Just Down The Road Right Around The Corner

Seems everybody in my family (excluding my son) has a problem with calculating distances. This morning Brittney asked me to accompany her to Audrey's doctor appointment because Brittney had to go to work and she wasn't sure how long the appointment would last.

"Where is it?" I asked her.

"Just follow me," she said.

The reason she wouldn't tell me was because she had previously told me (or so she says) that it was "just down the road" from where her husband played ball.

So we left, drove for several blocks and then she turned around. Oh, I get it, it's a game. OK. I followed her back to the house where she retrieved Audrey's forgotten lunch and backpack. Ah, I get it.

And away we went again.

Mile after mile, with me following behind her, we passed her husband's softball field and drove another mile, and another mile, and another mile. Still driving. Wondering how she might have felt to see my headlights drift slowly away when I ran out of gas.

I started thinking, it's gotta be close, right? It was "just down the road" after all. The ride was beautiful though. The sun was shining. I should have brought a tape recorder (note to self: buy a tape recorder) so I could have WRITTEN A BOOK in the time it took to get "just down the road," which turned out to be TEN MILES past her husband's softball field.

Oh, the memories that surfaced as a result of this morning's trip –

My sisters, Cindy and Kathy, my mother, my sister-friend, Nancy, and I –
A Las Vegas vacation –
Nancy high-fiving every unsuspecting tourist who walked past her –
My sister, Kathy, wanting us to walk to some bar she thought would be fun –
My happiness, because I had "all my sisters with me" AND my son (who was stationed in Camp Pendleton at the time). He had driven up to spend the night with us, driving through Los Angeles fires to get to us.

With the exception of the fires, who could ask for more?

Mom decided not to accompany us on our trip to the bar that was "right around the corner," because Mom discovered that just because you like cable car drinks doesn't mean you have to drink thousands of them, and she was feeling, shall we say, a little queasy. (Smile, Mom.)

So we headed out to a bar that my sister promised was "right around the corner". I want you to know, before I go any further, that I have a bad back, and even when I wear my back brace, walking for even a block causes pain. Walking for several blocks causes excruciating pain.

After a couple of hours, as we were crossing a bridge, I collapsed (we had been walking uphill for quite a while) as my sister sprinted ahead singing and dancing, "it's right around the corner."

"Right around the corner" turned out to be about five miles. I was dying.

After we spent a couple of hours at the bar, and after I got lost looking for a chiropractor, we found each other and took a cab back to the hotel.

And now I'm going on a trip to Florida with my sister, Kathy. I should probably discuss the driving/walking agenda before we leave.

How Sushi Became an iPhone

Every year as a combination birthday/Christmas present, my son and his family fly me out to visit them in Oceanside, California. Usually, because my daycare job doesn't allow me to stay longer than a weekend, I am there for only 3 days at the most. This year, however, I was lucky enough to spend 5 days with them!

I've missed a lot of my son's life over the years. As a U.S. Marine who was born in Illinois (where I live) and who is now living in California, Greg was stationed in North Carolina and has been to Japan (for a year), to Thailand (for several months), to Iraq (four times), and to Kuwait (twice) – so whenever I am given the opportunity to spend time with him and his family, it never matters what we do, where we go, what we eat – what matters is that I am spending time with him and with them.

One night we were discussing what to eat for dinner and everybody (I thought) decided on Chinese. Fine by me. As I said, it doesn't matter to me where we eat or what we eat.

So when we pulled in front of a sushi restaurant, I thought, hmm, well, I must have missed this part of the conversation. I've never had sushi, but if this is what the family has decided, I'll try it. Greg was the only one to get out of the car, so I assumed we were picking up the sushi (and not the Chinese) and taking it home.

Then Greg asked me if I wanted to go with him. Well, yeah – anything to spend time together, even if it's just picking up sushi from the local sushi stop. But as I was getting out of the car Michelle warned, "You'd better bring your purse. You'll need your ID."

Oh, OK. They NEVER ask me to pay for anything and, as a matter of fact, REFUSE to allow me to pay for anything, so I was more than willing to foot the bill for dinner. But why would I need an ID to purchase it?

Well, come to think of it, this IS California, and I've heard that sometimes people die from eating sushi, so maybe the state of California is keeping track of who is eating it.

Yes, I really do think that way.

But we walked past the sushi restaurant and into a store that sells iPhones. What? We're not eating sushi?

No, we're getting you an iPhone. Their reason for giving me an extra present was that they were "paying me" to watch the kids. I don't think I'm senile (though I'm sure somebody in my family would argue with me about that). I honestly don't remember ever doing anything that would require them to pay me for doing it.

So this is my reasoning: I take the kids to the park and I get an iPhone. What would they give me if I took the kids to the zoo? A laptop? Or how about a trip to Disneyland? My own plane?

Still this is the greatest toy ever (besides my computer)! And I am so grateful to them for receiving it.

So – Greg, Michelle, Taylor, Kaden, and Zac, thank you thank you thank you – for the trip, for always making me feel welcome, and for giving me another way to keep in touch with you.

Photo of sushi is from Wikimedia Commons. Photo of iPhone is from Apple.

Today is Mother's Day

Mom's Favorite Flower - one of my favorite memories

Gentle breezes and a warm sun play across my face as I monitor my children from our front step.

Though he is not allowed to wander far, my son rounds the corner and hands me a beautiful red rose, obviously from a neighbor's garden.

Not to be outdone, his older sister hands me another beautiful flower, probably from the same neighbor's garden.

My 3-year old, unaware of where her older siblings found these treasures, searches and searches until, beaming with pride, she emerges from the corner of the house to drop remnants of dead dandelions in my hand.

I fawn over them as I did over the other gifts bestowed upon me by my babies.

Years later, I sit in a Dairy Queen parking lot with my youngest daughter, when a little girl approaches my window. Her father smiles bashfully as he watches his daughter hand a perfect stranger a precious gift, a memory. The dandelion sits in my palm, a lovely reminder of that warm sunny day when my children placed their gifts in my hand.

Today my grandchildren -- their parents the givers of more than a dozen bouquets of dandelions -- carry on the tradition. I gratefully place each droopy dandelion in a glass, careful not to drown the bugs flitting around the yellow flowered weed.

My children are grown now. I miss our daily contacts, especially those with my Marine son who is often stationed overseas or living across the country. I long for the day he comes home.

And if he brings me nothing else, I would welcome with laughter and tears another red rose, or even a handful of bug-infested dandelions, my favorite "flower."

My Heart is Flying to California

So rarely do I get to see my son (a U.S. Marine stationed near San Diego) and his family, that when I do, I get so excited at the prospect of seeing everybody that I can barely sleep. I was up practically the whole last night.

I'm too excited about the trip, I guess. I will be able to spend some time with my sister before I head north to Midway Airport, so I'm excited about that as well.

All of this comes after a much needed break, where my head is still throbbing after two weeks of providing 11-hour a day daycare with a body that is completely exhausted from hypervigilance associated with two little boys who fight for supremacy, one of whom cannot control himself from hitting everybody and everything in his path. I follow him around the house gathering all of the toys he flings around, repeating my requests to keep them in one room and admonishing him for flinging them around the babies. 

If I could contain him in one room, I would, but my attention has to be shared with four, and one time this week, five, other kids. When I tell everybody to clean up the mess made mostly by him, everybody pitches in and he jumps on the couch for a time-out, knowing in advance that he will refuse to help clean and that the ultimate consequence for that action is a time-out. He's not stupid. 

Fortunately, he accommodates me during "quiet time" but the rest of the time is so exhausting I can barely make it through the day.

So why couldn't I sleep last night? Who knows. It makes no sense. You would think that if you were exhausted, your body would recognize your need for sleep and accommodate you. Mine fights me. Gotta remember to bring the taxes I never had time to complete. Gotta pack. Gotta make sure I remember my Advil Migraine medicine. Gotta remember to pack some shoes. Don't forget to print out the online ticket for Southwest Airlines.

At one point, I thought to myself, this is ridiculous – just go write these things down. But they came to me one at a time, so I would jump out of bed, write down "taxes," go back to bed, jump up...you get the picture. I can't help but sabotage myself. Maybe the problem is that my heart is already in California and my body can't sleep without it.

So while I await 7:55 a.m. so I can print out my boarding pass, I am finishing my blog. Time to set the timer.

California, here I come!