With apologies to the writers of The Declaration of Independence:
Sometimes in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one person to dissolve the physical bands which have connected them to others in order to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle him/her in order to have life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
My body is in Indiana, but my heart is in Illinois right now as my sister endeavors to put her beautiful house in the country outside of Springfield on the market to sell. Why? After being widowed for about three years, she now has an also-widowed companion, and they have decided to make a life together in Missouri, where he lives. Their plan is for her to sell her home and move to MO, and then for him to sell HIS home while they find a place that is "theirs", rather than his or hers. No biggie, right? Wrong!
Both my sister (Shari) and the new love of her life (Jim) were in long-term marriages before their spouses passed. We are talking well over 50 years each here. And this is how life works:
1. When you become a married adult and "go to housekeeping" (as my mother-in-law put it), you establish a home. You acquire "stuff".
2. When children arrive to the marriage, traditions are established. "Home" takes on a new meaning--not just for you, but for the children, as well. With children comes more "stuff". More furniture. More equipment. Toys, and all of the claptrap that goes along with raising a family.
3. When your grandparents die, your parents incorporate the family treasures as their belongings. And then when your parents die, you incorporate the treasures of your grandparents as well as your parents. And, of course, you have your own "stuff" at home to make it all happen. You combine Your Stuff with Their Stuff to try to make it all work.
4. At a certain age, your children grow up and leave your nest to begin their own lives. They don't always take everything with them. You end up storing it until they are ready, hoping that they WILL be ready, someday.
5. At another certain age, your home is full-to-overflowing with stuff. You already have everything you need and most of the things you want. Holidays and gift-giving occasions come, and--lacking the funds to give you much in remembrance of the day--your kids start giving you "things" to go along with your "stuff". Daddy really liked that stuffed moose that he got last year, so we'll get him another. Mom has a collection of owl figurines. How about another owl figurine? In the end, you have a huge collection of things that you just don't feel that you can throw away because they meant something to the people who gave them. If a little is good, a lot is better...right?
6. And then you fall in love again and make plans to move and pare down. You have to make choices: Keep, Pitch, Donate. Someone will be offended when the stuffed animal they gave is tossed in the donate pile. Someone will be offended when someone else was given something they had hoped to get. Yet another someone will be jealous when another family member is given the authority to get things done. Trust me: it happens in every family, no matter how close everyone thinks they are!
Shari's plan was to get the house on the market by the end of September. Then life got in the way. She spent the better part of two months in MO because Jim fell and required serious knee surgery, and Shari did what I would have done: she stayed to help take care of him because he was largely immobile. That meant she wasn't at home in order to direct packing. She assigned packing chores to family. Her last email to me just before she left for IL was that the house was "pretty much packed up". When I arrived last Saturday, I found that the house wasn't anywhere close to being packed up! Most pictures were off the walls, and many knicknacks were packed, but she hadn't been there to decide what to keep, what to pitch, and what to donate. Ugh! Then, too, she and Jim had a planned trip to Colorado this month, so she will be gone even more.
I visited and stayed for the better part of four days. Unfortunately, I couldn't be of much help except to supply moral support and a little supervision for the family that gathers the instant she comes home. To be totally honest, I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed FOR HER. She didn't seem the least bit flapped, which is why I kept trying to bring her feet back down to the floor. I hate having to be the realist in all of this. It could all be done in an instant if they had thousands of dollars to hire packers, etc....and there will be some of that...but Shari has to be there to direct even that. I have expressed to her and her feller that de-constructing that home, that house, is going to take more time than either of them ever thought. Fifty-five-odd-years of accumulated stuff than means nothing on the market.
Of course, I came home with a new perspective on my own digs. I don't have nearly as much "stuff" as my sister does because my house is smaller and I am poorer. Still, I am at the point at which I have to say that nothing more can come in until something goes out. And how many of the "things" that I am keeping are here just because I think they might mean something to someone, someday? Time to dig deep and do the cleanout before I die and my only child is stuck doing it via long distance!
De-constructing a home isn't the same as demolishing it. The house will be gone, but the family relationships will still remain, although different than what used to be. Some people will get it. Some never will. They are the ones that would like for things to stay the same forever. The older I get, the more I wish that things would stay the same, but I am changing daily. It ain't that easy, folks! If my sister can have a new life this late in years, I'm all for it. I just want her to understand--which I think she does--that "things" aren't what it's all about. Now time for her family to figure that out, too!
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Very Special Education
As a teacher of 40 years, I got to learn about Special Education up close and personal.
In the early days, Spec. Ed was reserved for those with obvious physical disabilities, and things like hearing or visual impairment. Those students usually had special classrooms dedicated to only those.
My elementary school in Oak Park, IL, had one of those rooms. The rest of us never interacted with those students. They weren't among us. When I asked my mother about that one time, she said, "Every time I see those children, I get down on my knees and thank God that my children are normal."
There were no Special Ed kids during my first few years of teaching. There were, of course, but they weren't in our classes. Anyone else who wasn't succeeding in school was dumb, lazy, or lacked supervision at home.
In order to be inclusive of students with disabilities, the federal mandate became that each of those students should be put in an LRE--Least Restrictive Environment. That meant putting students in regular classrooms whenever possible. Obviously, some couldn't be. One semester in Pontiac, IL, I worked as a teacher's aide in a "Severe and Profound" classroom--kids with multiple disabilities who were severely/profoundly disabled. This room was self-contained. We fed them meals created from our own little kitchen in the room. We were pretty much on our own in that room. No administrators, teachers, or parents ever came to visit.
Every event was a teaching tool--and it got weird. If it was in the student's Individual Education Program (IEP) that he/she should talk, cookies were offered at snack time but only if the kid asked for it when prompted. These kids of all ages were mostly non-verbal and in diapers, but only one couldn't feed him/herself. (Shows how basic needs are.) These kids were the droolers but each with a personality and needs all his/her own. I was fascinated in working with them. (Won't go into details.) Suffice it to say that I learned a lot about disabilities that semester.
And then, over time, society got smarter and accepted that there were other disabilities that hindered a student's ability to learn, through no fault of their own. Suddenly, students with "disabilities" looked amazingly normal. Research determined that there are many factors that hinder a kid's ability to learn--anything from AD/HD to the autism spectrum, and many things in between, such as dyslexia, dysgraphia, and personality disorders. These kids were "mainstreamed"--put in classrooms with so-called "normal" students in a quest to help them shine on their own. And then it became the responsibility of the teacher to accommodate those disabilities with things call "modifications" to the usual expectations.
It's a tall order for a teacher. First of all, the teacher can't single out a kid as a spec ed student. That's discrimination. At the same time, it is difficult to apply mods to a child's education without other kids knowing. Fortunately, I worked in a small enough school that most of the students had been together forever and accepted each other as they were--well, mostly. And every kid's mods were different, depending on their disability. Hard to keep track!
What mods are out there? For the uninitiated, there are many, depending on the student.
*Preferential seating.
*Providing typed lesson notes.
*Allowing use of a calculator in math classes.
*Allowing use of word-processed themes in English classes.
*Allowing extra time for tests.
*Providing one-on-one explanations of assignments.
*Providing shorter assignments.
*Providing alternate assignments.
*Allowing unlimited restroom visits.
And more.
Thus is the reality of American Public Education. And today, my granddaughter, who is on the autism spectrum, goes to an education facility of choice to determine if her need for mods--mostly needing more time to finish tests--will be accepted by her early-college-credit education.
If not, I'm ready to do battle!!
In the early days, Spec. Ed was reserved for those with obvious physical disabilities, and things like hearing or visual impairment. Those students usually had special classrooms dedicated to only those.
My elementary school in Oak Park, IL, had one of those rooms. The rest of us never interacted with those students. They weren't among us. When I asked my mother about that one time, she said, "Every time I see those children, I get down on my knees and thank God that my children are normal."
There were no Special Ed kids during my first few years of teaching. There were, of course, but they weren't in our classes. Anyone else who wasn't succeeding in school was dumb, lazy, or lacked supervision at home.
In order to be inclusive of students with disabilities, the federal mandate became that each of those students should be put in an LRE--Least Restrictive Environment. That meant putting students in regular classrooms whenever possible. Obviously, some couldn't be. One semester in Pontiac, IL, I worked as a teacher's aide in a "Severe and Profound" classroom--kids with multiple disabilities who were severely/profoundly disabled. This room was self-contained. We fed them meals created from our own little kitchen in the room. We were pretty much on our own in that room. No administrators, teachers, or parents ever came to visit.
Every event was a teaching tool--and it got weird. If it was in the student's Individual Education Program (IEP) that he/she should talk, cookies were offered at snack time but only if the kid asked for it when prompted. These kids of all ages were mostly non-verbal and in diapers, but only one couldn't feed him/herself. (Shows how basic needs are.) These kids were the droolers but each with a personality and needs all his/her own. I was fascinated in working with them. (Won't go into details.) Suffice it to say that I learned a lot about disabilities that semester.
And then, over time, society got smarter and accepted that there were other disabilities that hindered a student's ability to learn, through no fault of their own. Suddenly, students with "disabilities" looked amazingly normal. Research determined that there are many factors that hinder a kid's ability to learn--anything from AD/HD to the autism spectrum, and many things in between, such as dyslexia, dysgraphia, and personality disorders. These kids were "mainstreamed"--put in classrooms with so-called "normal" students in a quest to help them shine on their own. And then it became the responsibility of the teacher to accommodate those disabilities with things call "modifications" to the usual expectations.
It's a tall order for a teacher. First of all, the teacher can't single out a kid as a spec ed student. That's discrimination. At the same time, it is difficult to apply mods to a child's education without other kids knowing. Fortunately, I worked in a small enough school that most of the students had been together forever and accepted each other as they were--well, mostly. And every kid's mods were different, depending on their disability. Hard to keep track!
What mods are out there? For the uninitiated, there are many, depending on the student.
*Preferential seating.
*Providing typed lesson notes.
*Allowing use of a calculator in math classes.
*Allowing use of word-processed themes in English classes.
*Allowing extra time for tests.
*Providing one-on-one explanations of assignments.
*Providing shorter assignments.
*Providing alternate assignments.
*Allowing unlimited restroom visits.
And more.
Thus is the reality of American Public Education. And today, my granddaughter, who is on the autism spectrum, goes to an education facility of choice to determine if her need for mods--mostly needing more time to finish tests--will be accepted by her early-college-credit education.
If not, I'm ready to do battle!!
Sunday, September 8, 2019
RAGBRAI
I don't think I have ever written about the RAGBRAI, but something happened online to remind me of it, so I am launched.
My former husband, back when we were living in Pontiac, IL, and our daughter was maybe around 7 or 8 years old, was into long-distance cycling. He had somehow heard of a long-distance ride across Iowa, from west to east, called the "Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa". RAGBRAI. (The Register was/is the name of the sponsor, the Des Moines Register newspaper.) The ride was a week long. Every year, the route was different. It took riders through little towns and larger cities all along the way. Communities cashed in on having 10,000 extra guests for a day. Churches put on feeds for reasonable prices. Locals stood by with hoses to hydrate riders. Resident citizens put up little roadside booths to sell mementoes of the ride, and towns all along the route would provide entertainment and "local color" for riders who had come from all over the US to participate. The western border was always the Missouri River, and the eastern boundary was the Mississippi. Daily destinations were communities between one and the other.
We did the RAGBRAI twice, as a family. I will most likely mess these two trips up in chronology because they blend together in my memory, but here goes.
First of all, the RAGBRAI always takes place in July--usually late July--which means it is normally hot. The ride is about 500 miles, give or take a few miles, from west to east. The planners make it least one day a 100-mile trip, and usually make it on a day over flatter terrain. This ride is NOT a race. You don't get any points for being first or last. Most just are grateful to get to the day's destination intact, with interesting points along the way.
Understand that I didn't ride the course, nor did my daughter or stepdaughter who came with us on the first trip. We provided the sag. We left camp long after the guys did, traveled to the day's destination, and set up camp, waiting for the guys to arrive. When I think about it, I don't believe either trip could have successfully occurred were it not for all we women did!
First RAGBRAI:
The first year (I think 1985), we departed for western Iowa with a local friend, Ed Lipinski, from Pontiac, IL, where we lived. He was going to ride the ride with Husband Joe. Ed was a modern-day Hippie, a teacher in Joe's school. In the car were: Joe and Ed in the front seat, and me with the two girls (Megan and Stephanie) in the back. The car was packed to the gills with camping gear. On the way there, we stopped at the Amana Colonies, where Ed found a big wicker laundry basket to take back to his wife. There was little room in the car for it. Eventually, we had to strap it on top of the car along with the bicycles. (This was at the beginning of the trip, so the basket would be with us for the entire time.) There was at least one other Pontiac resident that would be doing the RAGBRAI--Dr. Deterding--who owned the historic Humiston House in Pontiac.
After many hours on the road from Pontiac, IL, to western Iowa (don't remember what town), we arrived at the campground that also happened to be the county fairgrounds with the fair going on. After we set up camp, we went to the fair. Joe decided that he would ride the ride that has swings on chains with the girls. The faster the ride turned, the further out the swings went. I thought it was a good daddy/daughter thing. I was wrong. The ride played havoc with Joe's middle ear balance, and for many hours thereafter, he was nauseated. We ran into Doc Deterding. Joe griped about his stomach. Doc told him that the problem wasn't in his stomach but in his head--literally. We ended up going to a local pharmacy to buy Dramamine. (Heavy on the "drama" part.) And the ride hadn't even started yet!!!! Our fun for that day was basically over after that.
Every destination community, and many in between, had offerings. Some had concerts. Many had feasts, with air conditioning, to lure in hot, tired cyclists. Every community had something to offer. We took advantage of as many of those as we could. And, as you might imagine, the campsites had portable toilets. The name brand there was Kybo. At the end of the day's ride when people were imbibing in alcohol, we would hear the drunken chant: Kybo! Kybo! Kybo!
Somewhere west of Waterloo, which was close to a day's destination, we experienced a nasty thunderstorm in the wee hours of the morning before daylight. The wind bent the aluminum ridge pole of our tent, bringing it down around our ears. The rain basically soaked everything that wasn't in the car. We ran to the vehicle until the storm stopped. (No sleep happened!) When the sun finally came up, the men took off on their trek, leaving me and the children to figure out what to do with the carnage. (Thanks!)
The day's destination was a place just east of Waterloo. I had a cousin that lived in Waterloo, so I stopped at a pay phone and started looking for her. It happened! Poor Betsy--out of nowhere, Cousin Peg arrived with pleas for help. And help, she did. I have no idea if she'd had other plans for the day. She seemed a bit befuddled that I had just appeared with no warning, but she took me to a local hardware that fixed the bent tent ridge pole. We put a lot of stuff in her dryer and ran it endlessly...then spread other not-so-wet stuff out on her lawn to dry. At the far end of the afternoon, we departed her place in order to find a camping spot at the destination. We beat the guys there by maybe 30 minutes. What a day!
There were a lot of riding "teams"--people riding together in a pack They wore matching shirts; their team name on the front with their nicknames on the back. Two teams caught my eye. The first was the "Me Off" team. Their nicknames were Tick, Flip, Piss, Jack, etc. You get the picture. The other was the Dog team. Their nicknames were Top, Big, Bull, etc. I never stopped enjoying their humor!
Second RAGBRAI:
I'm thinking this year was 1987. We had a pop-up camper with us, and no extra riders. Stephanie wasn't with us this time. Each day, after Joe left at dawn to start his daily ride, it was up to Megan and me to strike camp, fold up the camper, and head to that day's destination. But first, we toured the campground.
Iowa had a 5-cent deposit fee on cans and glassware. Most riders just got up in the morning and left, leaving their trash behind. Meg and I picked up as much recyclable trash as we had time for, then headed for a local shop to cash in on the deposits. One day--and we weren't even trying hard--we turned in $7 worth of trash. Wish we had started on this mission sooner!! I let Meg keep the cash. Had we been quicker on the draw, she would have been one rich young'un!
I THINK this is the trip where Megan found a salamander and named it Danielle. I convinced her to turn it loose. Whew! This might even have been the trip where an entire dry bowl of Cocoa Krispies cereal flew all over the inside of the camper when the bowl got hit, accidentally. We still laugh about that today.
The RAGBRAI was one big party on wheels. The tradition was to dip a bike's rear tire into the Missouri River on the way eastward, then dip the front tire into the Mississippi at the end. I watched more than one cyclist ride their bikes off the end of the pier at the Mississippi. One dude who did so had ridden the whole trip barefoot. In regular shorts. Shirtless. (My spouse, of course, had the best of cycling clothes and equipment, and had even shaved his legs to reduce wind drag. Yeah...don't even ask!)
On a side note about the leg-shaving, Joe's reasoning was that shaved legs reduced wind drag. Were he a racer and not just a rider, I could have understood that. He also reasoned that shaved legs would save hair-complications should accidents happen to create road burns. I thought it was all kind of silly but never said anything to anyone about it. Honestly, I never paid attention to guys' legs, so I didn't figure anyone else did, either. A few days after the RAGBRAI that year, Joe's cousin (7-year Vietnam POW) and his wife arrived in Indiana for a visit. We went, too, in order to see J.B. and Nancy. At one point, Nancy--who is a sassy kind of gal--sidled up to my husband at his parents' kitchen bar and said, somewhat sarcastically, "So, Joe...How long have you been shaving your legs??" BUSTED! I can't help it--I just guffawed!
I remember both RAGBRAI experiences as adventures. Glad I was part of them, even if not as a rider. And life moves on...
My former husband, back when we were living in Pontiac, IL, and our daughter was maybe around 7 or 8 years old, was into long-distance cycling. He had somehow heard of a long-distance ride across Iowa, from west to east, called the "Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa". RAGBRAI. (The Register was/is the name of the sponsor, the Des Moines Register newspaper.) The ride was a week long. Every year, the route was different. It took riders through little towns and larger cities all along the way. Communities cashed in on having 10,000 extra guests for a day. Churches put on feeds for reasonable prices. Locals stood by with hoses to hydrate riders. Resident citizens put up little roadside booths to sell mementoes of the ride, and towns all along the route would provide entertainment and "local color" for riders who had come from all over the US to participate. The western border was always the Missouri River, and the eastern boundary was the Mississippi. Daily destinations were communities between one and the other.
We did the RAGBRAI twice, as a family. I will most likely mess these two trips up in chronology because they blend together in my memory, but here goes.
First of all, the RAGBRAI always takes place in July--usually late July--which means it is normally hot. The ride is about 500 miles, give or take a few miles, from west to east. The planners make it least one day a 100-mile trip, and usually make it on a day over flatter terrain. This ride is NOT a race. You don't get any points for being first or last. Most just are grateful to get to the day's destination intact, with interesting points along the way.
Understand that I didn't ride the course, nor did my daughter or stepdaughter who came with us on the first trip. We provided the sag. We left camp long after the guys did, traveled to the day's destination, and set up camp, waiting for the guys to arrive. When I think about it, I don't believe either trip could have successfully occurred were it not for all we women did!
First RAGBRAI:
The first year (I think 1985), we departed for western Iowa with a local friend, Ed Lipinski, from Pontiac, IL, where we lived. He was going to ride the ride with Husband Joe. Ed was a modern-day Hippie, a teacher in Joe's school. In the car were: Joe and Ed in the front seat, and me with the two girls (Megan and Stephanie) in the back. The car was packed to the gills with camping gear. On the way there, we stopped at the Amana Colonies, where Ed found a big wicker laundry basket to take back to his wife. There was little room in the car for it. Eventually, we had to strap it on top of the car along with the bicycles. (This was at the beginning of the trip, so the basket would be with us for the entire time.) There was at least one other Pontiac resident that would be doing the RAGBRAI--Dr. Deterding--who owned the historic Humiston House in Pontiac.
After many hours on the road from Pontiac, IL, to western Iowa (don't remember what town), we arrived at the campground that also happened to be the county fairgrounds with the fair going on. After we set up camp, we went to the fair. Joe decided that he would ride the ride that has swings on chains with the girls. The faster the ride turned, the further out the swings went. I thought it was a good daddy/daughter thing. I was wrong. The ride played havoc with Joe's middle ear balance, and for many hours thereafter, he was nauseated. We ran into Doc Deterding. Joe griped about his stomach. Doc told him that the problem wasn't in his stomach but in his head--literally. We ended up going to a local pharmacy to buy Dramamine. (Heavy on the "drama" part.) And the ride hadn't even started yet!!!! Our fun for that day was basically over after that.
Every destination community, and many in between, had offerings. Some had concerts. Many had feasts, with air conditioning, to lure in hot, tired cyclists. Every community had something to offer. We took advantage of as many of those as we could. And, as you might imagine, the campsites had portable toilets. The name brand there was Kybo. At the end of the day's ride when people were imbibing in alcohol, we would hear the drunken chant: Kybo! Kybo! Kybo!
Somewhere west of Waterloo, which was close to a day's destination, we experienced a nasty thunderstorm in the wee hours of the morning before daylight. The wind bent the aluminum ridge pole of our tent, bringing it down around our ears. The rain basically soaked everything that wasn't in the car. We ran to the vehicle until the storm stopped. (No sleep happened!) When the sun finally came up, the men took off on their trek, leaving me and the children to figure out what to do with the carnage. (Thanks!)
The day's destination was a place just east of Waterloo. I had a cousin that lived in Waterloo, so I stopped at a pay phone and started looking for her. It happened! Poor Betsy--out of nowhere, Cousin Peg arrived with pleas for help. And help, she did. I have no idea if she'd had other plans for the day. She seemed a bit befuddled that I had just appeared with no warning, but she took me to a local hardware that fixed the bent tent ridge pole. We put a lot of stuff in her dryer and ran it endlessly...then spread other not-so-wet stuff out on her lawn to dry. At the far end of the afternoon, we departed her place in order to find a camping spot at the destination. We beat the guys there by maybe 30 minutes. What a day!
There were a lot of riding "teams"--people riding together in a pack They wore matching shirts; their team name on the front with their nicknames on the back. Two teams caught my eye. The first was the "Me Off" team. Their nicknames were Tick, Flip, Piss, Jack, etc. You get the picture. The other was the Dog team. Their nicknames were Top, Big, Bull, etc. I never stopped enjoying their humor!
Second RAGBRAI:
I'm thinking this year was 1987. We had a pop-up camper with us, and no extra riders. Stephanie wasn't with us this time. Each day, after Joe left at dawn to start his daily ride, it was up to Megan and me to strike camp, fold up the camper, and head to that day's destination. But first, we toured the campground.
Iowa had a 5-cent deposit fee on cans and glassware. Most riders just got up in the morning and left, leaving their trash behind. Meg and I picked up as much recyclable trash as we had time for, then headed for a local shop to cash in on the deposits. One day--and we weren't even trying hard--we turned in $7 worth of trash. Wish we had started on this mission sooner!! I let Meg keep the cash. Had we been quicker on the draw, she would have been one rich young'un!
I THINK this is the trip where Megan found a salamander and named it Danielle. I convinced her to turn it loose. Whew! This might even have been the trip where an entire dry bowl of Cocoa Krispies cereal flew all over the inside of the camper when the bowl got hit, accidentally. We still laugh about that today.
The RAGBRAI was one big party on wheels. The tradition was to dip a bike's rear tire into the Missouri River on the way eastward, then dip the front tire into the Mississippi at the end. I watched more than one cyclist ride their bikes off the end of the pier at the Mississippi. One dude who did so had ridden the whole trip barefoot. In regular shorts. Shirtless. (My spouse, of course, had the best of cycling clothes and equipment, and had even shaved his legs to reduce wind drag. Yeah...don't even ask!)
On a side note about the leg-shaving, Joe's reasoning was that shaved legs reduced wind drag. Were he a racer and not just a rider, I could have understood that. He also reasoned that shaved legs would save hair-complications should accidents happen to create road burns. I thought it was all kind of silly but never said anything to anyone about it. Honestly, I never paid attention to guys' legs, so I didn't figure anyone else did, either. A few days after the RAGBRAI that year, Joe's cousin (7-year Vietnam POW) and his wife arrived in Indiana for a visit. We went, too, in order to see J.B. and Nancy. At one point, Nancy--who is a sassy kind of gal--sidled up to my husband at his parents' kitchen bar and said, somewhat sarcastically, "So, Joe...How long have you been shaving your legs??" BUSTED! I can't help it--I just guffawed!
I remember both RAGBRAI experiences as adventures. Glad I was part of them, even if not as a rider. And life moves on...
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
Chuckles with (Grand)children
To be sure, this post isn't about laughs I had with my grandchildren when they were here. This is, instead, some musings of my own chuckles coming from life with teenagers. First, please understand that I adore my kiddos. They are great kids. Robin just turned 17, and Ryan is 15 (16 in November). Here are some of the humorous, head-scratching moments:
1. It was trash day. The inside trash container was full-to-overflowing. Robin was in the kitchen with me, while Ryan was in the bedroom, playing his online computer game. I mentioned to Robin--my little Social Justice activist--that Ryan needed to come take out the trash. Here is how that conversation went:
ME: Ryan needs to come out and take out the trash.
ROBIN: Why do you want Ryan to do it?
ME: He usually does it for me and hasn't been out of the bedroom for hours. It won't hurt him.
ROBIN: But it doesn't have to be a guy's job. We don't ask women to do those things because society thinks they are weaker, but this is an opportunity for women to build more muscles.
ME: Okay...so do YOU want to take out the trash?
ROBIN: Yes, I do. (Takes out the trash.)
Honestly, I didn't care who did the garbage thing for me, just as long as it got done. But, for the life of me, that's the FIRST time I've ever had someone volunteer to take the trash out just to strike a blow for feminism and gender roles!
2. One day, when Robin was out shopping with Grandma Judy, Ryan and I ran errands. The kids had both told me that they had brought their own toiletries. Great. While Ry and I were in Meijer, he mentioned that he needed shampoo (even though I had quite a bunch at home). He selected a bottle, and I thought all was well. SEVERAL days into their visit, I had seen no signs of a toothbrush for him or any evidence that he had actually brushed his teeth--nor had he asked for tooth-cleaning supplies when we had been shopping before. So, when the both of the kids were out running errands with me, I took them to a strip mall that had a Five Below and a Dollar Tree just two stores apart. Gave them both $10 to spend at either place while I stayed in the car. Robin came out of Five Below with nothing. Ryan went to Dollar Tree with orders from me to come back with a toothbrush and toothpaste--keep the change. (He chuckled that it was a good way to get money from Grandma...not to buy anything.)
Ry came out with a pack of two toothbrushes and a small box of toothpaste. Total cost: $2.
A day or two later, I noticed that the toothpaste box had been unopened. He said he HAD brushed his teeth, but without paste. Uh...why? "Toothpaste makes my mouth feel weird." I gave up, but not without the lecture that someday his teeth were going to rot out of his head and he would regret not taking better care of them. It fell on deaf ears...
Bottom line: Three days after he went home to Seattle, my housekeeper found one of the toothbrushes on the floor somewhere in his bedroom. It's toast now, but still... It's funny only insofar that it is so RYAN!
3. Before departure, Ryan deposited his laundry with me, at my request. In it, there were four pairs of pants, some t-shirts, some shorts, and some underwear...but not a single sock. Socks are anathema to my grandson. When he takes them off, he flings them to the four winds, never to be seen again. As unbelievable as it may seem, I think that he came with ONE pair of socks--the ones on his feet--and left with that same pair, unwashed. I hope I'm wrong...but I don't think I am!! Shaking my head in frustrated chuckles!
4. My grandchildren have rapidly become seasoned flyers, even though they are both still minors. I worry, however, because I know that so many things can go wrong at airports. When Ryan left Seattle for Indy, he used his driver's learning permit as ID, and was told by the TSA rep at SeaTac that he would need a "valid ID" next time. (He didn't tell me this until the morning of departure from here back to Seattle.) Ack! SeaTac is a very busy international port air terminal. Indy just isn't. I hoped that he'd be okay getting through Security with the same ID he came with. So...as he was packing to leave, under my heavy supervision, he asked if I knew where his ID was. "Isn't it in your wallet?" "I didn't bring my wallet." Double Ack! So now I am panicking. We are going through the pockets of clothes that were washed, looking inside the washer and dryer, etc. My brain is racing. If he has lost his driver's permit, he not only has no ID to get through airport security but also can't do his practice driving when he gets home--IF he gets home!
A very short while later, he came out of his room, with his suitcase trailing. I asked if he had found his ID. He said yes. I made him show it to me. I think he was a little fracked that I didn't believe him. It wasn't about believing him. It was about reassurance for Grandma!! A bit later, after I got home from dropping the children off at the airport, Robin reported that they were safely at the gate, with no problems. Only then could I chuckle about how Ryan flies by the seat of his pants!
5. In our family, when someone flies, we have a tradition of sorts. The persons en route are to text those they are leaving and those who are awaiting their arrival with certain milestones. "Through security." "At the gate." And, at the end of the trip, "Touchdown." The folks at both ends generally track the flights online. In the case of the grandchildren, I also want to be informed when they are in the bosom of the family waiting for them. Then I can finally breathe.
This return trip back to Seattle, the children were through Security and at the gate almost before I got home from dropping them off, which is a scant ten minutes. That meant that Ryan didn't have any problems with his form of ID. Hallelujah! I tracked their flight. No problems. Arrived early. Eventually, I got the "touchdown" text from Robin, but what she texted her mother was, "Seahawks have scored again!" Love that kid!
Unfortunately, the kids' mother forgot to text me that they had the kids in custody. I got the message several hours later--Oops! Forgot! "We have the kids and are halfway home after stopping for food." Yeah...okay. I'll go to bed now...finally!
I have been so blessed with grandchildren that are good looking, intelligent, caring, and faithful, if not quirky. I'm pretty sure they think I'm a dinosaur and were bored here. They probably have no clue how much it means to me to have them here. I take great pleasure in just having their company, and I bend to their "needs" maybe more than they bend to mine, but such is life as a teen.
I shore do love my grandbabies, chuckles or not!
1. It was trash day. The inside trash container was full-to-overflowing. Robin was in the kitchen with me, while Ryan was in the bedroom, playing his online computer game. I mentioned to Robin--my little Social Justice activist--that Ryan needed to come take out the trash. Here is how that conversation went:
ME: Ryan needs to come out and take out the trash.
ROBIN: Why do you want Ryan to do it?
ME: He usually does it for me and hasn't been out of the bedroom for hours. It won't hurt him.
ROBIN: But it doesn't have to be a guy's job. We don't ask women to do those things because society thinks they are weaker, but this is an opportunity for women to build more muscles.
ME: Okay...so do YOU want to take out the trash?
ROBIN: Yes, I do. (Takes out the trash.)
Honestly, I didn't care who did the garbage thing for me, just as long as it got done. But, for the life of me, that's the FIRST time I've ever had someone volunteer to take the trash out just to strike a blow for feminism and gender roles!
2. One day, when Robin was out shopping with Grandma Judy, Ryan and I ran errands. The kids had both told me that they had brought their own toiletries. Great. While Ry and I were in Meijer, he mentioned that he needed shampoo (even though I had quite a bunch at home). He selected a bottle, and I thought all was well. SEVERAL days into their visit, I had seen no signs of a toothbrush for him or any evidence that he had actually brushed his teeth--nor had he asked for tooth-cleaning supplies when we had been shopping before. So, when the both of the kids were out running errands with me, I took them to a strip mall that had a Five Below and a Dollar Tree just two stores apart. Gave them both $10 to spend at either place while I stayed in the car. Robin came out of Five Below with nothing. Ryan went to Dollar Tree with orders from me to come back with a toothbrush and toothpaste--keep the change. (He chuckled that it was a good way to get money from Grandma...not to buy anything.)
Ry came out with a pack of two toothbrushes and a small box of toothpaste. Total cost: $2.
A day or two later, I noticed that the toothpaste box had been unopened. He said he HAD brushed his teeth, but without paste. Uh...why? "Toothpaste makes my mouth feel weird." I gave up, but not without the lecture that someday his teeth were going to rot out of his head and he would regret not taking better care of them. It fell on deaf ears...
Bottom line: Three days after he went home to Seattle, my housekeeper found one of the toothbrushes on the floor somewhere in his bedroom. It's toast now, but still... It's funny only insofar that it is so RYAN!
3. Before departure, Ryan deposited his laundry with me, at my request. In it, there were four pairs of pants, some t-shirts, some shorts, and some underwear...but not a single sock. Socks are anathema to my grandson. When he takes them off, he flings them to the four winds, never to be seen again. As unbelievable as it may seem, I think that he came with ONE pair of socks--the ones on his feet--and left with that same pair, unwashed. I hope I'm wrong...but I don't think I am!! Shaking my head in frustrated chuckles!
4. My grandchildren have rapidly become seasoned flyers, even though they are both still minors. I worry, however, because I know that so many things can go wrong at airports. When Ryan left Seattle for Indy, he used his driver's learning permit as ID, and was told by the TSA rep at SeaTac that he would need a "valid ID" next time. (He didn't tell me this until the morning of departure from here back to Seattle.) Ack! SeaTac is a very busy international port air terminal. Indy just isn't. I hoped that he'd be okay getting through Security with the same ID he came with. So...as he was packing to leave, under my heavy supervision, he asked if I knew where his ID was. "Isn't it in your wallet?" "I didn't bring my wallet." Double Ack! So now I am panicking. We are going through the pockets of clothes that were washed, looking inside the washer and dryer, etc. My brain is racing. If he has lost his driver's permit, he not only has no ID to get through airport security but also can't do his practice driving when he gets home--IF he gets home!
A very short while later, he came out of his room, with his suitcase trailing. I asked if he had found his ID. He said yes. I made him show it to me. I think he was a little fracked that I didn't believe him. It wasn't about believing him. It was about reassurance for Grandma!! A bit later, after I got home from dropping the children off at the airport, Robin reported that they were safely at the gate, with no problems. Only then could I chuckle about how Ryan flies by the seat of his pants!
5. In our family, when someone flies, we have a tradition of sorts. The persons en route are to text those they are leaving and those who are awaiting their arrival with certain milestones. "Through security." "At the gate." And, at the end of the trip, "Touchdown." The folks at both ends generally track the flights online. In the case of the grandchildren, I also want to be informed when they are in the bosom of the family waiting for them. Then I can finally breathe.
This return trip back to Seattle, the children were through Security and at the gate almost before I got home from dropping them off, which is a scant ten minutes. That meant that Ryan didn't have any problems with his form of ID. Hallelujah! I tracked their flight. No problems. Arrived early. Eventually, I got the "touchdown" text from Robin, but what she texted her mother was, "Seahawks have scored again!" Love that kid!
Unfortunately, the kids' mother forgot to text me that they had the kids in custody. I got the message several hours later--Oops! Forgot! "We have the kids and are halfway home after stopping for food." Yeah...okay. I'll go to bed now...finally!
I have been so blessed with grandchildren that are good looking, intelligent, caring, and faithful, if not quirky. I'm pretty sure they think I'm a dinosaur and were bored here. They probably have no clue how much it means to me to have them here. I take great pleasure in just having their company, and I bend to their "needs" maybe more than they bend to mine, but such is life as a teen.
I shore do love my grandbabies, chuckles or not!
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Captain's Log, Kid Patrol--Days 6-10
It was my intention to write something every day about what we did when the grandchildren were here, but I failed miserably. One day led to the next. I got behind, then couldn't always remember all that we did, partly because none of it was terribly significant.
*We ate out, and we ate in.
*We visited with the other grandparents.
*Robin shopped with Grandma Judy quite a bit.
*Ryan took up bedroom space with his World of Warcraft Classic gaming.
*Both of them stayed up too late and slept well into the afternoon.
*Scheduling meals became a problem, so I didn't really try.
*Both kids made lots of smoothies with the Ninja Fit blender.
*Robin fixed herself omelettes or scrambled eggs and bacon almost every day, and grilled cheese sandwiches, while Ryan ate cereal and inhaled Diet Dr. Pepper and Diet Mountain Dew, to the tune of over a 24-pack. (He was out of the stuff when they left for home. I didn't buy more because I don't drink his brand.)
*I let Robin drive home from Cracker Barrel one evening, and on another day, let her take my buggy to go to Dunkin Donuts for a study session for a couple of hours. She did fine!
*There are FIVE bags of trash to go out to the garbage can, and trash collection doesn't happen until Friday!!
*The only real casualties happened in the main bathroom. Although warned, the kids didn't jiggle the toilet handle after flushing, so I caught the toilet continuing to run several times. In my defense (and theirs), I have been addressing this problem for months and months, even to the point of replacing the toilet flapper, etc. It will be fixed for awhile, then revert to old behaviors and frustrations. The water bill will be higher than usual, but that is to be expected with two extra people in the house, whether the toilet is running or not.
*Another bathroom issue that's going to take more attention is the fact that the tub drain started to run VERY slowly...much more so than when I am here alone. Hair is the problem, mostly. This happens periodically, but the issue is now more pronounced because I can't get down on my knees to fix it. Because of the deal when we couldn't get the water shut off, and then the hair in the drain, dirty water made a ring in the tub. It needs attention. I've put in a plea for help with a local dude. We'll see how things go.
On Sunday afternoon, I delivered the grandchildren to the airport and dropped them off for their non-stop trip back to Seattle. When I got home a scant ten minutes later, I had a good cry, set up to track their flight, and waited as they did for their departure. Four or so hours later, I got the "touchdown" text, then asked my daughter to let me know when my treasured grandchildren were back in their mother's clutches so I could go to bed happy. Silly me! A couple of hours later, I got the word. They had forgotten about me...were halfway home after stopping for food. Oh well!
I feel bad that the kids and I didn't play a single game together. Ryan and I watched one movie together. Robin had other fish to fry. We didn't go do anything special other than clothes shopping and eating out. The kids did get to visit with their father the first weekend they were here...so that's worth something.
Now, everything is back to "normal"--or will be, as soon as I get the bathtub situation taken care of and the trash bags out of the house.
I know the children were most likely bored out of their minds here. They are a different breed than I was at their age, so I'm trying to learn. Someone needs to tell me how to be a better grandmother to them. I'm not always sure that love is enough!
*We ate out, and we ate in.
*We visited with the other grandparents.
*Robin shopped with Grandma Judy quite a bit.
*Ryan took up bedroom space with his World of Warcraft Classic gaming.
*Both of them stayed up too late and slept well into the afternoon.
*Scheduling meals became a problem, so I didn't really try.
*Both kids made lots of smoothies with the Ninja Fit blender.
*Robin fixed herself omelettes or scrambled eggs and bacon almost every day, and grilled cheese sandwiches, while Ryan ate cereal and inhaled Diet Dr. Pepper and Diet Mountain Dew, to the tune of over a 24-pack. (He was out of the stuff when they left for home. I didn't buy more because I don't drink his brand.)
*I let Robin drive home from Cracker Barrel one evening, and on another day, let her take my buggy to go to Dunkin Donuts for a study session for a couple of hours. She did fine!
*There are FIVE bags of trash to go out to the garbage can, and trash collection doesn't happen until Friday!!
*The only real casualties happened in the main bathroom. Although warned, the kids didn't jiggle the toilet handle after flushing, so I caught the toilet continuing to run several times. In my defense (and theirs), I have been addressing this problem for months and months, even to the point of replacing the toilet flapper, etc. It will be fixed for awhile, then revert to old behaviors and frustrations. The water bill will be higher than usual, but that is to be expected with two extra people in the house, whether the toilet is running or not.
*Another bathroom issue that's going to take more attention is the fact that the tub drain started to run VERY slowly...much more so than when I am here alone. Hair is the problem, mostly. This happens periodically, but the issue is now more pronounced because I can't get down on my knees to fix it. Because of the deal when we couldn't get the water shut off, and then the hair in the drain, dirty water made a ring in the tub. It needs attention. I've put in a plea for help with a local dude. We'll see how things go.
On Sunday afternoon, I delivered the grandchildren to the airport and dropped them off for their non-stop trip back to Seattle. When I got home a scant ten minutes later, I had a good cry, set up to track their flight, and waited as they did for their departure. Four or so hours later, I got the "touchdown" text, then asked my daughter to let me know when my treasured grandchildren were back in their mother's clutches so I could go to bed happy. Silly me! A couple of hours later, I got the word. They had forgotten about me...were halfway home after stopping for food. Oh well!
I feel bad that the kids and I didn't play a single game together. Ryan and I watched one movie together. Robin had other fish to fry. We didn't go do anything special other than clothes shopping and eating out. The kids did get to visit with their father the first weekend they were here...so that's worth something.
Now, everything is back to "normal"--or will be, as soon as I get the bathtub situation taken care of and the trash bags out of the house.
I know the children were most likely bored out of their minds here. They are a different breed than I was at their age, so I'm trying to learn. Someone needs to tell me how to be a better grandmother to them. I'm not always sure that love is enough!
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