the next day with things like “I am so sore” or “I hate you”.  I snicker like Snagglepuss and enjoy my day even more. 

So I apologize for pushing kettlebell like Sam-I-Am in “Green Eggs and Ham” but like Sam, I just can’t help myself.  And really, what is the moral of that story?  The Grinch-looking guy tries something new and then what?  HE LIKES THEM!  HE REALLY, REALLY LIKES THEM!  So try it.  You will like it.  And I can’t wait for your text telling me how much you hate me.

My Achy, Breaky Heart

Tomorrow is my 5^th grader’s Learning Celebration/Graduation.  I can’t believe she is done with elementary school!  She has had a hard year and is so excited to be done with school and to move on to middle school and I am glad for her.  She is anxious by nature and I am glad to see her looking forward to a change rather than worrying about it.  Lately, she has had to dress up for activities at school and I am stunned by how tall and grown up she looks.  She looks much older than 11 and that has been an eye-opener.  I have also learned never to shop for clothes with her at the same time.  Ugh. 

A sweet note I had to save

We were talking the other night about how she and the 3^rd grader will be in different schools next year and the more we talked, the sadder he got.  She has been his constant companion for his entire school career.  Finally, near tears he said “I can’t talk about this anymore; it is making me feel fragile.”  To be honest, I am feeling fragile about the whole thing too.  I like her in grade school, among friends I know and the parents I know.  I like that she is well cared for and has a good group of friends and that they all treat each other well.  I am dreading the shifting of friends and activities as these kids branch out to find themselves and grow.  Blah!  The drama of “she is my friend, she isn’t my friend, she said, I said, I think she said”.  My tender-hearted girl is in for a wallop, I know it and it makes me sad.  I just want to tell her that friends will disappoint you, that boys at this age are not worth worrying about or EVER waiting at home for them to call.  I want her to apply herself and to be passionate about something.  I want her to continue to be so kind people remark on it and I get to tell them that kindness, like height, seems to skip a generation.  I want her to remain the person who befriends the new kids.  I want to her to be self-confident.  I want to tell her not to worry about being cool; no one is cool right now.   I want her to just be herself, because she is so amazing.  She is kind, she is beautiful, she is smart, she is funny and she is interesting.  She relays a story with so much enthusiasm and emotion you feel like you were there too.  She loves children and animals and they love her back. 

Best work, ever.

I have this slide show of her going through my head as I think about her heading to middle school and it makes me feel so happy/sad.  I see her as a newborn when I held her and thought: “This.  THIS is what I want to do for the rest of my life.”  Or at age 2 throwing a fit at Target that was so lengthy and loud in its duration that a woman came up to me and said “Don’t worry, this really does pass.”  Or at age 4, singing “Go Tell it on the Mountain” so exuberantly in the Preschool Christmas Program, that the man in front of me turned around and said “It’s been told!”  There she is at 5, running, skipping, leaping, and galloping all the way to kindergarten.  Or at 6, reading her big chapter books, Hank the Cowdog almost exclusively.  Second grade, trying to be so brave while changing schools and looking out for her brother.  Braces and braids and the last year she would ever wear skorts.  Third grade and Girl Scout vests, DI tournaments and giggling, SO much giggling with girlfriends.  Fourth grade and zip up sweatshirts despite the heat to hide her changing body.  Fifth grade, a hard year – slumped shoulders, angry eyes, sad faces, angst written all over her.  And now, at the end, of fifth grade, taller than me, smiling so that her eyes shine, she gets ready to step into this next chapter of her life while I am trying to hold onto her childhood with one hand and help guide her into her teen years with the other.  When they are little, you hold their hands to steady them or to keep them on the right path or to encourage them to keep moving and you are always a little bit in front of them.  Now I feel like it is her hand that is one step ahead of me and that I better run to catch it.