Juggling Life

In Which I (Pretty Much) Overcome My Vanity

There are not too many "bad" pictures me floating around the world. Up until I started blogging and getting together with other bloggers (who all had cameras as big as mine--or bigger (Aaryn!), I pretty much had total creative control.

I always took and developed the pictures and went through them before anyone else saw them. With the advent of digital photography it got even easier--delete!

Last summer a friend took the picture below, without my knowledge and e-mailed it to me. It was taken at about 6:00 p.m.at La Jolla Shores. I'd been at the beach since 5:50 a.m. The occasion was a bonfire for the boys and girls water polo teams; I wanted to give the Brazilians a quintessential San Diego experience. I had arranged food and drinks and rides for a party of what ended up being about 50 people. It was a blast! I had such a great time watching the teenagers--especially the antics of the girls who were meeting the Brazilians for the first time.

But I digress. Back to the picture. When I opened the e-mail I was all "Aaack! My nose! My crows feet! I need to whiten my teeth! I'm not wearing any makeup!" I came this close to deleting the e-mail.

 

Then I ran into the woman that took the photo at Vons. She was so excited to have taken the photo. She went on and on about what a great mother-daughter shot it was. How happy I looked. How great a picture her daughters thought it was.

She was right, I was happy. I was throwing a fantastic party, my family was there, these kids from another country were having this phenomenal time because I was willing to put some effort into making sure they had this experience (have I ever mentioned how I'm so not a morning person and hello? 5:50 a.m.!). And I was ready to hit delete just because I'm vain.

So not only did I keep the picture, I'm posting it for all to see. Why? I suspect I'm not the only person out there that's editing their life's record so that only the pretty pictures remain. I'm beginning to think that might not be such a good idea. Thanks, Susan, for opening my eyes.

Have You Heard The One About The Mother-In-Law?

I have been married for a long time. It will be 21 years on August 1. I have a fairly "strong" personality. In a good way, of course. My mother-in-law has a rather "strong" personality. In a good way, of course. You know that whole saying about magnets and like repelling like? I don't either, but there should be one.

Anywhoo . . . My husband is the oldes of 5 kids and I was the first daughter-in-law. Therefore, I was the one inventing the proverbial wheel.  While the wheel rolls pretty smoothly now, 'twas not always so.

When we first married (and remember, I was almost a child bride) MIL was used to having all her kids around her on all holidays, Sunday dinner, pretty much any time she wanted all her kids around. Which was frequently. You see where this is going, right? My family was my Mom and my niece. Obviously I'm not going to ditch them on all holidays (nor would Mr. Fix-it have wanted me to). I thought the easy answer was to merge celebrations. Thanksgiving was the first major holiday after our wedding.

Since we all lived within 5 miles of each other and my mom had a fairly large house and I am a really good cook (this story leaves no room for false modesty) while MIL is what I call a "can and box cook," why not have everyone to my mom's house where I would cook? Genius, right?

Only, my MIL is all (to Mr. Fix-it) "No, I don't think so, it's traditional for me to cook Thanksgiving dinner." So then I'm all to Mr. Fix-it, "Maybe you should remind her she never had a DIL before." So he does, and she grudgingly agrees to come and she's super nice about it to me and asks what can she bring and I suggest a ham since there's going to be 15 people and their family loves ham and she say's sure and then she doesn't bring a ham but brings a store bought pie. We didn't do that again.

Anywhoo . . . Things continued in that passive-aggressive vein for some time until she and I had a major blow-up in which I told her I thought she was very selfish and inconsiderate and did not appreciate sly digs and guilt trips about our not being at her house at 8 a.m. on Christmas morning and not staying the whole day on Easter and yada, yada, yada.

It was uncomfortable, it was awful, and it was also the best thing I ever did as far as my relationship with my MIL goes. Why? Because it was honest. I was able to quit smiling outside while seething with resentment inside. My husband loves his mom utterly, but he was right behind me as I walked out the door that day. And while he was sad that he had to go visit her without me for a few months, he always said he understood my position and that I was right.

Eventually there was a funeral, we were both there, we let bygones be bygones (aaah, the healing power of weddings and funerals). From that day on, we pretty much "got" each other. She knew I couldn't be manipulated and I knew she was a strong woman who liked things her way, but knew when to call a truce and a draw.

Which brings us to the book review portion of this (lengthy) post.

I hooked up with Sally Shields through MotherTalk and she sent me a copy of her book to review. It's light and frothy and would make a fun shower gift (especially if the MIL wasn't at the shower and you read aloud from some of the rules).

But here's the thing. These rules would never have worked for me. I think that's because I'm not afraid of confrontation. Not everyone is like me though; there are plenty of people that are happier if they can find a non-confrontational way of dealing with people. If you have a friend like that that's getting married, this book would make a great gift. If you have a friend like me, it would also make a cute gift--just know that she'll read each rule and say, "I don't think so!"

My husband and I will be celebrating 21 years of wedded (mostly) bliss this August. My MIL and I will be celebrating approximately 18 years of a respectful and loving relationship among two women who have a lot of people they love deeply in common. Plus, she is a great lady to shop high-end purses and make-up with. Most importantly, you couldn't ask for a greater Nana--in the end isn't that the most important quality in a Mother-in-Law?

A Tale of Two Brothers

Once upon a time, when MVP was almost 3 years old, his parents had another baby. That baby was MVP's baby brother; he would come to be known as Danger Boy.

 

One was a redhead, the other a blonde, but they both had big blue eyes and a sense of adventure. Their parents realized pretty quickly that DB was not going to let MVP leave him behind just because DB was 3 years younger. So DB learned to walk, run, swim, ride a bike, and throw a ball pretty damn quick--he was going to keep up with his big brother no matter how many trips to Urgent Care it necessitated!

MVP was pretty gracious about the whole thing; frankly, he seemed to get a kick out of it. With MVP's blessing, DB beat the pants off the entire 5th grade in tetherball as a 2nd grader.

As they grew, they mixed it up once in a while, but they were still pretty good friends. Their mother's heart sang every time they played long toss across the wide backyard of the pie-shaped lot upon which their suburban house stood. You see, she had dreamed that very scene the day she first looked at that backyard. It was high on the list of reasons their parents bought that house.

 

They shared a love of weaponry of all sorts, dogs, reptiles, baseball, beating the stuffing out of each other, and first doting on, then later tormenting, their baby sister. Their parents thought it might be best if they played different sports so as not to encourage unhealthy competition. Their plan failed miserably; whatever one tried, the other one wanted to try also.

MVP had always been a good athlete. Then a teacher talked him into trying Water Polo. Suddenly, he was a great athlete. It was the sport for which he was built and he loved it. In due time, as these things often went, Danger Boy tried Water Polo also. What do you know, it was his sport also, although for different reasons then it was MVP's sport. MVP had the build and the bulk, DB had the heart and intensity. Neither one of them ever backed down.

So it was that during MVP's senior year and Danger Boy's freshman year of high school, they played Water Polo for the same high school team. MVP was captain of the varsity squad and, no surprise here, MVP. Danger Boy was captain of the freshman team and MVP. He also played on the JV squad and in all the varsity tournaments. He got to play on the CIF team which went to the second round, a big accomplishment for their high school, under his big brother's leadership.

For the whole year before MVP was to leave for college, they rode to school together, rode to practice together, went out to eat with their teammates together, watched game film together, and generally spent a lot more time together than a 14 year old and a 17 year old might be expected to.

Like the long toss in the backyard when they were 6 and 9, watching them play Water Polo together made their mother's heart sing. In fact, someday she may have to tell the story of Danger Boy passing the ball to MVP who scored the winning goal in a tournament. Picture included.

Independence Days

I believe you can tell what personality characteristics a person values most by looking at their children's behavior and dress. We parents work hard to ensure that our kids possess those skills or talents we value most.

I came to this realization when my children were fairly young. They were often ahead of their peers in certain behaviors and I realized one day that all those behaviors were related to independence and self-sufficiency. For whatever reason (my family of origin, my personality), I think it's really important to be able to take care of oneself and not be too dependent on others.

I was never a mom to say "don't do that, you'll hurt yourself." Instead I would teach them how to do whatever it was they were wanting to do. When they were toddlers it was conquering the playground equipment, climbing to the top of the slide, learning to pump on the swing at an early age, diving off the high dive at 2+1/2. Much of what my kids did made other mothers at the playground or pool look at me like I was a freaking lunatic. But my thought was that if I didn't teach them to do it, they'd do it anyway when my back was turned and probably get hurt in the process.

I really value my reading personal time. With four kids, if I spent my time doing everything for them, that would be all I ever did. Consequently, they could all pour their own cereal and milk and make a sandwich by the time they were three. Those skills aren't really that hard--what is there to making a sandwich besides getting the bread out, squirting on some mustard, spreading it around with a butter knife, slapping a piece of turkey on it, and eating it? Of course they're not going to do quite the cleanup job I would like, but eventually they'll learn. It's not that I was lazy (in the end, redoing the cleanup job until they learned to do a good job themselves was probably more work than making the sandwich myself), I just wanted them to learn to do it themselves. That extra work I put into teaching them when they were young has paid off in spades as they've gotten older.

A big part of my teaching/parenting was based on natural consequences. If you forget your lunch, you'll go hungry. If you forget your homework, you'll get in trouble with the teacher. If you forget your permission slip, you won't go on the field trip. My kids got one rescue a year--and that started in Kindergarten. I'd bring you your lunch, your musical instrument, your homework packet, your jacket one time. After that, sorry. There have been entire years where I never took anyone anything. They learned pretty quickly to keep track of their own stuff.

Schoolwork followed the same pattern. I wasn't the one going to school--they were. After 3rd grade I didn't even ask if they had homework; I assumed they would know if they did and they would do it. Our home environment was conducive to taking care of business--no TV or video games during the week, ready availability of poster board and other school supplies at all time, but it was their responsibility to keep track of what they needed to do. There have been "F's" on assignments (usually in the elementary grades) and Danger Boy had to make up his first semester of Physics this year in an after school class. He ended his freshman year with a 3.67 though, with no help from his parents whatsoever. Two of my kids have gotten into the colleges of their choice without any involvement on my part (if you don't count the tens of thousands of dollars and the looking at schools).

Chores, both paid and unpaid, have always been important. Everyone in my house, boys and girls, knows how to clean a house--from toilets to baseboards to the inside of the microwave. I have had friends who say their kids don't have time for chores. If I had to choose between giving my kids the opportunity to do chores or to play a sport, I'd pick the chores. Luckily, we've found there's plenty of time for both. The same goes for jobs. They need them to pay for their own gas and entertainment. To those who say their kids don't have time, I say ask yourself this question, "Do they have time to surf the 'net, text their friends, and watch TV?" I rest my case.

This is not to say that all is smooth sailing, I think we frequently have more dissension than families where the parents don't expect the kids to do things on their own. Our kids have been known to  grumble and moan. We have been known to grumble and moan. But, and this is a big but, I know that when they are on their own they will be able to get up on time, work hard at college and/or a job, and clean a house, all without any help.

Grown-up Girl and MVP are both mature enough now to let us know they appreciate that they are way more self-sufficient than almost all of their peers.

Back to the beginning and what you know about parents from the way their kids behave; these are some things I've observed: If your child is dressed in a mishmash of colors and their hair is wild, you probably value creativity and disdain conformity. If you do everything for your child and prefer him or her not to be too independent, you may have had to grow up too fast yourself and don't want that for your child. If your child is wearing the haircut you deem appropriate, rather than the one he/she wants, you probably value conformity highly. I myself can let the hair slide, but don't do mismatched clothes.

I'm not saying anyone's way is more valid than the others (well, I do actually have some opinions in that arena, but . . . ), I just find all this a very interesting sociological observation. What is the one thing you are most intent on teaching your children?

Things That Make Me Go "Huh?

So I was at this lovely party Sunday night. We were under a pop-up tent at a concert in the park; our neighbors had set out a beautiful spread of hor'dourves with plenty of wine and beer (well, maybe not quite enough beer--they didn't know I was going to drink as much as I did!). The following conversation took place when I was on my first beer. Upon sober reflection, it may be the reason I drank the next few.

Very Well-Off Woman and I are surveying the spread--mixed, grilled vegetables on a pie crust spread with cream cheese and Boursin. Melon wrapped in Prosciutto, luscious red and green grapes and Brie, peppers stuffed with cream cheese and topped with pine nuts. Buffalo mozarella topped with slices of tomato and basil and drizzled with olive oil. All delicious, all beautifully presented.

I comment on how fantastic it all tastes, but admit to a bit of guilt since I've just finished reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Very Well-Off Woman isn't familiar with the book, so I give a brief synopsis. Transporting our food from far-off places = not efficient, big carbon footprint. Eating locally grown produce in season = better for the environment. I mention that I found it ironic that I purchased the book at Costco at the same time I bought a Chilean pineapple, Ecuadoran bananas, and Mexican avocados.

She looked at me incredulously. "You don't really feel guilty about buying pineapple because of it's 'carbon footprint'?"

"Yes, I do. I think I should do a better job eating locally. I'm going to join Bee-Wise ranch cooperative again. I quit because I didn't always like the vegetables, but I should just cook what's in season, not simply what I have a taste for."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. This world's been around a long time and there's nothing we're doing that's going to change that. I say eat whatever you want regardless of where it comes from. Life's too short to worry about stuff like this."

Huh? I'm guessing she thinks the Kyoto Protocol is a bunch of hogwash. I'm also assuming she won't be giving up her Lincoln Navigator anytime soon.

You can see why I had to have another drink, right?

Universal Health Care Why?

I spent several hours on a morning last week in a venue that provided some stellar people watching. My nephew, Gangsta Boy, was born with a congenital birth defect (cleft palate, bilateral cleft lip, premaxilla) that requires ongoing and expensive medical treatment. Right now his dad is without a job. We all know that no job = no health insurance. So we were navigating the necessary bureaucracy to get him some medical coverage. I'm sure you can picture the fun.

Anyway, seated a few chairs a way, was an attractive, young, blonde woman. About 26, very pretty, shiny ponytail. Her cell phone rang and I overheard the following conversation. I don't have it verbatim, but it went something like this.

"Well, that's not the only thing that happened. My daughter fell off the slide at the park and broke her front teeth. It was $600. Yep, after the $300 last week for her ear infection. So I think I'm going to marry this guy. He's military. He's not that cute and he's not really my type. But he is nice and it's great insurance."

Blogging Drunk Part 2

I went to a friend's bday party tonight. It was a concert in the park--very cool community activity. They are our neighbors. I drank a substantial amount. Let's just say "over the legal limit." I didn't drive. I did walk to another friend's house and use the restroom, even though it only her mom was home (and she may have been a bit surprised).

When we got home my friend and I declared our undying love for one another in her driveway. She's a Republican, I'm a Democrat--as if you didn't know. Still, they are the best neighbors you could ask for--it had to be said.

Let me just leave you with this. For my friend Maggie the lyrics for the Rolling Stones "Brown Sugar" had to be rewritten to "White Sugar." Yes, she's that hawt!

The New Sheriff In Town or, More Accurately, Visiting the Town with the Tough Sheriff

This is a post about how things are going with my BIL and nephew staying with us. But first you need to understand my parenting philosophy.

I  believe, very strongly, that children do best when they are raised in an environment that offers routine, stability, safety, and clear expectations. I think that some kids could be raised by wolves and turn out fine, but that most kids really need the aforementioned environment. I'm not saying there's not more than one way for that environment to look, I'm just saying I think it's what kids crave.

My nephew has never had that environment. My sister had Borderline Personality Disorder. Her mental illness was extreme. If you've ever had a parent or sibling with a mental illness, you know that everyone connected with them suffers. With my sister, everything was her way or the highway; she called all the shots in the parenting arena. My BIL really had no say. If you're baffled by how that could be it's because you've never had an up close experience with someone with BPD.

Danger Boy, and my nephew, Gangsta Boy, are eight days apart in age. The homes in which they were raised could not have been more diametrically opposed. My BIL and I are on the same page in that some reeducation of GB needs to take place. It just makes sense for me to take on the job as their life is in transition and this is my house.

What is my starting point? First off, he's genuinely a good kid. Beyond that? He's never, and I mean never, been asked to conform to societal  expectations.

One example? He doesn't eat unless it's processed crap. You  might assume that's hyperbole, but no. We've had a joking but really serious conversation about how Fruit Punch Monster Energy Drink does not qualify as a fruit. He's totally offended by anything not purchased from a store or fast food place. I am introducing the concept of regular meal times and real food. A couple of days ago I just said, "you can't leave the house until you eat." He ate a PB & J, an apple, and a glass of milk. WOOT!

He's failed at least two classes every year since elementary school and was slated to be retained in eighth grade, but then he moved. I let him choose which books from the summer reading list for the high school he was being forced to wanted to read. In addition to regular food he's now on a diet of 25 pages a day of "All Quiet on the Western Front."  Pop quizzes included. This should begin to develop the homework habit--necessary if you ever want to graduate from high school.

He's doing regular chores and recycling cans and bottles for walking around money. There's no more sleeping until three or four--he's up by noon. (If that doesn't sound like a big deal you haven't seen how some teenagers sleep). He realizes that two hour-long showers per day just ain't gonna happen.We're letting the sagging pants and XXL shirts slide for now. (Although suburban, White, wanna-be gangstas really rub me the wrong way).

So back to paragraph one and how it's going? Phenomenally well. Everybody is getting along great. Danger Boy's been gone at water polo camp since GB got here; I know two fifteen-year old boys wrestling around will change the climate a little. Still though, I'm very pleased (as is the previously somewhat skeptical Mr. Fix-it).

The best part. GB is proving my parenting theory. He actually seems pleased (behind the obligatory groaning) to abide by the new laws. He's happy, happier than I've ever seen him in his entire life (also not hyperbole). All of us, BIL, Mr. Fix-it, MVP, SB, and I, are very hopeful that right now is the beginning of a whole new life for GB. Wish us luck!

The One In Which I Totally Saw It Coming

Danger Boy and Social Butterfly are 20 months apart in age. Because of their birthdays (in March and November respectively) they are only one grade apart.

This picture is from when they were 2 and 4. I remember looking at it and thinking that one day there was going to be a whole lot of teenage drama in my house.

That day has arrived. They're 13 and 15, 9th and 10th grade. So far it's not drama so much as it is "tension." Would it surprise you to find that both her friends and his friends like hanging out at our house? That there is much giggling and posturing involved?

The funniest kids are the ones who come from all girl or all boy families--they are fascinated and bewildered by the opposite sex. DB and SB have been seeing each others' friends in their p.j.'s for so long that it's old hat to them, but not so for some of their friends.

Some things haven't changed though--DB and SB are still driving each other (and me) crazy!

In Which This Fourth Will Be A Little Like A Lot Of Other Fourths

I still live in the community in which I grew up. Fourth of July is a big deal here, and is my favorite holiday. Independence Day in Scripps Ranch has lots going for it. The day starts with the Fun Run/Bike Ride at 7 a.m. (I don't run, I walk, but I do manage the 10K) After the run the tradition is to rehydrate in the Beer Garden--yes, the beer starts flowing at 8 a.m.!

This is followed by the old fashioned parade--we are lucky to live a block from the parade route.

 

There are marching bands, scouts, homemade neighborhood floats, fire trucks, politicians (for the record I knew Randy "Duke" Cunningham was bad news way before he was indicted), the hysterical Society For The Preservation of the Middle Class (lawnmowers and Budweiser) "dance" group, and much more. Social Butterfly will be outfitted in cheer gear and marching and cheering with the high school squad.

The parade ends at a park where there is an Ice Cream Social and a live band.

Our family tradition necessitates following all of this by a long nap. Then we pack up a picnic and troop off to Coronado where they let you spread out on the golf course. We eat, play bocce ball, listen to music, and moan about the downside of the whole thing being that drinking and port-a-potties just don't mix--at least for 40ish women! The payoff is the fireworks shot off from a barge in the bay. I do love me a spectacular fireworks display!

    

The golf course is just southwest of the Coronado Bay Bridge.  Can you say (multi) million-dollar view?

Because we've been doing this for so long we know just where to park, and we have our children trained in the pack-and-run--we're back home in our beds while others languish on the bridge.

This year will be a little different. Danger Boy left for Canada for Water Polo camp on Thursday. Grown-up Girl won't be home because she has a job (one of the side effects of being Grown-up). We won't be going to Coronado because the friends with whom we share this tradition will be in Lake Tahoe--it's necessary to shake up traditions when you've just lost your husband and father.

A couple of hours ago we were just going to have a low-key, change of pace, restful Fourth. After a few phone conversations we're now having a barbecue for 15. Carne Asada because my BIL wasn't getting much good Mexican food in Washington state. In San Diego Carne Asada is about as American as apple pie. MVP's got a couple of friends visiting from Chicago--I bet they don't get a lot of good Carne Asada there either. We'll still go see fireworks, but at the local high school instead of Coronado.

I always feel a little discombobulated when we're missing part of our crew. I don't want to do everything the same if I don't have all my peeps around. So we'll change things up a little, but the basic celebration will be the same--we'll be celebrating this great country of ours, warts and all.

This year especially I hope we'll be looking forward to turning a lot of things around as a country, facing up to some hard truths, and taking a new tack on the world stage. I hope that before long America the country returns to being more of a reflection of Americans than it has been for a while.

 

                            Hope You Have A Blast!