Hmmmm

Remembering

Do you ever get that hurt in your heart at the thought that your childhood, all the events and trips and holidays and friends that formed and define who you are today, are finished. It's a strange feeling, one that i only recently started having, but it comes on me like a mini panic attack. Maybe it's the fact that I am past the 30 mark, and into the 31 year mark, or maybe it's wondering if my children are going to have the same happy childhood memories I did. Some days when I think back on my youth, I forget the actual number  of years that have past. And when I remember, I get hit with waves of nostalgia.... and a little sadness...

I grew up outside Los Angeles, in a city that while big, felt small. With only 2 high schools and 3 middle schools, you were almost guaranteed to know pretty much everyone by the time you became a junior in high school. Not many of us moved away, and the ones that stayed are still friends. Some of them even got married to each other. I keep up with them on Facebook, and while I am blessed that I made the right choice in moving to Tennessee, some days I feel that hole even more. When I see my childhood friends, who have babies the same ages as mine, gather for birthdays and play dates, weddings and births, I feel that hole. I wonder if I should be there, finishing out my life with the same people I started it with. I only make it worse when I start thinking of all the things I will never do again...

I will never cram into the backseat of a car, and make the 5 hour trip to Lone Pine, California, for a western film festival with my parents. And I will never see the beach house in Ventura where weeks were spent without a TV, when the only entertainment was the beach, the pool, and wooden board games at night. I will never again walk down Orchard Drive to my friends house, and then sit out on the curb, goofing off until our parents call us in. Or walk with those friends to the weird smelling shop that housed a little lady who made creepy dolls, where we would walk to giggle at the porcelain faces and buy candies for a quarter. And the Pizza Pie outside pizza place, with the creepy guy in the grease stained shirt who sat in the back watching a small black and white TV, is gone, replace by an office building. And the train tracks we walked on to get to school have been made into a bike path. Time marches on.... I will never again leave school at lunch, climb into a friends car, and decide that driving to a friends house to go swimming is better than going to 6 and 7 periods. I will never walk the halls of the school I couldn't wait to graduate from. I never thought I would miss it.

And it really hurts that I will never lay in the bed, in the room that I lived in for my whole childhood, and stare at the crack of light coming under the door, letting me know my daddy was still sitting in his spot on the couch, under the brass standing lamp, reading his book, giving me comfort. I will never again lie in that bed, listening to old radio show programs on cassette tapes, of the Thin Man and The Shadow, complete with commercials for products from the 1950s and 60s.

I will never again hear the voice of my friend Jim, or the voice of Shirley, who taught me how to love horses. Two beautiful souls gone too soon.

I will never be 5, or 10, or 16, or 21 again.

But I will be 32, and 40 and 50, and older (God willing of course). I will torture my children with road trips of our own,  and ground them when they cut school. I will go to birthdays and graduations and weddings and the birth of my grandchildren. I will have all of these, and along the way, my children will make the memories that one day, will give them pangs of remembering.

Real Men Drive Mini Vans

Yesterday I was on my way to a street festival in a neighboring town. I was in the car with my Mother In Law, Sister in Law, 2 nieces, and my two kids. We pulled into a gas station off the interstate, and while my Mother in Law pumped gas, I watched a man dealing with his children. 

Had I passed this guy in the parking lot, or the grocery store, or in Target, I would have assumed he had a motorcycle, or a sweet truck... something that matched the tattoos and cut off tank top. But there I sat, watching him at his Mini-Van, filled with unruly kids. I sympathized, I have often been the one dealing with the car load of unruly children, where my means of survival includes visualizing an island somewhere, where I lay on a beach, with a cold drink in hand. 

So I watched his scene unfold. What I saw was not what I expected.

One boy in particular was having a meltdown. Not the kind of meltdown my kids have, but the kind where he flaps his hands, making panicked noises and hitting himself in the face. The kind where nothing the Dad did, or said, seemed to matter because this boy couldn't get past whatever it was that was upsetting him. Through it all, this man, with the tattoos and earring and rock n roll T-Shirt stayed calm. He never let his face show if he was frustrated, or upset himself. He never faltered in his low voice and calm words. He didn't touch the boy, who I can only assume must have been his son, but he got down to eye level, and tuned out the noise from the van behind him, tuned out the stares of strangers (like me) watching his life story unfold. He tuned that all out and focused on this boy. On reassuring and comforting this boy. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw when the boy heard him. I saw the relief in the boys shoulders when he realized that things were going to be okay, at least for a little while. And I saw the man smile, and gently guide to boy back to the van, where he carefully buckled his seatbelt without touching him. Then he leaned in the backseat, said a few words to the other occupants, got in his van and drove away.

I am often times amazed by the way people are not always what we expect them to be. 

So today, Fathers Day, I want to say Thank You.

To the dads who stepped out of their box and traded motorcycles for minivans- even if it's just for a few hours a day. 

To the dads that love their children even when it would be easier to hit the road. 

To the dads that don't let their girls wear short shorts, or let their boys cuss, and expect their children to say yes maam and no sir.

To the dads, like my husband, who are Dad to the kids who came with their wife, and never treat them any differently, until one day you forget that they are not the birth parent, because it has become so ordinary.

To the dads, like mine, that still do whatever it takes to make sure we have all that we need, and most of what we want.

To the moms, who play the role of dad.

To the grandfathers, who always stop by our table at Cracker Barrel to say hello and comment on what beautiful babies we have, sometimes sharing stories of their grand-babies, with so much pride it seems that they will burst.

To the men who are overseas, fighting so that our children will be raised in the land of the free.

To all the men that are dads, even though they didn't have to be.

To the dads that go out and work long hours to provide, and the dads that stay home and work long hours to nurture.

Any man can father a child, but it takes a Man to be a Father.

Thank you, and Happy Fathers Day. 

How I know I am doing SOMETHING right...

Future leader of America?

I think so....

Just Keep Swimming

This year we have had 33 foot, above ground, pool from hell. We failed to winterize it last year, and paid a dear price.

At one point early this spring there were frogs living in it. I don't mean one or two green friends, I mean families of them. Every night it was a symphony of croaks, and if you walked out with a flashlight you would see them gathered along the rim of the pool, discussing what I can only imagine must have been the fate of the frog world.

In the beginning of May, we started the process of re-opening the Pond pool. We went through all the steps, and nothing. I had planned an end of year party for Ana and some of her classmates, and we ended up having a pool party with no pool. My friend and her hubby came to visit, and we sat around looking at the pool, listening to the frogs enjoy what should have been our special swim time as we drank wine.

I turned 25 (plus 6) this past week, and since May I have been planning a huge shin-dig to celebrate my eternal youth. Yet the pool, for all the work and money we sunk into it, has stubbornly hung on to its emerald green hue.

Timeline of events:

Summer 2011: Spend 2 days cleaning and treating pool, enjoy 3 months of crystal clear pool fun.

October 2011: Dan and I leave for 10 days of vacation, return to a green pool. We decide "screw it" and lower the water level, but do no further winterizing.

Spring 2012: Frog families take up residence and begin breeding/ plotting world take over

Early May 2012: Plan pool party for Ana's friends. Begin treatment of pool, dumping 100s of dollars into the chemicals and water, with no results. The frogs moved out... well, the ones who survived. If those frogs are truly plotting world take over, we are toast. Have Ana's party with a slip n slide and water balloons instead of pool.

Mid May 2012: Friend comes to visit, we drink wine and look at the pool. Decide it looks too toxic to swim, but trooper that she is, she gets in and helps me skim and vacuum. True friend.

End of May 2012: Take water sample to pool store #1, are sold 60 dollars worth of chemicals, use said chemicals, pool turns slightly bluer.

Memorial Day: Saturday we swim, Sunday we leave town for a night to go to a (real) lake, return to an even greener pool. Monday we swim anyway. Well, those who decide to swim, swim, I choose to drink wine.

From there the time started ticking, and my huge 31 25+6 year birthday party was approaching fast. Nothing was working.

June 4- Go to pool store number 2, find someone who actually seems to listen, she gives us a strict schedule of chemicals- we shock, we chlorinate, we stabilize.... I wake up at 4 am and realize we are out of shock, so I drive to WalMart at 5am. I am impressed with the number of shoppers at 5am. Really, how is WalMart as a place to start your day... they are either genius or crazy. Still undecided.

June 5 (my birthday) we go back to the pool store, the lady is still stumped. Chemicals are fine. There is NO REASON the pool is still green. And by green, I mean emerald. A lovely shade, actually. But not appealing. I drink wine by the green pool, and pray. I have 25 people, and a ton of kids coming to a freaking pool party in 4 days and the pool looks like something the creature from the black lagoon would inhabit. Minus the frogs. Not sure if we are minus the creature since we can't see the bottom.

June 6 Still Green. I do not go to the pool store, however, I do visit the wine store.

June 7 (party is in 2 days) we make one. last. trip. to the pool store. Pool lady gives us one. last. thing. to try. We are given strict instructions, and sent on our way.

June 8 (1 day till party) :

8 am, Friday morning, the pool is blue. As the day goes on, the blue gets bluer, and I am thanking God for answering my silly prayer.

Friday evening, 4:00, we head to the grocery store, last minute supplies, etc... we come home...

5:15 WATER. Beautiful blue water. POURING out the bottom outer seam of the pool.

How does this happen??

 5:30 We get on our bathing suits, jump in, and begin the process of finding the leak. We decide it is under the stairs. We remove said stairs, and release into our newly blue pool all the algae that was trapped behind and under the stairs, immediately tuning the pool back to a cloudy green.

5:45 Meltdown commence.

6:00 Husband is able to locate the (huge) hole that was apparently caused by a rock caught between the stairs and the floor of the pool. Patch said hole.

6:10 We begin vacuuming the green out, I  begin continue praying.

6:40 We get out of pool, pour one last dose of chemicals into the water, I crack open a beer... still praying.

Saturday (Party day)

7:00 am, We have a bluer pool.

10:00 Even bluer. AND we are holding water.

2:00 Guests arrive, fun is had by all

Sunday-Tuesday (Aftermath)

Rains for 2 days straight.

Pool is slightly green.

Oh well.

Pond it is.

At least it gives me an excuse to drink.