For Declan's school this year, we have a carpool with two other families. They are kids he has known since 2nd grade, and they've now gone on to middle school together. I'm discovering that I learn a lot about my child while listening to the chatter and pretending I'm listening to NPR.
The three of them -- two boys and one girl -- remind me of Harry, Ron and Hermione from the Harry Potter series in their dynamic. And they squabble, tease and laugh like they are siblings. I've been really glad that Declan has had the two of them as they have transitioned to this new school.
So some of the things I've learned about my son is that he's a little bit girl crazy. There is a LOT of teasing that goes on about that. Apparently he always his eye on someone. Great.
I've also learned that the three of them have tons of inside jokes that date all the way back to second grade, and they tell the same stories and jokes over and over again. And over and over again. And they appear to have the capacity to laugh even harder every time. Personally, this is about the time I think about driving off the road. If I hear the "boxen" joke again, I'm going to have to put something sharp in my eye.
I think the most eye-opening thing is realizing that my eldest child clearly has a life that is separate and distinct from mine. There are jokes, stories, activities and yes, even crushes, that I am not even remotely involved in. I realize that separation will only grow greater over time. At this point, I'm still counting my lucky stars that I have that time in the car to listen and learn and laugh with them for a little longer.
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Friday, September 16, 2011
What I Love About Fall
Changing leaves, warm days, cool nights, snow back on the mountain tops. One of the most beautiful sights to me is a bright blue sky, yellow aspen leaves, and snow capped peaks, and sometimes a dusting of snow in the red canyons.
These are things I love about Colorado's falls, which I've grown accustomed to and love.
But, I will say, that fall in Ohio was my favorite season. I still miss the red maples. We don't get huge piles of fallen leaves here. I raking leaves in our backyard growing up. We hated it, come to think of it, but we did love raking the leaves into mazes or "houses" and we chased each other through them.
Then we complained that we had to put the leaves in bags. Blisters. I remember lots of blisters from raking leaves. Plus, the leaves in the backyard were from some nasty tree, not a pretty maple.
Whatever.
My Mom usually had a pot of soup cooking on the stove every Saturday. Chili, vegetable, bean. The whole house smelled so good. Then there was that time she put lima beans in the vegetable soup and we all freaked out.
Earlier today I went to the Food Network's website and they had a whole section about tailgating, and it reminded me that this is something else I miss about growing up in Central Ohio--football Saturdays. Specifically, Ohio State football. There is nothing like Columbus, Ohio, on a football Saturday. I'm a third generation graduate of The Ohio State University. On those Saturdays we were raking leaves and getting blisters, I remember my Dad having the radio on and listening to the game. I heard Archie Griffin's and Cornelius Green's names all the time. I even remember their jersey numbers (45 and 7). I can't remember my anniversary, but I can remember their jersey numbers. I don't know what that says about me, except that I might need to take some ginko.
I remember the first time I ever went to an OSU game with my mom took me. It was the era of Art Schlicter and Cal Murray, which will mean nothing if you're not from Columbus. But I loved it and every fall I'm a little annoyed that I can't get OSU football on TV, except for the rare occasion.
These days I get OSU football game updates from everyone on Facebook who puts the game info as their status updates while the Buckeyes are playing. Gives me some angst, but it's better than nothing!
What says fall to you?
These are things I love about Colorado's falls, which I've grown accustomed to and love.
But, I will say, that fall in Ohio was my favorite season. I still miss the red maples. We don't get huge piles of fallen leaves here. I raking leaves in our backyard growing up. We hated it, come to think of it, but we did love raking the leaves into mazes or "houses" and we chased each other through them.
Then we complained that we had to put the leaves in bags. Blisters. I remember lots of blisters from raking leaves. Plus, the leaves in the backyard were from some nasty tree, not a pretty maple.
Whatever.
My Mom usually had a pot of soup cooking on the stove every Saturday. Chili, vegetable, bean. The whole house smelled so good. Then there was that time she put lima beans in the vegetable soup and we all freaked out.
Earlier today I went to the Food Network's website and they had a whole section about tailgating, and it reminded me that this is something else I miss about growing up in Central Ohio--football Saturdays. Specifically, Ohio State football. There is nothing like Columbus, Ohio, on a football Saturday. I'm a third generation graduate of The Ohio State University. On those Saturdays we were raking leaves and getting blisters, I remember my Dad having the radio on and listening to the game. I heard Archie Griffin's and Cornelius Green's names all the time. I even remember their jersey numbers (45 and 7). I can't remember my anniversary, but I can remember their jersey numbers. I don't know what that says about me, except that I might need to take some ginko.
I remember the first time I ever went to an OSU game with my mom took me. It was the era of Art Schlicter and Cal Murray, which will mean nothing if you're not from Columbus. But I loved it and every fall I'm a little annoyed that I can't get OSU football on TV, except for the rare occasion.
These days I get OSU football game updates from everyone on Facebook who puts the game info as their status updates while the Buckeyes are playing. Gives me some angst, but it's better than nothing!
What says fall to you?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Back When I Was a Girl Part 2: Summer Games
So in my kvetching about my kids not using their imaginations or playing outside, one of my childhood friends, Cynthia, posted in the comments about how we played a game called Mean Brenda.
People were curious. Two people. So I'm going to tell you about it.
I definitely remember playing Mean Brenda, but I didn't remember all of the details, so I had to e-mail Cynthia.
First, some background.
When people ask where I'm from originally, I say Columbus, Ohio. But here's the deal, I didn't really live in Columbus. I say that because that's a city people will know. If the person I'm talking to is from Ohio, I'll usually say, "I grew up in Worthington, a suburb of Columbus." Then they usually immediately form the opinion that I'm probably a snob.
But the geographic fact of the matter is, I'm actually from an even smaller community within Worthington called Riverlea. It was just two main streets running east and west and then multiple side streets. Population? Heck, I don't know. Two hundred houses? We had our own mayor (they still do). We had our own Fourth of July celebrations, Christmas luminarias, etc. Living in Riverlea was a little bubble within the bubble of Worthington.
Summer days might find a bunch of us running around through backyards, skateboarding down driveways (broken arms, notwithstanding), riding our bikes with banana seats to the ravine that seemed so far from our house back then, but in reality, it's about the length of three footballs fields away. We could walk or ride bikes by ourselves to the pool, the library, uptown Worthington where there was a bakery (Worthington Bakery--even thinking about the smell of cinnamon buns is making me delerious), an ice cream store or two (Friendly's, Dairy Queen), a candy store (Sadie's Emporium).
Dang, we had it good.
Anyway, while we sometimes ran in a gang, more often than not, we were with the girls who lived seven houses down from us--Cynthia and Beth. I'm sure they don't mind me outing them here. Or if they do, it's too late.
Truly, they are our oldest friends. I mean that in a good way. Many of my friends, I met when I went to kindergarten, but we've known Cynth and Beth since birth. I don't ever remember not knowing them. There are so many funny stories about us growing up, but I won't bore you with the details.
So I had to get confirmation from Cynthia, but as I mentioned, one of the games we played over and over again was Mean Brenda. I definitely remember playing it. The scene was usually played out between two rooms--my parents bedroom and Erin's bedroom--just down the hall from each other. Erin was very young at the time--still in a crib. And one of the places we would hide from Mean Brenda was under the crib.
Mean Brenda was basically like an overly dramatic version of playing house. I'm starting to wonder if it was like a mini-soap opera. Heck, my Mom used to watch As the World Turns and Guidling Light back in those days and I loved watching, too (until the year 2000, I might add). So perhaps Mean Brenda has her roots in daytime soaps.
Apparently Cynthia and I took turns being Mean Brenda. I think Tara was always the nice mother. We basically acted out "house" drama and waited for our husbands to get home. As Cynthia pointed out, Mean Brenda's husband was named Steve. Ironically, Cynthia is married to a Steve. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, I'm telling you. Why, oh why, we didn't play a game called, "Mean Brenda Becomes a Millionaire" is beyond me. Foolish children.
So Mean Brenda was mean to everyone. Imagine that. In one "episode," Mean Brenda was ranting and raving about something and trying to get the kids who were hiding under the crib. It was a little bit like the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, now that I reflect on it.
And that, my friends, is Mean Brenda. Nothing more, nothing less. But it was something we acted out over and over again--adding on, embellishing.
Cynthia also reminded me that we played "store" in their backyard. We peeled bark off their sycamore tree (apparently that was before enviromentalism took hold) and sold it as chocolate. Flowers were some other store produts. I feel crab apples were somehow involved as well. There were also these weird giant bean pod like thingys. I'd love to know what those were. And then there was that time that Beth and I pulled up all these things we thought were "onions." Turns out, of course, that they were someone's bulbs.
Hide and Seek. Kickball. Ghost in the Graveyard. Sardines. Tag. Freeze tag. Flashlight tag. Marco Polo. Lemonade stands on a hot day. Popsicles.
Great memories, all in someone's backyard.
What will my children's memories of summer be? I will be curious to hear one day.
As Cynthia so rightly put it, "Oh, the days before computers and DS's. All we had were the Mattel football and soccer games."
And we thought we were living large.
I think we really were.
People were curious. Two people. So I'm going to tell you about it.
I definitely remember playing Mean Brenda, but I didn't remember all of the details, so I had to e-mail Cynthia.
First, some background.
When people ask where I'm from originally, I say Columbus, Ohio. But here's the deal, I didn't really live in Columbus. I say that because that's a city people will know. If the person I'm talking to is from Ohio, I'll usually say, "I grew up in Worthington, a suburb of Columbus." Then they usually immediately form the opinion that I'm probably a snob.
But the geographic fact of the matter is, I'm actually from an even smaller community within Worthington called Riverlea. It was just two main streets running east and west and then multiple side streets. Population? Heck, I don't know. Two hundred houses? We had our own mayor (they still do). We had our own Fourth of July celebrations, Christmas luminarias, etc. Living in Riverlea was a little bubble within the bubble of Worthington.
Summer days might find a bunch of us running around through backyards, skateboarding down driveways (broken arms, notwithstanding), riding our bikes with banana seats to the ravine that seemed so far from our house back then, but in reality, it's about the length of three footballs fields away. We could walk or ride bikes by ourselves to the pool, the library, uptown Worthington where there was a bakery (Worthington Bakery--even thinking about the smell of cinnamon buns is making me delerious), an ice cream store or two (Friendly's, Dairy Queen), a candy store (Sadie's Emporium).
Dang, we had it good.
Anyway, while we sometimes ran in a gang, more often than not, we were with the girls who lived seven houses down from us--Cynthia and Beth. I'm sure they don't mind me outing them here. Or if they do, it's too late.
Truly, they are our oldest friends. I mean that in a good way. Many of my friends, I met when I went to kindergarten, but we've known Cynth and Beth since birth. I don't ever remember not knowing them. There are so many funny stories about us growing up, but I won't bore you with the details.
So I had to get confirmation from Cynthia, but as I mentioned, one of the games we played over and over again was Mean Brenda. I definitely remember playing it. The scene was usually played out between two rooms--my parents bedroom and Erin's bedroom--just down the hall from each other. Erin was very young at the time--still in a crib. And one of the places we would hide from Mean Brenda was under the crib.
Mean Brenda was basically like an overly dramatic version of playing house. I'm starting to wonder if it was like a mini-soap opera. Heck, my Mom used to watch As the World Turns and Guidling Light back in those days and I loved watching, too (until the year 2000, I might add). So perhaps Mean Brenda has her roots in daytime soaps.
Apparently Cynthia and I took turns being Mean Brenda. I think Tara was always the nice mother. We basically acted out "house" drama and waited for our husbands to get home. As Cynthia pointed out, Mean Brenda's husband was named Steve. Ironically, Cynthia is married to a Steve. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, I'm telling you. Why, oh why, we didn't play a game called, "Mean Brenda Becomes a Millionaire" is beyond me. Foolish children.
So Mean Brenda was mean to everyone. Imagine that. In one "episode," Mean Brenda was ranting and raving about something and trying to get the kids who were hiding under the crib. It was a little bit like the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, now that I reflect on it.
And that, my friends, is Mean Brenda. Nothing more, nothing less. But it was something we acted out over and over again--adding on, embellishing.
Cynthia also reminded me that we played "store" in their backyard. We peeled bark off their sycamore tree (apparently that was before enviromentalism took hold) and sold it as chocolate. Flowers were some other store produts. I feel crab apples were somehow involved as well. There were also these weird giant bean pod like thingys. I'd love to know what those were. And then there was that time that Beth and I pulled up all these things we thought were "onions." Turns out, of course, that they were someone's bulbs.
Hide and Seek. Kickball. Ghost in the Graveyard. Sardines. Tag. Freeze tag. Flashlight tag. Marco Polo. Lemonade stands on a hot day. Popsicles.
Great memories, all in someone's backyard.
What will my children's memories of summer be? I will be curious to hear one day.
As Cynthia so rightly put it, "Oh, the days before computers and DS's. All we had were the Mattel football and soccer games."
And we thought we were living large.
I think we really were.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Growing Old Gracelessly
This afternoon I was reading documents on my computer and I realized I had to make the font bigger to read it. Is adjusting the font size our generation's version of those reading glasses you buy at the drugstore? I distinctly remember giving my mother grief when we went to a restaurant and she would have to move the menu up and back in front of her face to read it. We used to ask her if she wanted us to hold it across the table from her.
I don't know when exactly it happened, but at some point I stopped making fun of my parents for their "growing old" complaints.
It was probably around the time I realized I could no longer sit criss cross applesauce because my knee just didn't go that way anymore. Or maybe it was when I could no longer do a sit up without pulling an abdominal muscle.
I've been taking stock to see where I might be falling apart. There are good points and bad.
My hearing still seems intact. I can hear a bag of chocolate chips being opened at a hundred paces. Unfortunately, my metabolism won't let me actually consume them.
I can't smell the chocolate chips very well after my sinus surgery nearly three years ago. I don't get sinus infections anymore--a plus. I also can't really smell it very well if someone steps in dog poop--a huge plus.
I'm also find myself becoming more vain, but I'm trying to be very subtle about it. The other day we were getting ready to go skiing and I was putting on makeup. Those woman from Texas must be giving me a complex.
Eamonn: Are you putting on makeup before we go skiing?
Me: Um, yes.
Eamonn: Why?
Me: There's, um, sunscreen in it.
Eamonn: I thought you said we should all get more vitamin D by not wearing sunscreen sometimes.
Me: I did, I did, I absolutely did. big pause. . .There's a chance I'm getting a little vain in my old age. Just a little foundation. . .and maybe some powder. . .and some blush. I'm not wearing mascara though. (If you don't wear mascara, technically you're not wearing make up. That's my rule.)
Eamonn and I used to joke that when our kids left for college we'd have to hire someone to move them because we'd be too old to carry their stuff. For some reason I just can't shake that feeling.
I don't know when exactly it happened, but at some point I stopped making fun of my parents for their "growing old" complaints.
It was probably around the time I realized I could no longer sit criss cross applesauce because my knee just didn't go that way anymore. Or maybe it was when I could no longer do a sit up without pulling an abdominal muscle.
I've been taking stock to see where I might be falling apart. There are good points and bad.
My hearing still seems intact. I can hear a bag of chocolate chips being opened at a hundred paces. Unfortunately, my metabolism won't let me actually consume them.
I can't smell the chocolate chips very well after my sinus surgery nearly three years ago. I don't get sinus infections anymore--a plus. I also can't really smell it very well if someone steps in dog poop--a huge plus.
I'm also find myself becoming more vain, but I'm trying to be very subtle about it. The other day we were getting ready to go skiing and I was putting on makeup. Those woman from Texas must be giving me a complex.
Eamonn: Are you putting on makeup before we go skiing?
Me: Um, yes.
Eamonn: Why?
Me: There's, um, sunscreen in it.
Eamonn: I thought you said we should all get more vitamin D by not wearing sunscreen sometimes.
Me: I did, I did, I absolutely did. big pause. . .There's a chance I'm getting a little vain in my old age. Just a little foundation. . .and maybe some powder. . .and some blush. I'm not wearing mascara though. (If you don't wear mascara, technically you're not wearing make up. That's my rule.)
Eamonn and I used to joke that when our kids left for college we'd have to hire someone to move them because we'd be too old to carry their stuff. For some reason I just can't shake that feeling.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Breaking My Heart Just a Tiny Bit
Finn went back to school yesterday. Not very willingly, I might add. He sniffed and snuffed and coughed and wheezed and tried to convince me that he needed to stay home. He said he wanted to be with me, but I suspect he really wanted to be with the TV because he did a lot of TV watching on Monday and Tuesday while I desperately tried to get some work done.
So he went yesterday and seemed fine when I met him after school.
This morning, he went somewhat willingly so I guess I should take heart in the fact that today it was easier.
We walked over to school early because I had offered to help ring up kids' purchases at the book fair in the library. Kids can come in and buy books before and after school and I like to go in and help out when I can. I really like the librarian--she's a cancer survivor herself and knows Finn's story.
So this morning I was working the cash register and then Finn and Declan went off to their classrooms at 8am. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. M (the librarian) came over to me and said, "I have to tell you what Finn said to me yesterday." Mrs. M was on duty in the lunchroom and Finn walked up to her and tugged her sleeve. She looked down thinking he was going to ask her for help opening his milk or something. Instead, he said, "I miss my mom."
Mrs. M said he said it in a very matter-of-fact way. She is such a kind lady and she pointed out to him that he was heading out for recess and then it would be just a short time after that when I would come pick him up.
He seemed satisfied with this reply and went back to his seat.
I've told that story to Eamonn and my Mom already this morning, and each time I tell it, I get a little twinge in my heart. It makes me giggle, but it also makes me a teensy bit sad.
Growing up can be hard.
Not sure to whom I'm referring with that statement--Finn or myself.
So he went yesterday and seemed fine when I met him after school.
This morning, he went somewhat willingly so I guess I should take heart in the fact that today it was easier.
We walked over to school early because I had offered to help ring up kids' purchases at the book fair in the library. Kids can come in and buy books before and after school and I like to go in and help out when I can. I really like the librarian--she's a cancer survivor herself and knows Finn's story.
So this morning I was working the cash register and then Finn and Declan went off to their classrooms at 8am. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. M (the librarian) came over to me and said, "I have to tell you what Finn said to me yesterday." Mrs. M was on duty in the lunchroom and Finn walked up to her and tugged her sleeve. She looked down thinking he was going to ask her for help opening his milk or something. Instead, he said, "I miss my mom."
Mrs. M said he said it in a very matter-of-fact way. She is such a kind lady and she pointed out to him that he was heading out for recess and then it would be just a short time after that when I would come pick him up.
He seemed satisfied with this reply and went back to his seat.
I've told that story to Eamonn and my Mom already this morning, and each time I tell it, I get a little twinge in my heart. It makes me giggle, but it also makes me a teensy bit sad.
Growing up can be hard.
Not sure to whom I'm referring with that statement--Finn or myself.
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