Keep Momma Happy

These days it is rare that all three of our adult children are under one roof.    The smell of a juicy turkey baking and my famous sweet potato pie usually reels ‘em in each fall.   Next to cooking, my favorite thing is taking pictures–taking pictures of them.  Collectively, they are my finest moment and the loves of my life.  I cherish the holidays with them and hope to capture just the right smiles for our family photo Christmas card.  Do they care?  You decide.

Family portrait 2012…

Achieved  after  an  appropriate  amount  of  begging,  bribing,  and pretty-pleases with sugar on top.  This is what my little cherubs offered up.  I’m not alone.  My sister-in-law, Auntie Karen, solved the lack of enthusiasm in her family this way:

Toby, the Pomeranian, was the only one with any “cheese” so she hung up her son and daughter’s empty sweatshirts where their beautiful smiles should be.  Mission accomplished.

We laughed about it on the phone and wondered where we went wrong.

Was it the cupcakes we baked for all their birthday parties at school?  Was it when we made their beds and washed their clothes?  Was it all the worrying we did when they got their driver’s licenses?  We decided it had to be all those bedtime stories and fairy tales that turned our sweet little ones into unrelenting, nonconforming monsters.

Sometimers

The Michigan Secretary of State gave me a gift on my 40th birthday…a restricted driver’s license because for the first time in my life, I couldn’t read the eye chart.  Wasn’t that a real kick in the pants?

Fast forward a decade and along with my reluctant acceptance, I now own several pairs of eyeglasses.  Why do they call “them” “pairs”?  Anywho…on any given day I might sport the schmancy designer sunglasses with the big Liz Taylor 60′s lenses or the Vera Bradley night shades for night driving.  My backups are a couple of buy one, get one free deals.  They are stashed in coat pockets, consoles, and purses.  Sometimes they are laying out on the kitchen counter or left behind at a restaurant by mistake. 

Wouldn’t you just know it…Jennifer called and asked me to go to the movies with her.  Something about a vampire and a wolf.  Nearsightedness means never going to the movies without your specs.  We were meeting in a little bit and I searched high and low for my Vera Bradley’s.   Without them, I can’t read any of the movie credits or see the distinct lines in an actor’s face.  Heck, I can barely tell a boy from a girl on screen these days (with or without the eye wear.) 

After 20 minutes of running up the stairs to look, back down the stairs to retrace my steps, and searching every cubby hole in my car twelve times, I found them!  They were on top of my head. 

True Grit

1st Birthday Bear

When we brought her home from the hospital, our sons took one look at her blanket and said, “Pink Stinks.”  Surviving a home with built-in older brothers, one of whom wanted to name her “Hotdog,” has put a fair amount of grit in Jennifer, our youngest and only daughter.    These boys have tortured her dolls simply to spark a reaction.  They have smothered her in “the dutch oven” and are guilty of too much monkey-in-the-middle.    I drew the line when at the tender age of four, they had filled a water bucket up in the front yard and told her she was old enough to learn how to “breathe under water.”

My Stinky-Winkie is 24 years old as of this writing.   Her brothers are 30 and 28.   She grew up with Michael Jackson’s Thriller album, Power Rangers, and Leo DiCaprio.  Each October she morphed into a princess, a butterfly, a witch, or a superhero.  She danced.  She brought me hand picked flowers.  She loves traditions and decorating the Christmas tree.   The years have clicked past so fast and now, when I look at her, I see the most amazing woman…a culmination of life experience and education infused with kindness, common sense, and wit.

Daddy’s Baby Girl

She is a mother now.  My grand-doggie is about 5 lbs., has dark chocolate eyes, and a long tail that is almost as long as it’s body.  Our “Hotdog” is Lola; a red mini-dachshund, and she loves her momma.

Lola Bear

Jennifer and I share a knowing, a commonality, a connection that I know will pass to the next generation.   This is what makes daughters so SO special.  The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world.  She is my finest hour; my hope.  When I look at her, I see my perfect self in the most selfless way.

A turning point:    I’ll never forget the time we went shopping because I needed an outfit.  Jennifer was all of 15.  A black and white polka dot dress caught my attention so I picked it up.   In pure SWAT-team mode, she grabbed my arm, and urgently demanded,  “Put that back, Mom, right now.  That’s for old people.  I’m trying to save you.”   Surprised and mildly offended, I argued on behalf of my selection.  My case wasn’t complete before an obviously geriatric grey haired lady, supported by a cane, appeared from the fitting rooms, wearing “my” outfit.   Jennifer shot me a victory look and had the grace to not say another word.  We still laugh about it.

When the kids were little, I was so smart.  They would ask me something and I could give a satisfactory answer or at least get by.  They bought it.  Every time.  When they started questioning me, the backup standard was, “Because I said so.”    That response was golden for a long time.  These days they see my games and call me out or google everything.   Even my best explanations are suspect until verified.   I was gifted in the answer department until the damn Internet came along.

One day Jennifer will find all this out and I will sit on the sidelines, watching and smiling inside.

1st Day of Kindergarten

Our World Traveler

Time to Cancel His Show

Obama is a character; a shell game in the flesh, a puppet.  He acts for the audience and will say anything to get what he wants.  Remember transparency promises? 

He is coddled by the media and embraced by all that is fake in Hollywood.  He performs well in a controlled environment.   He is a man without without substance and this was painfully demonstrated during the first presidential debate on October 3, 2012:  The Rocky Mountain Smack Down.

Finally, the world got to see the insecure, smug Barry Obama as Romney chipped away at his facade.   For the first time in years, BO was on his own up against a business professional with no one telling him what to say via teleprompter, and having to attempt to defend an abysmal record over the past four years.  Obama is a narcissistic neophyte who does not have the experience or competence to hang with the big boys.  The emperor wore no clothes.

Both wives were seated

before the debate began and Mrs. Obama looked concerned, worried, and fearful. 

Did anyone else pick up on that?  After the debate, the mainstream media looked like someone had just died.  Then Al Gore gets on and comes up with the high altitude excuse for BO’s poor performance.  Really?  Rubio had it right when he said that Obama’s ideas aren’t any better at sea level.

During the debate, Barry couldn’t look the American people in the eye because deep down, he knows he is a fraud and it was humiliating for him to have to answer questions–coming from someone other than David Letterman –because he was exposed.  The president got it all wrong, likely because the fog in which he and his senior advisers are allowed to live had declared the election over weeks ago.  This led Obama to underestimate his opponent and overestimate his own position.   Earlier in the week President Obama told interviewers that his debate preparations were “a drag” because his advisers were making him do his “homework.”  If he didn’t have time to meet with global leaders, he certainly didn’t have time to do any homework either.

Obama made a grave error in believing his own hype during the last month of the campaign. Obama can never get back the moment in which he, by underestimating his opponent and overestimating himself, allowed Romney to become a plausible alternative.

Lucille

I can remember 1977 when this song came out.  It is still one of the saddest ones I know (and I wasn’t a farmer back then!)  Lucille may be eclipsed by Elvis Presley singing, “In the Ghetto.”    Oh wait, then there’s Bobby Goldsboro’s song, “Honey” where the wife died and he sings about how he misses her.  A sad song list must include Kris Kristoferson’s , “Sunday Morning Coming Down”  followed up by Johnny Cash singing, “We’ll Meet Again.”   –Whitney Houston’s, “I Will Always Love You” still tears me up.

Where are have all the great song writer, story tellers, and poets gone? 

On the flip side, I can be hip, too.  I think “Lose Yourself” by Eminem is brilliant.  Whatever the genre…I’m putting the word up and out on this web, this invisible cloud, to artists here and now:  we need real songs, real content again.  P R E T T Y  P L E A S E

Two Moon Walks, One Hero

Michael Jackson’s death received more notoriety than Neil Armstrong’s death.  Both are famous for moon walks.

Am I the only person who thinks this is tragic?  The person on the street knows more about Hollywood, music videos, and what Kim Kardashian wore on the red carpet than the achievements of this modern day “Lewis and Clark.”  This man risked his life on the greatest adventure in the history of mankind and he did it relying on NASA computers antiquated by today’s standards.

Modern Day Pioneer

Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, has died aged 82. The former US astronaut, who will go down in history as the most famous pioneer of space exploration, passed away as the result of heart complications following surgery.

As commander of the Apollo 11 mission, he became the first person to set foot on the moon, on 20 July 1969, fulfilling the longheld dream of the United States to get there before the Soviet Union. His first words as he stepped on to the surface – “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” – instantly became one of the most recognizable phrases ever uttered.

Armstrong had a determined effort to live a quiet, private life after his astronaut days.  There is a Neil Armstrong Museum in  Ohio (that I happened to visit earlier this year.)  When he passed, there was relatively little tape on hand to roll from interviews reminiscing about his experiences, reunions with old astronauts or public appearances because he didn’t seek personal fame.  Fame found him and he handled it with grace.  He didn’t go on the Letterman show.  He was a true American hero who did his job better than anyone else, led a quiet life, and never exploited his adventure for personal gain.  There was the moon walk, and not much else.