“Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night…”

Posted on December 12, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO
THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

It’s amazing how you can read something many times in your life and read it so differently at one particular moment in that life. My mother was never an Intellectual. She was not a lover of writing and words. She was lively and funny, tenacious and feisty, stubborn and selfish at times. She loves music and painted when she was young.  She was many things, but never a poet. And yet, she has taken these words and made them jump off the printed page. The Hospice nurses tell me daily: “Your Mom is so determined. She’s so feisty.” One said, “I feel like I know what she was like when she was younger, because I see the determination in her eyes still. It touches me.”

“What!” I cry. What is she determined to do now?  “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” She is raging. She is fighting with every breath to not go gentle. While it touches me, and I while I am humbled by her journey, I am shaken to the core. This has been THE worst week I have had so far in this journey toward death. My mother’s death. She has held on tenaciously to a life that all of us who are there to witness, know is futile, lonely, and at times (especially this week) horrific. She is in pain all of the time, but for the medications that keep her “pain free.” She can no longer stand for any significant time, on her own. She relies on others to change her “briefs” and wash her. She relies on them to hold the cup when she drinks the 2-5 ounces of Coke that she drinks each day. Some days she fiercely grabs the cup from my hands, as if to let me know that she can still do something on her own. She rages. My sister has a powerful photo of one of these moments, when Mom just wouldn’t let go of that cup. Both of us, and the nurses, know that we can’t leave it in her hands. She will spill it on herself and others will need to change her. Does she hold so tight to keep us there? Don’t leave me, she silently pleads, as she clings to that cup.    (Two years ago, though she needed help, my mother still danced ^^)

This week, as I said, has been particularly traumatic. On Friday I came to visit, as I do each day. However, as I came ’round the corner I heard many agitated voices coming from her room. A nurse came running out (running is alarming at a Hospice House). I rushed to the room and saw my mother, naked, surrounded by five nurses, all trying to hold her up and clean her. After weeks of not eating, she had requested a “roast beef sandwich.” They didn’t have that, so someone got her scrambled eggs. Her stomach, completely unaccustomed to food at this point, could not take it and she was violently ill. Part of me feels like I should not spare anyone who cares to read this, the precise details of all that transpired, but part of me still recognizes that this is for me and my sister (who I shared it with) alone. It was simply horrific.

In the end, I stripped to my bare feet, bra and rolled up jeans and took my mother into the shower with me.  It was shift change and staff was overwhelmed, so it was just me in the shower with her. One of the aids, who I have become very fond of, came in and carefully placed a towel on the shower floor, telling my mother gently, “I don’t want you to fall C.” as he left the room. He was so kind to not acknowledge my crazy appearance and to show my mother so much respect,  to avert his eyes, though he has “toiletted” her and carried her many times before. He’s a young guy who shows so much compassion, it moves me to tears often. So, I stood there in the shower washing my mother’s hair and her body. Asking her to let me clean places that she once cleaned on me, 48  years ago, and which I know she never intended for me to reciprocate. Like she no doubt did with me, I cradled her head and whispered over and over: “It’s ok, shhh, it’s ok.”  How horrifying it all must have been for her!  How degrading!  How scary and physically awful. That was all I could think, over and over as I washed her.

To add some humor to what is otherwise an entirely black event, with NO silver… as I stood there, I suddenly became aware that the water seemed to be very warm on my legs. On my legs?!! Yes, the towel, meant to keep my mom from falling, was blocking the drain. By the time I figured it out, the water had run out of the shower, out of her room and into the hall. I have little doubt that the Shift Change for this past Friday was discussed by every nurse on staff. I have heard it repeated countless times since then. The sound of people suddenly realizing there was water in the hall; me yelling for help because I could not let go of my Mom even for a minute; the Hispanic woman who cleans the rooms, saying all the things we were all saying: in Spanish. It was funny. I can’t lie: I had to laugh. Standing in the shower with my Mom as they all brought piles of towels and tried to ignore my semi-stripped presentation, it was funny.

When I’d gotten Mom dressed again and we’d put her back into bed, I just climbed right in with her, as I do each day. I lay under the covers and held her tight. I rocked her and sang to her. A (new) group of three women who had no idea that all of this had just happened, but who come to sing for the patients, came in and sang three songs for her. I requested “500 Miles” and they sang it so beautifully. They smiled when I sang along with the harmonies and my mother drifted to sleep. Out of all that hell, there was such beauty in those moments of music and lying beside her.

Today however, the raging continued. The dark ugliness of this end was amplified. My mother has been unable to cry for several years now. We understand that it is common in Huntington’s Disease patients, but I can’t deny that it stumps me over and over. Times when I’m sure she will, or should tear up, she doesn’t.  Her eyes remain dry, whatever the circumstances. When I arrived today, I was already feeling a little guilty because I had not gone yesterday. My sister came up from Seattle, so I took the day to get things done and see a movie with the kids last night.  However, when we got home from the movie, there was a message from one of the nurses there, letting me know that my mother had wanted to talk to me, the nurse was holding the phone to her ear. Hearing her faint whisper, no words, was heart breaking.

So today, I arrived and the nurses stopped me before I went in. “We just wanted to let you know that she seems very upset today.” They informed me.  “Yes, she’s been more upset the past few days,” I told them. “But today, she’s been crying for quite some time.” One nurse added.  I stopped cold. “I’m sure there’s something wrong with her eyes. She doesn’t cry, I haven’t seen her cry in at least four years,” I explained. “It looks like crying.”  They told me a volunteer was sitting with her. When I came in, her eyes went right to me and she let me know, silently, that she was glad I was there. Politely, I thanked the volunteer and asked her to go. As soon as I sat on the bed, my mother’s eyes filled with tears and her mouth began to tremble. She cried for most of the four hours I was there. She stared at me and implored me to understand, but I know that I am only stabbing at that “Good night.”  I am throwing darts in the dark, trying to find meaning in that which alludes me.

Of course I have thought of all the obvious things. I have asked her: “Are you scared (yes)? Are you angry?  Are you sad?  Are you worried? Can you please tell me what you are feeling Mom?” “Trouble, Trouble me. Disturb me with all your cares and your worries, Trouble me, On the days when you feel spent… Speak to me, When your silence is my greatest fear.” (10,000 Maniacs) She just trembled. Is she afraid to burden me, or is she unsure what it is?  A friend, who I reconnected with at my 30th High School reunion this summer, sent me a powerful book called Final Gifts, by two Hospice nurses. It is deeply moving and speaks to the communications of the dying. Yet, my mother’s message is still unclear. In the past week she has said “I can’t live like this one more minute,” and yet still she rages. When the nurses offered her a sedative, to calm her today, and explained that it “will make you sleepy. You will not feel like eating or drinking, so it may cause a more rapid decline,” she just stared at me.

When the nurse left, I told Mom more clearly what that meant. I told her that I understood if she wanted this to be over (as she has said so many times now), and if sleep would be more peaceful. I assured her that I was strong enough and would be ok, even if she leaves me. I know she heard me. She held my hand, she did not let go, and then she told me “I don’t want that.” “You don’t want to sleep? You don’t want to be calmed?” “No.”  I lay on her chest for a moment to hug her, and she hugged me back. That is another thing that is hard for her to do, but she rages… and she hugs you until you need to pull away. So, she was not given a medication to calm her. And when I had to leave, and she became more upset again, I wanted that lovely blue pill. I really did. Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought I was? Because, frankly, this is unbearable.

I remind myself each day that she is the one suffering; that this is her journey. It has been transformative to be on it with her, but I am exhausted. My friends bring meals and drop off treats. They call and ask what they can do. But I am tired of even telling anyone. I could not do it without them, but I am also tired of trying to speak when tears seem to flow so easily. I have inherited the tears my mother can’t cry?  I am so grateful when my friends and I can just laugh as we always have and I can escape this for a little while. It doesn’t really leave me, not when I’m asleep and not during the day… but those exquisite moments when I can laugh and just move through it a little, are such a relief.  To watch someone you love wither away and yet still fight: still demand that she hold her own cup, or tell the singers (a different group) that their music is depressing (it is!) or that she wants a roast beef sandwich, not scrambled eggs… My mother rages. My mother will not go gentle.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  For those who have asked:  If you click on the title of the post, it will take you to the single post, and the like is at the bottom of that pageThanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is
Posted in Awareness, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Dying, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

All Kinds of Mayhem at the U.N.

Posted on December 10, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Life at the U.N. has been one hilarious, exhausting, outrageous ride lately… Chaos, mayhem, loads of humor, abound. Personally, I am absolutely convinced that reality TV could not make some of this stuff up; it would be a ratings bonanza.

As I mentioned in my last post, On the Edge…,  the U.N. has been trying to move away from too much “screen use.” In the world of teens, this is huge. Huge! As Secretary General, I have no illusions that they will all turn to books and suddenly do much more meaningful things, but it has been a real relief to see them all at one table, engaged in communication and providing me with loads of humor, at a time when the burdens of being Secretary General have reached critical levels.

Monopoly turned out to be a real game changer (clever pun intended) for National relations. Things started distinctly strained. U.S. had the upper hand, as he had played the most and (thought he) knew the rules. China had no idea what to do, but his competitive nature could not resist something that U.S. and Denmark told him he could not win. After months of being annihilated by China in table tennis (all those stereotypes are true: China dominates on the ping pong and badminton fronts), Denmark and U.S. were determined to overthrow China.

The first lessons in negotiations came in explaining the game in a language that all three countries could understand: sarcasm and debate… of every single detail.  Next, Denmark and China figured out that U.S. might not actually know the rules as well as he thought and screens were used to look up rules online. Official rules in place, the game was on, with Denmark and U.S. making no effort to hide that they might be in kahoots to beat China. There was some clear high five’ing and whooping, at first… until China made a move.

China came out of the gate in warp speed, buying up every single property he could get his hands on. Denmark and U.S. mocked him and warned that he would go broke, that he didn’t understand how the game was played, but China grinned like a Cheshire Cat and continued the quest for domination. Of note, the rest of the U.N. has come to believe that in addition to a superior work ethic, China seems to possess uncanny luck. And in a departure from traditional humility, there was some gloating, as he landed on Free Parking and managed to avoid land owned by U.S. or Denmark.

U.S. hit hard economic times early in the game. For all the super power status, the U.S. is not always lucky. Bad mortgage issues, banking crisis, and a trip to jail left the U.S. teetering near collapse. “This sucks. There isn’t much point in continuing; I’m going to lose everything in the next move or two.” What kind of American spirit is that?  But in a made for Hallmark turn, U.S. hit the jackpot and scored big winnings on a huge Free Parking pile and then in quick follow-up China and Denmark landed on U.S. owned properties and gloating took on an entirely bolder approach. “Oh Yeah! That’s right!” “China that’s my property, with two hotels, that’s $1300! Pay up!” Ego-maniacle dictators are apparently made while other countries are busy counting their money. (China: “Why do I only have one dollars, why?”)  Note:  In the midst of this, China was heard saying: “Look. Look at me. This is a good player. See my good attitude? No matter what happens, I am still smiiiiiiiling.”  Peals of laughter ensued.

When Denmark threw the dice and accidentally (confirmed by Secretary General) counted wrong and skipped over China’s properties and then they made China re-roll his dice because the die landed on the floor, he shouted “Ma! Ma! Now they is cheats me!”  China’s economy crashed in three trips around the board (reversing all theories of luck) and Denmark held on by a few good properties, but was mortgaging things left and right.  Oh how world economies shift with a few short sighted investments and some bad luck. The U.S. claimed supreme dominance on day 6 of the game and won the game. Next they are tackling Risk. With a real map and armies, this could get bloody.

Denmark has developed a reputation for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close skype visits home. All nations and all parties have reached a stalemate in dealing with this issue. The issue: Denmark tends to speak Extremely Loud, and to get the best reception, she sits Incredibly Close to everyone else. Consequently, all involved are exposed to loud conversations, with lots of laughing and gesturing, and it all sounds like gargling to us.  No solution has been found to date and currently all hands are raised in opposition and defeat. Denmark has been trying (in VAIN) to teach us all a popular Danish tongue twister, to absolutely no success. If you listen to this link and then imagine it amplified a LOT and then imagine it in your kitchen for, sometimes, hours… National discontent over this issue has hit an all time low.  Even The Secretary General Hubby is flummoxed.

China is getting better at the universal language: sarcasm, every day. While driving somewhere recently, the Secretary General gave a sarcastic response to a question that China had asked too many times. China’s response: “Ha.     Ha.     Ha.”   More peals of laughter.  Beavis and Butthead have nothing on the laugh China does. (No doubt, China has never heard of B & B)

Yesterday in a return to screen time, U.S. agreed to teach China Call of Duty and China tried to teach U.S. how to play video basketball. For the record, U.S. does not play basketball, on or off screen. China however, lives and breathes basketball. He can regularly be seen making invisible shots from any given spot in our home. When he thinks no one is watching, he even makes an occasional slam dunk. Unfortunately, our high school is highly competitive and China didn’t stand a real chance at making the team. The NBA is still on strike (if the players, coaches and owners had just spent 5 minute with China, they would all be playing ball right now… for free.), so alas, it’s video basketball.   U.S. was clearlily struggling and from the other room, there was a lot of heckling and yelling going on… when suddenly US yelled, “Yes!” and China chanted: “Go! Go! Dunk now, dunk! Oh my goodness– do you see how exciting I am!!”   So U.S. will teach China how to kill and blow things up and China is teaching U.S. how to dribble and dunk.

Denmark is very excited to be getting packages from home, for the holidays. One package included a whole bunch of recipes. She announced that she was so excited to finally have receipts.  “Uh, what?” Asked U.S. “Why would your family send you receipts?”   “Recipes!”  The Sec.Gen yelled… cook for us baby, cook for us!

<— Sorry, but sexy sells… I’m hoping this brings new, hip readers to my blog.         Is it politically incorrect if China criticizes Asians?  We ate dinner at the AMAZING new Korean hot pot restaurant last night; a favorite with all countries at the U.N. The large flat screen TV was on and tuned to a Korean version of “Whose Got Talent” or “American Idol.” It was pretty much all-girl and all-boy bands, dancing and singing very pop music.  From where we were sitting, they all sounded pretty much the same (male or female) and we just wished we could watch better, as the dancing, styles and outfits were quite entertaining. China asked us if we found the Asian boys and girls attractive and everyone weighed in. For the record all agree that Mike on Glee is a very good looking Asian man. Then, in a conversation that may be used for the rest of the year, China said: “I don’t really like Asian women. They are always trying to be sooo cute. Like little pets, all dressed up.”  Oh my.  Can I just say that at my age, bladder control is a real issue some days at the U.N.

(It might be noted from this ^^^^  picture that China may have a point. There does seem to be a slight resemblance to Jiggy of Real Housewives of <—Beverly Hills.)

Denmark is in heaven since Secretary General bought a Soda Stream, as an early Hanukkah/Christmas, gift for the family. She does not like the taste of our water and prefers carbonated water. I prefer not to spend a small fortune on water with fizz. So, Secretary General, in her infinite wisdom spent a small fortune (it was small in the long run) on a machine that now makes Denmark smile daily. Ahh, fizz fizz, joy, joy.

It has become well established policy that if any other nation wants a particular food saved, they must inform China several times and then remind him again… and, then perhaps hide that food.  China is an eating machine, and as we all learned during The Bay of Cream Puffs, he has no scruples in this arena.  Of course, if you want to stop China dead, merely utter the words Cream Puffs.

While watching the Saturday Night Live recently, a revelation that has shocked all parties, rocked the U.N.  As Denmark, US and the Secretary sang along to Coldplay’s new song, Paradise,  China came out and said “Who’s this?”  Denmark’s reaction was immediate and huge: “THIS IS COLDPLAY!” “Who?” China asked. After minutes of establishing that he did not in fact know who Coldplay is (what!), we then ascertained that he also had not heard of U2, Elvis Presley, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Jay Z, and then… then he brought down the house when we figured out that he’d never heard of… Wait, go ahead, who is THE most famous group of all time? Where does so much music come from? Unless you too are living under a rock in China:  The Beatles!  China had never heard of The Beatles! Recovery has been slow on this one. Denmark, U.S. and the Secretary General has been compelled to send links to anything Beatles to China, frequently. Sometimes daily. There are a lot of links people. A lot of links to the Beatles indeed.

Israel and Canada return to the U.N. in just a week and all other nations are preparing for the changes and adjustments that are bound to come.  Rooms need to be switched, spots at the table shifted, and adding established countries to other established unions is never smooth. Israel and Canada are bound to bring their own issues to the National scene. Wait until Canada joins the Monopoly board… no prisoners.

Never a dull moment at the U.N. and for the most part, Secretary General wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  If you are on the post, it is at the very bottom of that post. Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is

Posted in Blog, Daily Observations, Foreign exchange students, High School, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Sarcasm, Teens, The U.N. | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Middle… On the Edge of Humor and Insanity.

Posted on December 7, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

About a week ago I snapped. I came home from Hospice to one more afternoon of three teens on three different screens and pretty much messes everywhere: backpacks, snack plates, cups (mountains of cups! Full, empty, used, just sitting there…), shoes, jackets… mess.  Please do not send me well intentioned advice on teens here folks. Spare me the report that says teens are messy, a tad narcissistic and most are addicted to computers/video games/technology… got it. Really, I do understand that they are normal. But, I am in no mood for understanding, some days, lately.  I ordered them off screens and told them to start a game of Monopoly, and one week later it has pretty much taken over our home. Hilarious wars are being waged daily over real estate, hotels, how the should or should not be thrown, who is winning and who is losing… which changes by the hour.  One minute US is stating “There is no hope; I should quit.” The next he’s shouting “Pay up China, that’s $1500!”  When Denmark counts wrong and accidentally misses landing on China’s Boardwalk, he calls to me “Ma!  They is cheats me now!”  Sec. Gen: “That is:  they are cheating me.” It’s always the right time to correct English phrases.

Anyway, despite this amusing distraction, it’s been a rough week… and a particularly rough day.  So please don’t send words of wisdom, or ideas of how I can parent better, cope better… I’m on the Edge. So don’t push me… Me and  Grandmaster Flash. (Oh yeah, push that link and go waaay back… Yes, young thangs, that is kool tech: iPod, back when you had to carry it on your shoulder and strut.)  This post is a rant, with humor and sarcasm used to deflect away from my personal shortcomings.

I had a few different ideas for today’s post, but life got in the way again. I woke to a pounding headache. I had to drive Denmark to the Golf Club for a holiday concert at 7:45 AM. Hello? Who goes to a concert at 8 AM? Just wondering who is that upbeat? I came up to find both China and U.S.  running late and surrounded by messes that I’d clearly said needed to be cleaned before they left for school. Mayhem ensued for 10 long minutes as they scurried around doing what should’ve been done last night. It’s amazing how fast Nations can work together and move forward, when a stern Secretary General says: “If I have to drive either of you to school this morning, because you missed the bus, it will not be pleasant.”

As I drove Denmark to the concert, US called to say he’d forgotten his lunch check and requested I drop it off.  On our way, three punk ass teens, for reasons that neither Denmark or I could figure out, passed me and gave me the finger. FingerS. We were all going the same way, so they continued to shoot arrows my way the whole drive, despite the fact that there was still no clear reason why. I dropped Denmark and headed to the high school, only to realize I’d forgotten to put on shoes. I had to walk into the school, through puddles, in my slippers. When I got home, all I wanted was a cup of hot tea. When I picked up the cup, to drink said tea, I found a puddle and then hot water running down my arm. There was a long crack in one of my favorite mugs. I put it in the huge box of broken pottery that I’ve moved from one state to another and had for 13 years, because “some day I’m going to make something of all that broken stuff.”

When I got home I was determined to install the new remote garage door key pad/opener, that broke the day Hubby left the country. I was determined to salvage this crap of a morning. The kids have not been able to get in without it; it needed to be done. I want it noted here, for the record:  that I stripped the wires, drilled holes and installed that sucker. Redeems me, after breaking a finger putting up holiday lights on our house four days ago.  All of this had occurred by 8:30 AM. An hour later, I realized that the microwave and computer were dead, as well as our WiFi.  Bad mood does not cover it.  I considered alcohol poisoning… but settled for copious amounts of Cheez-Its. When eaten quickly and in big handfuls, they are just dairy.

I called an electrician who is really good and promised to come right over. He was impressed by my garage door installation job, trouble-shooted the problem and was done in ten minutes. He was confused for a few minutes too, which helped me feel less stupid that I hadn’t figured it out myself.  He made a pass (yes, seriously) that could not be misinterpreted… Um, I said my husband was away, not dead. I gave him two beers and and we called it good.  For the record, again:  IF, big fat IF, I was going to go to that dark side, it would not be for 10 minutes of electrical work… no matter how good looking you are. Friends who live nearby, don’t even ask who it was. Good guy, great electrician and silly move. I guess I’m just that hot in a fuzzy sweater, fuzzy slippers and totally exhausted. Or, it’s my winningly sarcastic charm; irresistible apparently.

<— Does Charlie not just say it all? Seriously, that boy can cry foul!

Did I mention that it’s also an early release today? I’m sorry, but there is no explanation for why there needs to be a half day, one week before winter break. I needed that other half of a day to lick my wounds and pout. Seriously, by 11 AM all of the above incidents had transpired and the kids were coming back at 11:30.  I packed up my things and here I sit, eating sushi alone, and working on ways to go home with a better attitude. China and Denmark need me to take them to sign up for a gym membership. US is floundering in a couple of classes and I need to do some hard, cold limit setting, and I have not been over to see Mom yet today. I feel guilty each time I leave her and whenever I’m not there, and I feel tearful and helpless when I’m there.  My beloved golden retriever, Callie, truly had a kinder end than my mother and the irony of that is a bitter pill that chokes me daily.

The sushi by the way is meant to justify and balance out the the Cheez-Its. I’m pretty sure that all that raw fish un-does all the harm from cookies and crackers, right?  Well, except for the Mercury poisoning (and yes, I got my levels tested: they’re too high). Me and Jeremy Pivens: Insanity by fish. Whatever, it makes me feel better. It’s quiet here and I can sit in this corner and just type away. The kids are on day 7 of the most hysterical Monopoly game ever played and that’s bound to make me laugh, later. For now, this peace is sacred.

AND YES: I am aware that I seem incapable of actually writing a short “Middle” post… an utter failure at brevity. Utter. Failure. More Cheezits please.  I’m stuffing my face and singing:  “Don’t push me ’cause I’m close to the edge     I’m tryin’ not to lose my head    Uh Huh ha ha ha      It’s like a jungle sometimes,     It makes me wonder how I keep from going under.”   Play that funky music white girl…

Tell me your tale of woe. One up me. Or, make me laugh, but leave a comment. I don’t see your name, if you use something creative. You could even insult me anonymously… but then I might track you down.   Hit Like and make my day better… I’m not above using my misery to win Likes.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Daily Observations, High School, Musings, My world, Sarcasm, The U.N., Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Christmas with Mom, a Dark Wish for Santa (Writing Contest Entry)

Posted on December 3, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

As Christmas approaches, I lie beside my Mom each day at the Hospice House, and find myself wishing for one thing: peace for Mom.

“Dear Santa, please bring my mother a peaceful death. Take away her fear. Please let her be finished with this horrible battle, against Huntinton’s Disease, that she can’t win. She can’t write anymore, but she asks for this each day.     Thank you Santa, a daughter.”

I write this letter with heavy heart. I have had so many wonderful Christmas memories with my mother, and she has given me so many gifts.  This gift I wish for her.

 

***  This is an entry for a Christmas writing contest:  memories with your mother or grandmother. The host is http://warnerwriting.wordpress.com/ and her blog is really worth checking out. Things I Want to Tell My Mother, is a blog written to a mother with Alzheimer’s.

Posted in Honest observations on many things | 5 Comments

Extra! Extra! Passive Aggressive Control Freak Surrenders… and Survives to Celebrate It.

Posted on December 3, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

POW!  KAPLOOEY!  BAM!  Holy transformation Batman; she’s accepting help! What next? Well folks, it was bound to happen. Or, maybe it wasn’t bound to just happen, and I can actually take some credit for working really hard at this and (for now) succeeding. Yes, I’ll claim this success; hard work got me here.  I can say this for certain:  small miracles have been happening daily around here and I am rejoicing. It would be foolish not to acknowledge that the transition has been in the works (lots of work) for several years now. I would be a liar if I didn’t say that in some ways it was forced on me. Life has a way of doing that. I do believe that the Universe, Life, gives us messages… But not like some great conscious thing picking me to speak to. More that Life presents lots of stuff and depending on the path you’re walking, you notice it or you don’t. Then, you do something with it or you don’t.  So, while it’s taken me a long time and some dark passages (especially in the past 12 months) to work through, I think I’m finally getting it and ready for surrender.

In my defense, I didn’t get here by accident. At ten it became my roll to do much more than most 10 year olds do, to keep my family moving along. Mom became Dad, I became Mom… without the actual perks of having any real control or authority. It’s not like my siblings appreciated my promotion. They weren’t particularly happy to have me telling them what to do, nor was I happy having to do it. But at the end of the day, if the house wasn’t clean and things weren’t running smoothly, it was not pleasant.  From that, I figured out quickly that it’s best to do it yourself. Gets done faster, gets done the way you want it done and, well… you don’t trust other people to do it for you, because if the buck stops with you, you can’t take chances that someone else will mess it up and you will be left responsible. And frankly, your ego begins to buy into the fact that you can just do a better job than anyone else. However, over time all of that just became a habit. A bad, unhealthy, unfulfilling, seemingly never-ending, hamster wheel of a habit.

Let’s be real here:  I’m talking in the third person, but this is all about me and my own controlling ways. I’ve been working on change for a very long time… I am a lifer in the therapy, helpful books, talk, talk, talk genres. And for as long as I can remember I’ve been hearing about “detachment” and “letting go.”  I could gag on how many times I’ve heard the message or had it boldly shoved in my face. Intellectually, I could always see the point; but realistically, it was still much easier to do it myself; complain about it later (hence the passive-aggressive) or let myself be exhausted and run down, but still take on more. Pile it on and forge on: pissed, tired, denying that I was either, and venting in all the wrong places. At this point, whatever the causes or reasons:  for most of my life I’ve felt compelled to do it all myself. I don’t need help; don’t accept it very well and I’ve always been willing to pile on more stuff. The fact that I was spinning my own wheels too often and running my battery down constantly didn’t really add up to cause for reconsideration of said tendencies. Give me a holiday and I’d make all the dishes the group likes (from scratch), decline all offers to bring something, and try to slow my pulse as I sat down to eat. Family events, vacations, school functions, community stuff… hand in the air and volunteering before I even heard the details. Phone calls from people who need something, and I’m on board and insisting “No, really I don’t mind” even as my head fills with all the reasons why I will probably melt down in the process, even as I begin to resent each thing I take on. I smile and insist it’s ok, even as I curse it.

One of the saddest parts in all this, is how I made others feel along the way. While I was busy feeling wiped out, put out, put upon, taken advantage of, unsupported (all while cultivating these very things, all on my own… after all, why wouldn’t others ask me to do things, or presume I’m fine, when my battle cry was “I can do it!” ??)— The message to those I love, friends and family alike, was:  I don’t trust you to do it. I can do it better. I don’t need you. I don’t need anything. That is what I was saying, each time I pushed the offers of help away or said “Just bring rolls,” “No, really, I’ve got it,” or the endless other control freak mantras. No one could help me because I didn’t accept any help and I consequently found more things to swallow me up because that’s what I noticed in the “Universe.” I wasn’t seeing the messages of  Grace, Kindness, Love, Generosity, Humility, Detachment… because I grew up making all of that happen for myself.

So what changed? Why the surrender now? Shit, that is so complicated and so easy. Age. Life. Awareness. The love of good people. A series of really difficult, painful and ultimately life changing events, over a three year period… but particularly this past year. Hitting the proverbial bottom and then waking up. There are enough clichéd explanations to write on and on about… Wait, that would make me Nicholas Sparks and I’d be worth a fortune! Hey maybe I can re-channel all this disfunction and buy a house in Italy.  (End of snarky, sarcastic rant…)

Suffice it to say, I’m waking up. However, working on detaching from outcomes is hard, seriously hard work.  I’ve always held on like a dog with a bone. Need to fix it; need to have my say; need to see it turn out the way I think it should; need to get involved. Stepping back from that has been no easy task. But, I found that hitting that bottom, I had to either work on taking care of me or continue to drown slowly. Swim! Grab the life rings that were thrown. Accept help and be grateful it’s there.  And slowly, over this past year, I realized that it works. Letting go makes it all a lot easier. Sitting with my Mom day after day for the past several weeks, this point has been clearer than ever. There is nothing I can do but love her and sit with her. It’s exhausting some days, and so painful. Friends called and asked to help and I’d say “We’re fine; I’ve got it… thanks.” Then one day, I hung up with one of those friends one day and realized how it must feel to her that I kept saying no, when I’ve helped her when she needed it. I called back and said, “Yes, meals would be great. Thank you so much.”  Hubby has gone to Chile, I’m exhausted and overwhelmed many days and I can’t tell you how wonderful it has been to see those meals arrive. To have those days when I don’t have to think about feeding three teens and pulling myself together. I’m so grateful. Period. Grateful. I feel supported and loved and it is so good.

In fact it feels so good that I’ve turned this surrender thing on its ear and have been accepting (and even asking for) help all over the place!  1) I’ve accepted rides for my kids several times recently, when I would normally have said: “No, I can drive them; I don’t want you to put yourself out.”  People want to put themselves out. They want to help and I needed the help. Win, win.  2) Big day off with a friend, to get my holiday shopping done ahead (for the first time EVER):  I always drive (mostly because I hate being in the passenger seat, because I drive better than anyone.); I asked her to drive, knowing I was tired and that I could just practice some more relaxing and letting go. So ok, I did use my invisible brake a few times, but mostly I just enjoyed the company. And, bonus: I got to have a drink at dinner (ok, in case she’s reading: 2 drinks), because I wasn’t driving!  3) Thanksgiving: “Yes, I’d love it if you brought your stuffing, your spinach dish, your whatever you most like to make”… I did ask for rolls too, but only because I didn’t want to deal with getting them. Technically, that should be bonus points: accepting help and asking someone else to do something I knew I didn’t want to do.  4) I did not sit back as Hubby packed for his big trip to Chile and passive-aggressively think of all the things he wouldn’t be here to help with. (Well, ok, a little… but, BUT, I didn’t say it out loud! Bonus points right?)  I said: “I need these three things done before you leave. I need your help. This is important, please don’t leave these things for me.” He got them all done before leaving, and I was so grateful.

One of the three items was to arrange for Mom’s cremation. I had the number for weeks, but could not make the call. So I asked for help, and it’s all done.  I know it wasn’t easy for him either, but he did it and I was incredibly relieved. Frankly, it was clear that he was grateful too. I could see that my message of trust meant something to my husband after years of hearing me say, “I’ll do it” but then being resentful that he didn’t. Win. win. Friends drove my kids and gave me hugs. Friends helped cook for Thanksgiving and probably felt great when we all enjoyed their food alongside mine. Win. win. By the way, that is four big examples of letting go, in less than a month… In fact, in one week.  Can I hear an olé, a three cheers, a woot woot, a BOOYAH!  (Perhaps that throws off the humility piece, but the sound effects are fun.)

Like I said, there’s a long history of why I’ve done things this way. And the longer I did it that way the harder it was to really trust that it would be alright to let it go and just accept the outcomes. However, it’s such a relief to venture into the world of letting go and see that there is no fall. I will not fall apart, no rapid drop, and in fact things got much better. I feel supported and I then have more energy for the mountain of stuff I do have to do on my own. I’m learning that I can say to people “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time with that, but I can’t do anything,” even if I only say it in my mind sometimes. Baby steps. I’m trying to just step back and let my kids make their decisions and see the outcomes, without pushing my agenda as much. Message: I trust you to do the right thing, because I do believe all three of you are competent, intelligent, thoughtful people. I’m accepting the dinners and the rides and the words of comfort, with gratitude and humility. This (my Mom, the kids, hubby gone, the holidays, all of it) has been hard and I’m done cracking jokes and denying the help. THANK YOU FRIENDS. Thanks for calling and going to lunch with me; thanks for cooking, thanks for checking in daily, thanks for being there. Despite my black, little sarcastic heart: I am sincerely grateful and humbled by your generosity and support.

      

So, I surrender and I say with some degree of certainty: I think this is for real. My final answer: “Yes, thank you.”  I don’t think it’s a phase, I believe the change is longterm. It would just be foolish to turn back, right?  If I say what I really need and I accept help, if I let go and accept the outcomes either way, there isn’t much to be passive aggressive about either. I get the help I need, the people who care feel helpful, we’re both happy with the results… It’s a circular thing that just keeps getting better. Unless of course, some of the people offering are like me, before: offering because they just think they can fix it better than anyone else, and that while they don’t really have time, they should help. Hopefully my progress is not enabling other control freaks.  Wait, not my problem… letting go of that too. This letting go thing is addictive. I may be needing some intervention of the opposite kind a year from now. I am certainly not the person I was one year ago, and who knows where all this surrender might take me. God knows, a lot can happen in one year.

What do you need to work on? Is letting go a tough gig for you too, or am I in this alone?  Share your thoughts with a comment.

Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).

Posted in Awareness, Daily Observations, Ego, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Middle….These are a Few of My Favorite Things

Posted on November 30, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Move over Oprah!  Oh, right she did move over… right off into the sunset. No ridiculously over the top show this year with all her “Favorite Things.”  So, here are a few of MY favorite things. This is the brief post I’ve promised for Wednesdays. A few things that I love and want to share.

The first thing I love, I can’t share. It’s my 50+ year old (Yes, you read that correctly.) Christmas cactus. My auntie Anna gave my grandmother a plant that Anna started from her own, when I was a little girl. At the time she told my Grandma that it was “quite old.” My grandmother’s grew to hang down from a 2nd floor loft in her home. My Mom’s perished in the Blizzard of ’78. I’ve carried mine from home > to college > graduate school > Chicago when we married > Michigan and here.   My plant as been there and done that; and you can quote me. Each year it blooms like crazy… at least once.

Garrett’s popcorn. There is simply no better popcorn in the world. It is from Chicago, but they ship  all over. It’s always a good day when the wait at the store is less than an hour, but they ship all over.  We love the caramel and cheese varieties: mixed.  I’m fairly sure they dust it with heroin. See if I’m right. (We’ve got quite a collection of Garrett’s canisters! ———–>)

Kiehl’s– All of it, but the Imperial Body Balm and Lip Balm #1 are To. Die. For. The company is 150 years old and they make damned fine products with botanical ingredients and no perfumes. Find them on line or at most Nordstroms. I can’t live without my lip balm.

(<–Townsend Bay Soap Company products. Ok, call it nepotism but these may be the most wonderful soaps anywhere. They’re all natural and fabulous on all skin types. TBSC uses the highest quality essential oils and will do personalized labels for baby showers, weddings or whatever makes you smile (Note the picture. Had to photo shop the Bar Mitzvah bar, as it didn’t say Little Man Bat Mitzvah Bar). I’m a huge fan of the liquid soaps too. I’ve been known to use the bars for both bathing and in drawers, to make my whole room smell wonderful. The products are sold on line and in Made in Washington stores at Seatac and elsewhere, as well as in many small local stores around Washington state. I always get a call to say “That soap is amazing! Thanks!” when I give it as a gift. Watch this uber cool video to see how it’s made. Besides all that, I happen to love the owners to pieces.

Mack’s Earplugs. I don’t know who you sleep next to, but I don’t go to bed without my ear plugs. I can’t sleep without them wherever I am. Period.  “No I didn’t hear that wind storm; or the gravel mover next to me.”  Apparently swimmers love them too.   (<– A couple of bucks makes for a better marriage.)

Mezzetta Nappa Valley Sauces. Absolute yumminess. Tastes like home-made and add some meat or seafood and you have the easiest dinner, in 15 minutes. The Artichoke Parmesan Marinara rocks my world. I have been known to eat it out of the jar. Seriously.

(These sauces are my favorite ready made, that I’ve ever found—>)

I hate to be without my Temper-Pedic Pillow, but the picture would be drool stained yucky.

Having tried many, and having been pushed to go Google Calendar finally (after much pressure from husband and college age kids), I still love my Monster Grid Calendar.  I liked the Boynton one for years, with the individual columns, but it just got harder and harder to read down and across and keep it all straight. This gives me one big ass square for each day. I keep it in the pantry to check as I make coffee… then I double check Google. I still forget things.

Hands down my favorite cocktail, winter or summer (spring and fall too), is my own Grapefruit Cocktail.  Squeeze 1/2-1 fresh, red or pink grapefruit into a glass. Add one shot Absolute Ruby Red Vodka (sorry, but you must be 21 or older to enter this link). Add ice. You do in fact have to add the ice first, to get the perfect pink foam. Then top with Schwepp’s Tonic Water.  This baby makes any day better. Any. Day.  (The deck and view don’t hurt either.)

My slippers are something that I absolutely MUST have. Hard to say which ones as I switch it up each year. I will say that not a single pair has made it one year, intact. I’ve had the Uggs with rubber soles, the LL Bean shearlings, and the Haflingers. I wear my slippers every day, whenever I’m home. The Haflingers are amazingly warm and comfy and I like the colorful styles. The shearlings are just delicious on my feet. I prefer no rubber sole, so it’s more like being bare footed, but I am hard on slippers and have yet to find one that really holds up.

Hot Tamales. One of my favorite food groups.  Back up? Frozen Reeses. Only frozen.

What are your favorite things? What makes you smile enough to pass on?
Stop! Really. Read this.  Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. It also helps my blog grow and that is the point. Go back and hit Like.  Thanks. Then, be nice and “Share” them with others; ’tis the season. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam, you can sign up with an anonymous name (I won’t know who you are, unless you tell me),  and you will get an email each time I post.  Think of it as a Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day (sorry about the gun, but this is serious business).
Posted in Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world, Wonderful Things, Yee haw | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Remembrances, Aspirations and a Crooked Tree… A Mashup

Posted on November 29, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

November 29th would have been my father’s 71st birthday. He was thirty-three years old when he died, thirty-eight years ago, so he’s now been dead several years longer than he lived.  In my lifetime, those numbers are even more skewed: I had him in my life for ten years and have not for thirty-eight.  I’ve spoken of him before in this blog (see Death and All His Friends and Me in the Key Of); he was killed in a car accident when I was ten.  My life has been defined as much by the time before that event as the years that followed.

In my mind he is young, just as I am.  My memories are of a father who was playful and adventurous. He taught me to whistle through a blade of grass, how to fly a kite, why any day in the woods is a special day. I remember him pushing us to pedal our bikes as my brother and I rode across the vast Stockton valley of farms to watch the boat races on the Delta. We stopped to eat a watermelon from a field by the road.  At the time, I recall my legs aching and my wondering why we were going so far for something he wanted to do, not us… now the whole day stands in my memories as a very special day with my father. He was thoughtful and a good friend. Affectionate with us and joyful. He was handsome. He was a free spirit, who dropped in without calling and loved to play.  He loved riding a motorcycle because of the sense of freedom he felt on the bike, his best friend, Eric once told me.  I aspire to be like him in many ways.

<– My parent’s wedding day. No doubt, my maternal grandmother wanted a picture of her children: My uncle on the L, my Dad and Mom.  The little girl is my aunt Pam- Mom’s sister- who was 5 years older than me. She died of Huntington’s 3 yrs ago, at 49.)

My memories of our time as a family are misty and veiled. My parents were both very young when they married (he was 22, she was 19) and they had me shortly after. I remember my parents laughing. I remember my brother and I jumping on the bed while they lay in there; the sheets a big pile and my mom and dad laughing. I remember them arguing, my brother and I going outside to stay out of the fray. I remember spending time as a family with my grandparents, by the sea and in the forests of northern California. I remember the homes we lived in (too many). I remember being a family and then not being one. I still see my father as handsome and magical in a young life that was transitioning even as I missed the signs. In short order, we were dividing time between our parents’ residences and then he was hit while riding his motorcycle (killing him instantly) and the rest is “after my Dad.”   He was far too young to die.   (We were happy with our Mom and Dad, grandparents, aunt and balloons –>)

(<– In this shot, my parents are looking at their wedding gifts… Oh, a waffle iron! Dad on the far right, Mom seated)

It is inconceivable to me that he would be an older man now, if he had lived.  Of those who lived longer, my father’s family ages well. I imagine his face would be creased, but he would retain the beautiful, olive complexion of his youth. Like my great-grandmother, I think his face would be smooth and dignified. I can still hear is voice in my mind, but have no way of knowing whether I have completely created that voice as an amalgamation of the voices of other men in my life who I’ve loved, or whether those fleeting sound bites are really him. Would he have have stopped smoking by now? Or would his voice have that gravely, husky tone that older smokers have?  I would give anything to sit with him even once and talk with him now. There are so many things I would ask:  What made you happy and what did not? I would want to hear about how he felt when his children were born and what did he love most about my mother. What were his regrets and what brought him joy?  What would he think of my siblings and I? Doesn’t every girl want to know what their father thinks of them? I have often wondered how many of the things that I’ve been told about him are accurate and how many are colored by people’s grief and their remembrances. Tell me Dad; I would ask.  In reality, if I had that moment alone with him… I might forget what to say, the joy of it too much to speak. (My Dad just six months before his death. You can’t see the tree, but it’s Christmas 1972)

(<– Eric and Dad, age three, eating cookies on the stoop)

His best friend Eric has spent years fleshing out the man I never really knew. He has told me about my Dad as a young boy, a teen and later as a father, husband and man. It helps to hear what Eric shares as he loved him very much, knew him his whole life and is honest in his memories. They are not all flattering, but that is the flesh and blood of the myth. Eric and I spoke tonight, and I felt as I always do, like I am close for a moment to the Dad who has been gone for so long. Had my father lived, he would have been 72 years old and I would hope that we would get along, respect each other and share good memories. Instead, I have good memories that are my own. Happy Birthday Dad, whoever you might have been and all that you were.

I’ve been reading a bit more again. After months of write, write, writing, to get the manuscript ready for editing, I finally have time again to read other people’s writing. After 9 years, the book group I started came to an end. While I miss the structure and the wonderful women who were part of the group, it was time for it to end.  Still the void had left me a bit adrift in the reading department, initially. For 9 years there was always a book waiting to be read, and others if I had time.  Added to the dilemma was my Mom’s failing health. My attentions were spread all over the place and my focus limited. Mostly, I read People each week and not much else. Don’t judge me; it got me through. Now, as I sit for hours each day with my Mom, I often read.  With no prescribed reading list, I can read what I want, when I want. There are piles of books that I’ve purchased or have been given, just sitting on my night stand and in my office, waiting to be read. I finished The Borrower, by Rebecca Makkai. It was filled with references to other books and the love of reading. Without the book group list, I can create any list I want;  I just need to pick one and start it. However, what I find is that the more I read, the more I want to write.

In addition to magazines and novels, I’m reading other blogs and finding myself wanting to do better with my own. I read some blogs and aspire to see mine be sharper, better written… bring in more readers. I want to see it read, and watch it grow. I write to have it read. I read to write better and find inspiration. I read when I can, when I’m motivated, but I think about writing every day. Every. Day. I miss when I was editing and re-writing all the time. I read others’ work and I think of ways to improve my own, to switch it up and get more creative. I aspire to seeing my manuscript come back with a thumbs up and then sending it to a publisher… dare I dream beyond that? I do, I do!

All of this remembering and aspiring is happening as we zoom into The Holiday Season… the mother of all shake downs. Each year, no matter how I prepare (or say I’m going to prepare) it takes me by surprise and spins me upside down and sideways. It’s when my mind wanders the most, to holidays past and people missed. In addition to my father, I miss my grandparents, my mother in law, the friends that aren’t here. It is the season when I so appreciate those I’m with, even as I miss those I’m not with. It’s when I aspire to the best, but often feel the most overwhelmed and nostalgic.  It’s when I set myself up the biggest and baddest to be all the things I want to be, all at once.  AAUGH!  After writing a full blown Holiday letter for twenty-five years (before they were common mind you), I’ve blown it the last two years in a row. Instead, we sent… nothing. Oh I know, I can hear you: But isn’t that the perfect place to put all that writing energy?  Well yes, except that my manuscript will be coming back edited, right in the middle of The Holiday season… translation: more rewrites to do, with a deadline of December 31st for submitting it to the publisher I’m submitting to. And, my mind is on my Mom 24/7 right now. I’m at hospice every day and I barely remember to do the things on my to do list that have nothing to do with holidays. Whether I like it or not, there is no predicting what or when something will happen with Mom. Makes for an extra sticky ball of emotional stuff.  The holiday letter is just one more thing, one more holiday thing, hanging over me.

This weekend we went out to the tree farm and cut our tree. This is the earliest we’ve ever done it and any other year I’d brag that I was on my game, way ahead of the twinkly lights, hordes of shoppers, get it to the post office, get it wrapped, cook the latkes, roast the roast, pine scented Holiday monster. However, this year it was only done early because Hubby is leaving for Chile until December 23rd, to climb Ojos del Salado. He will arrive home, horribly jet lagged, just in time to do… nothing to help this year. So I demanded that we get the tree now. He managed to get the beast up yesterday, but it is quite distinctly crooked.  After a few tries to make it right, he gave up and all my pleading got me no where. That tree is staying tipsy.  Hubby assures me that it is in fact secure, but it’s not straight, despite whatever rational he uses. Getting the tree and putting it up is at least a dent in all the rest of The Holiday stuff that needs to be done.  I will put lights on it when I can, and pull out the big ladder to put the lights on our house. I’m the only one who has ever been willing to sidle up our roof to do it anyway.  The ornaments will come on the 21st when Principessa and Middle Man are both home. I have waited for my college kids to come each year to deck that tree, and I will not give up yet. But all the rest: the packages, the cards, the bows, the lights, the food, the traditions, The Holidays are on me.  (^^ Say what you want– please don’t— but that tree is crooked. All 10′ of it… leaning distinctly back and to the left!)

(<– Separate but equal. Tree up there and menorah here… Our favorite menorah.)

Perhaps not that many of you may have noticed, other than those of you who, like us, celebrate both, but Christmas and Hanukkah fall right on top of each other this year. Is this beginning to sound a bit like the Perfect Storm to you too? I will be cooking latkes at the Senior Center on the 20th (first day of Hanukkah) as I have for several years. I will be planning our usual Hanukkah party at the same time that I’m planning Christmas Eve and Christmas night dinner.  All of the wonderful, generous, kind to the bone friends who have offered to bring some meals for me, while I care for my Mom and my hubby is off, watch out!  Now that I’ve discovered this idea of accepting help, not trying to do it all myself (Hello Universe, do you hear that? I am not doing it all myself anymore! Please forward to…) I may just ask one of these kind souls to prepare one of those holiday meals for the whole kit and kaboodle.  Just kidding… mostly.  I can handle that. After convincing hundreds (probably not an exaggeration) of local school children, over ten years, that “I make the worlds best latkes,” I may be checking out boxed versions this year… Ok, never mind. That won’t happen either. (It’s not looking good for not taking it all on myself, here.) I will in fact hit the internet up for some of the gifts that I’ve always bought in the stores and wrapped myself, barring that they can provide proper paper and bows.  I’m sure you get my point though:  The fact that our beautiful Christmas tree is crooked is the least of it.

(<– My brain, on The Holidays… and then some.)

So where is the Mashup you ask? How does any of this have anything to do with mashups? (And oh yes, that word does not have a hyphen; it’s one crazy-ass word indeed.) The whole idea of a mashup first occurred to me because I wanted to find a way to make last week’s Glee mashup fit, but it doesn’t. (Ha! Slick, eh? I may be sick of Glee, but I did like this one and I guess Adele fits under remembrances… Or, pathetically sad: watch this SNL skit if Adele just bugs you.)  Well, this post is an emotional mashup.  It’s the big tangled mess that is my brain right now.  If it’s not clear from the words themselves, simply note the over-use of parenthesis, asides, and other run-ons here, to demonstrate that my brain is on over-drive. I might also have you note that I did in fact work remembrances, aspirations and a tree into each section: mashup writing I could claim.  Go ahead back and you’ll see; it’s all there. If I could mix it in music, I would (it might include: The Cure, Jim Croce, Arcade Fire, and Bing Crosby… go figure), but it’s a mental thing. I miss my Dad; I’m grieving my Mom; I love Christmas and Hanukkah and want to make them both separate but equally special. I’m overwhelmed, anticipatory, anxious, hopeful, ready, unprepared, grateful and blessed. This is my mental mashup of remembrances and aspirations, with a crooked tree on the side.

What are your fondest aspirations? What do you love about the holidays and what makes you crazy?  Do you miss people this time of year, or are in an in the moment being?  Does Adele bug you? Seriously? Throw me a comment; share your thoughts.

Stop! Please note:  If you enjoy these posts hit “Like” and make me smile. Then, be nice and “Share” them. Better yet Like them; Share them and then do something nice for yourself: “Subscribe.” You won’t get any spam and you will get an email each time I post.  Holiday gift to yourself.  You know you want to. Go ahead, make my day.

Posted in Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Musings, My world | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Oh my! It’s the Liebster Blog Awards!

Posted on November 27, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note:

I take it back; I’m posting again. I got this amazing nomination yesterday for the Liebster Award. Part of the nomination includes posting the awards on your own blog site.  So, I am passing along some good stuff here, which I hope you will all take a moment to check out.  So, without further ado…

Liebster Blog Award

This Award is given to bloggers who have less than 200 followers, all in the spirit of fostering new connections. 

Leibster is German & means ‘dearest’ or ‘beloved’ but it can also mean ‘favorite’ & the idea of the Leibster award is to bring attention to blogs with less than 200 followers & pass the award on to 5 or more bloggers.

The Rules are:

  1. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
  2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
  3. Post the award on your blog.
  4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the blogsphere – other bloggers.
  5. And, best of all – have fun and spread the karma.
     

Oh my, what an honor… I don’t know what to say! I wasn’t prepared to win this. Sniffle, sniffle. First I have to thank God, and then all my fans, and of course Rita, of Rita’s Reflections, for nominating me… My family, my mother who gave birth to me, my friends, sniffle. sniffle.  Wait! I didn’t win yet? How do I win?  How many nominees are there! Dang. I thought I’d won something. Rita’s pretty amazing too, I’m not sure I stand a chance now! But then, I get to check out all those other cool bloggers, and so do you!  I’m just so excited to be nominated with these fine bloggers… but, pick me; pick me!  Who have I forgotten to thank?  Oh my, thank you, thank you!  Cue music.

Now, here are my nominees, in no particular order, but all fine and fabulous! Check them out by hitting the links.

Chronicle of a Family Outing

Kathleen Mulroy’s Blog

Domestic Simplicity

Me 2.0  (Ok, it’s possible that she already has 200 subscribers, but I love reading her blog, so…)

And, drum roll please…

Becoming Cliche

Check out these fine bloggers and enjoy some great writing.  As for me, this has been a true thrill and I am grateful to have been nominated. (Pick me; pick me!)

Posted in Blog, Daily Observations, Humor, Musings, My world | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

Thanksgiving at the U.N.

Posted on November 25, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note to new readers:  Our family has taken in two (yes, we are that crazy) exchange students for the entire school year. There was no preparation and it has been an adventure from day one (read the first post). China is a 16 year old boy and Denmark is a 16 year old girl. Along with our 15 year old son (the US), our 21 year old daughter, Israel (because she lived there last year and plans to move there) and our 19 year old son Canada (because he attended 3 yrs of  high school in BC, Canada), I am the Secretary General (because, well, I always wanted to be) and we are the U.N.

Note to all:  I think I’ll only post twice this week and give myself a break. I’m working on that: excepting that I do need help and I do need a break. Things with my Mom are not going well, though I suppose they are going as expected by hospice/dying standards. She is comfortable and at peace. She is resting most of the time now and is rarely awake. However, I am spending a lot of time at Hospice House and not much time writing. Most days, I am spending many hours lying in bed with Mom, sometimes silently, other times quietly telling her things that I want to say, as the time ticks by.  Since I turned my novel over to an editor, I’m just sitting and waiting to get it back and do rewrites. I haven’t started the early holiday shopping I swore I would do. I’m not cleaning out closets that I keep saying I’m going to clean. My Husband leaves next week for a two and half week trek to climb a mountain in Chile and I’m procrastinating and sitting next to my Mom.  I’m learning to except “good enough for now.”  So, I figured maybe this would be a two post week and we call it good.  Thanks for all the wonderful words of support and concern that many of you have sent. They have meant a lot in the past few difficult weeks.

For the fourth year in a row Principessa is not home for Thanksgiving. The expense of flying across country for four days, when she will be home for a month+ in just a few weeks, and the fact that she has loads of family near her college,  has never worked out to justifying all the hoop jumping we’d all do. Same issues with Middle Man meant we don’t have him home either.  Last year we did a total nutsy leap and met him in Vegas for Thanksgiving. Hubby, Little Man and I flew out the same day as Middle Man and all met at the airport in Vegas. We saw three shows, ate some great meals and had a wonderful long weekend together, though it was terribly untraditional.  Whille all the savings made sense two months ago, I miss our kids when they aren’t home with us for the holidays and wonder if we shouldn’t have just erred on the side of traditional homecomings.

Updates from the UN:

The “honeymoon” is definitely over and there have been more clashes with increased multi-national discourse. Denmark is fed up with the testosterone levels in China and the US. Denmark and China are tired of the Secretary General’s language corrections (“but you’re here to learn English.”). The US is annoyed by too many little things, while China claims to not mind most things but ruffles plenty of feathers. All the same, all three countries have done remarkably well considering the close borders and significant cultural gaps.

The idea of Thanksgiving has been fascinating to the multi-nation consortium that our home has become. I have heard Denmark commenting to numerous Skype friends and family members about “Thanksgiving,” the only word I can make out when she is speaking Danish, which sounds distinctly like an animated choking incident mixed with the Swedish chef from Muppets.China and US find it impossible not to tease Denmark about these loud, rapid chat-isodes.

China spent the week asking frequent questions about the big, mysterious celebration that he calls “The Thanksgiving.” Each time I brought in groceries or mentioned cooking, he asked “Ma, is this for The Thanksgiving?”  “No, China those hot dogs are just plane old junk food.” When I arrived home with a twenty pound turkey yesterday, his eyes just about popped out of his head. He carried it around for a few minutes and then proclaimed, “Oh, The Thanksgiving is very good!”

 (<— Cream puffs should never be taken lightly!)

Serious International conflict came to a head this week when the Secretary General arrived home from Hospice, opened the frige and saw that her last home-made cream puff (a gift from a friend) was gone.  When she carried the empty container into the kitchen and said “Who ate the last cream puff,” China said, with a sheepish grin, “I did.”  The Secretary General had told all parties, all countries, all persons, just the night before that these cream puffs were a special gift and were the sovereign property of the Secretary General.  The Secretary General said “Are you serious!”  China thought this was funny. S.G said clearly: “I am not sure why you are laughing. If you were the US, Israel or Canada, I would be yelling right now. We do not eat other country’s treats without express permission… and never take the last one without asking!”  China was very quiet.  All parties are currently working toward reconciliation, but discussions are strained by cultural differences regarding matters of etiquette. This seems like a universal principle, but China does not agree. China has been accustomed to taking what it wants, with no concern for these boundary issues. While the cream puff making friend suggested that perhaps China should be given Diplomatic Immunity on this issue; that is not an option. We do not negotiate with terrorists. China is being watched. (and the honeymoon is over)

Denmark has been trying to teach China, US and the Secretary General a popular Danish tongue twister. The efforts are hilarious and have been met with total failure on all fronts. The Secretary General clearly can not speak Danish.

Meanwhile, China tried teaching Secretary General to say his real, Chinese name (vs the Americanized one he chose) properly: CH: Weixuan  SE: way joon CH: shhuh (or something like that) SE: shhah  CH: shhuh  SE: shhhhau  CH: can’t you hear the difference?  SE: ok, what’s my name?  CH: Don  SE: Dawn  CH: down  SE: Dawn  CH: daun  SE: Can’t you hear the difference? Détente.

All nations were excited to watch The Amazing Race these past two weeks, as it was filmed in Denmark (the country). However, there was some disappointment on the part of Denmark (the kid) when racers were asked to perform tasks that involved bunny racing and visiting sites that she had never personally seen. China said politely but with a sarcastic tone that has definitely been learned here, “Oh, Denmark is really exciting. Those bunnies are so cute.”

Denmark, US, China and the Secretary General all attended the premier of Warren Miller’s new ski movie, Like There’s No Tomorrow. Denmark was absolutely giddy and put on goggles and ski jacket. China was flabbergasted, and when the scenes of crazy ass boarders, diving down sheer mountain faces came on, we all turned to him and said:  “That’s what you’ll be doing.”  China has only been on snow once, but bought a snow board at the local ski swap this year, and plans to take lessons. The movie gave him unrealistic confidence we fear… but then, it’s been doing that to the US, Israel, Canada and the Secretary General for years. We all came out of the movie pumped for the slopes.

This week China, Denmark and US got their season’s pass to Mt Baker.  When they return home from the slopes today, we will see if China really is Shaun White.  Since Warren Miller, he has been pretty confident about snow boarding. (He has only been in snow one other time)

China came up to the kitchen about 11 AM Thanksgiving morning. Secretary General had already been cooking since 7:15 and had made two pumpkin chiffon pies (passed down from grandma and uber labor intensive), a sweet potato supreme, wild mushroom stuffing, wild rice and had a turkey just going in the oven. He took one look around and said:  “Are all of your family from all over the US coming to The Thanksgiving?”  “Nope, no family this year; just friends.” He looked around, shook his head and said:  “This is so much food! Like Chinese spring festival, for all of my family…maybe 50 people!”

   

(^^^Sweet potato supreme with marshmallows,  fresh cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes sans marsh.)

China has had some significant issues with the subject of homosexuality.  He claims that it does not exist in the country of China and he doesn’t understand why it is so prevalent on US programming:  Glee, Modern Family, etc.  Plain and simple, it makes him clutch his face, recoil in horror and groan at the TV (no joke), to both the amusement and disdain of Denmark and the US, who are oh so politically correct.  Denmark has made it her personal mission to teach him some sensitivity on this topic.  She has several gay friends and his reaction bothers her endlessly. This week, the Secretary General heard China and Denmark discussing the topic again as they came home from school. As they came in the kitchen, China said to Denmark: “I know how man-man do it (oh oh, it?), but I don’t understand what girl-girl do?”  Denmark corrected “woman-woman”, while US became increasingly agitated: “Uh, guys, could we drop this now…”  China: “How would woman-woman satisfy each other?”  (OH my!), “OH MY God, don’t ask that China!” US shouted and before the Secretary General could say Sanctions, Denmark embarked on a colorful, (though brief) and accurate explanation. US left the kitchen traumatized; China was embarrassed and informed; Denmark was sanctimoniously pleased. Secretary General remained neutral but enormously amused.

Denmark has been asked to appear on a popular Danish TV program, akin to Good Morning America. They would interview her via Skype. She has asked the Secretary General to appear in the interview too…  This could be interesting.  Negotiations are incomplete at time of press. Stay tuned for further details, as we may be taking this rodeo International…for real.

When China first arrived in our home, he made it clear that he found Dad “brilliant.”  Time and again, The Secretary General would come up with a solution to a problem or figure something out for China, but Dad was “so brilliant.” Finally, the Sec. Gen, in a moment of childish frustration stated “Mom is brilliant too, pay attention!” Several instances came up in short succession that lead to repeating those words, until this week, when China had a problem and Sec. Gen. solved it,  China smiled and said “Wow!  Ma so brilliant!”  Indoctrination of foreign minors is a beautiful thing.

(<– perhaps the best turkey we’ve ever tasted!)

In a complete departure from usual turkey roasting practices, the Secretary General followed the advice of a friend and covered the bird in bacon and cooked it in a roasting bag this year. The results were fantastic! Everyone wanted a piece of the bacon and the meat was amazing. Upon finding China picking off the pieces of bacon(something that is becoming a trend… eating what he wants, without regard for others waiting… hello, he learned nothing from the cream puff incident!), the Secretary General caught him:  “Halt! This is not the one child policies of China! Only boy is now one of several family members and needs to wait his turn. Back away from that turkey mister!”  China smiled, popped the piece of bacon in his mouth and said “but you are such a good cook Ma. ”  Add bribing authorities to the list of recent offenses.

Denmark has adopted the phrase “I am 100% certain of this!”  It is always said with a very bold voice and a distinct smugness. China rolls his eyes and it is the matador’s red cape for the US. The Secretary General has suggested that Denmark find a new way of saying: “I’m sure.”

The Secretary General took China for a haircut and convinced him to try something “edgy,” ridding himself of the youthful (read goofy) bangs he had. China loves his new style and has taken to using hair gel and a dryer to get it to spike up. Denmark and US support China’s change but concerns are rising that China will not be able to return to China in June, with these new Western ways.

As SE prepared gizzards for gravy, Thanksgiving day, China said “What are you doing ma?”  SE: “I’m preparing the gizzards. Do you eat these?” CH: Yes these are very popular in China, but you don’t eat them in America. SE: Well, obviously we do. I’m preparing them now.  CH: My teacher told me that you don’t eat such things here!  SE: Well, your teacher was wrong; and you can quote me. Actually, seems your teacher has been wrong a few things now. Maybe you can be teacher when you go back.  China grinned.

 Thanksgiving thoughts:

(<– Each year when I set my table, I remember all of the holidays before. The china was my mother’s; the glasses were my grandmother’s; the silver was given to us as wedding present by both of my husband’s grandmothers; and the wine glasses came from my mother and father-in-law. They are all with me each time I set this table.)

So Thanksgiving went off without a hitch and with much enthusiasm locally and Internationally. Israel and Canada both phoned home and made the Secretary General smile. Denmark and China were impressed with the pomp and circumstance and extensive food options. Everyone ate too much, drank too much and  laughed enough.  Good friends joined us for dinner and helped bring a lot of fun amidst a few weeks that have been exhausting and intensely emotional for the Secretary General. When taking my turn to say what I am grateful for (our “prayer” each year) there was a lot to say. I am grateful that my mother is no longer suffering and falling daily; I am grateful for these long hours with her, where I am able to sit in silence or take the time to tell her things I want to say. I am grateful for the love and support of my husband, my children (all 5), my sister and extended family and the many friends who I have come to think of as family.  I am grateful for friends who I don’t see often but who have reached out to send words of healing and kindness. There is much that I’m grateful for, as I recently posted, and there is much that I am grieving for as well. However, as cliché as it is, on Thanksgiving I give thanks for all the blessings that I have been given.

   

(^^ All the fixings, pumpkin chiffon pie, stuffing preparation, fun putting flowers together)

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Posted in Blog, Daily Observations, Death of parent, Dying, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Mothers, Musings, Parenting, Teens, The U.N., Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Whose Nest is Empty Anyway?

Posted on November 22, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

 Warning:  This may not be palatable for certain college age offspring, of say, mine.  While not intended to be a lecture… it might have become one along the way.  Read with caution, but know that I mean it.

This year my eldest child, Principessa (not the name I actually gave her at birth, but she doesn’t like me to use her name here) will graduate from college. Her brother, Middle Man (also not his name), is a sophomore at college and Little Man is a sophomore in high school. As many of you know, I have two 16 year old exchange students living with us as well. So my nest is certainly not empty. However, my kids are adventurers and they’ve been taking off to parts wild and wooly for some time now. Principessa alone has been in India (with me), Africa, Egypt, Jordan, and spent an entire year in Israel last year, since her senior year of high school. I’ve been letting go and adjusting for a very long time. And I’ve given that process a lot of thought. In fact, my first post ever was about “The Nest.”

I find the whole “Empty Nest” phenomena an interesting life transition that keeps morphing and changing as I try to keep up with it. Of course, technically, my nest is not empty. In fact lately, it’s chock full again. However, I find it increasingly compelling that so much is put on parents to do all the adjusting… and particularly mothers. It falls on Moms to get through this process intact and fine, but no one seems to expect much of the chicks in this process. What about their responsibility to adjust and  move on? If the nest is remodeled in their absence (just bear with my analogy) isn’t it up to them to figure out where to land when they return occasionally?

As much as I miss my two older kids (and I do), and as difficult as it was to see them each leave (and it was), I can’t deny that it seems to be equally difficult to have them return home (and it is!).  No doubt, it’s a big leap for them when they no longer need to text in or call, or let me know where they are, when they’ll be home, what they are doing, now that they live at school for nine months each year. Without question, it is a huge adjustment as a parent to let go of those things. After eighteen years of knowing every move they make (barring the few things they got away with), it is a serious adjustment to not know where they are, or what they’re doing most of the time. Some nights, as I lay in bed, I still wonder if they are in their beds, or if they are safe, happy, ok… but most nights now I drift off  and those concerns are not there. I have slowly let go and moved on.

Just as the changes that come during pregnancy prepare you to be a mother (losing lots of sleep, thinking of someone else more often than yourself, being alert to all that can happen), my kids’ teen years were a similar preparation for letting them go, in reverse. During those crazy years during high school, I slept much less, I thought a lot more about them, and I was vigilantly alert to all that could, and sometimes did, happen. As they each went off to college, I had to work backwards: not staying up as late (no one was home to wait for), working to not think about them all the time (they were doing the same stuff, but far away) and letting my guard down, accepting that they would work out their potential issues now without me. I don’t know when they get in, I don’t know who they are with (and often don’t want to know!), and I try very hard not to worry about what they are up to.  It’s a gradual letting go and one that I’m feeling better about as I continue to work on it.

Long gone are the days of sweet faced babes who hang on every thing I say or do. Despite all the years to adjust, I still miss those faces. They grew up and moved up and out way too fast.  However, as I’ve struggled to let go of them, it has begun to occur to me that there seems to be little impetus for them to let go of me. Perhaps it is just a new phase of learning that I’m coming into, but it strikes me that as I let go and strive to find ways to redefine myself, to be a new me and move forward, my kids expect me to be just what I’ve always been to them: Mom, with all the tangled, twisted, ball of string that role has become. When they call me, they seem to anticipate that whatever I’m doing can wait. Sorry you’re about to eat dinner Mom, but I can only talk now. Sorry you’re having lunch with a friend Mom, but I only have these 12 minutes, walking to the library. Sorry… You get it.  They expect that I will drop everything else and be present for that call, and they get ever so touchy when I say Sorry, but… They seem to forget that my life is zipping by and that I’m changing too. I’m working to change.

When they come home for long weekends and school breaks, I think it’s a hard thing for them to grasp that we have moved on and have filled the void they left. Before China and Denmark moved in, Little Man, my husband and I had already redefined ourselves. For the first time ever Little Man was our only child at home. The quiet and change of pace was deafening at first, but over time I realized that I actually like quiet, I crave solitude. What a shock. For all my social posturing all these years, I’m learning that I am quieter and more private than I knew. I am much happier these days sitting alone with my computer, taking care of our home with only my dog Luke’s company and silence. I like my solo rituals and enjoy the peace of our quiet home, during the day.

When my older kids come home from college it all changes, and while I’ve had years of practice meeting that change, it’s just doesn’t seem to get any easier. I just don’t roll as well with the punches as I used to. I struggle with the influx of noise and drama. I don’t thrive on the times when others need my attention and demand my output; I  no longer relish that. Often, frankly, I resent it.  When Principessa and Middle Man are thrown back in that mix, the demands rise dramatically. Though we haven’t talked much about it, I know that it all must feel very strange for them as well. They come home and things aren’t exactly where we once kept them, the rituals have changed, the people have changed… but they come home expecting it all to be the same. They don’t say that, but it sure feels that way. It seems hard for them to accept that Little Man is growing up too. While he may still struggle with his own issues, he is not the baby brother they lived with. While I may still say some of the same things and walk the same way, I am growing up as well and that throws our family rhythm off as well.

As I work to define myself outside the confines of wife and mother, my reactions and expectations are morphing as well. As I learn to detach and let go of them, I’m craving the same from my kids… even as I struggle to keep letting go. The mother who once bought gluten free food automatically, even though Principessa has not lived here for four years; the mother who once tried to figure out vegetarian options for Middle Man:  that Mom craves meat, loves pasta and doesn’t think of those needs anymore. When they come home, I haven’t spent hours thinking of protein options and things for either of them to eat.  Middle Man often complains that “there’s nothing to eat,” in a house that could support a family of ten for months on the food stored! What he really means is that his favorite things are no longer stocked. I haven’t kept up with the things that once consumed me… like what they like to eat. There are plenty of vegetarian things to eat, but the options are not the same and the spread is not like the cafeteria he’s grown accustomed to at college.

Even more frustrating, they don’t come home and note these changes in me. They don’t seem to see that I like it quieter; that I’m not looking to argue anymore;  that while I like a neat orderly environment, I’m not Suzy homemaker anymore.  When I let an argument go, the interpretation is that I’m passive aggressive instead of the reality: I’d rather have peace than win.  They don’t accept that shopping for food, clothes, whatever, is no longer a major preoccupation. Actually, I avoid Costco as much as I can, and not just because of the Canadians. I am increasingly moved to go with simple options: meals that take less time and less effort. I’m not as inclined to make several difference versions of a dinner to meet the needs of gluten free, vegetarian, kosher eating, or just picky kids. Been there, done that.

I guess the main thing that’s changed is this may still be their home, but it is my house. They are coming home to visit; they don’t live here anymore. While it’s been a hard four years, coming to terms with that and letting my own feelings around that loss go, I’m moving into a new phase now an that new reality is much easier to sit with.  When older kids come home, it seems increasingly clear to dad and I that if they can’t let us know where they’ll be and when they’ll get in (so we can lock up and rest peacefully), if they can’t make a few meals for themselves and clean up the mess, if they don’t like how we do things:  there are apartments to rent and other things to consider. Coming home in life is not a given. It’s a wonderful thing that’s provided by some parents who love their kids, have the space to offer,  and want them around… as long as everyone can keep up with the changing program. It’s not a hotel to check into and assume that accommodations will be as preferred by the guests.

If this post is sounding more like a diatribe than an ode to kids missed, that was not the intention. I guess I am just having a lot of conversations lately about college age kids and the impact on family and home. The phase when they first leave is one adjustment, the first time they come home is another and then, once everyone has shuffled and moved forward, the adjustments seem a bit trickier.  I want my kids to always feel welcome in our house; I want them to come home, but they need to accept and adjust to the changes as much as Mom and Dad do.  We are, theoretically, all adults now right?  Mom should no longer be the assumed meal provider, errand runner, pick up others’ mess person… I miss being “Mommy,” but I’m excited to be doing other things.

Now, I want to enjoy my kids’ company and hear what they’ve been up to. I want to see who they are becoming and try to interface with the person I am moving toward becoming. I want us all to see each other with fresh eyes and fresh expectations, instead of the old roles and issues. I want to live in the same space more harmoniously, with the understanding that they are welcome in my space, but my rules apply.  When the nest started emptying I moved on a bit and I’m hoping my kids do too.

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Posted in Blog, Daily Observations, High School, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Teens | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments