21 years and then some

 

Last week, my husband and I celebrated our 21st anniversary.

[That's 26 years together - total - in case you're keeping track]

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been busy lately, as has he, and we haven't really spent much time together as a couple.

It's ok; we're ok. After 21 years, we do not have to smother one another in order to know we love one another. It goes without saying, though we do a good job of saying it often.

Still, a girl needs some attention from her best fella from time to time, and an anniversary would seem like a given for date night.

It wasn't.

He had to work. So did I, actually, but our work schedules are opposite shifts. I barely saw him that morning as he came home and I headed out the door. And barely saw him that afternoon as I came home and he headed out the door.

I spent my 21st wedding anniversary on the couch eating Chinese take-out with my teen son.

Not terrible. But not at all romantic.

We don't give much in the way of gifts after all these years - except for last year, our 20th, when he totally surprised me - but in those passing moments last week, however, we did manage to make an impact.

He had a huge bouquet of sunflowers for me. Nearly a week later, their sunny, open faces still make me smile when I see them. Perfect.

He is more difficult to buy for than I am, especially when we agreed to skip gifts for each other anyway. Still, I couldn't let the day pass with some sort of sweet gesture for such a sweet guy.

I put together a little treat for him to take to the office with him, a box full of candy that he likes with the note, For my Sweetie.

In it, I placed bags of candy with handwritten notes:

• Hershey chocolate bars: Something rich ... because we are rich in blessings
• Snickers: Something nutty ... because I'm nuts about you
• Mint M&Ms: Something minty ... because we're so cool
• Dove chocolates: Something smooth ... because we still got it

Yes, that last one was intentionally dorky and it made him chuckle because we are the opposite of smooth. Actually, it was all dorky and made him smile. And tear right into the chocolate as we sat there, abandoning me for the evening in a pile of Snicker wrappers.

Two days later, we were able to get together for an afternoon stroll and dinner. We held hands. We talked about nothing important, just rambling conversation. We smiled at each other, genuinely glad to be together in that moment, for that moment.

And then my son texted, ready to be picked up from his band trip and we were slammed back in parent mode.

That's ok. Sometimes it only takes little time, a little attention to tide you over. Besides, marriage isn't about one special day a year. It's about all 365 days ... x 21, + lots more to come.

[x 26 + lots more to come - total - in case you're keeping track]

Enough

When my son was 5, he came home from a playdate with a perplexed look on his face.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked.

"Mommy, are we poor?"

"Why do you ask that?" Truth is, I already knew exactly why he was asking.

"Well, Such-and-Such* said we are poor because our house is so small and we don't have a flatscreen TV, and we don't have a pool, and we don't have a basement. Is that true?" he asked, those big brown eyes staring up at me intently.

*Not his real name. Also, it was 2004; flatscreens were not as common or inexpensive as they are now.

I wanted to explain socioeconomic class stigma to him. I wanted to talk about those among us who truly face abject poverty without a home, medical care, enough to eat or decent clothes to wear. I wanted to talk about material possessions versus spiritual gifts. I wanted to reveal that external appearances are not always as they seem; happiness does not equal fancy. Poor does not equal bad. Comparing yourself to others is a game with no true winner.

I wanted to express my indignation at having been judged by Such-and-Such, though in reality, that attitude had more than likely trickled down from the adults in his life. It was not much of a leap to assume it was the grown-ups who had expressly or inadvertently deemed our outlet mall wardrobes, little house, domestic vehicles and nonprofit-sector careers somehow lacking; inferior. Their 5-year-old had picked up on that and conveyed it back to my own ... you know, just so my son would know where he belonged.

But looking at my son's sweet face, I could only summon: "Well, he's kinda right."

Now that little nose was scrunched up in a manner that indicated my answer was not making any sense.

"Look, Such-and-Such is right: we don't have all those things. We don't have all that stuff that he and his family have. So to him, I guess we do seem poor. But let me ask you this, kiddo: do you have everything you need? "

"Yep."

"Do you even have some of the things you want?"

"Yep."

"Do you feel loved?"

"Yep."

"Then I guess we have enough, huh?"

"Yep." And he went on his way, satisfied.

That was 10 years ago. We still live in the same little house in an area noted for its affluence. We still drive modest vehicles. We still dress without pretension. We still work hard. We still have bills.

We still have enough.

Enough love.

Enough laughter.

Enough compassion.

Enough friendship.

Enough beauty, inside and out.

Enough to eat and even to share.

Enough to get by and even to save.

Enough to remind us who we are, where we came from and not lose sight of where we are headed.

Our house is clean enough.

Well, mostly.

Our house is happy enough.

We are happy enough.

Perfection is not a goal, nor is the accrual of materials items. That's not enough for us.

"For where your treasure is, so your heart will also be." - Matthew 6:21

I'm happy to report no other kids have been as direct in pointing out the material differences like Such-and-Such was. Sure, those differences are still there and they are obvious, at times. Thankfully, I have somehow managed to raise a teen who isn't particularly materialistic. He is easy going and content. He is happy.

Recently, I picked him up from a friend's house. It was the first time he had been there and as he got into the car and we backed away from the big, beautiful house in the upscale neighborhood - the garage of which would swallow our relatively dinky cottage whole - I said with a wink, "We still have the smallest house. Reigning champions."

And then my son pointed out, "Yeah, but we have everything we need and a lot of things we want."

And that's more than enough.

Date day

Our son left last week to spend 10 days in Florida on vacation with another family.

So that means his longest - and probably best ever - family vacation will be spent with another family.

<sigh>

That also means that his little family back here in Indiana has gone from three to just a pair. Granted, this is how the whole thing got started - mommy and daddy love each other very much and got married and then there was a baby - but it hasn't been just mommy and daddy alone in the house for an extended period of time for more than 15 years.

I'm not a huge fan of this arrangement, but it is my future: we aren't raising our child in order to keep him with us forever; we expect he will leave us at some point. College lurks in the visible future. Then it will be just my husband and me again.

But we're not there yet.

In light of the kid's absence, my husband suggested we get away for the weekend. Really, just an over-nighter somewhere. Just the two of us. He works every other weekend, and even though he was scheduled to work this past weekend, he offered to take the time off so we could be together.

My response? "Eh ... nah."

Please understand: I like my husband. A lot. He's the best. And I like to spend time with him. After 26 years together as a couple, we still dig each other very much. It's just that I got real practical about it all and said, "Save the time off for another occasion. School fees are coming up, so let's save the money. We can just do something another time."

We're parents. We don't "get" - get time to ourselves, get to do what we want, get to have non-family fun. We give - give our time, give our attention, give our resources.

As he so often does, my husband ignored me ... and took the time off anyway.

When  my boss asked me how I was doing with my son away, I mentioned my husband's gesture with a pinch of disdain for his stubbornness.

"Lorri, if a man wants to plan a romantic get-away, go," she said. "You will never remember the weekend you just stayed home, but you will always remember the weekend you got away."

Okay, that got me.

In the spirit of compromise and cost saving, we agreed to get away, but just for the day and come back home that evening.

I'm so very glad we did.

We spent the day in Bardstown, Ky., just about an hour or so from our home. It is a lovely small town, named The Most Beautiful Small Town in America in 2012, and has been recognized as having one of the most beautiful town squares. Here's more about Bardstown, including its rich history.

We dined at a cool old tavern, the Old Talbot Tavern, admiring the stonework, rough floors and beams as much as the fried catfish and sweet potato fries.

We giggled and flirted.

We held hands as we walked along the old downtown pavers.

We shopped. He indulged me in purchases without the usual mentions of budget, space, or need.

I bought gloves. In July.

We took our time. Not once did we worry about being somewhere else.

We lingered under the cooling shade of a garden arbor at a park on a hot day.

He kissed my hand. I leaned into his arm.

We spent the rest of our evening at home, cuddled up on the couch with a pizza and cold beer. We watched chick-flicks and stayed up late.

Gosh, it was such a nice date.

My boss was right: I will remember the get-away. I will remember feeling special and pretty and loved. I will remember that it's okay to indulge in something just for us as a couple. Yes, parenting involves a lot of sacrifice, but that doesn't mean we should sacrifice the fundamental relationship that made us parents in the first place.

I needed to let go: not just of my growing child, but also of my habit of selflessness.

Because every now and again, a girl just needs a date day away with her best fella.

Summer staycation

"A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it." - Robert Orben

That's the kind of vacation we took this summer: a whole lotta nothing.

I took more than a week off of work and my husband took several days off.  My son wrapped up an online course and driver's ed. All of which meant we had time; time to be together as a family.

We had vacation time.

We never once packed a suitcase, made a reservation or punched an address into GPS. We stayed home. Except we were always doing something ... and kind of never really doing anything.

Gosh, it was the best kind of break.

It started off bumpy with the AC going out my very first evening off. Not to worry. After one open-window night of sleep, we were back in business with a charge of coolant and the replacement of some compressor thing (I think?) ... all I know is, it cost waaay less than a new unit and so my biggest fear was allayed.

I stocked the kitchen and took the time because I had the time to cook at home - real meals and the good stuff, like turkey, pork roast, tacos, and lots of salads and desserts.

S'mores truffles? Yep. And yum, by the way.

Get the recipe here.

I (meaning, my husband) tackled a paint project, giving new life to the tired 1990s honey pine end tables that are the right size for what we need, but were gashed by cat claws and generally beat-down-worn because we cannot have nice things. We just can't. That's who we are: people who can't have nice things. So we (meaning, I) bought expensive paint and we (meaning, my husband) revamped what we have.

Left has two coats of paint, wax and distressing (I at least did the distressing myself); the right one is the finished piece, using dark wax.

My son would be going on a beach vacation with another family this week, and so we didn't have the totally made-up pressure on us to "make memories" for him. Instead, he spent time with friends, swimming, going to an indoor trampoline park, gaming and hosting them at our house. He had band practice and generally hung out and relaxed, sleeping in and eating a lot. Except for the times we did stuff as a family.

And we did quite a bit of that.

We walked the new pedestrian bridge that connects the neighboring community of Jeffersonville, Ind. across the Ohio River to downtown Louisville, Ky.

View of downtown Louisville from the pedestrian bridge.

View of the pedestrian bridge from downtown Louisville.

The bridge was an old railroad bridge that had been out of operation for quite some time. We enjoyed a beautiful afternoon stroll and hit a downtown Jeffersonville eatery that was delish and then visited some favorite shops as well.

We even got bored. 

Not the awful, depressing kind of bored that makes you question the meaning of your life. No, this was the good kind of bored: the kind that makes you look around and ask, "Well ... what now?" And then figure that out - whether it's planting pumpkin seeds in the garden, watching a movie, binging on NetFlix, napping or reading.

Our Independence Day celebration was decidedly low-key. Our son had plans with friends and so it was just my best guy and me. We had dinner out and then hung out at home.

The temps had turned off cool late in the week, like a little gift just for me on my vacation. We pulled on hoodies and watched neighborhood fireworks beside a glowing fire on our patio.

Gosh, it was romantic.

And a little redneck.

Seriously, how much do these families spend on fireworks?

Anyway ...

We did venture out of the area to Indianapolis to visit friends, and the next day to Evansville to visit family.

The Ruins at Holiday Park, Indianapolis. Do you recognize them from the movie The Fault in Our Stars? I don't because I haven't seen the movie. I have it on good authority (teen girls).

 And on Monday, I was back in the office.

My return to work wasn't filled with the kind of dread one might associate with getting back into the old routine after a break. I had a great time off. I was rested. Happy. Content. My heart was glad for the time with friends and family. I was appreciative of all we did so close to home and appreciative of all we didn't do (pay for a hotel, argue in the car, eat out every meal).

All that appreciation kind of rubs off and makes you appreciate other things, like having meaningful work to do and a place to do it.

The best souvenirs I brought back from my summer vacation were peace and perspective.

Becoming Mom

Last week my son turned 15.

It was a low-key birthday for him. He had school all day and indoor percussion group rehearsal all evening. He had homework. His dinner was one of time-constrained convenience. His main birthday gift (sweet vintage hi-hat and ride cymbals for his drumset!) arrived a couple of days afterward.

Even though there wasn't even a proper cake in this house, I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip brownies, per his request. The three of us grabbed a few minutes to light a candle, sing and nosh before the day was over.

Though it doesn't sound like all that much fun, he managed to carve out a great day. After all, it was his day. Like all teens, he digs the mystique of getting older. Family and friends wished him well and paid attention to him for that very reason. Cards arrived via post, many included a little something special in the form of gift cards or cash - both his favorites right now. It was a special day for him.

That day last week was not about me  - my own birthday is just a couple of weeks away - and yet, I mark the day as significant.

It's the anniversary of the most important day of my life.

As much as I love my husband - and I truly do - on that day 15 years ago, I was introduced to love as I'd never known it. It's the kind of attachment born of sacrifice, blood, pain and fear. I will spare you the details of my delivery day, but I will say that it was medically complicated for me and took a rapid turn toward serious just after my son's arrival. The quick actions of the medical staff and my doctor in those moments ensured that I am sitting here at this keyboard today and I am forever grateful for that.

But there would be no more pregnancies or deliveries; no more children in this house. This was enough.

Giving birth to that boy 15 years ago didn't automatically give me purpose or grant me patience or make me wiser. It did, however, set me on the path to those things with a less-than-self-serving motivation I hadn't previously known.

[Aside: I have not yet arrived at those destinations]

I was forever changed for the better 15 years ago.

Of course, I was not the only one changed that day. My husband found the role he was meant to play as hands-on partner and loving dad. I never had a loving father figure in my life and one of my greatest joys has been to bear witness to the great relationship and friendship between the two people I love most.

My husband never forgets what the day means for me. Every year on our son's birthday, he gives me a small bouquet of flowers.

Men: give your wives flowers on your children's birthdays. And teach your sons to do this for their mothers and, eventually, their own wives.

But like I said, the day was not about me. It came and went in a blink, much like the years themselves. The baby born that day is now a teen. The earliest days of his life are ones he will never remember.

And they are the days I will never forget.

20 years

Note: If you've landed here from Pinterest, welcome! You'll find the 20 Things I Love About You pin info here. For newer blog postings, check out the Home tab. Thanks for visiting! - LM

"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be ..."

That's from the poem Rabbi Ben Ezra by Robert Browning. I had that printed on my wedding program. Today is the 20th anniversary of that wedding. As I mentioned in a previous post, this year is kind of a big deal for us.

And it kind of isn't.

We celebrate a lot of silly, fun things (yes, Christmas in July is one of those things), but we generally don't make a fuss about our wedding anniversary. Usually it's just dinner out and sometimes, it's all three of us, kid included - not even a proper date. He brings me flowers. We exchange cards.

We would just rather hang out together than go to a lot of fuss. We are happy to just be together.

After 20 years, that's pretty good.

In fact, we decided this year we wouldn't even exchange gifts. Hubs would be working in the evening, so there wouldn't even be a date. He'd meet me at my office and we'd have lunch. That would be it.

I assumed he'd bring me flowers - he always does - and so I thought I would break the no-gifts agreement just a little and surprise him with a gesture of some sort. It had to be simple and inexpensive.

Here's what I came up with:

A bucket.

More specifically, a bucket filled with 20 Things I Love About You.

20 Things I Love About You 20th anniversary gift bucket.

Instead of a card, I wrote him a letter, explaining that I loved him in a million ways (true), but that, in observance of our 20th wedding anniversary, I would list only 20. I really thought about who he is and how much I appreciate him - and the things he does for me and for us as a family. And then, I hit the dollar bins and picked up little items he would actually use. I tagged them based on the list and put them all in a bucket (simply because it's another thing he will use).

Here's my list (in no particular order):

• You're a good kisser - Chapstick (he steals mine)
• Your face still lights up when I walk in the room - flashlight
• You wipe my tears - travel pack of tissues for his car
• You always know when the cookies are done - spatula (he never, ever burns cookies)
• You make things brighter - paint brushes
• You're smart - Smarties candies
• You stuck with it, even when we were just scraping by - electrical tape and ice scraper
• Your love keeps me going - batteries (for the flashlight)
• You do your share - cleaning sponge
• You're handy - work gloves
• You sew on my buttons - mini sewing kit
• You're handsome - a hand mirror (he was using what was basically a jagged shard of glass as mirror)
• You're kind to animals - treats for our pets
• You have a nice smile - floss (again, steals mine)
• You're nutty - peanuts
• Your faith holds the family together - Super Glue
• You're level-headed - a level
• You're a good dad - wallet-sized photo of our son and him
• You're sweet - mint M&Ms (his favorite)
• We're a good match - box of matches

You get the idea.

He was genuinely moved by the gesture and just loved the surprise, cracking up at the bucket stuff and the correlation to the list.  He admired my creativity and appreciated the thought, time and effort I put into it. Plus, he really dug all the goodies. (Another level? Yes, please!)

Let's face it, folks: I rock.

He gave me roses, as expected. There were 20 red ones, representing the 20 years of our marriage, plus five white ones for the years we dated. Just gorgeous and they made my office smell incredible.

And then he handed me a simple, dainty diamond anniversary band.

That? Not expected.

So let's recap: 

• He gave me diamonds.
• And I gave him ... a bucket.

Look, marriage is like that: it's give and take - and not always an even give and take. Still, it really is the thought that counts. A thoughtful gesture can let the person we care about know he or she is understood, special and loved.

And another thing about marriage: just when you think you've got a person all figured out, he can surprise you in the biggest way, and make you wonder what other tricks he has up his sleeve.

"The best is yet to be ..."

Indeed.

Lemons and lemonade

"I don't mind telling you I had pretty low expectations. And I'm surprised to admit I'm having a really good time. You really surprised me." - my teenage son, regarding our fall break trip.

We've been making lemonade around here lately.

You know the old saying, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." It's all about turning things around. That's just what we did.

In my last post, I whined about being disappointed about matters big and small, including the fact the government shutdown had thwarted our plans to visit Washington DC - and all those national parks and monuments - for fall break.

Lemons.

Instead, we put on our thinking caps as a family and decided to save the funds set aside for DC in the hopes of going there another time. That meant no trip to Disney, the beach or other far-flung place that would consume lots of dollars. We decided to go local - relatively - and spend a couple of days at a state park a couple of hours' drive from here.

Unexpected lemonade.

The view.

Sunning themselves on a cool fall day at the lake.

The weather was perfect. The scenery was breathtaking. The accommodations were cozy. The food was great. The cost was affordable. We hiked, rode horses, shopped, walked, explored, swam. We read, rocked in rocking chairs, and just rested. We laughed so hard we cried at times.

Covered bridge at the entrance of the park.

Sun peeking through above a wooded trail.

I admit we felt like we were settling: this was just going to be a little trip to say we did something over the break, but it probably wasn't going to be noteworthy in any way. We were wrong (as noted above by the most discerning member of the party).

Change is coming.

Got them to look at me by saying, "Here kitty, kitty," the universal language of animals.

We enjoyed the season right at the cusp of the dramatic change that's waiting in the wings (and right before peak tourist season and prices!). And then promptly beat a path home to hang out and relax the rest of the week.

Home.

Lemonade, folks. Lemonade.

Disappointed

I need new shoes.

Normally, that sort of revelation gets me excited because that means I have a legit reason to go shoe shopping. (I often have un-legit reasons, like "I'm bored. Pretty color. BOGO.") 

Shoe shopping inspires puppy-like enthusiasm in me. If I had a tail, it would wag and I would turn circles at the front door at the prospect of going bye-bye … I mean, shoe shopping.

But not this time.

My legit reason for this purchase is so I have a comfy pair of shoes for a scheduled vacation next week during my son's fall break. We plan to do a lot of sight-seeing on this trip and I need something practical for walking. Something boring. I hate to spend our limited resources on a utilitarian purchase when what I want are super cool boots. 

It's disappointing.

Resigned to this chore, I dropped my son off at taekwondo Monday night and headed to a retail area.  My hopes were to avoid athletic shoes and maybe score some not-horrible loafers. My first stop was an outdoor sporting goods retailer - not exactly a bastion of girlie shoe delights - but certainly of the practical nature I was seeking. 

A less-than-helpful clerk tossed a box of loafers at me and then promptly disappeared. As in, the shoe department was empty. No customers, no staff. She just … left. 

Crickets.

Seriously - it's a cricket chirp that's piped in over the sound system to go with the whole outdoors-y feel of the place. So yes, I heard crickets, but, "May I check to see if these come in a wide size?" Not so much. So, disappointed, I left and hit the mall.

While making my way through the mall, the kiosk dwellers started pitching their products and services. "Hey lady, you like?" offered the creepy elder man with the creepier massage chair.

No. I no like. 

Moving on, a hipster with a fake cigarette steps in front of me: "You smoke? 'Cause these e-cigs are crazy."

"No, I don't smoke."

"Well, you should try these e-cigs. They are …"

"Wait - are you actually suggesting I take up smoking?"

Pauses for a moment and then leans in, "They ain't real."

As I continued, I also declined a pet hermit crab whose shell could be painted to my liking, and spied several expletive-embellished t-shirts hanging just inside another retailer.

And so finally, I made it to a shoe store and tried on these sexy girls. 

Yoga pants + try-on nylons + Mary Janes = hot.

It was time to pick my son up from taekwondo and so, feeling rushed, I went ahead and bought these shoes. I have to admit, I was immediately disappointed in my purchase, feeling like there might be something better out there. 

That was Monday night. Early the next morning, the federal government shut down. That's disappointing on many levels. I'll spare you a rant about the situation.

But that family vacation we planned over fall break? Yep, it was to Washington DC. 

Those sights we planned to see in practical footwear? All closed.

While it's true we are disappointed, we are also working on a plan B. Because the thing is, no matter what plans we make (or break) or where we decide to go (or not go), we will spend time together as a family. 

And that is not disappointing at all.

Though I still think my shoe selection is a bummer.

Learning to cook

"There is no sincerer love than a love of food." - George Bernard Shaw

My mom was a good cook.

Actually, that's not true. She was an amazing cook.

That is no exaggeration. You would be amazed - utterly, wholly amazed - at how delicious her fried chicken was. From the crispy crunch of the spicy battered skin, to the tender, moist meat itself, this bird was above and beyond the stuff you were buying in a bucket. The regulars she fed at the little diners where she worked often wondered how that petite spitfire could conjure such gratifying meals day after day.

It was her gift.

It was a gift, however, I didn't care to receive. At least not in my youth.

I loved and appreciated my mother's cooking - and so did all my friends - but I also saw what a chore and burden it was. Mom worked hard and she came home exhausted from being on her feet all day, standing over steam tables, with grills and ovens raging in the background. Her creativity was met with little in the form of wages, as is often the case with an artist. And there were always dishes to be washed, counters disinfected, ovens wiped. After cooking all day, she turned around and whipped up amazing (yes, amazing) dinners on a nightly basis at home. And, again, there were always dishes to be washed, counters disinfected, ovens wiped.

This was not appealing to me. So she taught my siblings how to cook, but I didn't seek her tutelage.

And then she was gone.

With her went not only the technical knowledge - the chemistry of flavor and measurement and preparation - but also the feelings ... the love that she infused into each act ...  for that was truly the essence of her cooking. You see, her gift was not just the ability to cook the food, but it was the gift of sharing - the food, herself, her heart, her soul. She served love every day and every night.

So here I am in my 40s, teaching myself how to cook. I could always make the basics with no complaints from my crew here; both my husband and son have rather bland culinary tastes. But as I've matured, I've yearned to extend more heart into what I prepare. I better understand what cooking meant to my mother because it is beginning to mean something to me beyond sustenance. The preparation is less a chore and more a labor of love. Love that is meant to be shared.

I pretty much use a trial-and-error method, experimenting with recipes and then tweaking them to suit my tastes.

My version of chicken tortilla soup. Chicken, rice, salsa, corn - served with tortilla chips.

I cannot call my mom and ask for advice; cannot hand her a spoon for a nibble to see if the sauce needs more garlic; cannot serve her a meal on simple Corelle dishes as she did for me so very many times.

But I can honor her memory by preparing each meal with heart, sharing not only food, but also the gift that comes from the love of giving to others.

"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all." - Harriet Van Horne

Smile, dammit

Family pictures ... hate 'em.

Really, I do.

In case you are wondering why, let me offer evidence:

Exhibit A, where I'm not sure if the camera is on. It was.

Exhibit B, emerging sneeze/itchy nose.

Exhibit C, with puppy photo bomb.

Exhibit D, where we just stopped trying and gave up with half my face and the top of Hubs head cut off.

Granted, these are selfies on the couch with poor lighting and dumb t-shirts. Yet, I thought it would be fun to bring it in for an impromptu family pic of the Three Amigos ... the Three Musketeers ... heck, even the Three Stooges.

And that's where it all goes wrong: we just can't always naturally pull it together very well for pics of us all together, at the same time.

It's not that we're unhappy or hideous people. We're a pretty cute trio with a dash of whimsy about us. But something - or someone - always goes wrong.

• Hubs closes his eyes. Because, apparently he is afraid the flash will steal his soul through his eyes if he leaves them open for a picture. He denies it, but photographic evidence would suggest otherwise.
• Kiddo smiles, but if it takes too long, he begins to clench his teeth, ala, "I can't wait to lock these two old farts away in a home." 
• I'm pretty adorable most of the time. (I mean, come on - these dimples - amiright?) Unless I laugh or the photographer is at eye level with me, and then about seven chins unfold and I look like Jabba the Hut.

Bears a striking resemblance.

But the thing is, we need family pictures. It's important to capture these stages in our lives together, even if they are awkward. Terribly, terribly awkward. These are memories, people, and we need to capture them ... even if it's in a trap and we are trying to chew our leg off to get away.

So last weekend, we had the mother of all family portraits: the church directory. It's like the yearbook of your adult life and you gotta bring it; you gotta look good: smiling, happy, peaceful, content and a little holy wouldn't hurt. If people wonder, "Hey, who's that awesome family in the fifth pew?" - they look it up in the church directory and right there we are, being awesome.

And so I went about coordinating outfits. I would wear a white tank and light teal cardi (of course!); Hubs, a golf shirt in a darker shade of teal; and Kiddo, a white golf shirt. Adorbs! And appropriately awesome.

Long story short, here's how it went down Saturday morning: Hubs' shirt had a snag mid-belly. Kiddo had a black smudged stain of unknown origin on his white shirt. My outfit was cute, but I had an unrelated emotional meltdown and cried. That's not a good look for me. Think toddler art with red finger paints - that's what my splotchy complexion looked like.

Hubs and I argued in the car on the way there. Kiddo sulked. This was not the making of a good picture for the church directory. We risk being known as the Grumpy McGrumpersons in Tattered Clothing.

I tried to think of something to say that could perk everyone up. As we pulled into the church parking lot, all I had was:

"Just smile, dammit."

And we did.

We faked it. Because some days you are not awesome or adorbs, but you put on a smile and get through it. And we did. Together. The three of us. And somehow, that makes it better.

It's not the best picture of the Malones. But if someone wonders who that family in the fifth pew is, they can look us up and see three smiling faces.

Because, if nothing else, we smiled ... dammit.

First day of school

I am not in high school.

Nope. I graduated a long (long) time ago. But boy, have I been nervous about the first day of freshman year ... actually my son's first day of his freshman year.

Intellectually I know there is nothing to worry about: the schedule is set, the fees paid, pens and paper purchased, class picture already taken (they do this at registration - genius!). My son is prepared and looking forward to it.

Me?

I'm a wreck.

Emotionally, I am having a harder-than-expected time with this transition.

Don't get me wrong: I love school. I dig the routine. I like that this year our school system has implemented for the first time a balanced school year, meaning they go back to school earlier, but get two-week breaks in the fall, winter and spring. I'm looking forward to marching band competitions and seeing my kid thrive in the new environment.

Still?

I'm a wreck.

Maybe it's because the first day of Kindergarten seemed like it was yesterday.

And now?

(I take his first day of school pics in the same spot every year)

It all seemed to happen overnight.

But I also think my anxiety stems from the fact that high school is a whole new deal. It's where a whole lot of what makes you a grown-up takes shape. This is no time to back off on the parenting. It's about to get real, folks.

So here is a letter to my son, shared with you with his permission:

***

Dear Son -

 

Today is your first day of high school. I have the utmost confidence in your ability to do great things with this opportunity. You totally got this.

 

Time is getting ready to move in fast-forward for all three of us and I want to be sure to get some thoughts, advice and expectations down for you, even though I know you know these things. We've talked about them, but they bear repeating ... in writing.

 

In no particular order:

Your dad and I expect you to follow all the old rules: be kind, be polite, forgive, be patient, be respectful.

Don't ever let another person or group of people determine your self-worth. Stand tall.

You are nice guy and a handsome guy. Girls are going to like you (as we already know). Don't manipulate their attention or feelings to inflate your ego. 

Hold off on swearing as long as you can. It belies your intelligence and becomes a vulgar habit that's a real bitch to kick. Just ask me.

We are not cool parents. Smoking, drinking alcohol and drugs are all illegal. We expect you to comply with that. No exceptions.

With that being said ... don't ever get in the car with someone who has been drinking or doing drugs. Ever. Call us and we will come get you, no matter where you are, no questions asked. Actually scratch that last part: we are going to ask a lot of questions. But you won't get in trouble. Promise.

Your dad and I are going to meet all of your new friends ... and their parents. Even if that horrifies you.

Experience the moment whenever you can. Like I said, time is going to fly, so take it all in.  Really listen to the cheers as you exit the field after a band performance instead of hurrying off; remember a favorite song and what you were doing when you heard it. Stuff like that sticks with you. 

Help others, but remember: you cannot fix people or save them. If a friend is in real trouble, tell your dad. He was a social worker for more than 20 years, and even though he has changed fields, he still knows how to help.

There are times when we are not going to get along. You may be really, genuinely pissed at your dad and me. That's normal and it doesn't mean we don't still love one another ... but be cool about it, young man. Respect.

Have patience with your dad and me. We're going to get things wrong; make mistakes. We might hover too much or put too much responsibility on you. We're figuring it out as we go. We don't expect you to fully understand our perspective until you have kids of your own.

... And for the love of God, make sure that is a a very, very long time from now!

 

Have a great first day of high school and enjoy it!

xoxo - Mom 

 

***

My only child

It started as soon as we started dating.

"When are you two going to get married?"

Family, friends, strangers all wanted to know when my now-husband/then-new-boyfriend would be ready for that next step. We felt the pressure. We gave in. ... five years later.

So of course, the next question was, "When are you two going to start a family?"

Feeling pinched, we succumbed to societal pressure on that expectation ... yep, five years later.

As soon as we brought our healthy newborn home, the questions rained down upon us. "So when is he getting a little brother or sister?"

Are you freaking kidding me?

Obviously we never gave in to the pressures from others to live our lives on their schedules. We have set our own pace and made our way as we agreed. Just the two of us. And then just the three of us.

And it has remained at three.

That's right: we are the parents of an only child.

An old friend I never see anymore once remarked that, "It's just cruel to only have one child."

Are you freaking kidding me? 

You know what's cruel? A lot of stuff. Stretch marks. Under eye crags. That they made a sequel to the movie Grown Ups. The lack of M&Ms at the bottom of an M&M Blizzard. That Paris Hilton seems classy compared to any one of the Kardashians. That new episodes of The Walking Dead don't come back on until October.

But being the parents to just one child is not one of those things.

Here's the thing: We're not writing The Official Field Guide to the Breeding Habits of Middle Aged Middle Class Mammals and so we don't owe anyone an explanation of our seemingly curious mating patterns. And now that I've gotten old, well, we don't get that question much any more anyway.

"If your parents never had children, chances are you won't either," Dick Cavett, who was being a smartass. Maybe that's why they named him Dick.

Anyway ...

People mean well. I'm being generous there. Because their "good intentions" imply that we are bad parents because we (me) didn't birth a daycare's worth of perpetual playmates for our son. That we are selfish in not adopting children in need. That we are not fulfilling our biblical duty to be fruitful and multiply. That we have denied our child his request for a sibling. (Please note: we do not allow children to dictate the family planning of the grown-ups. Plus, he never asked anyway.) There's a lot of assumption and judgement in there.

Defensive much?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Not only do they question my husband and me, but they ask my kid about it. That. Is. Not. Cool.

"Aren't you sad being an only child?" A woman I had just met asked my son this at a wedding reception recently. I was horrified that he had been put on the spot like that by this nosy stranger.

"Being an only child is awesome," was his not-missing-a-beat answer. "There's nothing sad about it." And that matter-of-factly and convincingly ended the conversation.

Smart one, that boy.

There are those who assume that he has only child syndrome ... you know, "spoiled and bratty." He's not. We are too poor to spoil him and we don't tolerate brattiness. He's articulate and well mannered. If he were an ass, I'd tell you.

He's not. He's cool.

A blogger I follow, Liz Owen, recently blogged about this herself. She is younger than I am and is just starting to field these intrusive questions. Bless her heart.

For us, the quick answer to "Are you going to have more children?" was always no, but it seemed to beg the follow-up, but why? The fact is, we don't need to detail the miscarriage, the high-risk pregnancy, the devastating postpartum depression, the conflicting medical advice, the long-term economic consequences of repeated job losses. Some things are just personal.

What I will say with all sincerity and to anyone who feels utterly compelled to ask is that when we brought that baby home more than 14 years ago, my husband and I both agreed:

This family is complete.

It started with a kiss

This is a landmark year for my husband and me. In October, we will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. But even before that - in just a couple of days, on July 1 - we will mark the 25-year anniversary of our very first kiss. We consider that the beginning of it all.

Take a minute to look back: July 1, 1988. That was a long time ago. He was 18 and I was several months older at 19. Just kids, really. The local radio stations had Def Leppard's Pour Some Sugar on Me (ah, sweet poetry) on constant rotation, though Cheap Trick's The Flame was the number-one song that week. Big was in theaters; Coming to America was just released.

That summer, young folks were wearing acid-washed jeans. Mullets were at their peak (they have peaked, by the way ... so um, if you or someone you love still has one, please remove it). Girls had curly perms, big bangs and bad Sun In highlights.

And I had met a boy.

By late June, we had become good friends. He was painfully shy and I ... wasn't. So on that particular summer night, the first of July, when I'd had a hard time reading him or understanding his intentions, I just flatly asked him more out of curiosity than anything, "Are you going to kiss me tonight?"

"Maybe," he said.

Spoiler alert: He did.

We were opposites personality-wise, and we really didn't have a lot in common. But I made him laugh and he made me feel peaceful. We started dating and, well, a quarter of a century later, here we are: still balancing, complementing ... yes, completing ... one another.

We don't really "celebrate" this anniversary anymore. We'll just kind of take note on Monday, "Oh yeah. That's right." We'll smile about it and move on with our days. In October, we will celebrate our wedding anniversary in some way, even if it's just dinner out together.

Still, it's worth pausing to remember that the little things - a kiss, for example - can have the biggest impact.

And change everything.

Hole-y sheets, sandy feet

So tonight, I was making up the bed ...

Why make up a bed at night, you ask, when the imminent undressing of said bed for nightly slumber is only a couple of hours away? Well, the sheets were freshly laundered this afternoon. You see, the imaginary maid just didn't get the sheet washing/remaking of the bed done during the day, so we working folks gotta make do in our off time.

Anyway...

I was making the bed, smoothing the fitted sheet [more like wrestling an elastic alligator] at the foot of the bed on my husband's side when I came across this:

Hole-y fitted sheet!

And that? That ain't cool.

Now I must preface this by saying that hubs told me over the phone this afternoon he had noticed a hole in the sheet at the foot of the bed on his side when he undressed the bed to wash the sheets. He asked if we should use another set of sheets and I said, nah ... I hate it when the sheets don't match and besides, how bad could a little hole be?

[Side note: He washed; I dried. How cute are we?]

This? This is not a "hole." It's a freaking crater. As in moon landing. As in one small step through the material and one giant-ass leap through my household budget for new linens.

And really ... how did he not notice this before today?  He does the laundry; it's his gig. I feel like this 8-inch sinkhole to the mattress cover abyss did not develop between last week and this week.

And really ... what the hell does he do with his feet while he sleeps? He doesn't have talons for toenails. He must be like Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption, just chipping away behind the Raquel Welch poster during his REMs while I'm the (ZzzQuill-addled) warden just figuring it all out.

So I move on to make up my son's bed. Relieved to see sheets are in good-enough shape.

But then there's this:

Tiny tear in comforter that will soon become a gaping hole that threatens to swallow my teenage son whole in his sleep.

Yes, we washed the comforter this evening too. Now I might suspect that my washing machine has developed teeth and is feasting upon our bed linens. But the fact is, we have relatively cheap linens.

Why don't I spend more money on high-quality linens?

Hint.

Another hint. This game is easy, right?

Aside from that, there's also the matter of how I choose to allocate our hard-earned - but rather limited - resources. I'm trying to put money away for a little trip to the beach soon. I want to spend my extra money to sleep a couple of nights on hotel sheets, not home sheets. I want to put my feet in the sand, even if that means my hubs is going to have to put his feet through our bed sheets a few more nights.

It's about priorities. And right now spending quality family time together counts more than spending money on quality thread count.

But it's also about compromise. So this Friday, I will dip into the vacation fun fund and buy some new sheets for our bed. But we'll just stitch that tear in the comforter for now. I'm pretty sure my teenage son won't mind - or notice - and we'll eventually get a duvet cover. On sale. For cheap.

Because my sweetest dreams have nothing to do with the pedigree of the pillowcase.