Meeting the In-laws - 1992

Yup, melancholy.  One day I will write about what happened after I took that college tree down and moved back home.  It involves Christmas with the family, boring plans for New Year's, an unexpected visitor, Trent's party, and meeting Jay.  And the next Christmas, Jay and I were getting married.

Twenty Years Ago today, I was meeting my in-laws for the first time.  They lived thousands of miles away, and flew in for our wedding.  I had talked to them on the phone a few times, and I was learning more about them.  They were so nice, I couldn't help but to like them.  Besides, they were Jay's parents.  Anyone who had raised such an amazing son would have to be pretty amazing themselves.

One little detail worried me, however.  On the phone, Jays' dad had said that he would be expecting a big hug from his daughter-in-law to  be at the airport.  And he meant a BIG hug.  My family was not physically demonstrative.  I didn't really hug my brothers or my own parents.  How could I be expected to be part of a bear hug with a grown man I didn't really know?  I was slightly freaked out, but I managed to cooperate, and it made him happy.  That's the important part.  I did want him to feel loved and welcomed.  My first father-in-law passed away about two years ago, and I still miss him.  I'm glad I gave him the uncomfortable hug.

After picking them up at the airport, we went to a bridal shower that my aunts had planned for me.  I remember that it was at Aunt Beverly's sweet house, and that, although I was embarrassed to be the center of attention, I felt very loved.  I also loved that Jay picked me up from the shower (so they could all meet him), and took me home.  We had to park somewhere under the full moon so he could kiss all the bows out of my hair.

Happy memories, and a little melancholy.  I have a smile on, though, and it feels warm.

When I Take the Tree Down - 21 Years Ago

I was musing over moving Alec back home, and thinking that I could be starting on the path to a very melancholy holiday.  21 years ago, I was staying in my little off-campus apartment with five other girls.  At the end of the semester, they all caught rides home for Christmas.  I remained for a few days, alone.

I had finished my two-year Associate's Degree in a year and a half (thanks to some high school AP classes), and I was moving back home.  There were no graduation ceremonies held in December - no pomp or recognition.   Just me by myself for a few days, while I waited for my folks to make the drive to collect me and my stuff.

My first year at college, we found - of all things - a tumbleweed rolling across campus.  We dragged it to our dorm and hung it in the corner of the living room.  For Christmas, we festooned it with cut-paper snowflakes and maybe some tinsel.  The second year, we girls pooled our money and bought a real tree.  It was so comforting to have a bit of homey Christmas tradition in our drab apartment.  The local old folks home was collecting decorated Christmas trees from the college kids, so it went to a good use when we went home.

But that last night, alone with my thoughts and our tree, I got waves of blue.  I had just heard Michael McLean's Forgotten Carols, and had fallen in love with it.  One song in particular, I Cry the Day I Take the Tree Down, was stuck in my head.  Just close your eyes and listen - doesn't it make you feel melancholy?

My time at the small, friendly college was over, and I would be transferring to the big university near my home.  I knew I'd feel lost and have a hard time fitting in.  I've never been blessed with an abundance of social graces.  I was already missing my friends and the familiar places I had grown to love.  I was a bit scared, too.  I didn't know how I'd find my way around, or if I'd make any friends.

Yeah, I remember that feeling well.  But I didn't know what was around the corner.  Before the next semester would even start, I would meet the amazing man who would ask me to marry him.

I didn't know, and in my dismal state, I couldn't even guess that anything good was coming.  Isn't that how it goes sometimes?

21 Years Ago

I'm sitting at a desk in a college dorm.  Haven't done this for a while.  I didn't even have a computer when I was in college.  Yes, they were invented then.  We just had to use the computer lab with everyone else.  It was mostly empty in the mornings - jammed at night and at the end of the semester.

I'm bringing Alec home.  He's gone to a semester of college, and now he is coming home.  It reminds me so much of when I left college at Christmastime - and all my friends were staying there.  It was sad, and I remember it vividly.

Even though he might not understand that I understand, I do.

Welcome home, buddy.  Glad to have you, but sad you leave.

Pretty Mom

No, I'm not being vain.  You should see my type here in my sweats, with no makeup on, and dirty hair.  I'm still pretty, just so you know.  God made us that way.

But I wanted to show you a couple of pictures that I finally got of my pretty mother.

Dad says she is "a looker."  I love her smile, and her beautiful skin.  I wonder if I could get my hair to do that?  :-)  She was in college, I think getting ready to go live with her brother in Germany when this photo was taken.  And I think I've seen that brooch lately (like in the past 10 years).  Gonna have to go looking for it.

Don't know how old she was in this picture, but I recognize the bangs.  Mom always cut mine like this throughout my elementary school years.

Here is her high school graduation picture, where all the girls had to wear the same black drape top, and the pearl necklace.  I think she's just gorgeous.

This is my dad's favorite shot of her.  It was taken in a friend's backyard when they were dating.  I believe it wasn't long after this that they were engaged.  She rocks the headband.  I am jealous of the ruffled three-quarter sleeves.  And how fun are the red shoes?

This is only two years ago.  Same great smile.  I'm glad to see my mother's smile again.  Love you, Pretty Mom!

Oil Spill

I said something about the stomach flu we had last weekend.  I have to add another part to that story.

After the second or third bout of child retching (I won't dwell on that part, I promise!), I remembered the essential oils Trent had recently picked up at a trade show.  His mom and a bunch of other people I know just swear by them, so I thought I'd give them a try.

Little Angel was so miserable, and her "tummy was so owie."  I looked at the tiny vials of essential oils, sqinting to read the microscopic print in the dim light.  I found two that were labeled for "disgestion" and "nausea."  I took off the tops, carefully measured about three drops into my hand, and recapped the bottles.  I had heard that the oils are potent, so I was careful to just take a drop or two of each.

Angel lay on the floor, and I started rubbing the oils into her belly.  At first, she liked it and calmed down.  She said the rubbing felt nice.

But soon she started to cry, and then scream.  The skin on her abdomen darkened to pink... and bright red.

Water doesn't wash off oil, just so you know.  Neither do baby wipes.  The poor girl had to have a full-blown bath in the middle of the night to soap the oil off her poor skin.  It took a while, but we got the poor sick girl cleaned up, dried off, warmed up, and tucked in.

I learned my lesson.  Don't mess with stuff you know nothing about.

Now I know that you have to add the oils to another oil to dilute them before you rub it on your skin.  And some oils are stronger and more irritating than others.

I thought about my own inadequacies as a mother as I laid in bed that night.  I sure make a lot of mistakes.  They haven't yet proven to be fatal, but I'm sure good at making people uncomfortable sometimes.  I'm sorry, little Angel.  My stinging hands were nothing compared to the soft skin of your tummy.

But didn't the cinnamon smell nice?

Mother as Sports Spectator

I went to Ben's basketball game tonight.  I mean, WE went to his game.  I, as a lone adult, took six children to a basketball game.  And that was right after we went to the Scout Court of Honor where Chris got the last merit badge he needs to get the last rank he needs before he can work on his Eagle.  It's been a busy night.

It's hard for me to go to my kids' games.  I love going to support them, and I like watching basketball, but when this is my boy, things get personal.  Don't know how to be calm during a game.

So tell me... how do you watch your child's sports game and remain supportive and model good sportsmanship when THEY are messing up MY flesh and blood?

The short of tonight's game is that Ben's team lost in overtime.  But the scorekeepers, more than once during the regular game, got distracted by their ipods (we were sitting behind them), and gave points to the wrong team.  David was good about bringing the mistake to their attention, and they usually fixed it.  But one basket (just a couple of minutes before regulation time ended) was not scored - even when we commented on it - and that sent the game into a tie and overtime.  Otherwise, our team would have won.  My boy would have won.

And it's not always as obvious a problem as this was.  It might be a coach who won't play my kid.  Or someone who had a chip on their shoulder.  Or another player who is verbally abusive.  Or bad referees.  Or a kid on the opposing team who puts more shoulder or hit into my child than is warranted.  We all run into these at one time or another.

Do I complain to the athletic center about their distracted teenaged scorekeepers?  Do I ask to see the paper score sheet?  Do I smile and remind my boys that life rolls like that sometimes, and we need to remember that it's just a game?  Our children look to our actions to learn how to respond to life's curveballs.

Maybe next time I'll just keep score myself.  Then I'll know that the score was 33 to 35 before Brad's shot, which should have brought the score to 33 to 37 before the other team's final score... but didn't.

Yeah, right.  Like I can do that while I wrangle six kids on the bleachers.  <sigh>

My Masterpiece

Just in case you wanted to see the results of my recent dabbling in artistic automobile design...

The door does seal, so no water will leak in.  That's the good part.

The bad parts are that it doesn't engage the "turn off the overhead light" button.  Oh, and it won't lock.  Drat.  Now how will I lock the car so no one steals it?