*Happy Birthday to Me*

6 year old wisdom (or diaper humor)

My grandchildren are here this weekend, so any post of substantial content must wait. Instead, I will relate a vignette that occurred this morning.

Disclaimer: Sorry about this post, but I have to do it. When I was a stay at home mom many years ago, my world was reduced to diapers, babytalk, and Sesame Street. Even evenings out with friends found me resisting the urge to cut their meat and move their glass away from the table edge. Though, now my world consists of work, school, and plenty of adult interactions, I still regress a bit when in the company of young children. That said, no one else may find this story as amusing as I did. Unless of course, your brain has also been turned to mush by hours upon hours of Pre-K conversations and sleep deprivation.

While changing the baby's diaper this morning, his brother, age 6, stood by. I am sure he was making sure I knew what I was doing. The following conversation ensued:

H: "Why is it green?"
me: "Probably from something he ate."
H: "Maybe grass."
me: "I don' think so, have you seen D. eating grass?"
H: "No, but grass is green."
me: "Other things are green too."
H: "Dogs eat grass."
me: "Yes, but D. doesn't."
H: "It could happen."

Okay, not the hysterical story you were hoping for, but rather funny for diaper humor. Even funnier if you knew the baby. "It could happen."

From the journals of my wasted youth

I do not even want to admit how many hours I can lose on you tube listening to music from my misspent youth. Listening to Led Zeppelin makes me want to light a joint and have sex. But then again, so does listening to Cream, Pink Floyd, and any 70's disco. (I told you it was misspent.) To anyone under 40, this was Robert Plant's band when Allison Kraus was just a baby.

You Shook Me


This was my prom theme in 1975, I believe it was the mandatory prom theme everywhere. Though, I prefer Jimmy Page's instrumental version of this song with Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck.

Stairway to Heaven



I realize that using music videos for a blog post, is a bit like purchasing a term paper online. Rest assured that I am just buying time, while I write some original content and commentary. For now, just enjoy the music. I'll throw this last one in for a little political commentary.

When the Levee Breaks

Peace Train

Yesterday, a friend of mine went to Kentucky to pick up her son. He has been in Iraq for a year. This has been the longest year of her life. He made it home safe and alive, and hopefully unscathed. My memories of him are on the ball field, when he used to play baseball against my son's team. A year ago, the only battle he knew was in sports, now he has seen real battle.

He joined the Army Reserves to help pay for his education and to supplement his income. His education was interrupted to go to war. I am sure he has received an education of a different kind. Chronologically, he is 21 years old. He celebrated his last birthday in a war zone. I am sure his experiences have aged him beyond his years. Hopefully, his added maturity has been achieved without a greater toll.

With an election looming on the horizon, we have a choice to continue to participate in this war or pull-out. My own personal and political views are opposed to this war. There are many people who disagree with me. Perhaps the real test of the necessity and justification of this war is to weigh it against the life of one's child.

Hot Mama

Today I was called a hot mama. The comment came from the hottest mama of all, at least in my book. Sue is one of my all time favorite professors, she is one of my all time favorite people for that matter. Sue has been many things to me, my professor, my friend, my counselor, my mentor, my spiritual advisor, and my mother. She has been all those things to many of her students. I love her with all of my heart. She is not an easy person, she makes me think until I have a headache, she pushes until I reach my potential, but she loves me and she understands me.

Sue grew up in a blue collar family, she did not have it easy. She was a single mother and drove a bus to put herself through school. She is a Jungian psychologist. She has traveled all over the world, she studied under several of the major theorists in psychology, including Jung and Frankl. She spent time in South America, becoming a Shaman. She has extensively studied philosophy. She has an amazing mind and has lived an amazing life. In her class discussions, no religion is safe and you must be prepared for a liberal dose of curse words, including the "F" word. I cannot think of a topic that I have not discussed with Sue: politics, history, philosophy, sex, children, dogs, cars, money, you name it. She has an opinion and a theory on each one of them.

My first encounter with Sue was in her class. She was intimidating. She kept asking me questions, she would not let up, at one point she asked, "Did you even read it?" At break she told me she wouldn't pick on me if she didn't like me and know I could take it. Then she told me I was too smart for my own good. Sue tells a story about going to a psychic when she was a teenager. The psychic told her she would die when she was 65. I met Sue when she was 65, she said that in preparation for her death that year, she quit doing anything she didn't like to do. Then she turned 66 and said, now that she was still alive, she was really behind.

She dresses smartly, she shops in New York City, she dyes her hair jet black, and drives an Alpha Romeo Spider. She smokes, she drinks and she loves good food. She preaches to everyone to find what you love to do in life and do that for a living. She individually takes her grandchildren on trips to New York and Europe. She understands people, she can read what people are thinking and knows why they do what they do.

She knows me well, she can see through my facade. Today, Sue summoned me over to a group of young students she was talking to. I had not talked to Sue since last summer. She said (about me), "this troublemaker has been through it all and can tell you that you'll not only live through it, but eventually you'll figure it out." Then she said, "Look at you, you're just a hot mama. You've met someone, you're having sex. Good for you." I just smiled, gave her a hug and went back to class. Like I said, Sue knows me well.

nursing my babies

I just read a post by Adrienne, that reminded me of when my sons were babies. I breastfed them, in fact I nursed them for a long time. I think Ray was four before he totally weaned himself. At the point he finally stopped, he was only nursing occasionally, at night, when he was upset, and when he needed comforting. My mother showed great concern that he would never stop nursing, she would ask every time we talked. I think she thought it would continue into his Junior High years.

As relieved as she was when he weaned himself, I was sad. It had been a special connection for us. It provided me with as much comfort as it did him. I had nursed him everywhere, in the store, at the park, at Cub Scout meetings for my older son, most of the time, no one even knew. Our culture is so hung up about our bodies. Innocent and natural things are viewed as being sexual. There are taboos that exist that are based solely on people's comfort levels. In many other countries and cultures, nursing is a natural and expected act and nursing until a child is 4 or 5 is the norm and not the exception. I could get all preachy here and tell you about all the benefits of breastfeeding, from immunities to nutrition, but I won't. I will say that the mother-child bond that can be established through nursing your baby is wonderful. I do understand the difficulties that many American mothers encounter when trying to nurse.

Adrienne's post and accompanying pictures did awaken a small ache inside of me. I do miss the days of having a baby root and suckle at my breast. I miss feeling my milk let down and knowing I had everything my baby needed. As a mother, it was probably the only time I was sure I was doing everything right. I associate comfort and sweetness with those memories. I am glad I never succumbed to the pressure and shame that our culture tried to impose on me. Progress is not better than nature.

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there. I am not one who embraces or celebrates Hallmark holidays. I shun Valentine's Day and I absolutely abhor Sweetest Day. Today is a little different. I have always had to acknowledge Mother's Day, otherwise my mother would know what a piece of shit daughter I really am. Love you Mom!

Over the years, I have received many Mother's Day presents. The first one was some kind of plaque with a gushy poem, bought by my ex-husband when my son was an infant. Many were made of construction paper, glitter and glue. I still have a few of them. I am not a sentimental person, I do not have boxes of pictures, school papers and cards saved in my closet. I would much rather have someone cut my grass (PLEASE!) and clean the litter box, than give me a card and take me to dinner. Anymore, I really do not hold many expectations. My sons would have to borrow money from me to buy me a present. Suggesting that they might complete a distasteful household chore, in order to provide a token of their love and appreciation, is met with a look of horror and dismay. They are not ingrates (okay, not all the time) they love me and I know it. My oldest son and his family did give me a candle last night. I was touched and managed to repress my urge to tell him to get a job.

I have an unusual relationship with my boys. I am the only parent they had. Yes, their fathers were out there, somewhere. I did all the mom things, I also fixed bikes, practiced pitching, critiqued batting, camped, fished, went to sporting events, had the sex talk, and taught them to drive. My sons and I have discussed girls, sports, genitalia, condoms, drugs, you name it. I have had much practice suppressing my horrified mom face and wearing my stoic, I'm listening face. I have often wished I could tell them to ask their father. In addition to my own two boys, I have taken in at least four others over the years for different durations. They have also come to me for advice about sex, women, and how to be a man. Some of my advice has stuck and some of it just rolled off their backs. I have received Mother's Day cards from boys I did not give birth to. I have even received one sent from jail. I know I cannot save the world. I cannot even save all of those boys, but it is nice to know that they knew I was Mom.

Now I am Grandma, it is better than Mom. Last night, as I lay on the couch with all three grandchildren piled on top of me, I was happy. Tired, but happy. Today, is not about presents, tribute, or appreciation. It is about knowing that my children and grandchildren are alive, safe, and they know I love them.

sleepless

I am feeling better today, despite having pulled an all-nighter last night. I had a lot of homework to finish (procrastination strikes again) and I printed the last paper at 6:00am this morning. I do realize that I am too old to do this anymore. Four cups of coffee and a couple of protein bars later, I am home from school. This evening, I am babysitting the grandchildren.

The highlight of my evening and the event that changed my mood, was talking to him. I had a very strong need and desire to connect with him last night. About the time when I decided it wasn't going to happen, he popped up online. It was just the distraction I needed to improve my outlook and get me motivated.

School was good today. I am taking a class on death and dying, believe it or not, it is my favorite class. I am discovering a lot about myself. The class forces me to reflect and to become philosophical. Name the great women philosophers. Exactly! In all seriousness, there have been a few. Simone de Bouvier and Ayn Rand to name a couple. But they were more of thinkers, not philosophers. Women tend to wax poetic about life, as opposed to men who develop analytical theories about why we are and how we think. Since philosophy has lost prestige and popularity to pop culture and celebutantes, it has slipped from my list of my desired professions. Otherwise, I would be all about that.

Back to death, it is inevitable, we will all experience it, it is one thing that all human beings will share. So, why do we, as a culture, find it so hard to talk about? We shun the very word for euphemisms, passed on, departed, losing a loved one. We say eternal slumber, went to heaven, when we mean dead. I personally, am going to die, I won't be lost, departed or sleeping. After that happens, my body will decompose and return to the earth. If I had my preferences, I would be buried in the back yard next to Havoc. That body will no longer be me.

What I hope for my post mortem existence is a long legacy. I want to be remembered, I want my children to yell at their kids and then think, "Oh god, I am becoming Mom!" I want them to practice holiday traditions, because I did. I want them to commiserate that what they got from me was a big butt and a penchant for sarcasm. I want them to fight over who gets what music box and Christmas ornament. I want them to tell, "Can you believe she used to..." stories. I want them to love dogs. As my body becomes a lush green spot in the back yard, I want to live eternally through the DNA I passed on through my progeny. No vanity here.

Empty

I have been feeling empty for the past couple of days. Life has drained me, my energy has been sucked out of me by everyday annoyances. I know that much of this is hormonal, the rest is stress. I am tired, I have too much to do. In most situations, with most people, I am a private person. I listen to friends and coworkers vent and complain. I am usually sympathetic, or at least feign concern and interest, but lately, I am resentful. I want to tell them that everyone has problems, just suck it up and do what you need to do. I am not very tolerant of whining, I never have been. Today, I am not very tolerant of me, I feel whiny. I hate feeling this way, I do not like myself at the moment. I know that this will pass in a day or two, I hope that I snap out of it before my general uneasiness turns into outright self-loathing.

Life is not all doom and gloom. There are many things that have made me happy in the past few days. Hearing from an old friend, hugging my grandchildren and seeing their smiles, hearing his voice and knowing that he is thinking of me, listening to calm and soulful music, big dog hugs and kisses. Hopefulness reigns supreme. But that shadow of restlessness has been stalking me, lurking right around the corner. I admit, I can be hard and judgmental, I have standards that I want people to adhere to. Lately, I have fallen short of my own standards. I am a tired and cranky child, badly in need of a spanking or a nap, or both.

Despite my cynicism, I have tried to be a giving, responsible person. Over the years, I have tried to set an example for my children, I have tried to help my friends, I have tried to do the right things. I believe that karma is the great equalizer, I am waiting for some of that karma to return. I just hope that what returns is the karma from my past and not the karma from the past few days. I have been negotiating with God (or the universe, or whatever you believe in). I have been asking for a reprieve, I have been questioning, I have expressed some anger. I have also been thankful. I acknowledge my blessings, I know I am fortunate, I realize how much worse things could be.

For now, I will wait for my mood to change. I will keep moving forward, I will deal with it. I will try to focus on the sweetness, the love and the acceptance that I have in my life. I will concentrate on him, on my grandchildren, on the dogs. I will try to quit whining.

tango

Can there be anything so sexy as the tango? I love this scene from Scent of a Woman, I actually love the whole movie. Watching this dance, the gracefulness, the trust, the lead, melts me. This is how I feel when I am with him. I feel him leading me through the dance that is us.



Additionally, this Leonard Cohen song, allows me to feel his lead. The rightness, the belonging that I feel with him, will keep me there, until he dances me to the end of love.

You tube

My battle with procrastination has suffered a tremendous blow, as I have discovered an entire selection of you tube videos, on "how to overcome procrastination."

I am adding these additional Young at Heart videos, just because I love this group.



This is a particular favorite of mine



These are definitely people I could have fun hanging out with!

My father

This is my parent's wedding picture. I love how they look, young and hopeful. Life did not disappoint them. They lived the American dream. They had been married for 57 years when Dad died. He had his faults, but he was an amazing man. I think he was incredibly handsome, but then I am a sucker for a man in uniform.



My father grew up on a dairy farm in Minnesota. My grandmother, Agnes, went to live with her sister Rose and brother-in-law Louis, when she was 13. She married Louis' brother Fred, when she was 16. He was 13 years older than her, he worked for Minneapolis Moline Power Implement Company, he also farmed 10 acres and maintained a dairy route (which my father took over as a teenager). My grandfather was a mean man, he ruled his family with an iron fist, he was strong as an ox, he delighted in cruelty. He once killed a family pet in front of his children and laughed. Even in acknowledging his cruelty, my father would never speak ill of him. My grandmother was the opposite, she was kind and affectionate. When Fred died, she told her children to take all of his money. She said if she couldn't touch it when he was alive, she did not want it when he was dead. She went to work in a cafeteria instead.

My father was a perfectionist and a hard worker. He went to college and got degrees in physics and engineering. He served in the Navy during WWII and married my mother when he got out. He was a devoted husband and father, he was frugal but generous, and extremely conservative. He also saw things in black and white, you were either for or against him. If you disagreed with him, you were against him. He was truthful (at least the truth as he saw it), he was loving, he was faithful. He was as good a man, as my grandfather was bad. He hired on with Proctor and Gamble right out of the Navy and worked for them until he retired.

My father taught me to be independent, he taught me to fix things, he taught me to love until it hurt (not always a good thing), he taught me to share what I was blessed with, he taught me when to speak up and when to hold my tongue. He always loved me, he always took care of me, he was proud of me. I am the baby of the family. Depending on how you look at it, I was an accident or a blessing. I was born eight years after my youngest sibling and after two miscarriages. To my father I was a blessing. I almost died when I was two, my father never forgot. I was his gift, his miracle and he treated me that way. When I was a teenager, we fought alot. Yelling, screaming, crying, I was his only child that ever raised their voice to him, I probably broke his heart. He forgave me many things, he overlooked my shortcomings. We also did many things together. We sailed, we went canoeing, we camped and hiked. I helped him fix the cars, the TV, the appliances. Sometimes it was just holding the flashlight and handing him tools. Other times it was him telling me how to do it, when my smaller hands could reach into places his couldn't. I am the parent that I am today, because of my father (both good and bad.)

My father was stubborn (something else we shared), he eventually died of prostate cancer, after battling it for 13 years. He lived 4 months longer than the doctors said he could. He lived long enough to put everything in place for my mother, his children, and say his goodbyes. The last 3 months, I was driving from Ohio to Florida every couple of weeks to see him. I watched him lose weight, become weak, and struggle to concentrate. He would not stay in bed, he made himself get up and come into the kitchen whenever he had visitors. Even the last month of my father's life, I could not imagine being without him. He had always been there, he had always been strong, he had always taken care of me. Despite my vastly different political views and my lifestyle choices, I know my father would still be very proud of me. I miss being able to call him and hear him tell me that. I miss the security of knowing I could always count on him. I miss doing things that I knew would make him happy. I miss being his little girl.

This was my father's favorite song. We sang it at his funeral, per his request.

Skipping

I guess I am on some sort of an age kick. Maybe it is due to my impending birthday this month. I am nearing a half of a century, but I certainly do not feel that old. Possibly, my attitude and my actions constitute being 'young at heart'.

This afternoon, I taught my grandchildren how to skip (yes, I still remember how.) Even though, most of the time, we just spent running and galloping around the yard. If you want to feel young, play with young children. Coloring and Playdough are also favorite activities of mine. I will brag a little and say that the last time I took them to the museum, a gentleman told me that "my daughter" looked like me. Though, he was rather old and maybe his eyesight was going. I was flattered that it was not assumed that I was Grandma, but really having a child that young would kill me.

I like this video. It is cute, funny, touching, and Tom Waits gravelly voice is to die for.

What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about?

Young at Heart

This is a performance of Fred Knittle singing Fix You. He is a member of the octogenarian choir, Young at Heart, he also is diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Originally this song was to be sung as a duet, sadly the other chorus member, Bob Salvini, died of a heart attack leaving Fred to perform solo.

I find this video incredibly touching. In footage of the audience, Fred's wife can be seen mouthing the words and Bob's family can be seen crying. I wish age and wisdom were revered in this country, but unfortunately, age is viewed as a detriment, a disability. So much talent and knowledge are held by those of advanced years.

This is the original song by Coldplay. I prefer Fred's version.