My children are truly fascinating

The title of this post says it all.  My children are fascinating.  I didn't say they were always well behaved.  I didn't say they were angels.  I'm not sure if they even like me some days.  But, "fascinating," is the word I use to describe them.  Let's get literal for a moment:

• FASCINATING : extremely interesting or charming (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

Anyone who knows my girls will agree that this is the perfect one-word description of them both.  Some might think that it is too big or extravagant an adjective to describe a seven- and a nine-year old.  Take my word for it, they can live up to the hype.  

My daughters are both smart, adorable, witty, beautiful girls.  They seem to have some type of athletic ability.  They each possess a level of caring and nurturing that I usually see them direct towards younger children and animals.  The fascinating part has nothing to do with these characteristics.  The "fascinating" is all about these:

1. My seven-year-old ("R") has not changed her eating habits since she was four weeks old.  As long as she eats every two to four hours, she will sleep through the night.
2. My nine-year-old ("P") has the ability to completely strip down in just two motions.  The first time I discovered this talent, I had walked into her room after she changed clothes.  It appeared that someone had thrown a bucket of water on her and she melted into the floor.  Her sweatshirt, t-shirt, and undershirt were still layered together and in one pile.  Her skirt, leggings, and socks were all still in one piece like someone was still in them in another pile.  When I do her laundry, I'm not just washing items, I am washing outfits  because they are still together.
3. "P" learned to properly use the term, "Son of a bitch," in context when she was five-years old.
4. "R" has an amazing knowledge of modern medicine.  After my liver resection surgery, I lost quite a bit of weight.  She said to me that my pajamas were too big because, "You had your surgery, and they took out some of your fat."
5. Both my girls can remember the exact number of times the other one has gotten a treat or special treatment.  It's like an amazing Rain Man way of keeping score.
6. Every emotion that the human body can experience, my daughters can have each and every one of these before lunch on any given day.
7. Their eyesight must have an X-ray-like ability.  Dirty clothes and misplaced toys are invisible to them.
8. At times, it is like my voice does not register in their ears.  Maybe they only hear frequencies reserved for dogs and radar equipment?  Perhaps they are listening to far away cries for help?  I am sure that must be it.

I could go on and on, but sometimes just talking about how fascinating they are is utterly exhausting.  Imagine how tiring it is to live with them!  Whew!  I don't know how I do it some days. 


  

Sick kids

There is a time in most people's lives when they contemplate whether or not to have children.  The majority of adults think, "Wouldn't it be fun to have kids?  Wouldn't it just make our lives complete?  Wouldn't it be wonderful to have little ones to love and guide and mold into amazing human beings?"  No one ever stops these adults and says, "But, wouldn't you love to save thousands and thousands of dollars, hundreds and hundreds of sleepless nights, tens of tens (is that a unit of measure?  You know what I mean.) of loads of laundry containing puked on pajamas and pillowcases, and a handful of trips to the emergency room?"  Regardless of this warning, most of us would still have chosen parenthood over an adult life full of freedom and spontaneity.  My husband and I chose to have two children.  Regardless of gender, cuteness, athletic ability, or health, we decided to have two.  Since we did not have our first daughter until I was 32 (the second was born when I was 34), two was enough for us.  Babies are born.  You care and nurture them.  You hold them when they cry and clean them when they get dirty.  Eventually, they start to grow up and need you a little less every year.  That is, until they get sick.

Today, I am home with my seven year old daughter.  She fell asleep three times before her actual bedtime last night, so I knew something was wrong.  A temperature of 102 degrees confirmed why she was running on fumes, and she fell asleep again after some medicine.  Although there was no fever this morning, I kept her home from school today to avoid getting a call from the school secretary two hours after school started.  (Sure enough, by 10:30 a.m., her temp was at 99.4 degrees).  You wouldn't think seven is a very independent age, but my daughter is not a very needy, clingy, snuggly kid. However, when she is sick, she once again is my baby girl.  She lets me hold her.  We lie in bed and watch television.  She smiles and says she loves me.  I watch her take a nap and am amazed at how thick her eyelashes are.  Having a sick child is not fun for anyone; not for me, not for her.  What it does do is makes me feel like a mom.  It's not like I do not feel like a mom everyday, but it makes me feel like a mom doing everything right.  I know how to make her fever go away.  I know how to help her cough and stuffy nose.  I know what shows she likes to watch, and I even know how to get her to take a nap (even though she says she doesn't need one).  The less our kids depend on me, the more I question if I am parenting them the correct way.  When they do not feel good, I am reminded of when they were babies.  No one tells new parents that the baby-stage is the easiest.  It may seem like the most difficult phase the first time you go through it, but you long for the days of diapers and and baby food after arguing with a nine year old why she has to clean her room or do her homework.

So, the next time one of your kids is ill, try not to see it as a burden.  Take the time to remember how sweet they were when they were babies.  Recall the nights you held them when they had their first cold.  Remember how they relied on you for everything, and how you asked yourself, "Is there anything more helpless than a sick child?"  The answer to that question is, "Yes...a sick husband."

The "other" kind of broken heart

Earlier this week, I wrote a blog about Valentines' Day ("How can you mend a broken heart?").  I hope everyone had a pleasant day and spread some love around their world.  I made a reference to the fact that there are different types of broken hearts a person can have.  The post from Monday is about the pain that occurs when a romantic love ends.  Today's post is about a different type of heart break.

I was 19 years old when my father passed away.  Eight days after my birthday.  One day after Valetines' Day.  Twenty-three years ago today.  I knew if I kept writing this blog for longer than a month that I would not be able to avoid this topic.  Once I post this blog, know that it probably took me four days to complete it.  Four days may seem like a long time to write one blog post, but I have been researching this subject for 23 years. 

My dad was a husband and father, cop, asshole, and comedian.  These are not necessarily in order; the sequence and frequency of these characteristics could change daily.  People loved him and feared him.  People respected him and played practical jokes on him.  He had these scary eyes that could make you cry and horrific dance skills that made you laugh until you cried again.  He was loved by his wife, his children, his coworkers and friends, and his dogs. 

There are three major groups of people in your life, and when it is time for them to die, your life changes.  I have always felt that when your parent dies, you lose your past.  When a spouse dies, you lose your present.  When a child dies, you lose your future.  When my dad passed away, it was like I could actually feel my childhood being pulled from me like huge pieces of packing tape being removed from my skin.  Some of it was yanked off really fast.  It left these very visible welts that were painful and obvious to others.  It seemed like months went by and everyday there was always another piece that was getting caught on something and ripping off my skin.  Then, as time passed, less and less pieces needed to be removed.  Sometimes things would seem great, and then out of nowhere...RRRIIIIPPPP!  Something would pull off a new piece.  Even all these years later, it still happens.  I think time allows you to be prepared for what is going to bring back the hurt.  I usually know what causes the edges of that tape to start to curl and peel.  There are ways that I can smooth out those edges, but I have learned it is healthy to remove them from time to time.  Does it still hurt to rip off the pieces?  Sure it does, but not as much.  Scar tissue is tougher than new, tender skin.

Out of my closest group of friends (whom I refer to as the "Big 5"), I was the first to lose a parent.  Unfortunately, I am not the only one in our group who has now been through this pain.  Several years ago, my best guy-friend lost his mother.  He said he realized he had no idea what I actually went through so many years ago when my father had died.  I told him that no one can understand the loss of a parent until they lose one themselves.  I believe he grinned and said something to the effect of, "Well, this is one fucked up club we're in."  He doesn't often use the words of a poet, but he definitely expressed it perfectly that day.

Time heals all wounds, and believe it or not, I agree with this saying.  It does not mean it never hurts again.  It does not mean there is no scar or reminders of the hurt.  I think time just allows us to remember what caused the wound, but we get to start forgetting to let it hurt.  We look at it.  We touch the scars.  We get comfortable showing it and telling others about it.  We even get to a point where we might laugh about things that previously were too difficult to even think about.  You have to know that it is alright to heal.  Healing is not forgetting what happened or the person we miss.  Healing is why the tape hurts less and less. 

I miss my dad, but I do not cry as often as I used to.  I wish he could stop by every once in a while to see me, meet my husband and daughters, and even to pet my dog.  They would have loved him as much as I did. 

I wasn't even going to write a post today.....

The title of today's blog is 100% true.  I had no intention of blogging today.  When it comes to my blog, I planned to look over tomorrow's entry before I posted it, but there was really no idea for a new one today.  However, we do not always know when and where our ideas come from.  We sometimes find inspiration in what may seem like a simple exchange between two people.  That is what happened to me this morning.

Normally, my husband drops our girls off at school.  Today, he had an early meeting, so I not only drove them to school, but I actually walked them inside to their classrooms.  While escorting my seven year old down the hall full of children's voices, giggles, parents talking to teachers, normal morning chaos, a man approaches me.  He asks, "Are you a Harless?"  "Harless" is my maiden name.  After you have been married for a certain length of time, you forget that there are people who do not know you any other way.  So, I replied, "Yes..."  It was obvious to this man that I could not quite place who he was.  He smiled and said, "I'm Brad B----- (name withheld to protect the bloggless).  I was on the Force with your dad."  I instantly knew him then.  Of course I knew him, because his kids went to the same school as me and my siblings.  Growing up, our families also went to the same church.  We had gone to their home a few times and all hung out.  Also, I thinks cops' kids have a bond.  There is something  unique about knowing what it is like to have a parent who is in law enforcement.  An even stronger bond is the one that cops who are friends have for those other officer's children.  Looking at Brad, my mind instantly took 30 years off his face, filled in his gray hair with a darker shade of brown, and I hugged him.  We hugged a long time.  I was so surprised I didn't cry.  When we stopped hugging, I could not help but to put my hands on his cheeks.  "It's like seeing my dad."  He just smiled, and I thought he was going to get emotional.  I introduce him to my youngest daughter who smiled and then made her way to her class.  I inquired why he was there since I knew he did not have any children in elementary school (his children are in their 40's like me and my siblings). He explained he was with his grandson's girlfriend this morning.  Her little one goes to pre-K and then he was dropping her off where she was heading to.  This young woman walks up to us, and Brad puts his arm around me to introduce me to her.  It was almost like he was proud to tell her who I was.  He was proud to say he worked with my dad.  He was proud to know me.  I waited until I got in my car before I started to cry.

There are times that God, or Spirit, or Buddah, or Karma gives you a sign that things are good.  They can be huge, obvious signs that hit you in the face like a brick.  Sometimes they happen when you are just dropping your daughters off at school.  I felt my dad today.  He tapped me on the shoulder when Brad asked me if I was a "Harless."  I felt his lips on my cheek as his old friend kissed and hugged me.  And, I felt like he was proud of me as I was introduced to a total stranger. 

I would like to thank my dad for a great Valentines' Day.  I love you.

Wordless Wednesday....I'll try my hardest

A friend of mine who has a sweet, well written, creative blog (imperfectlyperfectcreations.blogspot.com) told me about, "Wordless Wednesday."  Wordless Wednesday is the practice of posting only a picture and no words on your blog.  Obviously, today is not a total success because there are words on my page.  So, now that the explanations are complete, here is my Wordless Wednesday.

Robert Doisneau
Kiss by the Hotel de Ville
1950

How can you mend a broken heart?

Valentines' Day is just a few days away.  Even if your significant other tells you they do not want anything, do not believe them.  At least buy a card or a tiny box of Whitman's chocolates to give to them this Thursday.  I know that a lot of you are griping right now.  You are whining for one of two reasons: 

1. You think V-Day is a commercialized holiday that is only there to suck money out of your wallet.
2. You are pissed because you do not have a Valentine in your life this year.

If you do have a special someone in your life this year, but you are a strict believer in reason #1, there is a good chance that next year you will be a believer in reason #2.  Those of us who are not very fond of Valentines' Day still do not want to be forgotten on this holiday.  Personally, I am not a big fan.  Don't get me wrong; I do not think there is anything sweeter than someone buying me flowers.  It may be old fashioned and seem pointless, but it is also one of the most romantic gestures a person can perform.  If not flowers, then just listen to Forrest Gump and get me a box of chocolates (or shrimp prepared 417 different ways).  It's not the purpose of Valentines' Day I oppose.  It's just kind of the day itself.

You may be asking why V-Day is not one of my favorite holidays.  I had an old flame break up with me on Valentines' Day.  That ruined it for a year or two.  However, an even bigger way to ruin the day is that my father passed away the day after V-Day 23 years ago.  I remember it was cold that February.  I remember whom I spent that evening with.  I do not remember what we did that last Valentines' Day, but I do remember getting a phone call the next morning saying that I should come to the hospital. 

There are all sorts of ways to get your heart broken.  Usually, it happens when a romantic love goes bad.  And for the sake of today's blog, that is the way I am referring.  How do you get past a broken heart?  I have always been a firm believer that there are three things you must do:

1. Give yourself a lot of time because time can heal those wounds.
2. Forgive the other person and/or yourself for causing the pain.
3. Allow yourself the chance to try it all over again.

And, if those don't work, buy five pints of various flavors of Ben & Jerry's and watch the following clip until you cry yourself to sleep.

Oh, Barry Gibb...

Show someone you love them this Valentines' Day.  It can be your spouse, your children, a parent, or buy a total stranger's coffee that morning.  People say there should not be a holiday that,"makes," you prove your love to others.  I totally agree...it should be something we do for no reason at all.

Warning...I am naked under these clothes (but rest assured, I have a license to carry concealed weapons)

Years ago, I posed a question to some coworkers:  Would you rather look better naked or with clothes on?  Everyone answered that they would prefer to look good naked.  Why did they answer this way?  Because everyone assumes that a great body underneath will assure an amazing exterior image.  Not true, wrong answer, thanks for playing.  This question entered my mind after we had an independent consultant visit our office for on-site computer training.  The year was around 2005.  She was a reasonably attractive woman, possessed an athletic, fit, slender frame, was articulate and polite...and I swear she shopped at a boutique inspired by the 1970's-1980's wardrobe of Stevie Nicks.  Maybe there is a store called, "FleetwoodMart," that only sells long, lacy, layered skirts, peasant blouses trimmed in ribbons and shiny fabrics, shirts with sleeves that have long, trailing cuffs, and all ensembles come with a free, black scarf for unnecessary adornment.  I had such a struggle during those three or four days of training.  I wasn't confused or frustrated by what she was teaching us.  I was totally distracted and waiting for Lindsey Buckingham to walk through the door and start strumming, "Landslide." 

Personally, I would prefer to look great with my clothes on.  Come on, people, it's not like I'm still in my 20's.  A lot less people see me naked nowadays.  There comes a time when we all need to look in the mirror and really see what others are looking at.  Everyone makes a poor fashion choice every once in a while.  Maybe those pants you put on the other day were a little too tight or a bit too short.  That pair of shoes that you have loved for 15 years?  Guess what?  They are out of style.  That t-shirt in your drawer, just because it "still fits," it does not give you permission to wear it to the store because you bought it during your southwestern phase (Quick tip:  it is never alright to wear a t-shirt or sweatshirt that has wolves, coyotes, soaring bald eagles, or Native Americans on it, even if you are a Native American).  You probably do not need to throw out every piece of clothing in your wardrobe, but we all have to be willing to know when it is time to make a bag for AmVets.

I am not saying I am going to win next season's Project Runway.  I am no longer in the running to becoming America's Next Top Model.  However, I will tell you what I believe to be a few articles of clothing that do stand the test of time:

• Levi's jeans - get a good pair of dark Levi's that fit your body, and 10 or even 20 years later (unless your ass gets too big) you will have a faded pair of Levi's that you still love
• Plain, white t-shirts - crew neck for guys, v-neck for gals, the right fitting cotton t-shirt can be worn all the time
• Footwear - for women, a black, almost to the knee, side zip boot with a heel.  For guys, a pair of brown or black Doc Martin oxford shoes

For some people, an entire wardrobe of jeans and white t-shirts would be a huge improvement.  Do not limit yourself, but unless you know what you are doing, please choose with caution. 

So, the question is still out there for you to answer.  Naked or clothed? 

Awww, shit....not again!!!

My birthday is this week.  I am not writing a post about my birthday so everyone will send me well wishes.  Some people like their birthday. Other people love their birthday and believe it should be a national holiday.  After I reached a certain age, I began to loathe my birthday.  I still love Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, my childrens' birthdays, and I even enjoy Halloween.  It was probably once I hit 40 where I really embraced the idea of, "O.k., the birthdays can stop now."  Is it because I feel old?  Is it because I know I will never have to show my ID to prove I am of legal age to drive, vote, or buy alcohol?  Is it because birthdays just are not as fun as the number goes up and up?  Yes.

One of my best friends, Cee, has a grandmother who will be 99 years old within the next month or two. One of our other friends, Kay, is so excited about this.  She wants Cee's grandma to make it to next year's birthday so she can hit the big 100.  Kay wants to see Cee's grandmother on the Today show, hear Willard Scott send her birthday wishes, and see her face on a jar of Smuckers with the other centenarians.  When we were all at dinner a few months ago having this conversation, I looked at my friend, Aye.  I said, "If we live to be 80, can we start smoking again?"  Aye said, "Hell, yes, we can."  Kay asked, "Don't you want to live to be 100?"  In perfect unison, Cee, Aye, and myself all responded, "No!"  Kay was shocked.  She could not understand why not.  As Cee explained, her grandmother is not in the assisted living part of the nursing home.  Her grandmother has lived a long, hard, productive life.  She raised her children and helped raise a few grandchildren.  She worked as a nurse and took care of others.  There are days that she is not quite sure who is visiting her or how old her own children are.  Someone in her family visits her almost every day, but I see in Cee's face that it is difficult to see the transformation from the grandma she was to the grandma she is.  Cee and her family have nothing but love and respect for this woman, but as Cee said, "If I get that old, please Smucker me to death."

People say, "age is just a number," and, "you're only as old as you feel."  Well, by the end of the week, my number will be higher, and I doubt I will feel younger.  I will enjoy my birthday dinner with my husband and daughters.  I will enjoy reading the cards I will find in my mailbox.  Will I be happy about being one year closer to appearing on the Today show?  Will I look in the mirror and say, "Damn, I love being 42!"  No.

There are also lots of people who try to lie about their age.  If you follow my blog, you know I wrote an entire post on the topic of lying ("sniff, sniff...I Smell Pants on Fire").  Women are notorious for lying about their age.  However, they are doing it all wrong.  A woman will normally lie and tell people she is younger than she really is.  I am going to lie and tell people I am 20 years older.  Why?  Because I know I can't convince anyone that I am 22 years old, but I might be able to convince someone I look really good for 62.

It's the lamest holiday on the calendar, but Happy Groundhog Day

It's February 2nd, so everyone knows it is Groundhog Day.  It really is a pretty lame holiday.  There has always been a part of me that, when looking at the calendar every year, takes notice that the company that produced that calendar types in, "Groundhog Day," on February 2nd so it shows up in print.  I decided today to research this interesting holiday to find out more about its furry little history.  Here are some facts I learned today:

• Pennsylvania's earliest settlers were Germans and they found groundhogs in many parts of the state. They determined that the groundhog, resembling the European hedgehog, was a most intelligent and sensible animal and therefore decided that if the sun did appear on February 2nd, so wise an animal as the groundhog would see its shadow and hurry back into its underground home for another six weeks of winter.
• The first official Groundhog Day was celebrated on February 2, 1886 in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, with a proclamation in The Punxsutawney Spirit by the newspaper's editor, Clymer Freas: "Today is groundhog day and up to the time of going to press the beast has not seen its shadow."
• The small town of Punxsutawney, with its population of 6,036, takes about half an hour to walk through - it's only 3.4 square miles. On Feb. 2, the town more than quintuples its size - with crowds numbering in the 30,000's.

The 1993 film, "Groundhog Day," brought this strange holiday and the small town where this rodent is celebrated into the spotlight.  Most of you reading this post have seen this hysterical movie numerous times.  If you haven't, turn your television to the AMC channel today because it is playing all day long.  The movie is so funny and places a very cynical, pessimistic, self absorbed weatherman in the middle of a town celebrating a silly tradition that centers around a groundhog.  He hates the cheesy traditions.  He hates the friendly, small-town people and their generous ways.  He even kidnaps the groundhog at one part of the movie (one of my favorite scenes), lets it sit on his lap and steer the truck he stole, and let's just say that day ends poorly for them both.  But, if you know how the movie goes, Phil wakes at 6:00 a.m. the next morning and gets to start all over again.

Groundhog Day does not celebrate a religious event, a pagan holiday, or the birth of a president or iconic civil rights leader.  It does not recognize the explorer who discovered the New World, the veterans who have served our country, or the people who work hard to support their families.  To me, Groundhog Day is a day to take a look back where a simpler time used simpler methods to live a simpler life.  We all love the images from the Doppler Extreme Mega Radar 5000, but try to think how it would be if you asked a big fat woodchuck, "How's the weather out there?"  I know it may seem ironic to be discussing, "simpler times," while posting a blog to the world wide web on my laptop.  However, I do think we all need to remember where we come from.  No, I did not come from Punxsutawney, PA.  I'm just saying that some of those old traditions, as outdated, inaccurate, or cheesy as they are, are no longer there for actually predicting the weather or letting the farmers know if they have enough hay to feed their livestock for winter.  They are still celebrated to keep those connections with the people who worked their fingers to the bone to make a life.  It reminds us of a time when people let themselves relinquish control over the things they had no control over to begin with.  In today's world, we have all different options that help us control every aspect of our (and others') lives.  What takes real control is allowing yourself to let it go.

Sometimes, nothing is harder than simplicity and submission.  Total control can be exhausting, so relax, and trust a groundhog.  Spring is coming early this year.