we are our parents

very slowly, over the past few years, i have begun to hear things come out of my mouth that startle me. at first it was rare.

"take off your shoes at the door."

"please do not walk around while you are eating."

it rang a bell to when i was young. it was my mother's bell. her house was spic-and-span to the point of covering all furniture with sheets and blankets. why? because the dog - a fat, ornery dachshund named trixie - might decide to jump her fat ass up on something to sleep for a spell. and while dog hair just would not do, it was fine to substitute old brown sheets on the spotless louis shanks furniture. to me, personally, i would have gone for the almost invisible dog hair.

so then -- flash-forward years later to me married -- we had these neighbors. they crawled up from the deep bowels of hell to live next door to us. they played music loud. they drove through our yard. they destroyed our curb mailbox more than once. did i take this sitting down? no, that is not my style.

i had the police non-emergency number on speed dial. i wrote letters of complaint to the homeowners association. and, towards the end, i smashed a flowerpot on their porch after leaving a plastic bag full of their own garbage, which had blown into our yard, hanging on their front doorknob.

would my mother have done these things? no, she would not. she is much more civilized. she would have prayed for a peaceful resolution. me? i don't have that kind of time.

my father, though? yes, i do believe he would have told them to go to hell, and also given them a detailed description of where to shove their broomstick. i am my father's daughter.

my last conversation with that particular neighbor involved many four-letter words, and my husband looking at me in horror as i told him that i hoped and prayed that their house would just blow off the face of the earth, so that i could live in peace.

but i digress. my point is, the things that drive me crazy now are things i used to do. but now i've crossed over. i'm on the other team. here are snippets from a facebook conversation i had this week:

jimmy is cranky and thinks young people drive too fast with their loud music.

kevin: whoa! first sign of getting old!

jaleh: and the way they dress. my goodness.

laura: i'm not cranky, but i agree with you jimmy. these kids today and their loud music!

kreg: i usually can't hear the music over my screaming for them to get off my lawn.

me: it's official. we have all become our parents. i yell and scream at people who drive too fast down our street. i look like a crazy woman. i used to flip ME off. god, it's after 8, i have to go get ready for bed.

jaleh: i scream at people who drive too fast down our street too, and throw things at them if i have something handy. i've also beaten the crap out of the hood of a cab in the city that almost hit my daughter and me. when we lived in the city my husband got out of bed in his underwear, put on his fluevog boots and started jumping up and down because the kid that lived downstairs had his music on so loud our walls were shaking. the look of resignation when he got back into bed and sighed, i am my dad, was priceless....

and then yesterday, another friend on facebook, posts this:

kelby is wondering why that idiot thinks i still want to hear the crappy muffler on his '89 civic when he's two miles down the road?

one thing is certain. we all used to be cool. i can remember.

but it takes a lot of effort to be cool. and energy. and, you know, i think you have to actually get up and go places to be cool. i don't have that kind of motivation. i just want to lean back in my lazy-boy equivalent - the overstuffed chair with the ottoman - and watch my pre-recorded shows. in peace and quiet.

and hey, don't we have a luby's coupon somewhere?

easter party

one of the ways in which i consider myself very blessed is by the friends i have chosen, and who have chosen me. there's not a lot, but what there is is beyond awesome. it's like only having three bills in your wallet, but it's three hundreds. kinda like that.

so one of these friends happens to have an awesome house. i call it "the ultimate boy house." it's a huge two-story, decorated beautifully -- yet somehow indestructibly. it has a pool. it has a football-sized backyard. and it is on a creek. bingo. bonus round. jackpot.

and, of course, they had an easter party.

the reason these children have next-to-nothing on is that they have just finished swimming. and because they are boys, they cannot be bothered by things such as clothes.




there are dozens upon dozens of eggs hidden all up and down the creekside.




the fun part, reminiscent of halloween: examining the loot.




it takes a while to go through so many eggs. it takes even longer because you must stop and eat the really good stuff.




this kid always has a mouthful of something. and it ain't carrots.




next, they invade the neighbor's marina.




these two take off, fast and furious, to some destination island that is nowhere in sight.




following behind is a canoe with some kids who are warned not to stand up.




and finally, the friendly neighborhood weatherman brings up the rear with his motorboat. this is definitely the one i would choose to be in. let a motor do the work, is what i say.




and they're off!




there is more fun to be had in the front yard with things such as roller blades, ripsticks, and electric scooters. this child -- my child -- has never in his life been on an electric scooter. and i swear the minute he set eyes on it, songbirds started to sing.




we kept trying to stop him. he would slow down, smile, and then zip off again. i am told, eight months in advance, that this is what he will be wanting for his next birthday. forget the party, he says, just get me this scooter.



happy easter.

oh, and one more thing....

today after school, both my boys are going to a friend's house. they are both thrilled. these are high times in the life of a grade-schooler. they have literally been in a great mood all week.

here is where the age gap comes into play.

ben, my 9-year-old, is going to a friend's birthday party at the child's house. this particular child is very sweet, but his parents are wilder than coon dogs. their oldest son plays with matches. their younger children have played in a "dead" refrigerator in the garage. said child has fallen out of a second-story window that had no screen, and landed in a pile of dirt. they live in a home that backs up to a creek that houses god knows what animals. and here is what i say to ben this morning:

"bye sweetie. have fun!"

matthew, the first grader, is going to his best friend's house after school. they do not live on a creek. the boy is an only child. the two will play indoors under close supervision. here is what i say to matthew:

"matt, remember to use your manners. 'thank you,' 'no thank you.' do NOT say any bad words. play nice. do not get wild. no jumping on furniture or throwing food. look his mother in the eye when she speaks to you. do you know my cell number? tell me what my cell number is again..."

this talk exhausts me. because i come home and worry if i've warned him of every possible danger that could come his way. ben has heard my spiel many, many times. matthew is new to this. sometimes the speech includes reminders of where to kick a bad guy who tries to touch them, and never to go to a public restroom alone. ever.

i know they will be fine. i know they can surely survive a few hours without me. but i have to say these things. i physically cannot stop these words from coming out of my mouth. even when they one day tune me completely out, and my words are rote by then, i will still be calling "be careful" into the wind.....

painted bunting

there exists in this world a pretty little bird called a painted bunting. i had never heard of such a thing until a few years ago, when my husband found one in someone's freezer. but more on that in a moment.

my family went camping last weekend. and my young son, the little collector, spotted this pretty bird in the camp store. i immediately recognized it. a painted bunting.



i started to tell him my story of the painted bunting, but thought he would focus only on the morbid part. to me, it is a beautiful and strange little story.

when my husband and i were dating, or maybe newly married, we went to visit a college friend of mine at his parents' house. david went to their freezer to get ice for his drink, and promptly closed it. he came over to me and whispered, "there is a dead bird in their freezer. in a ziploc." like it was weird or something.

at first i thought it must be a dove or quail, something they shot for eating. but he said no, it was not that kind of bird. it was too pretty.

i was sure there was a reasonable explanation, and i was right. here is what my friend's mom told me.

that pretty little bird had flown smack into their window. she had never seen anything like it. it looked like a rainbow, she said, so colorful. she couldn't bear the thought of disposing of it just yet, not until she knew what it was. and finally, she learned that it was a painted bunting.

it is hard to believe such a thing exists in nature. it looks like a child's drawing of what a bird might look like. here is a real one:



it's one of those little masterpieces that takes your breath away. whether you see it in a camp store. laying lifeless on your back porch. or in someone's freezer.

it's all relative

the very bad girl:



here's a snippet of conversation from tonight at the dinner table. the dog is pacing, panting, feverish due to the smell of meat. she's like a vampire, waiting for her moment.

me: "don't anyone give her one single bite. i'm still mad at her."

young son: "mom, don't be mean to her. she just wants one bite."

me: "no. she peed all over the carpet last night."

young son: "it's okay, mom. be nice to her."

me: "it was your room. she peed in your room."

young son: "WHAT?! ROSIE! you are a BAD DOG!"

older son is laughing hysterically. and then starts to realize something.....

older son: "oh, great. that means he's gonna try to sleep in MY room tonight, since she peed in his room."

me: "it's all cleaned up now. besides, she has peed in your room before, too."

older son: "WHAT? DISGUSTING! ROSIE!"

now we are all laughing. yes. it is so very funny until it happens to you.

i am paparazzi

so, are you saying it's bad to lurk in the bushes with a camera? because how else am i gonna get candid pics of my kids?

i love it when this happens. i am upstairs putting away laundry when i hear lots of boys' voices outside. i look, there's bikes all over the driveway, and some neighborhood kids have stopped in to play kickball.

first, i am careful. i go into the dining room and open the shutters really wide......




then, like any good paparazzi, i get bolder. i go outside the front door and lurk behind a bush.




i know how the paps feel. when the subject spots you, gets mad, and starts to yell. because one of the boys said, "hey, your mom's taking pictures." that is my cue to duck and sneak back inside.



my young son, the feisty one, yells out, "mom!" i know better than to show myself. i go to sneak a peek out the dining room window and there he is, staring dead ahead straight at me. busted.

"mom! do NOT take our picture."

ok. i am not getting paid near enough for this gig.

getting used to this view

when my oldest son was in kindergarten, he rode his bike to school. it was the only one in the bike rack with training wheels.



we have gone through many incarnations to arrive at school. bikes with training wheels, walking, scootering, little-brother-on-big-wheel big-brother-on-bike, driving. i must say, my favorite now thinking back on it, was when my oldest son was in kindergarten. because i would put the baby (well, he was 2 at the time) on the back of my bike, and we'd ride alongside him. and after we saw big brother safely to school, we'd do a loop around the neighborhood -- just the two of us. mother and child, his little legs kicking me all the while. that is a little piece of heaven, right there.

i am not one of those mothers who can wave buh-bye as their young child pedals alone, on his own, to school. oh, no no no.

things happen. one morning, years ago, we were walking to school and the little boy across the street had fallen off his bike because his shoelace had gotten caught in the chain. no one was with him. he was 7. he was laying in the grass, crying, unable to detach himself or move very far. he was embarrassed and scared. i silently cursed his parents. a very sweet middle-schooler who was waiting for the bus helped to untangle him. but what if no one had been there? or worse, what if the wrong person had been there?

so now, a few years later, we live practically right across the street from their elementary school. we can see it from our front yard. you could throw a baseball into the parking lot. and i still walk with them to the crossing guard. why? because i can. why? because i want to. why? because i would not trade these years for anything.

so now, here is my view:




little brother starts out in the lead, but is always passed up by his older sibling. and once at school, my oldest always makes sure the little one gets his bike aligned correctly into the rack.



the view is constantly changing. but i wouldn't miss it for the world.