A Thailand beach surprise

As I promised in my previous post, we had a big surprise while visiting the Thai Islands.  Our son from Utah, Alex, and his girlfriend, Sam, planned to meet up with us for several days while we were staying in Ao Nang, Krabi.  But that wasn't the surprise.  Alex had been to Krabi before and thought what better time than to come over again while we were there.

Alex and Sam stayed over in Railay, only accessible by boat, which was a short ride for us from Ao Nang.  Railay is surrounded by a warm sea, lush jungle and limestone cliffs.  Perfect for the adventurous, like Alex and Sam.

Of course, there are others who would prefer just to chill out 

and have a wonderful Thai massage.....

.... or hang around reading ....

.... or sleeping .....

or like this kitty ....

watch what others come here to do, 

from all around the world

... rock climb ...

But rock climbing wasn't what Alex came to do.  Alex had other plans.  

As an experienced BASE jumper, he planned to do several jumps on this visit, as he had on other visits.  If you are not familiar with BASE jumping, it is an extreme sport of jumping from fixed objects with a parachute. The name BASE is derived from the fixed objects that are jumped from:  buildings, antennas, spans (like a bridge) and earth (like cliffs). 

One has be in great shape to endure the climbs 

up the backside of these cliffs.  

It took Alex about 3 hours to climb through jungle and sharp, knife-life rock 

to reach his jumping off point.

And he lands ....

The jump was awesome to watch,

but even more awesome was what happened

after he landed!

He got down on one knee in front of Sam and said:

"I thought I'd take the plunge and ask you to marry me."

Well .....  you can see what her response was!

It was wonderful to share such a memorable moment

with family.

Congratulations Alex & Sam.

Looking forward to your Utah wedding in March 2015!

A side note:  One must be alert when packing one's parachute.  You never know when some Thailand kitty may try to rearrange your lines!  Might not make for a pleasant landing!

Springtime in Wellington

 Our last stop in New Zealand before heading to Australia was Wellington on the North Island.  Once we settled into our hotel, we quickly set about taking in some sights.  We hopped on the Wellington Cable Car which takes us up high above the city for expansive views.  It was about an 8 minute ~steep~ ride in an old cable car.  You can bet for those 8 minutes I was constantly hoping that they had routine maintenance on their equipment!   But the little girl in pink below had no worries!!  She was soooo excited on the ride!

Once there, we had a great view of downtown, the harbor and surrounding hills. 

We then spent a couple of hours walking back down

through the Botanical Gardens filled with wonderful 

springtime beauty and many many delightful birds!

 I was rewarded towards the end of our journey

with quietly capturing this delightful child.

The joy on her face encountering this pup

was priceless!

Next up, Wellington's Cuban district and the Waterfront.

Later, my friends,

Feeling shady

There were many places I may have preferred to spend this past

unbearably hot 

weekend.

Like in the French Riviera at Cannes.  

Or maybe in Monterosso in Cinque Terre sipping wine.

Even in Key West where they worship the sun ... when it goes down!

But actually, 

as beautiful as all those places are,

they don't compare to 

spending time with family.

Even in the heat.

Daughter Ryan and grandboys Nicholas, Alex and Tyler.

3 days

of

~Liberty Bell~Philly City Tour~Ice Cream~Jersey Shore~Ice Cream~

~2 Movies~Candy~Popcorn~Uno~Estate Sales~Pizza~Legos~Old Maid~Ice Cream~

Sponge Bob~Chinese~Bingo~Prizes~Ice Cream~

~More Legos~

and

~the incredible talented Alex with his leg and arm farts~

Tired yet?

Well, Rocky Squirrel's girlfriend and I are!

And if you didn't notice, she's knocked up.

I guess Rocky has other pasttimes besides trying to

outfox me and my feeders!

Hope your week gets off to a great start!

~ sharing with ~
Creative Exchange
Mosaic Monday 

Run Forrest Run

On Monday morning while I am still sleeping, my first born will be stepping onto a bus to join 27,000 other men and women who are congregating outside Boston.  The air will be filled with tense excitement as the hours dwindle to minutes until their start times. 

It's the 115th Boston Marathon.

26.2 miles of winding roads from the rural town of Hopkinton to urban Boston.

The Holy Grail of running.  Renown for its level of difficulty to qualify.

And my boy will be there for the second year in a row.   I'm one proud mother.

Proud because, not only is it incredibly hard to qualify for the Boston, but that my son did not start running until several years ago. 

I know!

Pretty remarkable for a 40 year old! 

But then this is a kid who started walking at 9 months!  Always one determined-goal oriented-high achiever-kind of kid. 

Here's my boy running the Boston last year.  I was a spectator among 500,000 others that day.  The roar of the crowd was incredible as we all cheered and encouraged the runners onward.

But things can get a little tough around mile 15, where the road starts going up a series of hills, named the Newton Hills.  Tough because after running 15 miles downhill, these slight inclines can break even the toughest runner. 

But not my boy.  He plowed through.  See that determined look on his face.   One more hill to go.

The last of the four hills is known as Heartbreak Hill.  And not because the runners feel *heartbroken* from the fact that they have to conquer yet another ascent.

Which would be totally understandable!  I would have been flat on my back at mile marker 1.

No, Heartbreak Hill was named in the 1936 race when defending champion, John Kelley, caught up with the race leader, Ellison ‘Tarzan’ Brown, giving him a consolatory pat on the shoulder as he passed him.  This dominating gesture apparently gave Tarzan supernatural strength, and he went on to win the race in front of Kelley.  In the words of a local journalist, the outcome of this act ‘broke Kelley’s heart’.  Thus, Heartbreak Hill.

 

Heartbreak Hill didn't crack my boy though.  He said there was no greater sight than that last mile and coming around the bend and seeing the finish line.  He almost broke into smile.   

And no greater joy than coming across that line.  You can see it in all the runners' faces as they reach the finish.

So tomorrow morning, I will be thinking of my son as he paces and tries to keep warm in the early morning hour.  By 10:00 am, he and 9,000 others in his wave will charge out.

I am awestruck at all of them for their commitment and dedication to an extreme sport that requires discipline, sacrifice and physical and mental strength.

Even more so, I am overwhelmed with pride and love of this boy who has grown into this man.

::

missing the mom gene

Imperfect

Lately, a number of people have questioned me about my blog title.  

Like ... dude .... why is it called the *missing the mom gene*?

Apparently, they don’t know me.

Because if they did, they would understand.

Certainly my children do.  (And to protect the guilty,  I won't name them.)

In my banner photo, you will notice the four empty beach chairs.

(I love the beach, the smell of the ocean, the squawking of the gulls.)

*sigh*

Whoops, I wandered a bit there.  Back on point.

Four empty beach chairs for four grown children who have flown the coop.  Making me an empty nester.  WOOHOO!

Well, maybe that is more like a WooHoo.  One has returned home after college.  A story for another day.

But back to the reasons for my blog title.

*missing the mom gene*

When I began my blog, I thought I was going to yakkity yak about my kids, grandkids, other people’s kids, the good, the bad, the ugly.  Yak about my own imperfect parenting style as well.

But when I started blogging, I found myself wandering into other subject matters.  A little bit of this, a little bit of that.  Sort of like Lou Bega’s Mambo #5.

A little bit of Monica in my life
A little bit of Erica by my side
A little bit of Rita is all I need

Whatever.  (See, I'm meandering again!)

As a result, my blog is feeling a bit eclectic.  Not focused on any one topic or audience.  A sure road to the Blogger Graveyard.

My meandering way, I suppose, is my way of experimenting with my writing and to discover where I feel comfortable.  Sometimes I push myself out of my comfort zone.  It is necessary.  But not always pleasant.

I don’t have a desire to be controversial (I save that for The Professor and my kids), or make money from my blog, obtain a lucrative book contract, or become a guest columnist.

But I do have a desire to write.  And sometimes a desire to shed light where there is darkness. 

So for those of you who may be in the dark as to why my blog is called missing the *mom gene*... (and sometimes the *wife gene*, the *friend gene*, the *empathy gene*), let me explain. 

I am not perfect.

*GASP*

Now that you have picked yourself up off the floor, let me continue.  Ready?

I was more like a *My Way or the Highway Mama* rather than a Helicopter Mom.  Not one for indulging excuses, complaining, whining.  I did not coddle.

And when there was trouble. I assumed guilt. They had to PROVE innocence.  It made me very unpopular as a mother.

Don’t judge.  It worked.  Kids are extremely creative liars!

My biggest offense? 

I threw away my son’s school trophies.  After storing and lugging them around through three moves, I cleaned my garage, called Goodwill and sat them by the curb along with other hodgepodge of collectibles of my adult 20 years.

I didn’t call my son and ask him if he wanted them.  I just gave them away.  Didn’t bat an eye.

And as of today, I think I’m still unforgiven.  And rightfully so.

I am guilty of other *not your typical mom* stuff.

... I did not share my Haagan Dazs ice cream.

... I begged not to play board or card games.

... I dreaded attending Open House nights.

... I pretended not to hear them when they searched the house for me.

... I bought store cookies instead of baking them.

... I made them walk to school or wait for the bus alone.

... I hated boring swim practices and swim meets.

... I pretended to listen when I really wasn’t.

... And I refused to go in the kiddie pool.

Awk!

So, you see, not the typical sweet June Cleaver mommy.

By today’s hovering mom standards ... I am soooo *missing the mom gene*. 

Soooo imperfect.

Lest you be offended by my lack of mothering standards, I did do some things right.

I illustrated by my own behaviors, that with goals and ambitions, all things are possible.

I read to them.  Hugged them.  Talked to them.  Taught them responsibility.  Honesty.  Independence.

I may not have been the best mommy, the most nurturing mommy, the most coddling mommy, the most engaged mommy.

But you know what?  They were and are loved.  Fiercely.  Maybe imperfectly, like this blog.

And maybe it’s not the best blog title for my meandering tales, but I like it.

Imperfect, just like me.

Stay tuned.  One of these days, I’ll write about how I’m *missing the wife gene*.

I have no doubt that The Professor will probably want to tune in to THAT story.

*snort*

Thanks for stopping by,
missing the mom gene

One day you're pushing and then .... poof, they're gone!

I can’t believe that my first born boy turns 40 today.  That’s right, 40 years ago I was in a delivery room during an Iowa snowstorm, laboring for 48 hours. 

Oh, yes, you heard that right.  LABORING!  48 HOURS!  Two DAYS!

I KNOW!  Who labors that long these days?  Moms would be lawyering up.  Dads would be suing for income losses. 

Prehistoric as it seems, it was not unusual in small Iowa hospital communities.  It was a time before birthing classes, epidurals, and fetal monitors became the norm.  It was a time that babies were swaddled so tight to be only briefly held before returning to the nursery.  It was a time husbands sat in waiting rooms, waiting.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had already had one day of beastly contractions and by the time I was heading into day two, I was being told to push.  PUSH?  PUSH WHAT?    (Remember, this was before birthing classes and Google.)

In my haze, I remember my doc telling my husband-at-the-time during my second day of NEVERENDING PAIN that “she thinks that baby is just gonna pop out by itself.” 

If only I could have gotten out of that bed, I would have POPPED his head RIGHT OFF.

Perhaps, doc ...  if you would have taken better stock of how BIG my baby was, and that it was my FIRST and that maybe being JUST 18, that MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, those combinations just might make my delivery a tad DIFFICULT!  

I had no clue how long this was going to go on.  Maybe days.  Years.  FOREVER!

This baby seemed to want to take his time coming into the world.  And why not?  He was going to be stuck through eternity with this country farm girl from the sticks ......  “no, no, no, not THAT woman.  Someone has made a mistake!  I want a different M-O-T-H-E-R!“ 

And then ... time to push.  I had no idea.  NO IDEA.  But my body did.  WE'RE THERE.

Once wheeled to the delivery room (WHAT in-room delivery?), and with the doc at the finish line, I hear the gush of water hitting the floor.

Doc: “I just broke your water. It shouldn’t be long now.”

And it wasn’t.  The urge to push was so beyond my control.  As if a Sigourney Weaver's alien had taken over my body and then .... a relief, a calm.  The head is out, the head is out!

Doc: “Stop pushing.”

HUH? HUHHHHH? WHAT?

Um, no. NO NO NO.

Doc: “You need to stop pushing for a moment.  The cord is around his neck three times. It will just take a second.”

THREE TIMES! My brain can’t focus.

I close my eyes, and freeze.  Be still, be perfectly STILL.

And then.

Doc: “Ok, one more push and we’re there.”

And we were.  INCREDIBLE.  All the pain and weight lifted away.

Doc:  “Whoa ... this is a big guy!”

Nurse:  “He must be 10 pounds.”

Doc:  “Betcha he’s easily 11.”

Nurse:  “I’ll take that bet.”

HEY! HEY!  HEEEYYYYY!  Quit all the jabber and bring me that baby!

He weighed 11 lbs and 3 oz., head temporarily bruised and misshapened, but totally healthy and strong from his arduous journey into the world.

Everyone in the hospital was talking about him.  He was almost twice the size of many of the other babies.  And I fell in love with him immediately.

With his thick red hair, Opey freckles and mercurial moods, he was his own man from the start.  Independent, reliable, disciplined and athletic, never one to fail at anything he set out to achieve. 

So now, 40 years later, through many hills and valleys of differences and expectations of each other, he is still as INCREDIBLE as he was from the first moment he arrived.

Where are you going, my little one, little one,
Where are you going, my baby, my own?
Turn around and you're two,
Turn around and you're four,
Turn around and you're a young man going out of my door.

I want to take back those 40 years and do them all over again.  With only one exception.  To do them BETTER, MUCH MUCH BETTER this time around with the clock moving slowly so I can watch frame by frame all the moments of his life.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON!

missing the mom gene

Christmas Past and Present

In all my bah humbug holiday spirit, I’m going to miss my three oldest kids. 
 

Actually, they aren’t kids anymore.  All grown up with families of their own.
 
Scattered about the country.

Celebrating Christmas in their own homes.

Bah humbug.

They say that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

I don’t know who “they” are, but I wonder.

My childhood holidays were spent in my grandparents farm house.  Most all family members were there, maybe with the exception of my cousins who lived in Nevada. I always thought there was something exotic and mysterious to have cousins who lived in another state so far away. 

Being in Iowa seemed small, safe, predictable.  Comforting to me as a child.  And crowded.  With my 23 cousins, plus or minus a few.

Our Christmas’ were loud, messy.  Filled with unrestrained chaos.  And fun.

Men at the card table playing Euchre, cigarette smoke curling up through the air, an uncle occasionally reaching out and grabbing some cousin sprinting by, ordering him to stop running.

Clinking and clattering kitchen sounds of women cooking in their flour smeared aprons, sauteing, whipping, slicing up the foods that we soon would devour.

Younger cousins fighting and bickering over what christmas songs they were going to sing for the unattentive adults.

Bored older cousins slumped on sofas looking through the stack of Life magazines, wishing they were anywhere but there.

Winter coats piled four feet high on my grandparent’s bed, inviting hide and seekers.

And the anticipation of the contents of the dozens and dozens and dozens of small, colorful packages filled with homemade gifts, mittens, socks, sweaters, Woolworth necklaces, dime store toys, scarves, cigars, meat and cheese gift baskets.

... feels like 3 lifetimes ago.

Sigh.

And yet the “more things change, the more they stay the same.”

The men no longer smoke but gather in living rooms to watch football games.

Bickering kids fight over which video game they are going to play.

Bored teens text their friends.

Women follow recipes on their IPads.

The same and yet

not the same

we are linked together

but oh 

so far apart

scattered across the 50 states, that no longer hold childhood mystery

The Holiday may be the same but the celebration with my family has changed. 

Bah humbug.

I miss it.

And I will miss these three kids this Holiday.

Best to you and yours,

missing the mom gene

Santa Amazon

It is less than 10 days before Christmas and I have finished my shopping.  You say “What?”

Yep, all done. 

No holiday crowds for me.

No blaring loudspeakers announcing “Red light special in Aisle 6.”

No muzak music of holiday tunes  or “Ho, Ho, Ho’s” by skinny Santas ringing their bells for money.

No waiting in lines and becoming best friends with someone called Bubba.

No sitting with my flashers on waiting for a parking spot only to have it stolen by a car load of teenagers.

No wrapping and shipping and waiting at the post office 20 people deep.

And best of all, no sales tax!

My shopping is all done, my presents have already arrived or are on their way to their destinations and I am relaxing poolside, on vacation in sunny Florida, having my second cup of coffee and my most difficult decision of the day will be what to have for dinner this evening. 

Don’t hate me.  I’m here to tell you that there is an easier way to all this Christmas gift-giving madness.

You have two options:

One, do NOTHING. 

Or.

Two ... ASK them what they want and then let your fingers do the clicking at Amazon.com.

It’s that simple.  Amazon. A six-letter word that can change your life.

Years ago, I decided to begin ASKING my family what they wanted for Christmas.  It was only out of fear that if I did NOTHING that they would disown me and  I would end up alone, turning into one of those cat loving agoraphobic hoarders.

I would give my kids the Sunday ad sections and ask them to circle one item they wanted.  It was difficult for them.  So many wonderful, joy fulfilling toys to choose from.  They would spend hours daily looking at the pictures.  They would come to me, informing me that it was too hard to pick just one, that there were three or four that they just couldn’t decide between.

“Just one.  If you pick several, Santa will think you are greedy and bring you nothing.”

“A real Santa would never do that,” they echoed back at me.  “You’re Santa and you’re just plain mean.”

Yep. Guilty on both counts. 

Usually the items they chose were the ones displaying the broadest smiling kids.  Of course.  That toy would certainly make them happy.

I so hated the Holiday crowds that I would postpone my shopping until the very last week, scrambling from store to store trying to locate that one item, that one impossible item, that my kids couldn’t live without. 

Most times I failed.  Usually the toy was sold out by the time I got around to shopping.  So I substituted with something close to the original item.  And as you know, substituting with a Cabbage Patch doll for a Charlie’s Angel fashion doll or a Lincoln Log cabin instead of Legos is just not the same.  I was usually hated every Christmas morning.

But not anymore.

Thanks to Al Gore for inventing the internet, I can now ask my grown children to email me their Christmas choices.  In fact, due to my lack of Christmas cheer and poor gift selections in the past, my children have made it even easier for me, guaranteeing no substitutions.  They send me the actual Amazon link of each item and all I have to do is click and purchase and send. 

Thank you, Jeff Bezos, for bringing joy back into the Holidays for me and my family.  I think they are beginning to love me again.

As Always,
Missing the Mom Gene

Holiday Gift Idea: Shel Silverstein

If you are looking for Christmas gifts, Shel Silverstein is always a winner.  Had I only known about Shel Silverstein, I am sure I could have been a better mom.  Back in my day, and stuck in my 70’s midwest traditional role of motherhood,  I only read Old Mother Goose rhymes.  Remember them ... “The Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe,” “Humpty Dumpty,” “Little Jack Horner."  I also threw in some Dr. Seuss here and there.

I specifically loved reading “The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe” and really revved it up when I came to the phrase “... and whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.”   Daughter #2 always giggled at that part ... probably because she knew I was totally powerless over her, which she proved in her teen years.  That’s a story for another day though.

If you are lucky enough to be familiar with his work, Shel Silverstein seems to have given voice to children’s plight and its perceived unfairness.  How many times have we heard our kids say, “But that’s not faaaiiiirrrrr!” and then fall to the floor in a convulsive spastic fit.   My typical response was, “Well, get use to it, life is unfair.” and march on with my business.

Perhaps had I read to them “Nobody” or “Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony” or "Deaf Donald", I would have been slightly more sympathetic and may have scored higher points in motherhood.  Or probably not.  

If you’re tired of reading the same old stuff and looking to score some points with the kids, check out Shel Silverstein. His humorous sketches, whimsical poetry and magical word play will delight not only them, but you as well.

I'm planning on buying hubby the book and placing a special tab on "Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony".  It reads:

There was a girl named Abigail
Who was taking a drive
Through the country
With her parents
When she spied a beautiful sad-eyed
Grey and white pony.
And next to it was a sign
That said,
FOR SALE—CHEAP.
“Oh,” said Abigail,
“May I have that pony?
May I please?”
And her parents said,
“No you may not.”
And Abigail said,
“But I MUST have that pony.”
And her parents said,
“Well, you can’t have that pony,”
But you can have a nice butter pecan
Ice Cream cone when we get home.”
And Abigail said,
“I don’t want a butter pecan
Ice cream cone,
I WANT THAT PONY–
I MUST HAVE THAT PONY.”
And her parents said,
“Be quiet and stop nagging–
You’re not getting that pony.”
And Abigail began to cry and said,
“If I don’t get that pony I’ll die.”
And her parents said, “You won’t die.
No child ever died yet from not getting a pony.”
And Abigail felt so bad
That when they got home she went to bed,
And she couldn’t eat,
And she couldn’t sleep,
And her heart was broken,
And she DID die–
All because of a pony
That her parents wouldn’t buy.

 (This is a good story
To read to your folks
When they won’t buy
You something you want.)

I think it only fair to warn him that I could DIE if he doesn't buy me an IPad.  Throwing myself to the ground in convulsive fits no longer works.

Loafing Around

My youngest daughter has been in the kitchen all evening baking pumpkin pies, pumpkin breads, banana nut breads.  13 loaves of bread.  She's on a roll.  Thanksgiving is one of her favorite holidays.

I, on the other hand, am enjoying a evening of Dancing with the Stars with a glass of wine.  This is exactly how it should be.