Where has my silverware gone?

My mom had this drawer full of silverware. It was a long, skinny drawer that was so heavy sometimes it was a struggle to open it with one hand. This drawer had no silverware sorter and nothing in this drawer matched...ever. No fork had a match but she had 30 of them. It was the same for the spoons and knives. This drove me crazy every time I set the table. However, putting the clean silverware away was a breeze. Just open the drawer, dump it all in there and close it back up.

 When I was a kid I remember thinking, "when I grow up I will have all matching silverware and they'll be in a nice sorter thingy too."  For 25 years of marriage, I've managed to have all matching silverware. It's not fancy, it's just regular Oneida stuff but they don't make this design anymore.  So, now I have a dilemma. Do I go buy some to make up the number I need and have mixed silverware in the drawer OR do I go buy all new in the amount I want and have all new matching silverware in the drawer? My kids would say go buy new because they know they will get my hand me downs for college apartment living.

Two thoughts come to my mind. 1. How did we go from 12 forks to 7, 12 spoons to 4, yet the knives keep multiplying? I swear I have 20 or more butter knives. I wouldn't wonder where they've gone if my kids were still at the age that they were taking spoons to the sandbox or the forks to dig in dirt. But the youngest is now 10 and he doesn't have a sandbox anymore. Er, I mean, the neighborhood cats don't have a litterbox anymore, and 2. Why did mom's silverware drawer bug me so much, even as a kid?

When my mom was a single mom, she worked 2 jobs, she'd walk to both jobs so she could save money on gas and use it for food. I imagine my mom thought having a reason to even  have silverware was more important that what the designs looked like.  I'm sure she'd see forks at a yard sale and think, "3 forks for 50 cents! SCORE!"

I'm sure I'll drive my kids crazy with some things I do, but I haven't decided yet if I'll be driving them crazy with my silverware drawer. 

My parents ruined me.....for the better

As I sit at my computer, reading reviews of mechanics, crunching numbers to see the most econimical way to get the Suburban towed someplace I saw the date on my computer and tears started to flow. I realize now how badly my parents ruined me. (Keep reading, it's not a negative post! I promise!) I miss my parents every day and I think about them often. Days like today I really miss them. 

9 years ago today my dad died, 19 years and 4 days ago my mom died. Doesn't seem like it was that long ago for either one. I think about all the memories I have with them and then all the memories they've missed and the grandbabies they've missed seeing grow up. It strengthens my resolve to live a healthy life so I can hopefully be around to see my grandbabies and even great grandbabies grow. I was a daddy's girl and he made being the flashlight holder seem like the most important job to any mechanic. My mom made me feel like I could change the world and taught me that humor was the best medicine in any situation.(her viewing at the funeral home was proof of that. There was more laughter there than I've heard at some comedy clubs) I'd do anything to make her laugh. I loved to hear her contagious, loud, cackley laugh. 

As with all kids I joke that they ruined me in some ways. I'm a guilt driven person because that's how my mom rolled when she wanted something that she knew I'd want to say no to....like giving her a foot massage. GROSS!!! I talk fast, it's annoying to some-I know. When I talk slower, or normal for most, I feel like I'm talking too slow and boring people.  My mom loved evening shows and before VCRs where you could record shows, I had the commercial break to talk. You talk fast when you have a problem and have 3 minutes to get advice.  She ruined me by teaching me to be aware of others around me...all the time. They both taught me the value of education and the ability to learn anything we want or need in so many different ways.

 My dad never trusted a mechanic, ever. That's what got me this morning. I found myself needing to find a new mechanic because the one I had for 5 years has closed. Finding a mechanic, to me, is as difficult as finding a dr. My dad ruined me by teaching me enough that I can help diagnose a car problem, find a solution but not enough that I trust myself to do the work alone. If they were alive today I'd first ask my dad for car help and would beg to be his flashlight holder again. I'd get my rubber gloves out and rub my mom's feet. (I really did do this once just to get her to laugh.) And I'd thank them for ruining me. Because of them I will find a new mechanic today, have explained the problem in proper terms and with the knowledge I gained from my dad,I am more compassionate and have a heart that wants to help anyone and I've gone back to school at 47 with plans to graduate with my bachelors before I'm 50..and I've kicked myself for years for not doing it right when I was 20. Hindsight, you know, is 20/20. 

I hope I have ruined my kids the same way my parents ruined me. if you are fortunate enough to have your parents living, tell them you love them, hug them and thank them for ruining you in all the good ways.

At what point do become bad parents?

My kids went to the pool today and I scrolled through facebook in peace and quiet. An article caught my eye, so I clicked, read it and read a few of the comments following the article. I can't remember what the article was about but what I do remember and have been thinking about are those comments.  Comments were about what mom looked like, how clean or dirty the girl was, what was in the background (it was a house with a chain linked fence) and so it went. I'm left wondering at what point do we become bad parents? 

Hang with me here....My 10 year old does not have a cell phone so when he rides his bike to a friends house he needs to use their parents phone to call or text me that he's "here." He usually does this but today I didn't realize he didn't text me until an hour after he'd been gone. We live in a subdivision in a small village. I know about 95% of the neighbors between our house and his friends house. I texted the parent asking if Nate was there. No response--he was busy playing with the kids...I was sure of it. He's a fantastic dad and my son loves going over there to play with the kids AND their dad. :) However, my mom gut still went on mild scare mode. Keeping my concern to myself, I asked my older son to run over and check on Nate and to see if he was hungry for lunch.(I checked the house while he was gone.) He was gone about 15 minutes....10 minutes too long for a 17 year with long legs. Mom mild scare mode went to mild internal panic. I busied myself in the kitchen trying to stay calm while my mind went to all those scary places they do sometimes, regardless of how much we want those thoughts to stay away. Hunter walks in laughing, "He's there, lauging and having a great time. He doens't want to eat because he doesn't miss any fun." Mom mode goes back to it's comfortable place of summer fun and no worries for the moment. 

Fast Foward...kids are at the pool and  I sat there looking at my phone but my mind was on what happened 90 minutes ago in my house and I wondered, at what point would the world have thought I was a bad parent. For 10 whole minutes, (said with a mild touch of sarcasm) I wasn't 100% positive where my son was. I was pretty sure, but he's a kid and he could've forgotten and bounced to someone else's house and didn't text me. The world and especially social media would've thougth my mother was an awful, horrible mom because I'd leave 10 minutes after I woke up and didn't come home until the siren rang at 6:00, unless it rang throughout the the day at which point I had to run home to yell in the door, "it's not for me! I'm okay. See ya!" I don't do the helicopter mom thing. I believe in letting kids have wings and flying, with supervision at first.  I want them to have a carefree childhood like I did. 

Our rules are few but are enforced if broken. New drivers are expected to text me when they get or leave a destination in case something happens and they don't know where they are. We can take the path we think they would take to get to them. New 'freedom bike riders" have to call me when they get to their friends house or if they  leave alone to go someplace else. Other than that, I want my kids to experience childhood the way I did. Go! Run! Have fun with friends...all summer! Have friends over here. Make some noise....But have you done your chores first?  

Had my scary thoughts really happened today, how long would it be before the world  judged me and said I was an awful mom? 10 minutes? An hour? A second? Keep that in mind when you watch the news or read those articles we scroll by.  I choose to believe that  most of us are doing the best we can and try our hardest while letting our kids have the fun, carefree childhoods we had.  I think of Baby Jessica in 1980's...was it? Baby fell in a pipe and got stuck. The nation didn't judge mom for not being by her side every moment. We prayed for her, for her family, for the rescuers pulling her out. Let's go back to that. Judge less. Love a LOT more.  

Now I'm off to go find my dog. I think he's in the garage wiith my husband....but I don't even hear the tablesaw anymore. Where's my husband?!!... 

If stairs could talk....

I was  watching the news and saw an  aeria view of Kirkersville, my hometown. It spurred this blog post. We write for ourselves or for someone else. I don't know if this is for me or someone else but it was fun to think about the steps in that house and the steps in my current home. I wonder if my kids will feel the same way when they're all gone and think back to the house they grew up in. 

This is Kirkersville, a very small village in central Ohio. The day I left for college the population sign said 601. I remember this because as I excitedly drove away toward the airport, I thought, "Not anymore! Now it's an even 700!" 

We called this "In town"

The local news showed my childhood home and said a bullet had been found in the siding from a shooting  that happened in a nursing home a block away. "A family with 4 children were inside and are fine." My first thought, how scary and sad for the whole village. Then my second thought was, "it makes me happy to hear a family with kiddos is living there making happy memories." I found myself wishing I could tell the kids a few things about the house...like the quirky steps that often got me busted trying to sneak in after curfew. I'd always make it past the 2nd step that squeaked and the next to last step was an inch higher than the rest. I would often miscount in the dark, in my not so graceful way, would trip over that one waking my mom. She'd come check on me and would say, through her laughter, "wait until your dad hears about this again." I never knew if she'd tell him so I'd be punished or so they could laugh at me together....because both happened....a lot. 

Some of my favorite memories happened on those stairs. My foster sister and I would race down those stairs all the time resulting in yells from about how we need to stop because we're going to "break our butts" one day.   My brother would "fall" down the stairs upside down and backwards to make me laugh so I'd forget I was mad about how he babysat me. We'd race down the stairs Christmas morning to get our stockings that were hung along the banister. We had to watch our fingers for a month after Christmas or else we'd catch them on the nails we all forgot to take out.

 I thought my mom was magic because she somehow always knew when I wasn't in bed.  I would sneak out of my bedroom and sit with my legs hung between the spindles of the railing that went around the landing.  I had no idea that my 10 year old legs were long enough to be seen above the stairs. It was also then that I realized how music affects how we feel. I will never forget how scared I was to go to sleep the night my parents were watching JAWS and I'd simply heard the music as the sharks would go to attack someone. I've never seen the movie but I can tell you it must be a very scary movie. :)   It was quite a dilemma for me.  Should I go downstairs and tell them I'm scared and can't sleep, totally ratting myself out OR do I just stay there and hope I don't hear anymore scary music and fall asleep on the floor? I don't remember what I chose to do but I do know that was the last time I sat on the landing listening to "the party" that went on after I went to bed.  That was also the same spot my brother  would stand to drop this terrifying rubber alligator above my head. I'd start up the stairs and down would come this rubber alligator tied to a string. I'd scream and race back to mom and dad. My brother would fall over laughing, my mom would hug me and my dad would join in the laughter. Years later I was told this alligator had been a soap dish in the bathroom. I don't remember every grabbing soap from that scary thing!  

Those stairs were built for us to simply get to the top floor of the house. Tho they gave me magic carpet rides, caught me when fell--up or down, both happened a lot, they caught tears I'd shed over boys, teenage angst, friends gone too soon.   Those 13 steps hold the memories of my childhood, my brothers teenage years and at least 15 foster children have raced up and down those stairs too. It makes me happy to know another family is enjoying those same steps. If only stairs could talk and share the things we learned there. ...on second thought, maybe it's good that they can't talk!