Sweet, red, ripe watermelon...juicy fingers not wanting to miss one single drop. Melon the color of honey comb. Grapes the size of small planets. And MOJITOS...just the right mix of rum, lime, mint, and more run. Longer days with no rush to "be" someplace. Summertime is just upon us. I can taste it...
Summertime as a kid, meant playing Hide-N-Go-Seek with the neighborhood kids; it got to be really fun AFTER it was dark. The anxiety of being caught...well, that was just about enough to make me wet my pants. I guess not much has changed.
Sweltering days were spent in the shady creek, behind Meredy-Bell's house, catching polliwogs. We were little scientists that would watch them transform into frogs, IF we didn't decide to perform some sort or experiment on the poor creatures. Meredy-Bell and I also made exquisite "perfume" from the abundance of California State Poppy's that grew nearby...oh yeah, we were ALL that. We had no idea we were breaking the law, by picking those flowers. But looking back, it seems fitting that I was lured to the dark side at such a young age.
Popsicles in every shade of the rainbow that stained my tongue and lips bright red, so I looked like a movie star. My bare feet on hot cement...I quickly learned to run quickly to the shady spots that would provide temporary relief, before running to the next one. My blond hair, dyed a deep, dark green from swimming, and Foxy cursing it all, pouring tomato paste, or catchup on my noggin with abundance to remove the chlorine. Nothing worked, but I didn't dare say so. Door bell ditching, making prank phone calls, doing drive-by's of boys houses I had crushes on, working at Y-Camp. The summers of my youth rocked.
Summer is like this amazing time that represents renewal, relaxation, and well, more alcohol consumption. As I've gotten older, I have started my own little traditions with my girls.
We "camp" at Big Basin in tent cabins. If you think I'm gonna do my job in the dirt, with no roof of any sort over my head, you're sorely mistaken. But I'm not a total diva; I refuse to shower. Brush my teeth? Yes. Shower? Hell no! I like to get that greasy grime between the tooties after hiking all day. It is a representation of an amazing day spent in nature...AND that it's time for wine.
As the girls get older, I DO want them to experience REAL camping: in the dirt, sleeping on the ground under the stars...just as long as mama has an aerobed. I always felt an intense feeling of survival after I made it out of one of those trips alive. Especially backpacking. It never ceased to amaze me that the world continued to turn, while I was out in the wilderness, roughing it, eating trail mix like nobody's business. Away from any 7-11, Jack in the Box, or I don't know, liquor store.
Beach days are a necessity now. The twins just got wetsuits this last summer, and I can't keep them out of the water. I, on the other hand, have no problem observing them from the beach. Normally, Daddy will get in the ocean with them. But during the week when Tom is working, we go to Crow's Nest Beach with folks from Booksin. My friend, Matt Beasley, who is an at-home mom/dad, gets in that freezing ass cold water with the kids. You are a bigger woman than I, Matt. I must remain focused on the really important stuff: my tan.
Summer concerts in downtown Willow Glen are always a kick-ass outing. By the time it's over, 4 bottles of wine have been polished off between friends, and it is in that moment, we decide collectively, THE PARTY MUST GO ON! And so 2 or 3 families rally, and end up at some one's house, where kids watch a show and pass out on a couch. And the adults...well, the adults end up WALKING home.
The summer would not be complete without a trip to "Uncle Ron's" cabin in Arnold. Since his passing, the cabin actually now belongs to my cousin, Angela, who is cool enough to let us visit now and again. Day trips to Lake Alpine, Big Trees State Park, and Colombia eagerly await us. We pack in a lunch, make a day out of wherever we're going, come home happily exhausted, to eat dinner and shower. What follows is my favorite time of day: cocktail hour(s)! We poor ourselves a frosty, cold tumbler, and proceed to make the 2 mile walk around the golf course. Screaming at the kids, who are on scooters, the entire time, "STAY TO YOUR RIGHT!" By the time we get back to the cabin, it's beddy-bye for the kiddos, and party time for the big kiddos. Playing cards late into the night, screaming obscenities at each other. Ahhh, good times.
I love summer. I am convinced that the reason I appreciate it so much, is because it only happens one season a year. Only 3 months, and then, just as quickly as it came upon us, it fades into fall. Summer never disappoints. And it always leaves me wanting just a little bit more...With my anti-gravity chair in tow, I'm feeling like it may be the best one yet!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Mama Bear Anger
My dad taught me a lot of important lessons growing up. But there is one that I have gone back to, time and time again, throughout my life. This advice has never changed. It has always remained constant. It is my truth.
My dad, a man that I admire greatly, knelt down, took my shoulders in his hands, looked straight into my 7 year old eyes, and said these prolific words, "Michelle, if someone ever pushes you around, ever lays a hand on you, take them out. As long as they touch you first, you stand up for yourself." I could hear my mom in the background, yelling out, "Toooom, don't teach her thaaaat!"
See, my older brothers had gotten the same talk from my dad. And on more than one occasion, one brother, (who shall remain nameless, but who's initials are P.F.), had been expelled from school for this "lesson".
I vividly remember the first time I really stood up for someone. I was 8 years old, and I played on a soccer team with my best friend, Margie. Before going on, you need to understand one thing about my friend Margie: she is the sweetest, most loving person on the planet. She would never hurt ANYone.
Imagine my duress, when during a game one day, I noticed she was crying. "Marge, what's wrong?" She wept, "It's that girl on the other team, she is being too rough. She's pushing me around." That was all I needed to hear, and it was SO on.
The next time that little bully worked her way down the field, I straight slide tackled her from behind. She didn't even have the ball. It didn't matter. My message was clear: you mess with my sweet and sensitive friend, you will get my wrath.
Throughout my childhood, I tried my hand at all kinds of sports: soccer, swimming, basketball, softball, volleyball, and karate. But what I found out in almost every single case was the same: I excelled in sports that involved contact. Body on body. Moving people around. I loved it! And standing at 5'11, most times, it worked out to my benefit.
The first time my husband ever saw me play ANY sport, was at the Hoop It Up, 3 on 3 basketball tournament in downtown San Jose. Street ball at its best. Black concrete and no refs. No refs meant the other team called your fouls. Or not. If you were matched with women who wanted to PLAY, and weren't worried about breaking a damn nail, things got physical, and quick.
I was playing with my girls from De Anza: Trish, standing solid at 6 foot 3. Tamie, our guard, who was just as fierce as she was feisty. And little ol' me.
Right from the start, there kind of has to be a mutual understanding with the person you are matched up defending from the other team. "Let me play my game, and I'll let you play yours. Don't call me on all of my fouls, and I won't call you on yours."
However, there was no mutual understanding in that first game. It was just plain ugly, sloppy and violent. So having taken JUST about ENOUGH from this woman on the other team, I was forced to make a decision: let her elbows continue to fly, or put a screeching and abrupt halt to it. I chose the later, and basically, threw her down on the concrete.
Tom sat there, watching, mouth open, not believing what he was taking in. You could almost hear him thinking out loud, "But aren't girls sugar and spice and everything nice?" No, we're not. Welcome to my world.
I quickly learned, if need be, I could defend myself without a problem. Without becoming emotional about it. I just took care of business.
But when it came to OTHER people..."underdogs" being picked on by a bully, I just plain saw RED. When my Mama Bear instinct kicks in, it IS emotional. And that's not always a good thing for all concerned.
I was at a concert with my step-daughter, Katie, when I woman touched the top of my head, and yelled, "Sit down, you tall ass bitch." Without going into specifics, let just say I handled myself...without being kicked out. I don't even want to THINK about what could have happened if she would have put her hands on Katie. One thing is for certain: I would have gone to jail for homicide. Is it normal to feel that much RAGE?!
After school one day, my daughter, Bella, was explaining to me that she was being bullied by a much bigger classmate. For reader purposes, I will call this girl bully, Satan. I felt myself burning with anger. "Bella, you have to stand up for yourself." I found myself giving my daughter the SAME speech my dad gave me! "If she EVER touches you, if she EVER lays a hand on you, or ANY of your sisters, take her down." Bella, looking worried, said, "But hoooow Mom? How do I act mean?"
Hmmmm, good question. This can't be taught. Aggression comes from deep within. I should know.
The next time I went to school to volunteer in Bella's class, I asked another student, "Where does Satan sit?" He answered, "Right here, at my group." Satan had heard her name, and looked up. She was huge, almost as big as me. Satan looked old enough to drive her own self to school.
I looked Satan square in her little beady eyes, sending my message, without saying a word. "I know what you're doing to my daughter you little bitch. It better stop NOW. That's right, Satan, I'm watching you."
Once again, I'm questioning, is this amount of anger normal? Please don't be scared of me. Just remember one thing: you want me on YOUR team!
My dad, a man that I admire greatly, knelt down, took my shoulders in his hands, looked straight into my 7 year old eyes, and said these prolific words, "Michelle, if someone ever pushes you around, ever lays a hand on you, take them out. As long as they touch you first, you stand up for yourself." I could hear my mom in the background, yelling out, "Toooom, don't teach her thaaaat!"
See, my older brothers had gotten the same talk from my dad. And on more than one occasion, one brother, (who shall remain nameless, but who's initials are P.F.), had been expelled from school for this "lesson".
I vividly remember the first time I really stood up for someone. I was 8 years old, and I played on a soccer team with my best friend, Margie. Before going on, you need to understand one thing about my friend Margie: she is the sweetest, most loving person on the planet. She would never hurt ANYone.
Imagine my duress, when during a game one day, I noticed she was crying. "Marge, what's wrong?" She wept, "It's that girl on the other team, she is being too rough. She's pushing me around." That was all I needed to hear, and it was SO on.
The next time that little bully worked her way down the field, I straight slide tackled her from behind. She didn't even have the ball. It didn't matter. My message was clear: you mess with my sweet and sensitive friend, you will get my wrath.
Throughout my childhood, I tried my hand at all kinds of sports: soccer, swimming, basketball, softball, volleyball, and karate. But what I found out in almost every single case was the same: I excelled in sports that involved contact. Body on body. Moving people around. I loved it! And standing at 5'11, most times, it worked out to my benefit.
The first time my husband ever saw me play ANY sport, was at the Hoop It Up, 3 on 3 basketball tournament in downtown San Jose. Street ball at its best. Black concrete and no refs. No refs meant the other team called your fouls. Or not. If you were matched with women who wanted to PLAY, and weren't worried about breaking a damn nail, things got physical, and quick.
I was playing with my girls from De Anza: Trish, standing solid at 6 foot 3. Tamie, our guard, who was just as fierce as she was feisty. And little ol' me.
Right from the start, there kind of has to be a mutual understanding with the person you are matched up defending from the other team. "Let me play my game, and I'll let you play yours. Don't call me on all of my fouls, and I won't call you on yours."
However, there was no mutual understanding in that first game. It was just plain ugly, sloppy and violent. So having taken JUST about ENOUGH from this woman on the other team, I was forced to make a decision: let her elbows continue to fly, or put a screeching and abrupt halt to it. I chose the later, and basically, threw her down on the concrete.
Tom sat there, watching, mouth open, not believing what he was taking in. You could almost hear him thinking out loud, "But aren't girls sugar and spice and everything nice?" No, we're not. Welcome to my world.
I quickly learned, if need be, I could defend myself without a problem. Without becoming emotional about it. I just took care of business.
But when it came to OTHER people..."underdogs" being picked on by a bully, I just plain saw RED. When my Mama Bear instinct kicks in, it IS emotional. And that's not always a good thing for all concerned.
I was at a concert with my step-daughter, Katie, when I woman touched the top of my head, and yelled, "Sit down, you tall ass bitch." Without going into specifics, let just say I handled myself...without being kicked out. I don't even want to THINK about what could have happened if she would have put her hands on Katie. One thing is for certain: I would have gone to jail for homicide. Is it normal to feel that much RAGE?!
After school one day, my daughter, Bella, was explaining to me that she was being bullied by a much bigger classmate. For reader purposes, I will call this girl bully, Satan. I felt myself burning with anger. "Bella, you have to stand up for yourself." I found myself giving my daughter the SAME speech my dad gave me! "If she EVER touches you, if she EVER lays a hand on you, or ANY of your sisters, take her down." Bella, looking worried, said, "But hoooow Mom? How do I act mean?"
Hmmmm, good question. This can't be taught. Aggression comes from deep within. I should know.
The next time I went to school to volunteer in Bella's class, I asked another student, "Where does Satan sit?" He answered, "Right here, at my group." Satan had heard her name, and looked up. She was huge, almost as big as me. Satan looked old enough to drive her own self to school.
I looked Satan square in her little beady eyes, sending my message, without saying a word. "I know what you're doing to my daughter you little bitch. It better stop NOW. That's right, Satan, I'm watching you."
Once again, I'm questioning, is this amount of anger normal? Please don't be scared of me. Just remember one thing: you want me on YOUR team!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
For All The Motha's
Mother's Day, by far, is one of the most significant days of the year for me. My birthday...yeah, it's alright. Anniversary's, yes, an important milestone.
But there is something different about Mother's Day. It's like mothers all around the world are sharing in this one day of appreciation for what we have done, and what we have yet to do.
I had NO IDEA of what my mom did for me until the time I turned 23 years old: the same year I met my husband, and became a step-mom. As I would go about my day to day business with a 9 and 11 year old in the house, I kept having these "a-ha" moments. Parenting was like this Cirque de Soleil balancing act on a high wire, while riding a unicycle, without a net. I fumbled to discipline the kids / be a good listener / make sure the homework was done / keep the house clean / make lunches each day and dinner every night / stock a refrigerator / and recognize each child for their unique differences. I mean, where's the book on how to do that? Where's the damn manual? There isn't one.
I learned quickly that parenting, good parenting, is hard. It is a lot of work, a lot of sacrifice, and exhausts you in ways that are inexpressible in words.
I'm still in awe that my mom let me live past my teen years. I'm not sure that anything my brothers did which preceded me, could really prepare her for my teenage angst. Thinking about it makes me cringe. But I appreciate that she loved me enough, (not to be confused with like), to not kick me out of the house. 'Cause I'm thinking that idea crossed her mind more than once.
On Mother's Day, I feel like I'm part of a very unique sorority of sisters. Sisters of Survival. We have each shared the birth experience, the toddler years, and school age years. I look up to moms who have teenagers and college kids, as my mentors.
And the really good moms, the ones who are confident but humble, they don't tell me how hard it will be in the future. The really good moms just let me vent, while nodding their heads patiently, as I refill their wine glass. The really good moms understand, that no matter what they tell me, it won't really prepare me for what it will be like with MY girls as they get older. Because that experience is unique to each of us.
I appreciate all mama's out there. The Silver Fox, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-laws, aunts who have been like moms to me, (one who has even been present at the birth of all my babies), my justice league of MILFS, and especially, the moms-to-be, and brand new mama's, who are excited, but also scared.
All of us other moms are here to tell you the same thing: it will be okay. The future is uncertain, but it will be okay. Because we are here in the trenches with you, and we understand. And yes, being a mom is really hard, and more exhausting than you ever imagined.
But see, you're part of this new sorority now where strength and love comes in numbers. You are embarking on the greatest, but scariest field trip of your life. But, you know what? Everything really will be okay, because you will never be alone on this journey. You're one of us now. And we're so glad you're here.
But there is something different about Mother's Day. It's like mothers all around the world are sharing in this one day of appreciation for what we have done, and what we have yet to do.
I had NO IDEA of what my mom did for me until the time I turned 23 years old: the same year I met my husband, and became a step-mom. As I would go about my day to day business with a 9 and 11 year old in the house, I kept having these "a-ha" moments. Parenting was like this Cirque de Soleil balancing act on a high wire, while riding a unicycle, without a net. I fumbled to discipline the kids / be a good listener / make sure the homework was done / keep the house clean / make lunches each day and dinner every night / stock a refrigerator / and recognize each child for their unique differences. I mean, where's the book on how to do that? Where's the damn manual? There isn't one.
I learned quickly that parenting, good parenting, is hard. It is a lot of work, a lot of sacrifice, and exhausts you in ways that are inexpressible in words.
I'm still in awe that my mom let me live past my teen years. I'm not sure that anything my brothers did which preceded me, could really prepare her for my teenage angst. Thinking about it makes me cringe. But I appreciate that she loved me enough, (not to be confused with like), to not kick me out of the house. 'Cause I'm thinking that idea crossed her mind more than once.
On Mother's Day, I feel like I'm part of a very unique sorority of sisters. Sisters of Survival. We have each shared the birth experience, the toddler years, and school age years. I look up to moms who have teenagers and college kids, as my mentors.
And the really good moms, the ones who are confident but humble, they don't tell me how hard it will be in the future. The really good moms just let me vent, while nodding their heads patiently, as I refill their wine glass. The really good moms understand, that no matter what they tell me, it won't really prepare me for what it will be like with MY girls as they get older. Because that experience is unique to each of us.
I appreciate all mama's out there. The Silver Fox, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-laws, aunts who have been like moms to me, (one who has even been present at the birth of all my babies), my justice league of MILFS, and especially, the moms-to-be, and brand new mama's, who are excited, but also scared.
All of us other moms are here to tell you the same thing: it will be okay. The future is uncertain, but it will be okay. Because we are here in the trenches with you, and we understand. And yes, being a mom is really hard, and more exhausting than you ever imagined.
But see, you're part of this new sorority now where strength and love comes in numbers. You are embarking on the greatest, but scariest field trip of your life. But, you know what? Everything really will be okay, because you will never be alone on this journey. You're one of us now. And we're so glad you're here.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
My Anti-Gravity Chair
I made one of the best decisions in my life last week. I mean, it's right up there with deciding where to go to college: Chico State, baby! And who to marry: Tom Walsh, Super Genius, of course. I'm talking THAT big, people. Life changing stuff. I purchased an anti-gravity chair from Costco. When these contraptions first came out several years ago, they were an outrageous amount of money...like $200 bucks. I got mine for $39.99...I likey.
Looking ahead to what the summer will bring me...four high energy kids, hot and sticky weather, the belly the size of a patio table, and lower back pain that will most likely drive me to my knees, it seemed like a no-brainer. Anti-gravity chair, YOU are the answer to all of my problems.
Just this morning, Midnight, our girl bunny got out. No big deal. UNTIL I found the ginormous burrow she had dug under our fence leading to the sewers of Willow Glen. "Oh shit," I thought to myself, "How am I going to break this horrific news to my 7 year old?"
As fear and panic started to fill my body, I looked across the yard. There I saw a sight to behold...did I locate the lost bunny, you ask? No, nothing like that. BETTER. There resting in the most sunny spot in my yard, stood my anti-gravity chair. Calming me, soothing me, beckoning me to come, sit down awhile.
I was catapulted back into reality when my 4 year old belted out, "MIIIIIIDIIIIGHT...where are YOU? Did you get eaten by a HAWK? If you don't come out and are hiding from mommy, she's going to make Bunny STEW out of YOU." I don't know where she comes up with these things. Really. Okay, maybe I have somewhat of an idea.
Anyhoo, here's my point. Simple things make me happy. I have found solace in my anti-gravity chair. I'm not even sure words can quite express how happy it makes me feel. I invite you then, to come and experience the magic of my chair for yourself. Just understand one thing: there's a 5 second rule, and then you have to get up, so I can have it back. What do you mean that is selfish?! That's my version of "sharing".
By the way, for those of you "animal lovers" out there, Midnight finally showed up. But I'm pretty sure she was out scouting Lincoln Avenue. I'm sure she made a stop at Starbucks for a Carmel latte, and then hopped down to Powells Candy Shop for a Charleston Chew. On her way home, I'm willing to bet she had the nerve to stop at Aqui's for an "Industrial Strength Margarita", that little tramp. She nearly gave me a heart attack.
And so I would like to take this opportunity to thank the one thing that kept my sanity for me: anti-gravity chair, I love you. Thank you for keeping it real.
Midnight, you are SO on my shit list, right now.
Looking ahead to what the summer will bring me...four high energy kids, hot and sticky weather, the belly the size of a patio table, and lower back pain that will most likely drive me to my knees, it seemed like a no-brainer. Anti-gravity chair, YOU are the answer to all of my problems.
Just this morning, Midnight, our girl bunny got out. No big deal. UNTIL I found the ginormous burrow she had dug under our fence leading to the sewers of Willow Glen. "Oh shit," I thought to myself, "How am I going to break this horrific news to my 7 year old?"
As fear and panic started to fill my body, I looked across the yard. There I saw a sight to behold...did I locate the lost bunny, you ask? No, nothing like that. BETTER. There resting in the most sunny spot in my yard, stood my anti-gravity chair. Calming me, soothing me, beckoning me to come, sit down awhile.
I was catapulted back into reality when my 4 year old belted out, "MIIIIIIDIIIIGHT...where are YOU? Did you get eaten by a HAWK? If you don't come out and are hiding from mommy, she's going to make Bunny STEW out of YOU." I don't know where she comes up with these things. Really. Okay, maybe I have somewhat of an idea.
Anyhoo, here's my point. Simple things make me happy. I have found solace in my anti-gravity chair. I'm not even sure words can quite express how happy it makes me feel. I invite you then, to come and experience the magic of my chair for yourself. Just understand one thing: there's a 5 second rule, and then you have to get up, so I can have it back. What do you mean that is selfish?! That's my version of "sharing".
By the way, for those of you "animal lovers" out there, Midnight finally showed up. But I'm pretty sure she was out scouting Lincoln Avenue. I'm sure she made a stop at Starbucks for a Carmel latte, and then hopped down to Powells Candy Shop for a Charleston Chew. On her way home, I'm willing to bet she had the nerve to stop at Aqui's for an "Industrial Strength Margarita", that little tramp. She nearly gave me a heart attack.
And so I would like to take this opportunity to thank the one thing that kept my sanity for me: anti-gravity chair, I love you. Thank you for keeping it real.
Midnight, you are SO on my shit list, right now.
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