PEACE ON EARTH GOOD WILL TOWARDS MOMS!

Oh lord!  What happened to my clean, peaceful, loving home?  Tension on the home front is palatable.  With both daughters home for an extended period of time, the walls are beginning to close in on me.  Is it possible that I got use to the space so quickly?

As I examine the root of the problem, I’ve come to a very simple conclusion.  Kids who leave home for the first time get use to their independence.  They think that all this “wisdom” acquired in the FOUR months they’ve been gone, entitles them to come and go as they please, not help out around the house, and look at the parent units as aliens from somewhere unknown to humankind.  Geez, would it be that painful to at least pretend that life is pretty darned sweet around here?

She was doing so well too.  She was communicating openly and expertly.  Our phone conversations, texts and emails felt meaningful.  There was no second-guessing or reading between the lines.  She shared her dreams, goals and what was going on in her life and we loved it.  What happened?  It may be possible that we are better with each other when we are not living together and that is a painful possibility.  It makes me sad.  I hope it’s not the case. 

And then there are those fleeting moments of sanity, a smile perhaps, or sitting down and watching a movie with us. These moments I silently thank my lucky stars that underneath the angst she still connects with us.

Here is what I think will happen because we are not the first family to go through this transition.  As she matures she will actually want to come and spend time with us.  Our conversations will be meaningful.  There will be sweetness in her disposition as she openly recognizes the blessings around her.  She may even see beyond her own needs and say, “oh, can I help with that”?  Better yet, she will just do without asking.  I know this to be true.  I did it.  My husband did it.  My oldest daughter is doing it. 

So, the youngest will get on board too.  That is if we don’t lose it and tear into each other in the meantime.  I’m waiting.  

TEACHERS DO NOT MAKE GOOD STUDNETS!

“You all weed pooty good!”  With a missing finger on his right hand, that’s what my Italian teacher, Mr. Paeri (pronounced pie air ee) would point and say after we would take turns reading from the text.  Truth was, we could read pretty good, but only understood about half of what we were reading.  At least that was true for me, one of the eager students in his Intermediate /Advanced conversation class. 

Mr. Paeri had been teaching for 50 years and by teaching standards, he was very old fashioned. Every class we’d begin reciting numbers, days, months, years, and seasons.  His reasoning? To warm up our lips to “pronounce” the words correctly. Every time he lumbered to the white board, he would use a faded red marker that strained the eyes of his more mature students, me included.  No technology in this class, just good old fashioned, teacher directed, auditory learnin’! I liked that.

Mr. Paeri was incredibly patient with us, gently correcting the improper word order or lack of noun verb agreement our brains just couldn’t seem to grasp.  Rarely would he cringe when la bella lingua was butchered by the most incredibly offensive mispronunciations!  Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he high tailed it out of the classroom to get his ears away from the cacophony of sounds that seemed offensive even to my untrained ears. Even though the class was from 7 to 10 pm on Thursday nights, I wanted to go just to hear Mr. Paeri speak and attempt to improve my rudimentary Italian.

One of our assignments was to put together a little presentation in Italian and speak in front of the entire class.  I chose to talk about a recent trip to New York complete with a slideshow of photos projected on a big screen. Teachers do not make great students and that includes me.  I signed up to present last, extending the time I needed to prepare.  And I cheated!  I just couldn’t bear not having a wonderful presentation, so I used Google translator.  Truth is I probably spent more time correcting the translator than it would have taken to write the darned thing myself.  Judging by his smile and slight nods of the head, it went ok

I enjoyed the teacher, students and class so much that I signed up for the next semester’s class with Mr. Paeri.  Much to my dismay, however, it was canceled and to this day and I do not know why.  But a visit from Italian friends and a return to the country where my husband spent half of three years, motivated me to continue.

I now have a private tutor, my husband, Gary!  There are advantages to having a mate who gives you a break on tutoring fees.  We ordered a very expensive set of cd’s to listen to on the way to work each morning.  Starting with the intermediate series, I felt “pooty good”.  Gary pleased with my progress, then ordered the advanced set of cds.  Here is where I hit a bit of a roadblock that could test the most solid of marriages.  But I continue to muddle through. Gary, in his ever-patient style has endured listening to me trying to translate in English, respond in Italian, and predict what’s coming up next, all while he must concentrate on his driving during the early morning commute.  

More than once I’ve been known to throw up a hand shushing and scolding him to silence so I can concentrate. He’s not complained once when I’ve asked him to pause the cd, rewind the cd, repeat the command or grill him on phrases that made absolutely no sense to me.  Phrases like “would you like to TAKE a cup of coffee with me?” Yet there are expressions that make me feel so genteel, like “how kind on your part!” I’ve spent many a minute mouthing those beautiful words, E gentile di parte tua, fantasizing when I may actually get to use them. 

At this age, I am no longer an ideal student. But, it’s fun and challenging to learn new things, especially when there is no concern about the grade.  And beyond the learning I have the utmost respect for teachers who have their own set of challenges to endure, trying to teach well meaning, linguistically challenged students like me.    

A Beer, A Burrito and A Bit of Comedy!

Nearly comatose!  That’s my state of being on Friday nights.  It used to be that I’d come home, cook, attend a sporting event and collapse into bed, ignoring my bodies signals to recover from a long week of work and attending to house, errands, yard, laundry and family.  No complaints, here, just stating the facts. I loved going to games and watching our kids and their friends do what kids do, even when fatigue made me resemble a glazed Stepford wife at times.  It was fun because I knew these kids and had watched them grow up.

So, when my ever-energetic husband asked me to attend the local football playoffs the last couple of weeks, I gladly declined the invitation.  Why oh why in the world would I want to move my behind out of the well worn cushy couch, to freeze it while watching kids I don’t know get pounded by other kids I don’t know, all the while trying to move an oddly shaped ball, yard by excruciatingly boring yard, down a field behind a goal line?  No can do.

My new Friday night tonic to reward myself from a productive week of work and attending to the house, yard, errands, laundry and family: a beer, a burrito and a bit of comedy.  Heaven.  My brain is bathed in just the perfect amount of dopamine to put me in a very relaxing, mildly serene state.  Nothing bothers me. No more Stepford wife, just one happy, glowing working mom, who chuckles at the silly recorded shows, enjoys not having to prepare dinner for four and can roll into bed any time I darned well please.  Sound euphoric? 

The last few years, I couldn’t imagine life on Friday nights without kids to attend to. I thought I would miss the action.  This phase of life is not without adventure.  I couldn’t live happily without that.  But Friday nights now have become sacred. It’s sweet to be able to choose what to do without selfish guilt:  cook dinner, order out?  watch TV or read? go to local game, stay home? bed at 9, bed at 11? Last night choice, order out, TV, home, bed at 11!

Here it is, Saturday morning, I’m well rested and ready for an adventure!

The Curfew Conflict!

Apparently, we’ve succeeded in making home not too comfortable based on the blow up we had about curfew.  Our oldest daughter has been used to the time deemed appropriate by us for the 4 years she’s been away.  She accepts it and doesn’t give it much thought. In fact, she’s usually home before curfew. For our youngest, however, it’s a rule she is not happy to buy into, since she is, after all,  “18 and no longer living at home.”

Her arguments do have some degree of logic as she tells us that she comes and goes whenever she pleases at college.  I know freshman in particular stay out late and sleep in on days they don’t have early morning classes. It is liberating for sure to be able to make these decisions on your own.  I remember that and understand that.  Not that I like the idea though.

Reasoning with her is simply selfish.  I want to sleep and now that I’m used to sleep again, I want to keep it that way. 

All through high school, I slept with one eye open on the nights my kids went out.  They were both so terrific about getting home on time, but I still worried.  Worried about the car breaking down. Worried about an accident. Worried about drunk drivers on the road. Worried, worried, worried. 

I came to love the squeak of the door as they entered the house.  I’d roll over and say a silent prayer of thanks.  And then I’d drift off to sleep.  So when 15 minutes passed curfew rolled around the other night, I began to fret.  My imagination knows no bounds and I couldn’t temper it enough to settle me. Not willing to give up more than 20 minutes of precious sleep, I reluctantly called her blessed cell phone. The frenzied dialogue went something like this.

Mom, “Where are you?” 

Daughter, “Coming”. 

Mom, “Why are you answering the phone while you’re driving?”

Daughter, “Because you called.”

Mom, “Don’t answer the phone while you’re driving."

Daughter, “But you called.”

Mom, “Hang up.”

Daughter, “Okay.”

Door squeaks 30 minutes passed curfew and daughter implores that she didn’t know that the rules still apply.  Wow, imagine a home without rules, but I roll over return to a fitful sleep dreading the impending argument in the morning.  I know my daughter well and we will not get through this without a dose of attitude.

And it was an argument reminiscent of those in high school; daughter aggressively defending her point of view and parents desperately trying to understand the illogic of her reasoning.  The conversation broke down early on and morphed into something about the lack of trust.  Truthfully, trust was the last thing on my mind as sleep deprivation was beginning to make me sound as irrational as her.  We did not progress as I had hoped and we all pouted and sulked our way around the house, disappointed in the tension.

In the end, it took about 24 hours to pull us all out of the abyss.  But pull out of it we did.  No longer willing to let any more time pass, we agreed to a fair compromise, a thirty minutes extension if needed.  I can live with that. 

So first visit back was not without drama.  But then again how boring would life be with perfection!

THEY'RE BACK!

Due to a quirk in their schedules and no thanks to the California budget crisis and mandatory furloughs, our daughter’s are coming home together for an extended Thanksgiving vacation. Any minute now they will come bursting through the door.  I can just see it, bags and laundry dropped in entry way as dog jumps from one to the other lapping up the love.  We’ll have to elbow our way to each with hugs and kisses, taking turns not to attend to one daughter more than the other.  It’s been months since they’ve both been home let alone home together.  I can’t wait.

I’ve prepared their favorite fall squash ginger soup.  There are fresh sheets on their beds and new candles on the nightstands each with it’s own unique scent.  I don’t know about boys, but girls love these touches and I wanted them to come home to a warm environment.  I guess I want them to want to come home and will put forth the extra effort to entice them.  I’m thinking that they don’t really need enticing, but just in case….

The trick now is to not make it so comfortable that they’ll want to stay, although sometimes I’m tempted to do that.  Away is where they should be.  We knew that going in to this parenting gig, but sometimes it’s still so very difficult to comprehend that they may never live here full time again. 

It seems so abrupt.  Eighteen comes around and off they go, on to learning life on their own, without our 24/7 guidance.  I’ve noticed that since our daughters have left, our guidance is now sought rather than shunned. That’s a nice feeling.   But one does wonder how the influence of the diverse group of kids they now live with impacts their development.

I think perhaps it’s better if I just focus on this visit.  Focus on our ever- increasing changing relationships, relationships that already feel much deeper, more mature and simply sweet.  

Pond Scum

I have this morbid fascination with the algae growing in my backyard pond.  It creates the most intricate lacey patterns beneath the surface of the water.  It clings to fallen twigs, rocks that border the edges. When tugged at it ever so gently, the scum tugs back.  I delight in spending a few minutes on a warm, or lately chilly Saturday afternoon, with my hands in the cool water watching my fingers move like a weaver trying to remove as much as possible before the turbidity of the water makes it difficult to see what lurks below the surface.  The task, clear the pond of this green, slimy, invasive form of life before it takes on a life of its own ruining the beauty of the water.  Oh, such problems!

Perhaps it’s too much time and not the pond scum that I have on my hands these days.  

Living With A Monster Mutt!

Cesar ( the dog whisperer) would be more than disappointed in us as dog owners, he would be downright disgusted.  This 24-pound mutt of ours can be a little monster and we have been shamed by her behavior on a number of occasions.   She’s long on tricks for sure, but short on obedience.  She jumps on us, sleeps on our bed between us, under the covers with her head on the pillow!  She doesn’t come when we call her.  In order to get her to come in the house, we have to yell, “I’m getting the hose”.  And the joy of taking her to the park and watching her run like the wind is over.  She has bullied too many dogs and we just can’t take the non-verbal, evil stares by other dog owners any longer.  More than once, we’ve slinked out with our own tails between our legs.

Not that we haven’t tried to get her to obey.  When we adopted her as a 3-month-old puppy, we read books, watched shows, and went to doggie training school.  We tried the exercise, discipline and then the love approach as recommended by the experts. But, she has consistently out smarted us.  Her dominance is evident in the way she perches on top of the back to the couch like a cat!  On the back! What dog does that? 

We may have the only dog in Petaluma that was kicked out of the “doggie country club” 5 minutes after dropping her off.  Apparently she had “separation anxiety” and was trying to jump the 10-foot fence, leaving us only hours to find someone to watch her before we left for vacation.

But, we love her despite all the frustrations.  She cuddles, will only look in her dish to eat when we give her permission.  She plays “baseball” by tagging the bases, rolls over and runs around the house like a crazy dog which cracks us up every time.  The cute little tail of hers wags no other whenever she is near us.  What unabashed enthusiasm. 

So, when we weigh the troubles and the joys, it’s obvious that she’s worth it.