A Bunch of Kids Made Me Cry…

Posted on June 11, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note to new readers:  Our family took in two foreign exchange students this year. Denmark is a 17 yr old girl. China is a 16 yr old boy. The U.S. is our 15 yr old son (Little Man). Israel, when home, is our 22 yr old daughter (Principessa), and Canada our 19 yr old son (Middle Man). I am The Secretary General. Smart Guy is Dad. Together, we are the U.N.: a home where laughs come daily, chaos reigns and borders fall easily, as we live like a real family.  Know that no foreigners were hurt in the making of this blog post or in the incidents cited. All parties were aware that their comments were being noted, and pictures were used with permission, and assistance in editing for privacy. That said…

Seems I’m having some trouble keeping up with these posts, as I zoom in warp speed toward the end of the school year: Saying goodbye to Denmark and China, getting ready for a 3 week trip, getting the manuscript ready for publishing, summer stuff… But it was a choir concert this past week, that just about brought me down.

This week we went to Denmark’s final Choir concert at the high school. This concert is special each year because the choir director allows any Senior to perform a solo, if they choose to, and then the choir performs a few songs as well. We all went, as I felt it was important for the family to support Denmark in something that she loves. China and Little Man enjoyed some of it, but mostly were two teen boys who had to go to a concert. I spent much of the night tearing up and looking like a fool, to the teenager next to me, who kept adjusting her seat and eyeing me curiously.

I could just hear her: “Seven Nation Army makes her cry? Ok I get I’ll Follow You Into The Dark, but Bohemian Rhapsody? What’s with this lady? Wish I’d sat across the room.” She squirmed in her seat and shot side glances at me the whole evening.  Unfortunately for her she was stuck next to the crazy ass woman who was bouncing back and forth in her mind to her own high school days, the moment a week from now when I’ll have to say goodbye to my girl Denmark, and the painfully off key notes that some were singing.  If you are reading this and your child sang in this concert, I don’t mean them of course. It was some of the other kids that were really, really not in tune… singing songs I’ve previously liked. Painful!  Yet even then, how could I not feel some compassion and emotion for the fact that most of them were singing their last song at their high school, standing before their peers and families.  It would have been an emotional night… even if my brain hadn’t been messing with me.

I have long believed that a significant reason so many parents struggle through the high school years is because it brings up so many old memories and feelings for us. It’s very hard, when raising teens, not to reflect back on the days you spent in those tricky spaces, where you’re in or you’re out or you simply blend into the walls; where a prom dress is a Major decision, a slow dance is love and your friends are your world… in all its splendor or its crumbling decay.

As I watched those kids sing, one girl became the queen of our class who everyone cheered for and we all envied, but who now lives much like the rest of us and faces age in the mirror each morning just as we all do. While we guessed at who might be gay, I watched with interest as a boy in the audience handed his love a bouquet of flowers and held him tenderly, after the concert.  Another boy reminded me of the Caf B boy who never really noticed me then but is a friend now. I recognized the awkward kids who may not fit in now, but I imagine will find their grooves and show up at their twentieth reunion shining.   Others simply brought back the struggles and joys that come with facing graduation and leaving the place where you’ve grown up.  And then, each time I looked at Denmark, my heart swelled and my eyes filled. It was a potent night.

Even if I take Denmark out of the equation, I am always amazed to see that many high school kids in one space. I can’t help but look around and take it all in, as my mind makes connections to faces from my own past, memories that correlate. Much has changed, but just as much hasn’t. It’s easy to see which kids are especially shiny, and which ones blend in or struggle to find their place. Without intending to, my mind automatically goes to a place where comparisons arise and I imagine I know more than I actually do. It moves me to watch them and remember the angst I often felt, as well as the enormous highs. Trying to do well in school, the crushes and all-absorbing first love,  the school plays and track meets, the floats, Homecomings, more crushes (rarely reciprocated)… I was sure that Janis Ian wrote “At 17” just for me. These things consumed me as I tried balancing all of that against a crazy home life.  My Senior year was a tug-of-war: waiting to break free and terrified to leave.

So as I watched these kids step up to the mic, my eyes welled up and I listened to what they chose to sing, guessing that each selection was a message in a bottle to those of us listening. I was impressed that each of them had the courage to stand before us and sing their hearts out. There were not many silly songs sung. Most seemed chosen for reasons that I might only guess at, but seemed significant, meaningful to them. I beamed for them and wished them silent blessings on the next phase, when they can spread their wings and recreate or be whoever they want.

Watching Denmark sing was extra special as this is what she loves most, how she often identifies herself: a singer. She has a wonderful voice that is too often muted by Little Man’s unreasonable demands that we all not sing along to songs. Having come from a very musical home in Denmark, this has no doubt been one of the big challenges for her this year. So, to see her stand up there and belt out the songs- I could clearly hear her voice, distinct from the others- was a joyful thing.  Everything in me swelled with pride and my cheeks hurt from smiling.  Each time Denmark looked out and our eyes met, we both grinned bigger and I sent her a quiet, mother’s hug and kiss.  I knew that her own head was bouncing around the walls of the giant cafeteria where we all sat, and out to her home in Denmark, and then back again to her friends and peers beside her.  At the end, she lost it completely and was hugging all of her musical friends and crying for all the world, the beginning of this difficult goodbye. I grabbed her for a long hug and had a quick taste of how hard it will be this Friday, when it’s for real.

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Posted in Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Foreign exchange students, Freshly Pressed, getting published, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Music, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Teens, The U.N., travel, Women, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

The Middle: Carrying Rocks… And My Brother… (Conversation Continued)

Posted on June 6, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Monday night I posted a fairly significant rant about (simply) kids today, parental involvement and the public schools (read here). I wrote it in response to several events recently that have rattled me. Honestly, nothing new had happened. Parties with alcohol, and kids confessing while others have their parents bail them out, have been happening for as long as my kids have been in high school. Each time, I am still shocked. Shocked that parents would step forward and lie, to save their kids the unpleasant consequences that accompany those actions. I have been shocked that the kids who are honest and fess up, are punished while kids who everyone knows are lying get off free. Shocked that others, myself included, talk about this and complain…But it continues.

I am frustrated by talking in class that often makes for a chaotic and disruptive learning environment for kids who want to study or, who have trouble focusing and need some quiet.  I am frustrated by bad teachers who have tenure, and good teachers who don’t have support (financial/parental/district/etc) in huge classes where things are not the way they were when I was walking ten miles to school… in the snow… uphill.  I know that every generation says that about the younger generation, and I am not the only one making that observation. A friend recently shared some writing with me, that was clever and funny and addressed these very same things, albeit from a different angle. I hear it at lunches with friends. I hear it when talking to teachers. I’ve vented here before.

I was really impressed with the feedback that came from the Monday post. I ask for comments every post. It’s one way that I can see what hits a mark and what doesn’t. Comments and Likes help my blog and my ratings, and that is certainly part of why I do this. I want to be writing, and building a readership is critical to that. So each time one of you hits Like (on my blog vs my Facebook page) or leaves a comment, it helps me toward that goal. But, more importantly, it tells me what touched a nerve.  I get to connect with the readership I’m working to build. So, to read so many thoughtful comments was really exciting!  They comments that were left were sharp, insightful and powerful.  For those of you who contacted me to say that you can’t figure out how to comment, I believe you need to sign in with WordPress to be a “comment subscriber,” and then you’re good to go. However, I just changed some of my settings, so it may be easier now.  I don’t see the blog the way you do, so this is tricky for me, but I know I have had to register (one time) to comment on other blogs.

I was blown away to hear from so many teachers, educators, administrators and parents, sharing their own experiences and lessons learned.  Frankly, I thought there would be more dissension.  There are certainly people out there who might have read my post as condescending and judgmental. As much as I’d like to live in a fairly gray zone, generally believing that there’s validity to most sides of an issue, there are some times when I’m like the proverbial bull in the china store, and I rub people the wrong way. I know that and work on it… but I yam whats I yam.

<– A favorite pin I have

One parent pointed out that her kids talk at home about these things, something I am also so grateful to share with my kids. To get my kids’ feedback and thoughts on these things is critical. I want to know what is happening in their worlds, and how they view and experience it.  That open line of communication is critical.  If you read through the comments, you read the brilliant quote shared by an old friend, who is an educator and Principal back east. She shared her frustrations with parents who complain on Facebook that their kids are not treated fairly and who threaten to sue. Sue!  She puts up posters that read:  “You have a problem? Face it, don’t facebook it!”  Love it. Bravo!  So thank you to those who jumped into support my thoughts and my writing, and those who have been continuous support!  I hope to see the dialogue continue.

Posted in Blog, Blogging, blogs, Daily Observations, getting published, Honest observations on many things, how blogs work, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Teens, Women, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ten Miles in the Snow… Uphill… Both Ways…Barefoot.

Posted on June 4, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

No photos, no extras. Just my hot air.

This is bound to be one of those “back when I was a kid” rants, and it’s bound to offend someone. I admit, it’s a rant. And, I fully accept that to younger readers it could be construed as one of those lectures, where it seems I’m saying things were better way back when… That we were better, that you are worse. It may seem like I’m remembering through the veil of age and potentially distorted memories. I’ll give you youngins’ that point. That’s not the case. I accept that some things are better now, and that we did things that were not perfect either. The rest however is up for debate. So, if you finish this post and have some thoughts, log in and share them on the WordPress site or the Tales from the Motherland Facebook page. I’d be really interested to hear what others have to say. Surely I’ll ruffle some feathers, but it’s my dime.  You can comment for free.

Today I stopped by the high school to drop something off for my son. Don’t get me started on the fact that my mother never dropped things off for me. If I forgot them, I dealt with the consequences. She was working, and busy, and tired… and she didn’t believe it was her job to bail us out of those kinds of things. That right there, is the jumping off point. This idea: that we as parents are there to help our kids out (read bail them out in many instances) is an interesting topic amongst friends and I. What is too much? What is their stuff and what is ours? What do our kids learn from being held accountable? And when is being held accountable a difficult line to navigate… as parents and as kids? Where should the line be drawn?

My kids are 22, 20 and 15 now. The two exchange students we’ve had this entire school year are 16 and 17, and definitely figure into this topic. Almost as soon as they arrived here, I added them to my list of things I need to keep track of. They are not things of course, but their things. Their homework assignments, things they forget at home, or forget to do, or things they need taken care of, appointments they need to make, stuff they want or need. It all goes on that list. The list is very long. Talking to my friends, my list is longer than some and shorter than others, but I have yet to meet a parent without a list of other people’s things they keep track of.

Anyway, I was at the high school and stopped into the bathroom near the cafeteria. As I entered I heard loud chatter and laughing, kids fooling around. I wondered what was happening, as it was so loud and not lunch time. Glancing in, it was clearly a study session- one of several happening during testing this week. They were quite boisterous (There!  An old lady phrase, if I ever turned one), but there’s nothing odd about that. However, within a second of walking in and hearing the noise there was a huge crashing sound and the distinct sound of breaking glass… big glass. A cacophony of laughter, “woahs!” and other exclamations followed. I know too many kids at the school; I didn’t want to stick my head in there. I figured the laughter implied that no one was hurt, but continued on to the bathroom thinking that I should maybe call the office and suggest that an adult should be present. Instead, when I came back out and paused near the doors to see if all was ok, a teacher was pushing a large broom, cleaning up glass and mess. Again, I continued on because an adult present made it clear that I didn’t need to get involved.

However, as I walked away the image stuck in my head. What had been going on that would have gotten so out of hand that broken glass was the outcome and sweeping was necessary? And, how do things get that out of hand in a study period with a teacher present? Accidents happen of course, but the loud chatter and chaos that I heard just a beat before the very loud crash implies that there was more going on. The sound was distinctly out of control… and there is my point: Out of control, and what are the limits that have changed and allowed so much out of control?

On several occasions over the past few years my kids have reported situations at school that truly rattle me. Both of our exchange students have also noted that there is so much talking in class- while the teacher is talking or studying is going on- that they can barely focus. Little Man finds it nearly impossible to work in some of his classes, focus already a challenge for him. Cell phones are used, texting and even answering calls occasionally, and each of the kids has said that it is not uncommon for cell phones to ring, even though they ares suppose to be off during class. In a recent conversation with a few of the teachers, the ones in the conversation noted that parents have complained when they can’t reach their kids. Teachers feel stuck when it comes to cell phones, they’ve shared.  They also feel less able to assert control over their classes. Gone are the days when they can easily put things in order by asking a student to repeat aloud what they just whispered to a friend, or by reading a passed note to the class. That is invasion of privacy.

When we were in school, we certainly passed notes and whispered to our friends. However, we went to enormous lengths to not get caught. We kept it very quiet. We did not actively chat with friends, and those who did were labeled trouble and asked to sit in the hall. As the chatter box I have always been, I spent a few times in the hall for getting caught whispering a quick comment to a friend. It would not have occurred to me to blatantly talk out loud. Yet, over and over I hear from kids that their classes are often loud and disruptive. What are teachers suppose to do about this when some parents complain that their kids were embarrassed or treated badly, if teachers condemn this behavior publicly- Say, to the class they are disrupting? How frustrating it must be for teachers and administrators today when so much of their ability to run the business they are in, is thwarted by kids who don’t respect the rules and parents who support their disrespect.

Ok, hold it. I am very aware that this does not represent all kids or all parents in our school or in all other schools. There are still parents who raise their kids to be respectful in class and mindful of others who need to study. There are lots of parents who do not think that a cell phone is a limitless entitlement, but a privilege that should be used when it’s needed, not when it’s wanted. Limits. There are plenty of kids and parents who still understand what that means… But there are plenty who do not.

On too many occasions I have seen parents provide false alibis for kids who are caught at parties that had alcohol (forbidden in our school district and in many others), knowing full well that their kids were in fact guilty. Regardless of whether I agree with the policy (which I am very skeptical of), the rules are the rules. My mother would have dragged me to the office before she would ever come in and lie for me. Period. Punishments were firm and harsh and there was little concern for whether I might miss a dance, an important meet or something I wanted. If you were caught, you were punished. With some parents making sure their kids aren’t punished, while others allow their kids to face the natural consequences of their actions, the balance is entirely disrupted.  Kids who fess up are punished, while those who lie are not. It’s not fair to the kids who do the right thing and sit out, nor the kids who do the wrong thing and participate… or the administrators and teachers who have to wade through the crap that surrounds both sides.

I’ve heard all of the various sides, as my friends and other parents discuss the latest happening, or events. I’ve been ’round and ’round about why some kids get bailed out and other don’t and which is right. I get it: seeing a kid miss a State athletic event, or an important dance, or even graduation is a very big deal. But, shouldn’t that be weighed when kids are choosing to do things that they know are wrong? When they’re foolish enough to arrogantly post images on Facebook? When they admit their guilt to anyone they think will find it cool? Then, what are administrators and teachers suppose to do with that, when parents step up to provide false alibis? How do coaches look honest kids in the face and bench them, then cheer on kids they know cheated? Is it the rules that need to change or the attitude of a culture that feels we need to bail our kids out of so many things?

This is not something I’ve been spared. I can say that on this topic I can truly put my money where my mouth is. My kids have been held accountable. There has been no bailing for real offenses. I’m guilty of delivering far too many forgotten assignments, lunches, things that they could have lived without… or could have stayed after to make up, because they did not prepare for a given day. I’ve been guilty of cowing on occasion to kids who have behaved badly, to avoid more conflict. Overall however, I’ve stood my ground.  They have paid for damage to egged houses, and apologized face to face.  They have lost driving privileges for months, and been grounded for things that they should not have done.  And I feel lucky that none of the offenses saw us facing the decision regarding whether to bail them out of a much bigger thing. Would I have been so resolved if there had been a serious loss at stake? I’m grateful I wasn’t tested… that far. There was plenty of testing, and plenty of towing the line, by kids and parents in our home. It was not easy. But, I stand by my rant here. I believe that you face the consequences of your own actions, and you grow. Whatever age you are, whatever stage of life.

As I watched this teacher sweep the mess up today, his face was solemn and unhappy looking. He was not laughing. Yet kids were still laughing and being disruptive around him. Other kids had their heads down and their books open, and seemed to get the weight of whatever had just happened. However, I was most struck by that teacher’s expression. I don’t know the circumstances, what led to the loud crash and breaking glass. Maybe he thought that a little levity was in order. The end of the year is near and maybe he figured that some joking and fun was ok?  Or maybe he’d asked for quiet and had been ignored, until things got out of hand. I really don’t know. I just know that he was cleaning up the mess, and he didn’t look happy about it. The very fact that he was cleaning up the mess struck me. Why him? I had clearly seen kids up on the stage at the front of the room, when things crashed. I had not seen the teacher initially. So, who made the mess? Somehow I doubt it was that teacher.

And so it irked me. And I spent a portion of my day thinking about the whole thing, and the several things that have jumped up and irked me the same way lately, about how it is and how I think it should be… and the huge gulf between those two things, some days. This is how I see it, but feel free to fire back. I’m curious about where others stand on this topic. This is the proverbial tip of the iceberg. There’s many layers to the issues and more than one friend has suggested I not write about it… but again, it’s my dime. It’s my rant.

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Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, blogs, Daily Observations, Foreign exchange students, High School, Honest observations on many things, Life, Musings, My world, Parenting, Teens, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 40 Comments

This Is Not Just a Tail, But a True Love Story

Posted on June 1, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

It’s impossible to explain to those who don’t know a good dog’s love, just how much they can mean to you. How they truly become a part of your family.  In some ways, I’ve been working on this in the gray room for nearly a year, but other losses and other wonders got in the way and there it sat… Now, at the two year anniversary of Callie’s passing, I wanted to pay tribute to our beautiful girl who brought so much joy to our lives and taught me so many important lessons.  Ironically, I started this story before I heard the sad news that two friends lost their beloved dogs this week. I wanted to finish and post this anyway… but it’s dedicated to the Beanies, the Kauais, the Rudys and the Callies, that we’ve all loved and lost.

Callie came into our lives in the summer of 1995, a year before we had Little Man. After seven years on the 20th floor of a high rise in Chicago, we had a home and land in Michigan. The kids had always wanted a dog, but it wasn’t allowed in the city. Now they asked constantly.  Two months after our move, I saw an ad for free puppies and the kids and I drove out to a farm in the Michigan countryside to see them. It was foolish. I had not discussed it with Smart Guy, other than to mention frequently that a dog would be nice, now that we’d moved to 30 acres. Our two small children were desperately persistent, so he’d certainly heard the suggestions. But he had never had a real pet growing up (he’s point out that they had a goldfish for a very long time) and dogs were no where on his list.  He was not in favor of the idea, so I decided to go check out the pups and then discuss it later. Big mistake. Who really looks at puppies and says no, when you’re dying to get one? Smart Guy was less than thrilled when he arrived home from work and Middle Man and Principessa rushed to meet him, carrying their new best friend in their arms.

(Callie and Middle Man playing, just after we got her)

She was a tiny thing then, probably a bit young to be taken from her mom. However, the owners were farm people and mother and pups slept in a doghouse outside. They were not part of their family, but animals who served a purpose. A tornado and crazy storm had hit two weeks earlier and the dogs had all nearly drowned in the torrential rain, we were told as we sat on their lawn. I bit my tongue as I wondered how people could allow their dogs to remain outside in such a storm. Having just moved from the city, we had all been shaken by the storm that caused property damage to nearly everyone we knew.  Thunder and lightening crashing all around, Callie was afraid of thunder throughout her life. That day however, she was the quiet pup in the litter, who crawled in my lap and buried her sweet head. With her huge brown eyes, her soft golden coat and sweet disposition, she was irresistible.

<– Oh how she loved to roll in foul smelling stuff, but oh how she hated to be bathed. All hands on deck!

I chose her name, Callie, while listening to a song by Frente called Accidentally Kelly Street (check out this very amateur video).  I thought they were saying Callie Street. The song was cheerful and was playing one day as our new puppy accompanied me in the car. Her golden hair reminded me of California, where I was born, and I picked the name because it sounded happy and sunny, like her. Most of the time I called her Callie Girl.  The name suited her perfectly, though the kids had initially picked out favorites like Fluffy, Sweetie Pie, Shadow and Chance, from Homeward Bound, which Principessa and Middle Man watched over and over.

Puppies are babies however, and I hadn’t thought that part through. She cried at night for weeks. Oh we tried all the remedies: a ticking clock with a water bottle, items of clothing that had our scent, ignoring her… but that little girl could yelp, and Smart Guy was not doing puppy duty. I was up every night, until she finally settled into a pattern of sleeping with one of the kids. She preferred Middle Man’s bed, and for much of her youth he was her guy.  While I’d initially agreed that she would not have full reign of the house, sleep proved more important and she found her way to one bed or another each night. When there was thunder (a very frequent thing in midwest summers), it was our room that she fled to, and laid on the floor beside me.  (Where to sleep? With a girl who is all flowers and hugs or a boy who pulls you under his blankets and squeezes you close… It was win-win for Callie.)

<– (We learned all about “crating” when she started chewing furniture. But Middle Man made sure she was rarely alone.)

The following summer I delivered Little Man. He arrived a full year after Callie and there was no jealousy; she was devoted to him for the rest of her life.  If he cried, she came and nudged my hand. If he whined, she sad beside him and wagged her tail, imploring him with those wonderful eyes to stop. She chased him as he learned to walk and followed him up and down the stairs when he slipped away from me and stubbornly sought out danger.  She chased Middle Man and Principessa around the massive yard all year. If they set out for an adventure in the 300 acres behind our house, she was their protector, chasing away deer and other dogs that they might encounter. She played on beaches, in fields and in the snow with them, chasing our sleds relentlessly and garnering a few injuries along the way as she leaped like a deer in front of speeding toboggans. Her favorite thing was to be let out of the car at the end of our driveway and race the car the half mile back to the house. To see her white tail raised and leaping over branches and stumps, as she sped back to the house was a wonder I can still see clearly.  She was clocked at 23 mph more times than I can count. (Not one to be left out, Callie squeezed into each and every holiday photo. She’s 1 yr old here)

(A strange over-exposed photo: Callie in our apple orchard, in winter, Michigan. I love this shot of her.)

Callie Girl drove to Cape Cod with me and the kids on several summer trips, and never tired of the car. Her favorite place was in the front passenger seat, beside me.  However she patiently lay in a teenie tiny space in our mini-van when we moved from Michigan to Washington 11 years ago, happy if the kids pet her from time to time and she was allowed out to stretch when possible. Here in Washington, Middle Man immediately set out to teach her to swim in the bay, by tempting her with grilled chicken each time she swam out to him. She learned to love the water and would fetch anything we threw in the local lakes or ocean.  She was a champion frisbee catcher, literally, having won a amateur dog competition with Smart Guy, after we moved here. Callie grew on Smart Guy and he often took her running often, though Luke is really his main squeeze dog. Anyone who knew her well, would tell you that this dog could smile. She would look at you with an actual smile spread across her face.  But, if a camera was near, she simply posed sweetly.

<– Fording a river, while hiking.

One of her favorite things was hiking with us. Callie accompanied us on every back packing trip we took (if dogs were allowed) in the Olympics, the Cascades and Eastern WA, sleeping in the tent with the kids or us. After Luke joined our family, the two of them would crowd onto our sleeping bags and snuggle together.  We added Luke the year after we moved to WA and he and Callie were devoted companions. They adored each other. They wrestled and played so rambunctiously in our kitchen, that we often found the kitchen chairs overturned and the two of them asleep on a single mat. After Luke joined, we slowly weaned Callie off sleeping in our beds and kept both dogs in the kitchen. She didn’t love that, but she accepted it eventually.  (Waiting to be let in the tent)

<– (Still chasing sleds at 12-up at Mt. Baker)

When she was 13 she inexplicably injured her back leg at the dog park. The vet told us that she probably had a form of cancer that causes cysts in between the bone joints and around the organs. These cysts could burst and could cause injuries like her leg, or could bleed out and cause death. The vet could feel a mass in her chest, and told us to just watch her and call if she failed again.  She stopped hiking with us, and became a three legged dog for much of a year, her back leg too weak to use. We were all amazed that at her age she could handle stairs and walks flawlessly on only three legs. Eventually, she regained the use of the leg, but she had two major episodes where she became terribly sick and we thought we’d lose her. Each time however, just as we were ready to take her to the vet and consider putting her “down,” she perked back up and rejoined us on easy walks and simple hikes. Big trips were out however, for the last year and a half of her life.  The sad look she gave us when she’d see the hiking gear going in the car and we were forced to leave her, was horrible for us all… but mostly she settled into the quieter life of an older dog.  A few of our friends questioned wether she was suffering, but I always maintained that I would know when her time to go was here. I felt strongly that the few inconveniences we faced, were worth having her around… if she was comfortable, we were grateful to have her.    (Just after a swim in Puget sound, about 9 years ago.)

<– 13 years old plus, and one of her last real hikes.

In her last two years, she slowed down considerably. She became less enamored with the dog park, now unable to chase other dogs or play as much. She went into the water but swam little. She was happy to see us each and every time we entered the room and content to sleep more and more, the grand dame of the kitchen. If I was cooking dinner, I would wait to see her slink around the island hoping I’d drop something. She perked up when I challenged her to sit, stay, watch me, or come, always happy to show that she was still our best dog, and grateful for the treats I know happily gave her.

By Mother’s Day of 2010 she was a very old and quiet dog, turning 15 that month. Her health had been declining over the previous year. She’d had a few occasions when I’d had to carry her out to go to the bathroom, on the side of our house… days when she just didn’t seem able to go for a walk. She’d lost weight and the vet could feel the mass in her chest growing, but assured us that she did not seem to be in much pain. Again, I was sure I’d know when it was too much for her.  That Mother’s Day Smart Guy took me to Victoria, BC for a weekend away. Everything seemed fine. When we returned however, I could see instantly that something had truly shifted.  Our beloved Callie Girl didn’t want to look at us and appeared very weak. It was absolutely clear that she was uncomfortable and that things had shifted downward. I called a vet that a friend had recommended. I was told that he was incredibly compassionate and professional, and would come to your home to put your pet to sleep. While the idea was horrifying, I knew that Callie hated going to our regular vets’ office, and hadn’t been in nearly two years. She loved the vet, but hated the smells and distress she sensed in the place. There was no way I could take her there to end her life; the idea of doing it anywhere was almost unbearable.

I called our two older kids, both off at school but returning in 5 days. They both urged me to wait until they could come home and be with her. It was a terrible decision, as I knew she was suffering, but I also knew that she meant the world to us all and they would want to be with her. Little Man was devastated. He begged and pleaded for us to reconsider, refusing to accept that this was the kindest and necessary thing. If she still lived on a farm, or was an outside dog, she would slip off and die quietly honey, but she can’t. I told him, my own heart breaking. She needs us to love her enough to help her with this.  He could not be assuaged. “What about Grammy! She’s sick. She’s suffering. Would you just put her to sleep!” He argued with a boy’s passion. At the time, I knew that my mother probably wished we could do just that, as her Huntington’s progressed and her suffering increased, but there was no logic that would comfort my boy…  I could barely hold it together myself.

<– Her last day, Luke (right) watched her carefully.

Luke was anxious and nervous around her all week. He understood in his own dog sense what was afoot and he didn’t know what to do to help Callie or us. He came over to lick her occasionally, or just let her rest. Callie avoided our eyes when we entered the kitchen and only looked guilty when we grabbed the leashes for the twice daily walks, knowing that she could no longer perform her doggy duties. Her guilt and sadness were palpable to us all, as she was no longer able to stand up and greet us or go for a walk. She’d stopped eating much of that week, drinking only a little each day, and I was carrying her outside to go to the bathroom each day. I gently pointed these things out to Little Man in the hopes of helping him see that our decision was the right one, no matter how hard, but he was bereft for most of the week.

The day before the vet was to come, we decided to help Callie have one last “Best Day.” We gently loaded her in the car with Luke and headed to the dog park. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day and I put the windows down so she could feel the wind on her face. She lifted her frail head and sniffed the air, perking up a bit. When we got to the dog park, she went in slowly but tail wagging. She had no interest at all in the other dogs but systematically went up to each and every human that was there that day and waited to be pet. Each person greeted her with a “Hello old girl,” and gentle pets. So many asked us how old she was and took extra time to pat and love her that day, that it seemed almost scripted. We tried leaving two times, but Callie got to the gate each time and then looked back wistfully and walked back for more. We were totally amazed.I was determined that she get as much of the day as she wanted or could handle, so we just went back in and waited until she walked to the gate that last time and was ready to go.

As we passed the lake I pulled into a parking spot and suggested we take her down to the water. Smart Guy and Little Man thought she’d had too much and “she can’t swim anymore,” Smart Guy pointed out. We carried her down to the water’s edge and her tail started wagging. She found a stick and picked it up and for half a second we actually thought she might fetch it. I think she believed she could too. However when she tried walking in a little deeper, her footing gave way and I had to carry her out.  A couple sitting by the water smiled and asked “Is it her birthday?”  No, I answered, barely able to look at them. “Is it her Last Good Day,” they asked. How did you know? I was stunned. “Well, we just lost our dog a couple of months ago. We took him out to do all of his favorite things. We just figured… she looks very old and happy, so it was either her birthday or her last day.”  It was a strangely comforting meeting.

<– Little Man didn’t want to leave Callie’s side, the last night.

At home we gave her rotisserie chicken for dinner and she ate it. Little Man and I took turns lying with her, petting and cuddling her until about 2 AM, neither of us wanting to leave her alone. The vet arrived at 10 the next morning. We had all gathered in the kitchen with her, each of us taking some time to pet and love her, each of our hearts breaking.  It was horrible. When the vet was ready he let us know that we could take as long as we needed. Callie was nervous with this stranger and refused to look at him. She hid her face in my lap, refusing to look at anyone, as I pet her and the vet gently looked for a vein. There were no dry eyes in the room, and if we could magically have changed it any one of us would of, but we knew this was the right thing.

When the vet said “Are you ready?” Callie suddenly lifted her head from between my legs and looked me right in the eye, staring at me with those amazing brown eyes… one last time. I held her face in my hands, stroking her face and telling her I loved her,  and then said Yes. I don’t think she felt the needle, she felt only our love. Her face was so serene as she watched me. She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t look away. She held my gaze and then, she slowly lowered her head to my lap and she was gone.  Fifteen years of love and sharing in that small body. She had given us all such joy, unfaltering love and companionship. But me, she taught me so much. She taught me a compassion that I would soon need for my own mother. She taught me to patiently help her go to the bathroom, and wipe her messes. She taught me to take my time and not rush her frail and failing body. Callie girl taught me all of these things about how to care for and then let her go, and how to do all of that for my mother a year later.  She was one of the greatest loves of my life, and I still miss her. Some nights as I get dinner ready, I am sure that I see her come around the island, and then I remember again that she is gone.

Two years later we have still not spread all of her ashes. If you had told me two years ago that I’d have both my mother’s and my beloved dog’s ashes in my house, I’d have given you some snarky, sarcastic response. However, I want to do it right… for us and for them. We were not ready to spread Callie’s ashes the summer she died. It was too raw and we were all still missing her so much. In spreading the ashes, we all agreed that  some should go to the dog park, some to the bay and lake where she loved to swim, some to our garden, and some to the trails up near Mt. Baker where she took so many wonderful hikes with us. Last summer we spread most of the ashes, but due to heavy snows the trails at Baker never opened. So this summer we will take her for that one last hike. Each time we spread a little we smile and we cry, as we remember how much she loved us and we loved her.  We will spread my mother’s ashes from a sailboat this summer. That is where she wanted to be, on the water. We will drink a toast to her, and all gather on a sailboat as she so loved to do. And I will think of Callie too on that day… They will both be with me.

Did you have a dog that was extra special, as a child or while you were parenting? Do you you still miss them? Are you pets part of your family? Share your thoughts. If you enjoyed this post, please take the time to hit Like. Leave a comment and share your thoughts.

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Dying, Honest observations on many things, Life, Musings, My world, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 24 Comments

The Middle: Updates from the U.N.

Posted on May 30, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note to new readers:  Our family took in two foreign exchange students this year. Denmark is a 17 yr old girl. China is a 16 yr old boy. The U.S. is our 15 yr old son (Little Man). Israel, when home, is our 22 yr old daughter (Principessa), and Canada our 19 yr old son (Middle Man). I am The Secretary General. Smart Guy is Dad. Together, we are the U.N.: a home where laughs come daily, chaos reigns and borders fall easily, as we live like a real family.  Know that no foreigners were hurt in the making of this blog post or in the incidents cited. All parties were aware that their comments were being noted, and pictures were used with permission, and assistance in editing for privacy. That said…

As summer approaches, Denmark and China are preparing to leave the U.N. and return to single nation status. This involves a lot of checking suitcases to figure out what will fit and what will not. Denmark has already done one full packing check, while China continues to guess at what will fit and what will not. China does not take advice from any other nation… and when it comes to the wire, packing will no doubt be entertaining for the U.N.

Denmark: “I can’t believe I’ve been here all this time and I haven’t made frikadeller.” The Secretary General has offered to help make this numerous times, but the U.N. has still not tasted this Danish delight, that is apparently “sooo amazing.”

Here in the furthest northwest corner of WA state, the sun sets very late as summer comes on. By July, it will be nearly 10:30 PM when it gets dark. Recently China was going to bed early (8:15) and as he headed off to bed, it was still light out. “I can’t believe I’m going to be sleeping for one hour with this huge sun hanging in the sky! It’s too weird!”

The U.N. Assembly wanted to hold a farewell party for departing countries Denmark, China and another student from China, who we have been close to. Instructions for each of the three Nations was simple: choose 7-10 friends to invite and let the U.N. put together an authentic American BBQ and bonfire.  Denmark and China liked the idea and plans moved forward.  However, things did not remain simple. Initially China expressed concerns about not having many people to invite. Denmark expressed concerns about possibly having too many people to invite. Fast forward 10 days and China announced that he’d already invited “a lot of people.”  Umm, what exactly does that mean? How many? Secretary asked cautiously. Evasive smile from China. Seriously. How many? Ten?  More evasive, eyes averted. Seriously! Fifteen?… Twenty? Secretary General’s voice clearly rising, China wasn’t denying any of the numbers. Apparently China found a whole lot of new friends, just before finishing and invited all of them to the party… at the U.N.!  Secretary General had no option but to reign it in; thirty+ teens was not an option at the BBQ.  Within minutes negotiations dissolved and China and Denmark had opted for independent ventures. Nothing’s that simple at the U.N.

(<– Frikadeller, image from the internet)

Denmark: “You would really like Frikadeller. I should make it.”  We’d love that. Let me know what to buy and I’ll get it. 

 

Canada and Israel will soon re-join the Assembly and Secretary General is on alert. The Secretary General is happy to welcome Israel and Canada back to the Assembly, but knows that these countries will bring huge changes.

China was in the kitchen cracking jokes, to no response.  “Why no one is laughing at my joke? Why I’m not funny anymore? I feel like dad… not funny.”

Denmark has planned her independent venture party at a park, with help from the Secretary General, and invited 50 people. She isn’t worried about the weather here in the Pacific NW, and she isn’t worried about sitting in the park for 6 hours. Denmark is a planner, who always anticipates the best and then jumps in.

China has planned his independent venture too, with no help or advice. He has invited 30+ people to a local restaurant. He isn’t worried about whether they’ll all fit, or that he needs to let his guests know that he’s not paying for them all. China isn’t much of a planner; he always assumes that it will work, and then he jumps in.

The Secretary General has some reservations about both events… China has no reservation, yet.

Now that Denmark is leaving the U.S. she has set out to bake all kinds of Danish baked goods: Rye brød, Danish merengues, and other delights. Denmark can bake. In addition, Denmark found and purchased “Danish butter,” insisting that it is “very special.” Other nations don’t have the heart to say aloud, that it tastes an awful lot like U.S. butter. Ahem.

Israel graduated from college (read here). Israel is very independent and is willing to submit regular updates on travel and security, but is flying solo.

Denmark: “I should really make Frikadeller; you guys would love it.”  Yeah, we’d love to try it. Just tell me what you want to do and I’ll help.

(<– German/Mexico addition= tiny cuteness)

Canada has added Mexico and Germany to the mix Assembly. The Secretary General will be very happy when Canada arrives home from a visit to Boston and New York to teach  this new addition not to pee and poo on the floor the ropes, however Secretary General admits some affection toward this new member.

Fooling around, China threw a wet sponge against the glass doors, leaving drippy, streaky marks.  Secretary General told China that he would need to clean said doors. “Ma, does the door look ok?” Ask Dad. It isn’t just up to me. “Ok… Hey dad, does the glass look ok?” (in fake dad voice, China continued) “Yes Chris it looks great!” “Oh thanks dad… Mom, Dad says it looks great!” China is so funny.

Denmark: “This (meatloaf) tastes a lot like Frikadeller. I think you’d really like it.” Uh, yeah, so you’ve said.

Given recent developments, the Secretary General has questioned the meaning of  “friend,” as farewell party guest lists continue to grow and morph. Perhaps this word translates differently from Chinese and Danish? Chinese: 朋友   Danish: Ven

Two and a half weeks until Denmark and China leave and barely a dull moment ahead. The U.N. will not be the same without them.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit the title and then the “Like” link at the bottom. It also helps my blog grow and lets me know what is working (and what is not), and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then check out the Facebook page:https://www.facebook.com/TalesFromTheMotherland and hit like.  If you have liked a few posts, hit “Subscribe.”  You won’t get any spam and you’ll get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a free gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day!

Posted in Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Foreign exchange students, High School | 9 Comments

Things That Bump Me in the Night.

Posted on May 26, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

I don’t sleep well. It’s something I’ve been aware of for a very long time, but lately I see that it takes a real toll.  I have a friend who’s been pointing out the health benefits of good sleep, for ages. I’m finally starting to see her point.  The lack of sleep has caught up to me and I’m tired all the time.  Yet when I lie down, after a long day of imagining sleep, I lie awake working through the stuff that has piled up in my mind all day. I don’t plan to be up late, or toss and turn, or wake too early… all of the things that lead to a chronic state of fatigue. It seems I’m just wired that way lately.  (Mountains of things keeping me awake… but mountains only brought solitude and peace.)

As the mother of three kids in various stages of “out in the world,” there is plenty of stuff that bangs around in my big gray room. Inevitably, those things start spinning right about the time I lie down and try to sleep.  My eldest, a daughter, just graduated from college and is currently driving cross country sold; one is now a junior in college, one is will soon be a junior in high school. Two of the kids are only mine for this school year but as the end of that year approaches, am increasingly aware of how their going off into other worlds will break my heart!  (See previous posts on the “U.N.”)

It seems that as I look at life through a constantly changing lense, my brain is rarely quiet. While it seems that the things that keep me up just morph and change, more recently my writing has become an increasing source of wakefulness. I am figuring out what the next best step is, in getting my novel published. I’m looking at feedback and contemplating what I want to change, and what I don’t want to change in how I and what I write.  As I lay there each night, I weigh the positive feedback as well as the negative, the unsaid things that make me look at my writing critically.  My thoughts spin; and I lie awake.

Writing on this site is my outlet. I let some of it go here, or in some cases I just shine a light on the things that stir my brain, and that helps me figure it out.  However the ins and outs of blogging sometimes only add to my angst, and fuel my self-critique. Why don’t I have as many comments as so many of the bloggers I follow? Why don’t I get as many likes, when I am so often liking others’ posts? What is missing in the writing that leaves my readers unresponsive? What do I need to bring to these posts that would improve my stats and my viewership? Why. Do. I Care?

I care because I want to be a writer. I want my stories to impact people and compel them to read more. I want to get it right, even as I figure out what feels right for me.  I am keenly aware that I am getting older and that I want to be doing what makes me happiest. I want to be doing something that excites and challenges me, as my kids head out into the world to find what excites and challenges them. Writing is that thing, but figuring out how to make it my thing is a huge question mark.

And so I lay awake a lot and chew on these questions and issues. I chase my tail and stumble around in the dark. My head is a mine field, where some days I make it cleanly through to the other side and other days my thoughts explode and I have to dig out of the self-doubt and ambivalence.  These are the things that go bump in the night; the things that bump me in the night. And so I lie awake.  (Tonight I will picture these clouds drifting by, and hope to drift off…)

What keeps you awake? Or, do you sleep like a baby? If you do, share your secret! Leave a comment and tell me what you think.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit the title and then the “Like” link at the bottom. It also helps my blog grow and lets me know what is working (and what is not), and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then check out the Facebook page:https://www.facebook.com/TalesFromTheMotherland and hit like.  If you have liked a few posts, hit “Subscribe.”  You won’t get any spam and you’ll get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a free gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day!

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, Blogging, blogs, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, how blogs work, Life, Personal change, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The Middle: My Son Brought Home a Bitch, and Other Tales From Collegeland

Posted on May 23, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This has been a huge week in our house.  An all-college, all the time, kind of week; and I’m fried!  We’ve been dealing with college age kids, college dramas, returning home from college, end of college school year, college graduation: one big Collegeland.

It all started a little over a week ago, when Middle Man started his road trip home from college.  Stepping back a few paces, there were Finals right before that, and the plans to store things or bring them home, but in fairness to Middle Man he did a pretty good job of managing all that without too much impact on us.  It was when his road trip home got under way that things got dicy.

Middle Man goes to school in southern California, and while the drive home could technically be done in one overnight, he loaded three friends and they took five days to drive north. To say that it didn’t exactly go smoothly, and that it turned into a very expensive trip home, would be a monumental understatement. Troubles began the day before departure, when it was time to pack the car.  I had just arrived for a pedicure, something I don’t do often, and which I had planned with friends. I was excited to have the time to relax with friends, and figured that my toes would at least look nice for our daughter’s college graduation the week after.                   (Six very happy feet.)

As I was just settling in my cell phone rang. Smart Guy was calling to tell me that Middle Man had lost his car keys and I might need to run home to look up some information on the car, so a lock smith could let him in.  No way! Sorry, I explained, but Middle Man has lost his keys a few times now, and this needs to be his problem, not mine.  Ok, borderline bourgeois: too busy getting a pedicure to be bothered with key problems. However, Middle Man is 20 now (making me nearly seventy, read here) and it seems like he needs to deal with the consequences of his own carelessness, not me. I pushed my feet deeper into the water, turned on the massage chair, pretended I wasn’t fluxed, and turned down the ringer on my phone.  Apparently, he survived and my toes got done.

The next day new key in hand ($100+ poorer) and car loaded, the four college students set out to drive up the west coast, to San Francisco, the redwoods, Portland, Seattle and then home. About two hours into the trip, the phone rang again. “Mom, do you know where my car insurance card is? I just got pulled over for speeding.” My son’s chagrined voice informed me.  Seriously?!  “I thought the speed limit was 65, but it had dropped to 55 because blah, blah, blah…”  And how fast were you going?  “Um, 80.” No idea how much the ticket was, but I’m guessing it was in the $150 range. Ka-ching. When they finally arrived in Portland four days later, we sighed with relief. They would be staying with a friend’s family and were now only a 5 hr drive from home. But then the phone rang again.

“Mom, the car just died in the middle of the road!”  One tow, a mechanic, repairs, and 24 hours later Middle Man was heading out again, with a new alternator and battery… $265.  About an hour out of Portland, a “huge rock” flew off a truck and hit the windshield; it will need replacing. Car and two college boys arrived home a day late and in the hole for about $250 on Middle Man’s side and probably $600 for the windshield and alternator, on ours.  Next time, he will fly home.

Amidst the debris and filth of a 20 year old’s car, was the new family member that we’d barely heard about let alone given a lot of thought to living with. Clearly Middle Man’s a sucker for big soulful eyes, but his girl’s a whole new bag of stuff to deal with. Considering that dogs are forbidden in the dorms, and we never agreed to having this second dog (for the summer), it’s a mystery as to how Middle Man made the whole thing happen.  I’d call it his charm, but that wouldn’t totally sum up the spell he weaves.  Middle Man was only home for about 24 hours before heading out for his sister’s graduation and a two week trip back east, so I have by default become Gracie’s care giver until he returns.

Can you say granddogger? (Thanks K.S.) I now have a shadow that follows me each step I make, and very much prefers to be in my arms. Admittedly, it’s hard to say no to her. She oozes attitude and charm, as well as dances a mean little dance, and our poor lab Luke, who is about 10x her size, is distinctly befuddled. This tiny spitfire chases him from his bed, snaps at him when he’s in her way and takes his food every chance she gets. Adorable, but nothing but a snotty bitch to Luke.

Twenty-four hours after one college kid arrived home, we were headed to the airport to see the other college student graduate.  The details of getting there (12 hrs of travel) seeing family, helping our girl pack up four years of her life, meeting her friends and professors, navigating twisty Massachusetts roads, eating out, eating in with her as she made each kosher meal, speeches and salutations, and all of the emotions that came with all of this was totally exhausting and amazingly wonderful, all at once. Watching all the other girls in Principessa’s dorm pack up their stuff and lug it down three floors (with one ancient elevator) with equally exhausted looking parents and siblings in tow, brought back so many memories of all the years we’ve moved her in, moved her out, as as well as those distant flashbacks of doing it for ourselves. All tolled, it was college life amplified in an incredible 48 hour blur.

Now Principessa is on her own road trip. A right of passage to some extent, she’s driving cross country (4,000 miles) on her own.  She fails to see why this makes my toes curl, but I assured her that some day when her own girl or boy wants to do the same, she’ll no doubt say to me “How could you have let me do something so dangerous?!”  My warnings that she must text us each morning when she departs and call each night when she is in her room and the door is locked, were met with verbal acquiescence and rolled eyes. She admitted that getting jumper cables and wiper fluid were good ideas (score one for mom) and promised to watch her speed and stop when she needed to. There’s little more we could demand, she’s a college graduate now and out in the world… albeit headed home.

And so I’m back to the usual daily grind: planning farewell parties for China and Denmark, who both leave in a little more than three weeks; helping Little Man get ready for finals and catch up on assignments missed; herding two dogs that are just starting to accept each other, but do not like each other; planning dinners and driving to appointments; and waiting for my two college kids to get back and turn it all upside down.  (I’m fairly sure that Gracie is silently mouthing: Don’t move mister, or else to Luke.)

Do you know what I’m talking about? College age kids and their stuff? Or just dogs that think their human?  I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please go to the post page and hit Like, and then share your thoughts!  Gracie will love you for it.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, road trip, Wonderful Things | 8 Comments

Drunk Texting… Drunk Blogging, On a Very Big Day.

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

(Written late Sunday evening; photos posted Monday. No sober editing.)

When I was in college, there was the dreaded drunk call. You got drunk, and inevitably dialed the wrong person’s number… Usually a boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, a crush… the wrong person: read “guy.”  Today, there is still drunk texting.  Seems much more tangible to me, much more damaging. If you drunk dialed “back when,” you could always deny whatever you said, the next day… when you were sober and realized that you really wished you hadn’t called that person. No, I did not say that I still love you! I said I luv you, as a friend. I said I was sorry we weren’t nicer to each other…  You could alway go back on whatever you’d said, and nuance it later.  Tonight (for me, at least) there’s drunk blogging.

Here it is: my drunk blog. If you think you’re reading sober blogging, just because there are no typos (I think), that’s just because I’m just as neurotic drunk as I am sober. It’s just taking me much longer to type, as I delete mistakes and retype most of this.  Truth is, my oldest child, my girl, Principessa, my baby, graduated from college today… and a wall of stuff I didn’t anticipate, and some that I did, has been washing over me ever since I ordered my first martini at dinner… the first. There were a few.  All day, I managed to keep my emotions at the “eyes welling up” stage, able to blot away any sign of tears, and avoid falling into the puddles of emotion that were raging through me all weekend.

When I woke up, earlier than I needed to (we are on the East coast, while our bodies are still grounded in the 3 hour earlier west coast… hence at 7:30 AM here, when I woke up, my body screamed:  It’s 4-f’ing’-thirty!), I immediately thought of my daughter: waking in her own dorm room. I knew that she would be thinking about the new outfit she picked out for today, and how she would look, how she would get her diploma, and how it must all feel so big. I pictured her waking in her single bed, in her “single” (Sr) room, looking around her, and imagining what this day would hold. As I lay in this semi-lousy Days Inn room,  the sound of giant trucks shifting gears on the highway, outside my window… I thought of my girl, lying in her bed, overwhelmed by all that this day means.

<– The day before graduation… The Laurel Ceremony wherein alumnae from as far back as the 1930s, join the current graduates, carrying strands of laurel, connecting the generations. They circle the entire campus, to the grave of Mary Lyons, the founder. At this, the first college for women in the world, they all wear white and walk generation linked to generation.

She has studied for four years and in that time, so much has changed. She’s lived away from home for the first time; she’s made friends I hardly know, but who have been family to her; she fell in love for the first time and then lost that love; she’s discovered a devotion to Judaism, that was strong when she was young but now defines so much of who she is… she has lived outside my orbit for all of this time, and grown into a new person, who I both recognize and who I still work to understand, each time I interact with her. All of this, ran through my head as I woke in a strange hotel room and then got in the shower… as I urged her brothers to hurry, and as I put on a nice dress to honor this special day, as I worried about getting there on time (as the boys bought breakfast at Dunkin’ Donuts); as I walked to the Ampitheater at Mount Holyoke College, as I sat for three hours in the blazing sun to see my oldest child, and my only girl, graduate today with honors.

All day, I held it together. My eyes welled up several times as various things ran through my head: Oh how her grandmother (Smart Guy’s mom) would love this, she’d be so excited to share this; her grammy (my mom) would be so happy and they’d both be so proud) but I didn’t really cry… until I sat at a late dinner, and drank a martini. As the alcohol hit my blood stream, I found it harder to hold it together.  Some song came on the sound system in the background and that set me off.  Music, always my poison, alcohol the igniter. My girl wasn’t with us, because she can’t eat in non-kosher restaurants, and kosher restaurants are hard to come by. We’d helped her pack most of her room, and had gone off to dinner at 9PM, hungry, sun-burned, tired, and without her. As I drank that drink, all of it hit me like a twenty-two year old brick. Twenty-two years ago, when I had that beautiful girl, it never occurred to me really, that one day she would graduate from college and I would feel so much.

When we arrived to our “seats,” cushions, on the grassy ampitheatre,  for the 175th Mount Holyoke commencement, smack dab in the the intense sun (no shade for 3+ hrs, people passing out, one taken by ambulance, the rest of us sunburned and fanning ourselves), I searched the crowd for my daughter’s face and could not find it. As the 500 girls marched in, I couldn’t see my own girl’s face, just the blur of all those other young women, facing this huge day. Just like when she was little and performed in the school concert, or the middle school monologues, I searched for her and knew she was searching for us, each of us needing to make that brief eye contact that says: “I’m here honey. I see you.”  I felt an anxious sense of frustration, as each of the amazing speakers reached the podium. Astro-physists, Civil rights leaders, Irani writer and famed speakers… all impressed me, but I wanted most, only to have that brief second, when my girl and I would see each other and know that we were there together. I wanted my little girl, searching from the edge of the stage and waving to her mommy and daddy in the audience…

It eluded me throughout. She never saw us there, never saw our faces filled with pride and love, never saw us waving and beseeching her to look our way. But, I saw her eventually… right before she stepped forward and took her diploma. I held my camera, poised and ready and gazed at her through the lens. My heart actually beat faster, just seeing her face framed in my lens.  I cheered as they called her name and she took that piece of paper that tells her she’s done what she worked so hard to do. Oh, the moment was so much more than I thought it might be. I wanted to just call out her name, and not worry about manners or protocol. I wanted to run forward and gather her in my arms. But, I stayed where I was and snapped as many pictures as possible, watching her move through the small window of my lens.  Just still frames of emotions that surged in every fibre of me. I felt proud of each girl who stepped up, knowing that some other parent was feeling what I felt, but that one girl held my heart.  It was all so big.

Afterwards, we met her and hugged. We took the pictures that every parent takes. We watched the other parents and graduates. We moved through the crowd and were part of something bigger for a while. We went for ice-cream at her favorite place… her last time there. We met with her Rabbi’s and his lovely wife at their home… where she’s spent so many Shabbat evenings, sleeping in their home, part of their family even as we wondered what they were like. I studied their faces and felt a swell of love for these strangers who have nurtured my child, in my absence.  We went back to her dorm and I folded and packed each item of her clothing: barely pausing to notice the dress that was mine when I was pregnant with her; the sweater I bought her her freshman year; the items I’d never seen, that she’s bought in these past four years away from us… I put it all in large plastic bins, to be stored in her car and driven cross country, solo. We took down her posters, her pictures. Friends stopped by her room to hug and get teary, to say how much they would all miss each other… and I watched these young women and knew that they had been her family, while we were thousands of miles away. I took all of this in, and I tried not to cry.  (I wore that dress to my baby shower, when I was expecting this girl)

(<–Packing the dorm)    Then, we went to dinner. Again, she wasn’t there because she can’t eat in restaurants that aren’t kosher and there are not a lot of those here… or where we live. And, again, as the drink hit my brain, it all hit me. My girl is a graduate now. She has passed through four years that have transformed her in ways that I don’t know yet. I have changed while she was away. I looked at my boys and could barely imagine doing all of this two more times. During one of the commencement speeches, one of the speakers said to the graduates: “Until you have found something that you would die for, until you know that there is at least one thing that you would lay down your life for, you have not fully lived.” There at the table tonight, were two of the things I would lay down my life for… and the other, was off saying goodbye to her other family. She was walking her campus one last time before she leaves tomorrow. She will sleep in that single bed one last time.

And I drank and began to cry. I excused myself and went outside… the night still warm and sweet smelling, like the New England springs of my youth. I cried and cried. I told those boys that they are the things I would die for, as we sat at the table. I drunk dialed my girl, but she didn’t answer. She eventually called me, back at the hotel and I told her (again) how proud I am of her…and how she is that reason in my life. How much more this day meant than I imagined. I barely remember my own graduation, but her’s was like sparkling moments that seemed freeze framed in their incredible meaning. I shared this with my girl, and we cried together. I drunk dialed my girl, and she laughed that her mom can be as silly as her, on the right day.

If I dind’t edit this, ti would look like this. I wouldn’t edit it or worry about how it s typed. i owuld just type it… but all thw words would be the same.  The feelings would be just as big and stong. I would say all the thihgs I just said, but i wouldnt care if it lookedgood, ro sounded jsut right… because today, all the other stuff means so much more than wether I get ithrigt.    I would still be plannign to drift off and sleep, after a long, emotional day, that has drained and exhilarated me in ways that can’t be typed here. I am all that i am, separate of my roled as mother… but in the tend, that is so much more than all the rest. Seeing my girl today, was bigger than all the rest… and then some.

And this morning, we packed the rest and closed the door to her dorm. A final goodbye to her home for nearly four years (minus one in Israel). The place where she grew up and into herself. The place we left her, and then came back to get her. I did my crying last night… today, we giggled. I tickled her and she was my little girl for a minute: gasping for breath and laughing. We hugged as we looked out her window one last time. She turned in her keys, taking them off the Mount Holyoke College lanyard that she got as a freshman. We took the last load to her car and wished her a safe drive. I told her to call me each morning and each night.  And she drove away… on the road back to us.

** Have you shared a similar life event with your children? Are they still little and this seems very far off? It’s not. Pick them up and cuddle them… now.  Share your thoughts. Please click on the title, and hit like at the bottom, if you liked it. Leave a comment.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, Parenting, Women, Wonderful Things | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The Middle…Fishy

Posted on May 16, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

For Mother’s Day this year, we visited the Vancouver Aquarium. I hadn’t been in ages. Frankly, there are some things that I’ve long enjoyed that have simply fallen by the wayside, as my children have grown up. Zoos and aquariums generally fall in that column. I haven’t stopped liking those places, but they seem less enticing without little kids who crave the explanations we have to give, and who oohhh and ahhh at each fish or animal they see. However, on Mother’s Day we found ourselves in Vancouver for Dim Sum, and then made our way to the magnificent Stanley Park (a gem if there ever was one!) and then just wandered over to the aquarium.  (Maybe we should have thought twice before eating at the Dim Sum restaurant that had these fish in their tank, but the food was great! Believe it or not, these bad boys are not only alive, but were thrashing a few minutes later.)

(<– Stanley Park totem poles)

The first time I ever visited the Vancouver Aquarium, Smart Guy and I were visiting Vancouver while he attended a conference, in the late 90’s. I brought my paints and paper and headed off to Stanley Park, to explore a la artiste. I watched the Orca whales, which were kept in a too small tank back then. I’d never seen Orcas and was amazed to be so close to them. So I sketched images of them and absorbed the unique feel of Vancouver, never imagining that one day I’d live less than an hour away. The Orcas have been gone for nearly ten years now. The popularity of Free Willy, and movements to consider more carefully the care and maintenance of such large mammals, lead to their sending the last remaining killer whale at Vancouver Aquarium to a facility in the U.S., after thirty years of having Orcas on site.

  

Now there is a much larger dolphin habitat, where the orcas were,  and three Beluga Whales, as well as otters and full array of ocean and fresh water fish and critters.  It was a hot sunny day and the cool dark interior of the Aquarium was particularly soothing and calming, despite all the small children racing around oohhing and ahhhing. Reminders of my own babies, now grown.  My grown teens (China, Denmark and Little Man) did their share of gesticulating, and calling our attention to things that continue to amaze. Killer frogs in green and blues and reds that seem too amazing to be real. It’s easy to forget that all of those just like real plastic animals that my kids collected for years, really do look just like real!

  

I’m a sucker for the Jellyfish.  I love them; never get bored watching them. If I could, I’d have a big tank in my room, to watch jellies each night as I go to sleep. I find them so soothing, as beautiful as anemones but far more interesting. Their pink bodies against the deep blue of the tank is so stark and stunning. The way their bodies undulate from the bottom to the top of the tank is mesmerizing, their tentacles dragging behind or swaying with the currents. Once I’m there, I often stand watching them until someone in my family insists I move on.  Mackerel or Sardines are my next favorite. To see them swim in huge schools, circling their tanks in unison and switching directions on a dime, is nothing short of stunning. Their instinct to follow one another is compelling to watch, as they move en masse. I’m not sure what it says about me that I like the group fish and the odd jellies, but if I were spending an entire day at any aquarium, I’d spend most of it in front of those two tanks.

  

Near the end of our day, we wandered out to see the dolphin show, followed by the beluga presentation. The sun was still high and hot and we all sought shade as we listened to the trainers tell us about the environment, and ways we can all help the creatures we were watching. It’s impossible not to think about the fine threads that tie us together, as I listened to details of how dolphins and whales birth their babies, care about family (pods), and communicate to each other to convey danger, community or care. They’re amazingly intelligent animals, and it’s hard not to be humbled around them.

Just as the beluga show was ending, I couldn’t take the sun one more moment and stood up to leave. I had been in the front row, so when I stood up I was blocking a lot of people, so I intended to leave quickly. However, the trainer said “If you are looking at a whale’s body parts right now…” I turned and glanced toward the tank, just as she added “you’re about to get very…” I ducked, but not in time. “WET!” I was completely, completely, doused by cold, salty whale water.  Cold, salty, whale pee water.  I saved a lot of front row people, I can tell you. I was dripping wet. Drying-myself-with-paper-towels-in-the-bathroom soaked. Lots of people came up to share a laugh about it with me, havin witnessed my whale induced “moment.” Sardines don’t swamp people. Jellyfish float; they don’t splash you for kicks. That beluga was laughing.  Shoulda stuck with the jellies.

If you enjoyed this, please take a moment to click the title and hit the like key at the bottom.  It’s much appreciated.

** All photos are my own.

Posted in Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mother's Day, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Call Me Prissy… Butt 2.

Posted on May 15, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note #1 to readers:  This was originally posted on August 27, 2011, not long after I’d begun blogging. Strangely enough, this post has had an amazing life. In it’s first weeks on line it got relatively slow hits, or views. Steady, but nothing impressive. However, in the months since, it is the only post that has hits every single day. Each day when I see my statistics, this post has new hits. I have all kinds of  theories about this, most of them blatantly sexist. They include: men searching for butt pictures, land here and are sorely disappointed. Pervs who are searching for young girls in sexual content (both terms are used in this post and might show up on Google), land here and are berated… if they read this. There are many Beavis and Buttheads out there just Googling “Butt” and then giggling as they immediately leave this post. Young pre-teen boys (AKA: Beavis and Buttheads) Google “butt” because they think it’s a dirty word, and then have to look-up half the words in this post, in the dictionary… Ok, unlikely, but you get the gist. I think it’s mostly guys, who stumble here by accident.  However, when I re-read it I feel the same way I did when I first posted it.  As I will be at my incredibly talented daughter, Principessa’s, college graduation for a few days, I thought I’d re-post this (the first time I’m doing this) and make it easy on few dudes.

Note #2 to reader: I sweat sarcasm. If it sounds like sarcasm, it is. Also, check out some of the links here (at the very bottom and in-bedded). There are some kick ass articles about the sexualization of young girls and the history of underwear. I had a blast “researching” this rant. If you find this half as interesting as I do, check out some of the links at the very bottom, or imbedded in the post.  *Please note that all images are from the internet.

Lately, I’ve noticed a lot of butts, and they all appear to be naked. They’re not, but that’s the point:  they’re trying to look naked. Ok, odd enough way to start this, but my brain works that way, and as I’ve said, this is where I talk about how I see the world around me. So, no doubt, I am about to set off all kinds of responses, but I’m up for the challenge; bring it on!  That said, I’m just going to say right up front, for the record:  I do not think panty lines are such an evil thing, AND, I’m beginning to really question why and whether it’s ok, that things have moved so, well, left of naked. For most of my life, women/girls would rather be caught picking their nose than have people think they didn’t wear underwear, look naked under their clothes, or have  their underwear or bra straps hanging out. Ok, picking your nose is a stretch, but it was once really a major no no to be viewed as that woman who was at best “loose” and at worst “asking for it” by putting your ass out there for everyone to see. For most of my life the idea was: underwear should be pretty, sexy even, comfortable, perhaps controlling, but not absent. Sure you had panty lines sometimes, but no one was trying to hide the fact that there were underwear under that dress, those jeans, whatever you were wearing. That, however, was before the thong. Today, it seems that nearly everyone is parading around with accentuated buttocks, all to avoid (cue drum roll) The Dreaded Panty Line.

To begin with, it really wasn’t that long ago that thongs were a sandal. Thongs were what we now call flip flops. That’s right kiddies, all you young thangs, we would say to our moms “have you seen my thongs?” and it wasn’t embarrassing. Actually, the terms are not entirely set in stone yet, though my kids would argue that “No one calls flip flops thongs!” However,  in other places thongs are still shoes, flip flops doesn’t mean much and people aren’t as confused.  The jury is still out on the International scene. Just a few years ago, when the term flip flop was just taking hold and thong was still morphing in to tiny underwear, I was in our local Old Navy and I heard a grandmother call out to her teen grand-daughter, who was a couple of aisles away, “Susie (not her name), look at these adorable thongs, they’d go perfect with that dress!”  Susie groaned and hid (as did Principessa, who heard it too), while Susie’s mom, chastised grandma and told her that “those were flip flops and that thongs were underwear,” with a you are so lame tone that is usually reserved for teens talking to their parents. Poor granny (who wasn’t actually that old) looked mortified, and utterly flabbergasted. When she looked my way, I shrugged and implied that that I knew exactly what she meant, with a roll of my eyes. Principessa and I had a brief debate about the wording and I was sanctimonious in my certainty that  this too would pass, and we’d be back to slipping thongs on our feet in no time, with no more flip flopping about names.

Today thongs make up 30% of all underwear sales, conservatively, and up to 90% of sales in some stores that sell to women only. They make thongs in sizes for young girls (I have personally seen them sold in size 8, children’s department); many moms, of all ages, are wearing them, and middle age and older women have embraced the trend as well. Bottom line: thongs are worn across age, size, ethnicity and cultural lines. It seems that virtually any woman may be willing to put up with a wedgie, to have that nice, clean, naked bottom look.  I know, many of my friends have told me that their Hanky Pankies are so comfortable, but I’m just not feeling it. They may be more comfortable than others, but the goal seems to be an effort to look naked.

The way I see it, the entire idea of modesty around this subject, has changed. Let me be clear here, I am pretty far left of prude. I’m pretty comfortable with sexuality and the human body. I can appreciate a beautiful body, male or female, as much as the next left of prude person. I don’t squirm when people are naked in a movie, or in art. Hell, as many of my friends know, I celebrate the first and sometimes last day of school each year, with a naked brunch with friends. In a private place of course, but still, I’m not afraid to sit with friends and bare it all.

Still, it still takes me aback each time I see some beautiful woman, and then realize that her butt appears totally nude in her Lululemons, her slacks, or skirt… or someone bends over and the top of their thongs rise above their jeans or clothing. I can’t help it, it feels like catching a glimpse of something private.  It just seems weird to see a Dr’s thong line; the waitress’ thong line; a friend’s line, under a thin summer skirt; young girls at school lifting their arms and there’s the thong. I haven’t gotten used to it with time; it still seems wrong to me. I know, it sounds like I’m just walking around checking out butts all day, or that underwear has become a focus for me when I’m out in the world– that perhaps I’ve fallen in to a prude vortex. Ok, maybe I have a little. But mainly I just find myself wondering when it became the norm to try and look naked under our clothes, and where is all this naked headed? Or, as Pricipessa so passionately stated, when we discussed this post: “When did it become a bad thing to be modest?”  Pardon me while I now make a rant of hypotheticals:

How far can and will we push the boundaries?  What on earth could any parent be thinking when they buy these underwear for that size 8 girl? Why does any thirteen or fourteen year old girl need to hide her panty lines? Isn’t it hard enough for thirteen and fourteen year old boys to concentrate without being able to see the outlines of 13-14 yr old girls’ buttocks? I think it was bad enough when they were just imagining it. Has it really become OK in our society for even very young girls to be so sexualized and displayed in that manner? What other message is there when we try to so hard to make it clear that our underwear is not there, or, in the case of bras, part of our outfit. Instead of trying to pin back loose bra straps or find the right bra for an outfit, now women choose bright colors, sexy lines, straps that are meant to be shown. More flirtatious, more suggestive, I think.

I feel like The Church Lady here!  Am I sounding more prudish by the moment? Am I simply becoming a middle aged woman who’s gone from liberal and free about things to old fashioned and prissy?  I actually wonder sometimes. I’ve had this conversation with plenty of other women, most my age, but some Principessa’s age (22) and I know there are other possible prudes out there with me, but the widespread media, the fashion and celebrity world all seem to laugh in my face. When Vogue is marketing a cover with a ten year old girl (yes, you read that right: TEN years old, that’s fourth grade folks!) as a very sexy model, in numerous pictures, and people are buying it, what does that say to women of all ages?  Look naked, be sexy and put it out there baby!

Plain and simple. It’s creepy says this priss,  plane old creepy.I remember when it was a REALLY big deal that Brooke Shields, then fifteen, posed for Calvin Klein jeans.  It was front page “news” everywhere: magazines, news, talk shows . When you look at those adds now and compare them to some of what is out there today, it’s really eye opening. Am I just digging my “you’re getting old” grave deeper here? Should I throw in “and I had to walk ten miles to school in the snow!” Check it out for yourself.  Note: for me, both of these images (above) are concerning.

Brooke was still only 15 in this ad (left), but when you compare the two, it seems even more shocking that Thylane (right) is only 10! When you see her in a picture with her mommy, with no make-up, no sexy stilettos, hair or make-up, she is a baby!  A baby selling a very sexy image. Actually, if you follow some of the ads she’s in, you could argue that she is selling sexual arousal, as that is what many of those ads seem to be pushing.  When you see that same little girl, with her mom and no make-up, the impact is very different. I can’t help it; I squirm; I cringe; this bothers me.  How can young girls not feel pressure to be sexy and exciting (only a few steps away from actually having to act on that image, I believe) when so many mothers are dressing more like their teen daughters, models and sex symbols are in middle school or younger, and they actually have to worry about whether people might (God forbid!) think that they’re actually wearing underwear. And while I have no problem with women trying to look good at any age, or wearing clothes that flatter their figures, it just seems that we’ve moved so far off what was once “proper” that the lines are completely blurred. Wait, that’s right, there are no lines!

I have to admit, each time I put my Lululemon yoga pants on, these things run through my head. Perhaps not all of them, but more than I’d like. Admittedly, I knew when I bought the Lulus that they gained fame for making any woman’s butt look good. They do.  So I bought into that even before worrying about the underwear. However, it’s a slippery slope.  Now, when I put them on, I also think: what does good looking mean, and will my underwear show? Is naked part of the equation? Will all the other yoginis in the class look better in their tights, because they’re wearing thongs? Should I wear mine, so my butt looks good too?  Right, these are the very principals of yoga that are most important!  Right after each Sun Salutation, my yoga teacher is certain to say: “Be sure to breath and please make sure your underwear are not showing, fix those panty lines ladies.” (sarcasm)

Please share your thoughts. Leave a comment. Do you think this isn’t really a problem and underwear is just underwear?  What do you think of the trends in advertising that use young girls to sell sexy images. I’d love to hear what you think. Thanks for reading!

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If you’re interested in this topic, you might also enjoy these articles: http://roughdraft.typepad.com/dotmoms/2003/12/tween_a_thong_a.html

http://www.rollingstone.com/culture/news/kiki-kannibal-the-girl-who-played-with-fire-20110415

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Social_impact_of_thong_underwear

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/10-year-models-mom-defends-racy-vogue-pictures/story?id=14262329

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2022305/Thylane-Lena-Rose-Blondeau-Shocking-images-10-YEAR-OLD-Vogue-model.html

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/WolfFiles/story?id=92696&page=1

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Freshly Pressed, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, Women, Women's issues, Writing, Yoga | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment