heads or tails

heads = McCain   tails = Obama

I hope it doesn’t come down to that but it just might. I’ve been following the political stuff even though it angers me up quite a bit. I suggest we put into the Oath of Office “I hereby swear to use to follow the ‘less words and more action’ policy.”

All of the sudden my elected state officials are getting friendly and notifying me of their progress in an attempt to buy my vote. It backfires, the one who wastes the most money sending me crap in my mail is the least likely to get my vote.

My real problem lies in the highest office. I just have no preference. Please don’t reply to tell me all about Ron Paul. My neighbor beat you to it and she even offered me a sign for my yard.  I told her that seeing her’s every day is enough for me. 

I’d lean to either side if one of them could show me a sense of humor. I think a position of power like that requires a healthy sense of humor. There are too many times where you have to laugh or you’ll get nutty. Kind of like parenting. There were times when the only thing I could do was crack bad jokes and laugh at life. The President should have the ability to laugh at fate. If you get too uptight and stressed it isn’t good for your innards.  I don’t care who the President’s wife is. I don’t care if he’s a dog person, a cat person, or a giraffe person.

I’d prefer he be a Trekkie and a reader.  I hope he did screw up as a kid. If he didn’t, I’d be worried. I don’t care who his folks are, unless his name cannot be seperated from them on the big stuff. WE don’t need a puppet. Puppets are scary.

His choice of music doesn’t matter, what college he attended doesn’t matter, I would like him to believe in God though. But not in a holier than thou way. I’ll admit that having served in any of our forces would be good in my view, it isn’t necessary to get my vote. You’d be less likely to send our soldiers into battle if you know how horrible war really is.  I don’t care about the President’s personal views, as long as he can seperate Presidential decisions from them. If he can’t do that then I don’t want him. When someone is elected to speak for all of us then they have to put their personal opinions aside. As far as I’m considered when they run for office they make that choice.

I’m smart enough to know that no one speaks for the candidate but the candidate. Not his pastor, not his neighbor, not his kin.  I know it’s all one big production number with tour buses and staff numbering the hundreds.  The amount of money spent is disgusting. What a waste.

Imagine the schools we could repair and build. We could make sure every child is given supplies, not just a few. Every child. We could bring back school nurses and art class. We could put that money into our future. And we could give some to our present by making health care easier to get. We could supply our elderly with medical programs and housing to make sure they end their days with some amount of dignity. We could take care of our Veterans and honor them properly.  No matter how we feel about war, those who serve this country should be treated with respect.

 

I think it’s great that Obama has 266 million raised and McCain has 93 million raised but imagine what we could do with 359 million.

That’s why I don’t know who I’ll vote for. They seem too alike for me. Neither one is showing me that he takes us regular folk seriously. I will keep reading and watching and hoping one will stand out to me. We’re supposed to make educated votes, my Father taught us that. I watch/read politcal news daily. I break it up with regular doses of the Daily Show. Colbert gets on my nerves so I bail after The Word. I think that I’m getting my politics in a well rounded way. I just wish I had some idea who I want to vote for.  If neither starts shining,  I’ll bring a quarter and call head = McCain  tails = Obama …I just won’t tell my Father.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

free to a good home

y’know…. pretty soon I’m putting up a ‘free to a good home’ sign and giving my two away. Can I give away a twenty four year old? 

We have a few family jokes. Most every family has them. Things none of us will ever live down and the kinfolk enjoy bringing up?  Mine happened last night.  I made a ham. Pretty exciting huh?

The thing is, every time I make a ham one of my two smart asses asks me “did you take the paper off” and we all (them) have a good laugh at Mom’s expense. The hilarity ensues.

I do something one time and they never let me live it down but if I mention one of their past “oops” they get all pissy in an embarassed but pleased kind of way.

A few years back (we think fifteen) I bought a huge ham and made an entire meal around it. I scalloped potatoes, butter sauced the beans, and I  made a homemade cherry bourbon glaze and slow cooked the ham while basting it every twenty minutes. It was beautiful. The glaze was thick and evenly applied, it was tv worthy. 

And then I pulled out the electric knife and dug in. It was like taking a chainsaw to concrete. I got a carving knife and sharpened it. Cut into it and gave it a yank and all that glaze I lovingly applied came off in one fell swoop. I never took the paper off.  Poor nekkid ham   My kids thought it was the funniest thing ever, Mom screwed up. Kids love to see us screw up, makes them feel better about their own mess ups.

I talk a lot about my sons. That’s because being a Mom is the best thing I’ve ever done. I loved it. They say you shouldn’t make your kids your world but I disagree. I think there’s a balance but that your kids should be the center of your life. You just need to find the balance that works.  Being a solo parent I did double duty at times but it also is why we’re so close. We’re in between Mother’s Day and Father’s day and I think it’s where I belong. 

And that’s also why my family has these little jokes and pokes. It was my turn to be the pinata yesterday. 

The Boy was the one to say it. Strange because he hates ham and it’s usually his brother who brings up the year of the nekkid ham.  I laughed and told him his brother’d be proud. It made me feel all warm and Mommishy, he doesn’t need to know that though. He’ll call me emotional and offer me a midol. He’s a funny kid.

Then a few minutes ago the big one is foraging for food and says “hey Mom is it safe to eat this ham or do I have to worry about paper cuts?”

He’s funny too and I’m still laughing.

I love that we were close enough to have these little things that let the others know they’re loved. I think it’s important to notice the little things like this and to savor them. Whether it’s remembering Mom’s ham mistake or the time the Boy had his shirt on inside out in his school picture or Burg’s great hair color experiment that brought to mind Ronald MacDonald… we’ll always tease each other over things like that but it’s because we love each other. 

 

when’s the Bad Mother Day?

and does Hallmark sell cards for it?

 

I hate Mother’s Day. I wasn’t raised by a sit-com Mom.  My Mom didn’t make me cookies and teach me how to shave my legs.  We didn’t have Mother/Daughter shopping trips or days at the hairdressers.  A really good Mother’s Day was one where she wasn’t there. 

Please understand that I’m talking about the Mom I had then, not the one I have now. Two seperate people.  Just in the same body. Untreated mental illness is hell. Not just for the person with it, also for their families.  The Mother I have now isn’t the one I had then but there’s still enough of the old one in her for me to keep my distance. The only reason I can come to grips with it is my faith in God tells me I have to let it go. I won’t forget and trust me…there are no notes of love sent from me to her.  God’s okay with that, he tells me to turn the other cheek and I do, by letting it go. God doesn’t expect me to place my turned cheek within kicking range and I don’t.

I refuse to celebrate what she wasn’t. Which is why I hate Mother’s Day. Every store front in the mall is a guilt trip for those of us who don’t love good old Mom. We cringe when asked what we’ve gotten her. I’ve learned to say “just the usual” and smile.  I’ve learned to see the humor in it all but then today hits.  It kind of makes Mother’s day a down day when you know the Mother you have isn’t worth the price of a stamp.  I pretty sure my Brother puts my name on the card but no one’s fooled.

I know I’m not the only person out there who views Mother’s Day from jaded eyes.  We’re not alone, there’re quite a few who don’t reach for the phone or send Mom a dozen flowers and a ‘World’s Greatest Mom’ t-shirt.  Mother’s Day has always been iffy for me.

But I’m lucky in a sense, maybe I don’t celebrate my Mother but my children celebrate me. That’s pretty cool This year I have the inside scoop on my gifts too. I just happened to be in Barnes & Noble with my sons and we pretended I didn’t pick out two books I really want and leave then sitting on a table. If they picked them up, well maybe they wanted to read them?  One’s being reserved for my plane trip, the other’s fair game (odds are I’ll be reading it by 9pm). Then we pretended they weren’t standing in line behind me holding said books. I, of course, had to buy a tide me over until Mother’s Day book. It’s cruel and inhuman to let me go in a book store and not buy a book. 

I am pretty jazzed about the books but the trip to the mall was really my gift. The three of us, and Katie, joking, talking.. it was wonderful. It may not happen again so I’m savoring it still. I’m a lucky woman and a blessed Mom.  It balances today out a little.

  

an off shoot:

one of the best Mother’s Day’s gifts I’ve ever gotten was the first year I was a solo Mom to Burg. I got flowers and I had no idea who’d sent them.  Then I read the card, which I still have, and it was from my then soon to be ex mother-in-law. She told me that I would always have a special place in their family because I was Burg’s Mother. She said thank you for bringing him into the world for them to love.

In August I’m going to become a Grandmother to a Granddaughter. I took a leaf from my exMother-in-law’s book and got Katie a gift and a card for the Mother-to-be. She will always have a special place in our family for bringing her daughter into the world for us to love.

Garth Brooks could write a song about it

Sometimes I like to get up a little early on a Sunday. It’s the best morning to be out on the deck. This morning I dodged the rain and took my coffee out. My batteries needed a recharge. A cool morning, a cup of hot coffee, and a little quiet time jump starts my perspective.

On Sunday mornings it’s quiet. No one’s rushing off to work or school. My neighborhood has a pattern. Like a disfunctional orchestra. The music starts with the guy in the dead guy house. That’s what my children called it. It’s across the street and a little to the right. When we moved in here the family living there moved out. It turns out that the family moving out was my older son’s HS girlfriend’s but that’s just useless trivia. The man who moved in commited suicide his first Christmas there and that’s how it got it’s name. 

His cousin moved in that next Spring but sold it last year to the new people. The size of their dog’s mouths kept me from heading over, with a bundt cake, to introduce myself so they’ve remained ”the new people” to me. He starts his truck (or motorcycle depending on the weather) at exactly 6:10 am every morning Monday through Saturday.

The bodybuilder puts his dogs out at 6:15am, they bark along.  Then he heads out, his wife right behind him, their son is out calling for the dogs by 7. That’s when the school buses start rumbling along squealing their brakes as they stop along my road. The whining begins next door to me around 8am and it echos as the other kids head out to wait for their buses. Gargy is the worst one, that child’s always unhappy about something.

Sundays are different. No everyday noises. It wasn’t in my plans to be out on the deck this morning but I woke up early and it just felt like the thing to do.  It’s pretty out on my deck in the early morning. Because we’ve had rain the air was fresh and the cool nights we’ve been getting made it easier to breathe.  It smells like Spring and the different shades of green are so vivid. I love this time of year.

I do my best talking to God out on the deck. Usually on Sunday mornings. It’s like my private worship service. My choir the birds, my altar the sky.  My faith is always in me but sometimes an hour on the deck keeps it healthy.

I’ve been talking a lot, with the person I talk to when I talk about things, about our changing lives. My life echos his right now but in a different way. The first time my older son left home it wasn’t happy. It was angry and hurt filled and broke my heart a little. Sometimes we have to hold our ground with our children even though inside we’re falling apart over it. I’m lucky, circumstance brought him back home to live for these past few months and we’re getting a mulligan. He’s moving out, again, in August and I know he won’t be back. I’m glad and grateful to God for giving us another chance to mend our fences. We’re better than we were and while his life now includes future marriage and child, our mother son bond is as close as it needs to be. This time will be different.

I thought about that this morning.

And I thought about Mrs. Robin. She was on the fence chirping hello. I don’t know how long Robins live and I’m too lazy to look it up, I do know Mrs Robin’s been around my yard for years.  I know it’s her by a scar on her breast. She’s raised at least  twenty babies since we met. One year she shared it with us by building her nest right outside my kitchen window.  That year she raised four babies and the boys and I watched them go from eggs to nestlings to the sky.

I guess that’s what I’m doing with my sons, I’m watching them go from my nest to the sky.  I’m not ready for them to go but I want them to. Mrs Robin has it right. She knows when it’s time for her to let her babies test their wings and if they aren’t ready she brings them back into the nest until they are. I don’t know how she knows, instinct I guess. 

I feel good about my Burg leaving. I’m not sure I’m ready but I know he is. This time when he tries his wings I think he’ll find them to be strong and ready to let him soar. And like Mrs Robin I guess I just have to sit and watch him go.  I think God wanted me to remember that.  I hope I can keep it in mind when he goes because that will be a rough day for me and even if he’s ready…I’m not.