You’ve Got To Leave If You Want To Be Missed

Last week was a whirlwind for me. Flew to Boston on Friday. Spent Saturday, Sunday, and Monday in New England hitting five states in three days as was my goal. Arrived home late on Monday night. Put in my usual mom day on Tuesday beginning at 6:30 a.m. Whipped my way through laundry, grocery shopping, and packing so I could get up at 5 a.m. on Wednesday to head to the airport with my own mom to head to Vegas to celebrate her birthday there. Was in Vegas from 9 a.m. Wednesday until 8 p.m. yesterday. During our time in Vegas, my 70 year old mom and I did a ton of walking. I wish I’d been wearing a pedometer to measure it. (I mean, when do you go to Vegas and eat out for every meal and come home to discover you’ve actually lost weight on your vacation?) Today, a full week after my travel commenced, I collapsed. I love travel more than most things, but it was such a gift to be home today that I did nothing. Literally. No-thing. Not one thing. From 6:45 a.m. when I heard my boys wake up and head into the computer room to play Minecraft until 3 p.m., I sat in my bed. It was a stick-a-fork-in-me kind of day. I was done. Done physically. Done mentally. Done emotionally. I needed a day to recover from my vacations. Go figure.

Tonight, we went to spaghetti dinner at my dad’s church. Riding over in the car, it occurred to me that I hadn’t spent much time at all with my boys in over 7 days. While I was gone, I was too busy to miss them. Every moment of my travel had been filled with things to do. When they woke me up at 6:45 a.m., I wasn’t annoyed. I popped into their computer room and sat on the floor hugging them for a few minutes. Even though we were all home today, they spent most of their day playing outside with friends while I convalesced in my room. So tonight at dinner they had to keep telling me to stop hugging on them, staring at them, and telling them how handsome they are. I was embarrassing them with all the attention. I couldn’t help it, though. It wasn’t until tonight that I noticed how much I had missed them without even realizing it.

This evening I was reminded of why we need time away from our children. We need to step back a while so when we return we can savor them. How often do we get caught up in the day-to-day routine and fail to appreciate our kids for their creativity, their fourth-grade humor, and their dirty faces? The things about them that really get on my nerves when I’m faced with it day to day, like the way Joe likes to wipe his greasy, buttered hands on his nice shirts or the way Luke goes straight to whining mode when we mention it’s time to read, made me smile tonight. I had more patience for their antics. When we were finished with dinner, we drove them to a nearby playground and sat and watched them play for 15 minutes. Watched them play. I never take the time to do that, to simply be still and enjoy witnessing their childhoods. Today was a good reminder of why we leave our kids. If you can get beyond their sad faces when you’re leaving, beyond the forty text messages you receive from them daily when you’re gone, and the immediate question “what did you bring me” when you walk back in the door, you will discover that you actually missed the little buggers. You might just find out that they missed you too. But, you’ll have to leave first.

Posted on 13/10/2012 by Me

Some Questions Cannot Be Answered

A horrible event gripped the Denver community over the past week. A ten year old girl went missing on her way to meet friends just a couple short blocks from her home on her way to school. As soon as it was determined that her whereabouts were unknown, an Amber Alert went out for her. Now, seven days later we know she is gone forever. The details of what happened in her last few hours here on earth are unknown, but the disturbing end she met is obvious. When the news broke that a body had been found (“not in tact” was the terminology the police used) less than ten miles from where police had found her abandoned backpack, I knew. I think we all did. The unspeakable would be spoken to her parents.

Before I became a mother, I thought these stories were sad and tragic. I could keep perspective about them, though, because I didn’t have parenting experience myself. Now that I have children of my own, though, children who are around the age of the young girl who senselessly murdered this week, the pain is visceral. My heart breaks for her parents who will undoubtedly go over and over in their heads what they, in retrospect, wish they would have done differently that day. They will ask themselves myriad unanswerable questions. Why hadn’t they walked with her to meet her friends? Why didn’t they realize sooner something was amiss? Why did it have to be her at all?

You’ve heard the expression “the truth shall set you free.” Well….the truth is that life is filled with mystery, uncertainty, chaos, tragedy, and barely imaginable acts of horror that can never be explained, much less understood. Yet, we continue to try to find meaning where there is none. There is no way to fix the loss these parents feel. There is no way to bring Jessica back. But, I find some comfort in my own life in accepting that some things in life are out of our control. I wish I could tell Jessica’s parents that they did nothing wrong. They were doing everything right, giving their daughter the freedom to grow and become independent, and the unbelievable happened because sometimes things happen despite our best intentions. Some questions in life cannot be answered. And, any question surrounding what happened to this sweet girl is among those questions. I hope her parents find some peace someday, the kind of peace that can only come when we accept that we are not in control on this big spinning ball. We’re just not. Control is an illusion and we need to let go of it.

Posted on 13/10/2012 by Me 1

Vegas Hates Me

It rained today. It rained A LOT today. This is a big deal for Denver. It’s an even bigger deal because I’m not in Denver. I’m in LAS VEGAS. I’m fairly certain Vegas hates me. I came here with my mother to help her celebrate her 70th birthday. Believe it or not, my mother had gone all her 70 years on this planet without having been to Vegas. I figured this was some sort of violation of the laws of the universe, so I sought to correct the error by dragging her here for three days. And, what does it do while we’re here in Vegas? In the desert? Where they get an average of 4.5 inches of rain in a year? It rains. And, it doesn’t just drizzle or rain lightly. It pours. In less than twenty four hours, Vegas received double the normal rain accumulation for the entire month of October. I’d think it was amusing (and amazing) but, like most people, I come to the desert for the sun and not the rain. Odd, I know. Not happy.

Then tonight, as I noticed I had just blown another $20 in the penny slot machines, I realized that the rain is simply Vegas weeping for me. I am an absolutely lousy gambler. I blame it on the fact that I don’t usually gamble much when I come here. That and, well, I’m cheap. I hate to throw money away in machines (unless they’re made by Apple). But, my mom came to gamble. And she’s doing fairly well. At least, she’s doing better than I am. So, the deluge of rain must be nothing other than the Sky God mourning the loss of my husband’s hard earned cash. That’s the only explanation I can think of that would explain the flooding in the desert on my vacation. Either that or Vegas just hates me.

Posted on 12/10/201212/10/2012 by Me

My Frozen Yogurt Epiphany

If I could write poetry, I’d write an ode to this.

I’ve been thinking lately that I need to work on being more grateful. It’s simply too easy to get wrapped up in that which does not matter and to forget the things that make life worth living. In the times that I stop to recognize all that I have, I find myself lacking less. I am happier and feel better about life in general. So, today, I am going to use this forum to give thanks for my new favorite thing: Pinkberry frozen yogurt.

Now, I know that Pinkberry is not new to many of you. After years of hearing about it, though, today I ventured into my very first Pinkberry shop. The very smiley and helpful, middle-aged Pinkberry clerk told me that the company’s mission was to make sure that I didn’t like my yogurt but that I loved it. She encouraged me to try as many samples of flavors as I wanted. After much deliberation, I settled upon a small cup split evenly between the Original and the Coconut flavors. “Love it, you will,” said my inner yogurt Yoda. And, love it I did.

There was a time in my life not so long ago when I was nervous about trying new things. As I’ve begun to broaden my horizons, I’ve discovered some of the best things I never knew existed. You don’t need to make a big change to find gratitude. You don’t need a fancy trip to Europe or a brand new luxury vehicle. Sometimes it’s the simplest things in the most common places that give us the greatest pleasure. Sitting today with my mom in the Pinkberry store, savoring fro-yo and Fiji water, I remembered how lucky I am. Lucky to have such an intelligent, insightful mother to spend the day with. Lucky to have the opportunities that I have to experience new things. Lucky to have a supportive husband and sweet boys. And, yes…lucky to have some kick ass frozen yogurt. Life is good.

Posted on 10/10/201210/10/2012 by Me

The Great Dishwasher Debate

While we were gone on our east coast trip, two of our three sisters juggled taking care of our boys in our absence. Having family nearby is such a blessing. Having family nearby who are willing to take care of your children is an exceptional gift. Because Joe and Luke are the only nephews and the only grandchildren on both sides of our family means that we have plenty of folks who line up to hang out with them. My sister (aka Aunt Kathy) ran the boys to appointments and birthday parties and even took them to the Lego store where she bought them a way too expensive Lego Ninjago set. Steve’s sister (aka Aunt Karen) hung with the boys two days, taking them to a local corn maze and chauffeuring them to and from school. By the time we arrived home late last night, the boys’ homework was completed and they were ready to go for school today, which was a huge relief because I did not have the energy to figure everything out at 6:30 this morning. Things simply could not have gone better.

After I’d gotten the boys to school this morning, run the requisite grocery shopping trip, and returned home, I went to unload the dishwasher. That was when I was reminded how different it can be when others stay in your home. When we travel during the school year, we let our family move into our home to take care of the boys. This seems to work out best in keeping them on track with their school work and sleep at night. As you might suspect, however, when you let others move into your home they do things their way, which is fine. It absolutely is. They should do things their own way. (And I’m not just saying this because I don’t pay them to care for our children so I am happy to deal with whatever aftermath might be in place when I return home.)

At any rate, I went to unload the dishwasher and discovered that all the flatware in the dishwasher caddy had been loaded “mouth-side” up. Years ago, Steve and I decided that we would load the dishwasher with the dirty (aka mouth) side of the utensils facing down. This makes perfect sense to me. I prefer to hold the utensils by their handles when placing them in the dishwasher because it keeps my hands clean. Beyond that, when I go to unload the dishwasher, I am able to remove the flatware from the caddy without putting my fingers all over the part of the utensils that will go into someone else’s mouth. Our families do not follow this same train of thought. So, this morning as I was putting my grubby little mitts all over the mouth parts of our previously clean flatware as I unloaded the dishwasher I got to wondering what if there is some method to their madness.

So, I am opening this up for debate. What do you think is the best way to load the dishwasher? Have I been doing it wrong all these years (as our families believe I have) or am I doing it right? I’m curious. If there’s some reason why I need to rethink my strategy, please enlighten me. I’m always open to change if someone can offer a logical reason to do so. Please take my simple one question survey or leave me a note so I can figure out what I’m missing.

Click here to take survey

Posted on 09/10/2012 by Me 9

Five States In Three Days – The Final Chapter

On our last day in New England, we toyed with the idea of spending the day in Boston proper. But, after consulting with many locals about traffic, parking, mass transit, and things to do, we were too overwhelmed with information to choose what we wanted to do and see. So, I made an executive decision that the best course of action would be to do something truly appropriate for New England in the fall. We would spend the day in Salem. Why not? It’s October. What better time to visit the city of the witch trials?

We had no real plans in mind for our four hours in Salem, so we just began walking around. The entire city was decked out for Halloween. In addition to the usual tour guides in their period-appropriate costumes, we found plenty of costumed ghouls, zombies, and assorted freaks wandering the streets. (We remarked that our boys would probably never trick-or-treat if they lived here; they would be too scared to go out.) Being from the land of level, concrete sidewalks and young trees, we appreciated the brick and cobblestone walkways covered in fallen leaves. I noted very quickly, though, that walking and texting under these conditions is ill advised.

The only thing we planned to visit was the Salem Witch Museum, so we went early to purchase our advance tickets. From there, we walked down to the wharf. Salem was the sixth city in the United States and was an important port from the time of the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. We saw the Customs House and then made our way by the John Ward house, which was built in 1684. In Denver, if you have a home from the early 20th century, you have a truly old home. We couldn’t even imagine that some people in Salem live in homes that are nearly 300 years old.

Statue of Roger Conant in front of the Salem Witch Museum

Eventually we made it back to the Salem Witch Museum in time for our tour. The tour, which is actually more of a presentation than a tour, was hokey but it gives an accurate description of what was happening at the time of the witch trials. The description of the climate of fear and faith in the late 17th century in New England reminded me a bit too much of the current time. The abridged version of the Salem witch trial story is that some young girls, bored with being young girls in the restrained times, put on a little act. By the time they were finished with their inexplicable antics, nineteen innocent people had been hanged in the gallows and a final guiltless soul was pressed to death under the weight of heavy boulders. Lovely people, those Puritans.

We finished our time in historic Salem with a pizza lunch at the Flying Saucer Pizza Company. We chose the Starbuck as our pizza as our lunch….canadian bacon, pineapple, and jalapenos. Yum! (Perhaps we chose that pie simply because we’d missed our Starbucks breakfast?) Lunch was great and we made it back to our car just as the four hours on our parking meter expired. Now we’re sitting in Logan International Airport, ready to fly home to our boys. Can’t wait to see them. It’s been a whirlwind three day tour. Next time, we bring our kids and take in Boston and its history in full.

Posted on 08/10/2012 by Me 1

Five States In Three Days – Chapter Two

Our car trips (and, sadly, our entire lives) are fueled by Starbucks. Knowing we needed a latte for our two hour drive to Mystic, we decided this morning to tempt map fate by driving to Connecticut directed solely by the map on our Starbucks app. So, we picked a store near Walpole, Massachusetts, as our first stop and then continued following the map of Starbucks stores ever further south, inching our way toward Mystic. Chasing Starbucks stores…that’s how you live life on the edge.

While we drove the entire length of Rhode Island, we were on a mission to meet our friends and didn’t stop to visit the state properly. Still, we spent two full hours on its interstates, so we’re calling it an official visit…with the caveat that we will return and visit Providence and Newport one day.

We arrived in Mystic and met Edie and Tom at, you guessed it, Starbucks. From there we headed to the lighthouse museum in nearby Stonington. We don’t have many lighthouses in Colorado, so the maritime information was quite interesting. The museum is housed in what once was a functioning lighthouse. We climbed the stairs (and a small ladder) to the lighthouse tower to take in the scenery. I got to use the panorama feature on my iPhone 5 to capture 180 degrees of the view. The museum also had whale bones. Colorado doesn’t have many whale bones either.

Preparing the apple mixture for the press

Our next stop was the B. F. Clyde’s Cider Mill in Mystic. We made it there just in time for the 3 p.m. cider pressing demonstration. The mill contains the last steam-powered cider press in the United States. We watched as they spread the chopped apple mixture onto the pressing plate and then ran the plates through the machine. Once the cider had been collected, they moved the remaining apple pulp out to a collection bin behind the mill. The mill, aside from producing incredibly tasty cider, also makes apple wine and hard apple cider. We purchased some apple cider donuts, which we devoured, and some 28-proof hard apple/cranberry cider for later.

It was raining when we left, so we headed into the shopping and restaurant part of Mystic along the Mystic River for some dinner. Edie had picked a cute little restaurant called The Ancient Mariner. Steve had lobster macaroni and cheese and we both tried “stuffies,” which are stuffed clams. We’d never eaten clams before (don’t have many good clam restaurants in Colorado), so we had to give it a shot. Afterward, we took a short drive to get a scenic view of Mystic. The town, which is as darling as you would expect, was even more charming today in the rain.

It was another great day of travel. Tomorrow we spend some time in Massachusetts. Planning to visit Salem before heading back to Denver, exhausted, well-traveled, well-fed, well-educated, and ready to see our boys!

Posted on 07/10/201207/10/2012 by Me 3

Five States in Three Days – Chapter One

When we found out we would be attending our friend Jeff’s wedding to Megan in Massachusetts, my brain went into furious planning mode. Neither Steve nor I had ever been to been to New England. We had a lot to see. I planned a full on assault. I wanted to attack the northeast the way greedy Americans tour Europe, voraciously soaking up a micro dose of culture before moving on to the next target. Here, then, begins my travel journal…five states in three days.

We left our hotel in Peabody, Massachusetts and headed north on I-95 bound for New Hampshire. First stop was Starbucks for our morning caffeine. We blew through the state in 46 minutes and landed in Maine in search of the Nubble Lighthouse in York. As soon as we arrived in York, a quaint seaside vacation spot, we stopped for a brief walk on the beach, where we watched a tiny Yorkshire Terrier fetch what might as well have been a moon-sized tennis ball. I took off my shoes, let the Atlantic wash over my feet, and took a self-portrait to mark the event.

Next stop was the Nubble Lighthouse. The lighthouse sits on an island just offshore. It was a perfect 65 degrees and sunny. A wedding party arrived for someone else’s big day. I took a photo of Steve taking a photo. I have a lot of those.

We jumped back in the car and headed down towards New Hampshire, bound for Portsmouth. I had a goal of visiting at least one historic place during our east coast trip. Colorado is a young state, comparatively, so we are short on awesome historical sights. I found one that was a must-see in Portsmouth. Strawberry Banke is a historical museum comprised of an entire neighborhood of clapboard homes dating from the late 17th century. Many of the homes have been completely restored and furnished with period furnishings. There are period costumes, toys, and stories to offer a complete experience of what this area was like for the centuries proceeding this one.

Our final stop was in downtown Portsmouth. Steve, on a friend’s recommendation, was set on a lobster roll for lunch. Walking on the brick sidewalks through Portsmouth’s quaint shopping district, we happened upon The Dolphin Striker, which just happened to serve lobster (lobstah) rolls. While Steve devoured what had to be a pound of lobster, I dined on a delicately balanced dish of butternut squash ravioli with fresh spinach, dried cherries, and apple slices in a light cream sauce. The window view was of the river and sailboats floating by.

After our perfect lunch, we hopped back in the car headed to Peabody…two states under our belt. We stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for Steve’s requisite afternoon coffee. (Note: I think this state needs a few more photos of New England Patriot tight end Rob Gronkowski. Get working on that.) We’ve got a beautiful wedding to attend in Beverly tonight. Tomorrow, we’re hitting Rhode Island and Connecticut…still on our mission.

Posted on 06/10/2012 by Me

Window Seat Wars

On the rare occasion that my husband and I are able to jet off somewhere alone, we’re are generally quite amicable and cooperative travel companions. We share suitcases equitably, although he usually gets a bit more bag space because his “clothes are bigger.” We jockey phone chargers and reading material like seasoned pros. He drives. I navigate. We get an Almond Joy to snack on so we each get a fair and measurable half. He tries to tolerate it as I coach him to the best parking spot or security line (because I am highly insightful). I try to tolerate it when he tells me he needs to stop for a second or third latte (because he is highly caffeine dependent). As a rule, things are smooth and seamless.

It’s all quite pleasant…except for one issue. The window seat. There is only one. We both want it. Love? Honor? Cherish? Absolutely. Window seat? I think not.

Savvy girl I am, I am chief travel agent in our family. I book all our travel. I print itineraries. I check us in online. I keep the scannable boarding passes on my phone. He’s at my mercy.

“What are our seat assignments?” Steve asked as we boarded the plane to Boston today.

“22E and 22F,” I informed him.

“Window and center,” he said, appraising the situation.

“Yep,”I replied.

“I’ll be taking the window,” he reported.

“Oh no you won’t,” I enlightened him. “I am 22F. Window seat is mine.”

“We’ll see about that,” he retorted as he sped up to jump ahead of me boarding the aircraft.

I tried to elbow him out but he slipped by me and was the first one in the narrow aisle. I stayed doggedly on his heels, bantering with him on the way.

“You’d better not even think about it,” I warned.

“It’s done,” he said. “You’re too late. Accept it.”

“Never,” I replied, still plotting a hip check that would get him out of my way.

But, alas, it was not to be. The rows in front of ours were occupied so I couldn’t check him. It wouldn’t be right to hurt a fellow passenger in our private war. He slipped into row 22 and plopped himself into my window seat.

“Get out of my seat,” I said under my breath through my smiling, clenched teeth.

“No,” he said defiantly.

I’d had enough. I hit the flight attendant call button.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

“Get out of my seat and there doesn’t have to be a scene,” I told him.

“Possession is 9/10ths,” he said trying to call my bluff.

The flight attendant approached. I flashed her my sweetest smile.

“I think this gentleman is in my seat,” I said, showing her my boarding pass with 22F clearly displayed.

“Oh…is this your seat?” Steve said innocently. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “Oh…you’re right. I’m 22E on this flight and 22F on the next one,” he lied. He them stood up, shifted his things, and moved out into the aisle. The flight attendant, happy to have avoided conflict, gave us a curt smile and left. I walked past hubby to claim my rightful seat. He followed me in and took the center seat.

“Ha,” I gloated. Triumph!

I lifted the shade on the window and prepared for a peaceful flight. You don’t mess with my window seat. You just don’t. I’m a generous woman. I’ll negotiate on most things. I’ll give you the last bite of my candy bar or my very last fry. I’ll tolerate the three snoozes it takes you on a weekend to decide you’ll just exercise later. I’ll even interrupt my day to let you back into the still-idling car you accidentally locked yourself out of. But, the window seat is sacred. Even if it was overcast all the way to Boston and I didn’t get to see a flipping thing, it’s a matter of principle. The window seat is one of life’s little pleasures. It’s worth doing battle for it. Marriage is full of compromises, and this one is his.

Oh, fine. He can have it on the way home.

Posted on 05/10/201205/10/2012 by Me

What’s The Exact Opposite Of Cats In The Cradle?

I love travel. Although I love my home, if I can fly somewhere every 3 months I am over the moon. Most of the time, we take our boys with us when wanderlust strikes. Tomorrow, though, hubby and I are skipping town for a few days. Literally. A few days. A couple hours before bed tonight, our oldest comes into our room crying because he doesn’t want us to leave. His face is wet. His eyes are red. He’s been suffering in his room quietly until he could stand it no longer. This breaks my heart. It also tells me something. Hubby and I do not leave our sons often enough.

I know that he’s eleven and that in just a few short years he’ll be smiling as he slams the door behind us when we leave, so I should treasure his hysterical tears now. But, I can’t. They make me feel like we’re not doing enough to prepare him. I love my sons, but I do not want them living in my basement and delivering pizzas for a living. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just don’t want them doing it from my basement. They’re more than welcome to pursue that life path for themselves from a crummy, garden level apartment that they finance themselves. No judgments from me. Make no mistake about it, though, as much as I love my sons to infinity and beyond, I want them to leave me someday the way they are meant to. I want them to grow up and have their own adventures. They can miss me, but they’ll have to leave me to make that happen.

We gave Joe tons of hugs and told him that we trust him. We told him that we’ll miss him oodles and will FaceTime with him every day. We told him that he’s brave and strong and that he’s got this. We told him that parents need time together alone as a couple so they can stay married. We told him that his little brother would protect and care for him. I don’t think it made much of a difference, but he did finally fall asleep. I know that someday he will walk out our front door, his car all packed for college, and when he drives away I will cry just like he did tonight. I’m sure it will be my ugliest cry ever. But, there’s a part of me that will be so glad to take that burden of sadness away from him. I can handle it. I think.

Posted on 04/10/2012 by Me 3

Live Now and Zen

Because even when it seems like a gag gift, the present is still a gift