From April 28, 2009 -Snipets & Snapshots

I was snubbed at the park recently. Noah and I were sitting in the sand; sunshine on our backs and Lucas was spinning around in the swing with Steve giving him all the pushes he needed. A nice mom, 42, sat next to me and we awed and cooed over Noah and the puppy she had with her. We were having a great time laughing at our kids and just chitchatting away. Another mother, 30, sat with us. The best way I can think to describe her attitude toward me is icy. I might have well as been a phantom sitting there. As soon as she sat down she monopolized the conversation, babbling away about expensive fancy restaurants she apparently frequents all the time and blah-de- blah blah. My sympathetic new friend did her best to include me in the conversation she was now having with Ms. Designer Frame's sunglasses- to no avail I might add. With a smile on my face I ran down the mental checklist of what could possibly be keeping this woman from talking to me?

OK, first, maybe she noticed the temporary tattoo on Luke's arm. It was a swashbuckling pirate from Pirates of the Caribbean, I didn't feel it was in bad taste, but perhaps I was wrong? Second, I was in jeans and a tee shirt, not fancy, but we were at the playground in sand no less. I wore flats that dressed it up a little, but oh-that's right, I too have a tattoo, and no, it's not temporary. OK, so maybe she had an aversion to tattoos- well too bad. Third, I certainly wasn't wearing designer frames. Could all these little things really be enough to ignore me?

Apparently so.



And so the conversation continued to circle around her and her wonderful universe until the gods smiled down on me for being so patient. An opening. Marvelous! My chance had come to re-insert myself into the conversation, make a point and then craftily exit out unscathed while snubbing her back just enough to show her, her ugly side and boy was it showing.

All the restaurant dribble came to a pinnacle when she brought up a relatively new restaurant that I actually knew a thing or two about. And boy did it feel good to correct her inaccuracies. ZING. (Please don't think less of me, or frown upon me for this- but by God, does it feel good to smack someone so rude down.) The color semi-drained from her face, her mouth pinched together (silence at last) and behind her glasses I'm sure she was giving me the death stare as I corrected her, saving for last my credentials and where exactly I got my information. As she rebutted with "My friends work there," and so on, I waited. When she was quite finished, I gracefully stated my piece about the name change and how I had spoken to the owner himself. So there. Hardee-har-har.

Walking away victoriously felt great. But, oh shoot, did I show a little bit of my ugly there too? Ah- the snubbed becoming the snubber (not a real word, bear with me)- a lesson for another day perhaps.

Dreams...

It's been a few weeks now since I dreamt about my grandfather. The one year anniversary of his death is approaching and I can still hear him. I wonder how long that will be true.

We were never particularly close. I loved him of course, I just didn't understand him or even know him really. I am still learning who he was from stories I hear when I see my grandma.

They met in the military through a friend. I chuckle even now when I remember my grandma saying that she thought he was much too short for her. Eventually she did give in and go on a date with him. They were married for 48 years before he died.

He came from Michigan, he had a brother and a sister. He worked for GE for a long time and my grandma would sometimes bring him lunch.

He was sarcastic, lived by Murphy's law, went to church, read the bible and was my grandma's best friend. They called each other Pal.

He took me fishing. I think he always enjoyed fishing with my older brother a little better than me, but he took me anyway. He taught me how to shoot with a bow and arrow. My darts often missed the target and went flying in the woods, but he showed me again and again.

If I close my eyes long enough I can smell the warm, sweet-scent of his pipe, I can hear the way he exhaled through his nose, I can see the smoke rise from his puffs and swish away to oblivion in the ceiling fan blades. I can hear his voice just as distinct as if he were really speaking to me because the sound of his voice was grandpa and the way he said "Well, hi a there Jenny," was grandpa too.

He was a crafter. He made lots of things from wood. He made piggy banks out of wood, that look like real pigs and he carved Lucas' initials into the bottom of his piggy. He never had a chance to carve Noah's initials into his piggy and I am torn as whether to leave it be or to carve them in there as he would.

He was a gentleman. He always dropped my grandma at the door and then found a place to park. He had a singature smile that I knew well and a signature dance I'm told.

He could be tough and mean even, but he was grandpa. He let you know when he had, had enough by squeezing your knee. He had sayings, I am frustrated I can't remember them all.

I don't think I ever saw him wearing blue jeans. Even when he worked in the yard he had kahki pants on, but that was grandpa too.

I wonder what his youth was like. I have seen picutres of him when he was my age, he was handsome. He was exactely what I would picture a young man in the 40's and 50's era to look like.

He helped me build a pully once. I hated the assignment and didn't want to do it, but he helped me. He came to my high school graduation. I wonder what he would have looked like at my college graduation. How proud would he have been to see his only granddaughter complete her college education.

He never met my children. He was a great-grandpa and never met them. The last time he saw me, I was in my early teens. What would he think of this woman now?

He loved bull dogs. He made his own bread in R2D2, he named the bread maker. He fed the neighbors dog, Joe. He helped C.J. and me plant our very own trees in his backyard.

He loved baseball and took C.J. and me to a few games. We ate hotdogs. He liked trains and would build a track around the Christmas tree each year. He gave me a special box to put my teeth in for the tooth fairy when they would fall out.

I know these few memories don't do him justice. He was all these things and more. He would hide a piece of the puzzle and save it for last so that he could say he put the last piece in. I hope one day he will share a few more pieces with me so that I can know him more. Well, he is grandpa and I will always love him and hopefully his voice will never fully fade.

From April 21, 2009- Snippets & Snapshots

My kids get dirty. Downright filthy. I pride myself in that. In truth, I scoff at moms I see snatching out the handy-wipes or digging for a tissue because they see some jelly on the side of precious' face. There is nothing wrong with wanting little Michael to have a clean face before going out, but I draw the line when I see the cat-like licking of personal cleanliness products and the futile scrubbing across his little cheek.
What do I care if there's a little evidence that my child has explored, that he's climbed a tree, that I have let him live a little. Too many kids are being conditioned to use "indoor voices,"( what the hell is an indoor voice anyway), to use a Clorox wipe on their chair before snack time because little Tommy Too-Busy, doesn't wash up before snack and has just touched it. When does it stop?
I'm afraid my prejudices against commando moms have misled me in the area of "holistic health." I recently attended a chapter formation of a holistic health moms group and while I continue to give my child a little cough syrup instead of honey, I was surprised to find a variety of moms at this gathering.
They ranged from first time moms to moms at their second maybe third time around. Moms that didn't believe their children should be vaccinated to moms that were just simply looking for alternatives. A few fathers were even in attendance.
While for the majority of the evening I was able to maintain my skepticism about much of the holistic belief, I realize there are deeper rewards to be earned here. As a young mother myself, I can't think of anything more beneficial then to be able to gather around like-minded moms. We can watch our children play together, giggle and relate about what little Tommy and Billy are up to. Maybe we might all read the same book and discuss it and perhaps it might leave us so weepy that we share our tissues and my silly taboo feelings about sharing wipes might be forgotten for just a moment.

From April 14, 2009- Snippets & Snapshots

A recent trip to the beach reminded me of the truth behind J.R.R. Tolkien's assessment that "Not all who wander are lost." Luke was standing at the edge of the sand where the waves break and recede back to the sea. Watching him watch the ocean that way, with love, joy, curiosity and hope, I couldn't help but wonder what was really on his mind. Where do his thoughts lead him in those little moments, to a place where trees are lollipops and the road red licorice with gummy bear friends high-fiving him along the way? Watching him that way caused me to drift off too.
Am I just wandering lost? What the hell am I doing and am I doing it right? The end of the semester draws near bringing with it my final days as a student and the inevitable struggle to find a job. Yes, I am afraid. I have been struggling for six years to reach this point and now that it's here, the hardest is yet to come.
I long for future days when I can say, "Look at me. I made it." I know it can't be that far off, but looking out across the vast sea, never actually seeing the place where sky meets land, leaves me uneasy. These thoughts are just for today. I don't always "space out" and think about the future in all of its uncertainty. I just wish there were more days when I saw myself in an old Victorian home, in an office filled with paper flowers, glass orbs hanging from the ceiling, bookshelves lined with books (some that I have written perhaps), photos of adventures I had been on and a black cat curled up in a plush arm chair facing the morning sun.
Looking at Luke staring at the sea, knowing that he might be imagining sweets for breakfast or a long ride in a fire truck, I hope he can always wonder, dream and create, knowing ultimately, that it's OK to wander while we wonder on our way.

From April 7, 2009- Snippets & Snapshots

I am Mother Earth and I promote good feeling. Or at least Lucas and Noah think so. On days that I feel powerless or like everything that can go wrong will (no need for 'I told you so' Murphy), I think about how to them, I am super woman of sorts and feel a whole lot better. If only I could actually control all the elements, always be on top of my game and have total power. No more stress about tests and no more utter exhaustion at the end of the day. Who needs to see through walls or fly in the sky, with the good vibrations running through, one would always be content.
Lucas thinks my first power is the power of the elements. Take a rainy day for example, if he wants sun he doesn't think about tomorrow, he turns to mommy and says, "Sun mommy." As if at that simple request I could snap my fingers and shoo away clouds 'til there's sun. If the planet were left up to him, there would be no rain, no wind, no way. No need to rub the magic lamp, just ask mommy.
Noah on the other hand gives me the power of good feeling. He is full out crawling now and is pulling up to his feet on furniture. OK parents, this is when the real baby proofing comes in to play. He's on his tiptoes, he's swiping at the cat on the couch and then he's down. BOOM. Tears well up in his eyes and he lays flat on his back and cries for mama. Picking him up in my arms, the tears cease, the smile breaks across his face and the he is squirming to get down and do it again. Somewhere in my arms surges the good vibrations of comfort and in my face, a morning sunrise, an ice cream cone or (a warm bubba full of milk)~ at least that makes my baby happy.
Thinking about all the times I feel powerless it's nice to know that to my sons at least, I can do anything.

From March 31, 2009- Snippets & Snapshots

Early on Thursday morning, Lucas had his clear backpack filled with Matchbox cars strapped on, a Matchbox car carrying case filled in one hand and a tackle box, also filled with Matchbox cars in the other. An image of Fred Flintstone heading off to the rock quarry conjured in my mind as he paced around the living room, Noah crawling as fast as he could behind him. "No, Noah, my cars," Lucas saying all the way, as if he couldn't share even one with his baby brother.
I tried fruitlessly to count his collection of cars once. They seem to always be turning up. One under the couch, one in the car (the real one), I even found one in my dresser- I'm still not sure how the Camero got there. Picking the cars up after he's tucked in bed sometimes, cursing in the darkness as I step on them, I think back to my childhood collections. One in particular jumped to mind as Earth day approaches- my beloved bottle caps.
My father belonged to a Rod and Gun club when I was little and would occasionally bring my brother C.J. and me to meetings. We did our best to stay entertained but there are only so many things you can do while your dad is talking about guns or fishing or looking at whatevers and whosey-whatsits. C.J. and I took to picking up bottle caps that were lying around fence areas. Pockets stuffed with as many different caps as we could find and with dirt embedded fingernails we would return home with our collection. I liked all the different pictures and logos on the caps, I'm not sure what the appeal for my brother was and I know my father didn't appreciate them lying around.
Bottle caps shortly made their way from my heart to the trash.
If I still had them I'd probably turn them into some sort of funky craft project, a picture frame or maybe a mobile for Noah (I think some parents might make a stink about beer caps hanging over a sleeping baby though.) Or maybe I would sell them on EBay because maybe someone else loves my recycled treasures too.
Remember Earth day is this month. Whether you find yourself scooping up rocks for a collection, picking pennies up for luck, or just find yourself being a good "do bee" by throwing away litter, remember that Earth is our greatest treasure.

From March 10, 2009- Snippets & Snapshots

Lucas is a happy, healthy three-year old boy. He loves cars and trucks, he gets dirty and he is downright petrified of the wind. He also happens to be a parrot. Everything he hears is digested and regurgitated enough to embarrass me when the moment is not right. Every parent I know, knows this moment.
At my father's house a couple of weeks ago Lucas' car garage legs fell off and the upper level collapsed into the lower. Without missing a beat, he turns to my dad and says, "Piece of crap Papa." I laughed of course, but couldn't help thinking about what other "isms" he might be picking up from me. It's a marvel to me still that children emulate their parents in order to learn. Horrifying! What have I been teaching my son?
I have always prided myself in the fact that I am the person that people come talk to. I seem to be that person that people want advice from (take it or leave it motto applicable here of course), I also like knowing that I set an example for some and inspire them. It is only in those "piece of crap moments" that I wonder if I'm truly up to par. I also wonder how many of us even know when we are setting an example to those around us.
Like most people I talk to, many of my role models are traditional. My fifth grade teacher that foresaw me working with my beloved Disney characters in Disney Land, co-workers that became confidants and friends even, my parents who always told me I was too hard on myself, but some of my biggest influences have been people I don't even know. A name I heard on campus of a man or woman who is doing something great, or a stranger on the street who holds the door for me, the man on the beach collecting trash.
"Character is what you do when nobody else is looking," someone once said. I can only hope that part of me is someone still willing and able to mold.

From March 3, 2009- Snippets & Snapshots

Ever end the day with a migraine the size of Kentucky and although you know it won't help your situation any you just feel like slamming your head up against the wall? I'm sure you have. Like the vast majority of Cape Cod Community College students, I am a non-traditional student. Trying to balance an enormous work load, a family and a social life (if you can call it that), is a daunting task that seems more cut out for a wedding planner or at least a more compulsive person who wastes no hours of their day watching The Young and Restless. Ah, but I tragically am not.
I am the woman that brushes past you with a bag twice as big as she is, and if you are ever on campus late at night, the one who also manages to juggle the six month old and the three year old as I rush off to the Mainsheet. Beyond being the overachieving student, and the caffeinated mess of woman who is always on the go, I like to fancy myself as a voice at the Mainsheet.
I'm often approached when someone finds out that I am 23 and have two children, attend school full time as well as intern at a local magazine. The question is always the same. How do I do it? Sometimes I respond, with the typical sleep deprivation and that coffee carries me through. Other times I simply shrug and say, 'I just figure it out as I go.' I have to say now that I was once told that I have this thing that makes me do it. Some have hope, some have inspiration or determination, my sister says that I have "stick-to-it-ivness." That is the ability to look down that road and say, yep there's potholes, there is a plethora of hills, and only God knows how many detours, but I will make it. It doesn't take any more than that. I remember that. I sip my coffee, I rub my temples vigorously with both hands, I huff and puff as much as it takes and then I go do.