only backgroundI'm a wife, mother and grandmother. I'm opinionated. I contradict myself frequently. Most of all, I love my kids. I believe in them. I fight for them. They're weird and wonderful. If you want to know more, here's a bunch of other stuff from my old site.
Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Now before you click away, thinking this is going to be a sappy, emotional post, stick around a minute to read a paragraph or two. Seriously, this is good. I’m about to make fun of myself and expose one of my major flaws so if nothing else, you can laugh at me.
Recently, I confessed in a rather public forum that I have big ears. No, seriously, I have really big ears. Of course, my ears would be fine on someone who stands about 6′5″ or so. According to my kids, I look funny because I also have a big nose, a big mouth, and big eyes all on my little 4′11″ body. Children are excellent at keeping you humble. And insecure.
I’ll also mention that for years I blamed myself for my children’s ears. I thought I was the reason they all had these huge ears that stuck out. It wasn’t until I saw picture of my husband’s grandfather that I realized that while my kids got the size of their ears from me, the “sticking out” part came from their dear old dad. And I have not hesitated to point out that fact every time the opportunity arises.
But back to me. And my ears. Now, I’m one of those people who believe that all babies are just adorable. At least I used to believe that until I saw a picture of myself, at the ripe old age of 5 months, with my ears exposed. Oh.my.goodness.
I give you my word that those ears are not photoshopped. They are real. I was born with ears as large as many adults. Maybe larger.
But wait. I mentioned a mother’s blind love, didn’t I? Ah, yes. My mother….
When my kids discovered that photo in the bottom of one of my dresser drawers, they had quite a good time laughing about it. I admit, I chuckled, too. When I spoke to my mom later that day, I mentioned the picture to her. She was so confused! She insisted that I had perfect, tiny, baby ears. She refused to believe that my ears were exceptionally large. Only a mother could look at those ears and see tiny.
Yes, a mother’s love is truly blind.
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Before this leap day is over, I want to wish my godfather, Uncle Mel, a happy birthday. He’s the only person I know born on February 29.
When I was a kid, for as long as I can remember, Uncle Mel sent me a wonderful gift for my birthdays. By wonderful, I mean that so much thought went into them. (I imagine that his wife, Aunt Flo, had a hand in that.) There was always a card that had little slots for coins. Every card had 10 dimes stuck in the little slots. It was so much fun to count those dimes! And the gifts were always from one of the pricier stores in town, wrapped perfectly with a big bow. My favorite gift was a pink skirt and sweater; I can remember wearing it when the Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan and standing in front of the TV and doing the twist. I must have been about 4.
Uncle Mel always remembered my birthday. Since I’ve been grown, I’ve remembered his with a phone call. Granted, that’s every 4 years instead of every year. It was nice speaking to him tonight, though. He’s moved south so he isn’t nearby but he sounds the same as always.
So, Happy Birthday, Uncle Mel. I love you.
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My mom and I have a special relationship. We’re very different in so many ways and yet, we have these really annoying similarities. Take today, for instance.
My mother called to ask me to remember back a few days, to when she stopped by my house. She asked me if i remembered where she stopped before she got here and where she stopped on her way home. Most people would think that’s very odd. I didn’t.
My mom and I tell each other where we’re going, reciting the things we need to do as if we’re recording our to-do list for the day. We each politely listen to the other, knowing we’ll remember only half of what we hear and hoping it’s the right half.
In this case, I remembered the right half. I recalled one of my mom’s stops that day and she was instantly relieved. Why, you may wonder? Well, it’s because she’d written at check at that stop but hadn’t written it in her register. At lest once a week, either my mom or I go through this little exercise, trying to recall where we’ve been so that we can be sure not to end up with a checking account overdraft.
I don’t have this problem as often these days since I try ot use my debit card most of the time. Still, it happens now and then for me and almost weekly for her. What a strange trait for my mom to pass on to me. Gee, thanks mom!
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Anyone who has followed my blog for any length of time knows that I have a son currently living in Hawaii. Specifically, he’s on the north shore of the island of Kauai, in Kilauea. To say that it’s a beautiful place would be an understatement. I fell in love with Kauai in 2001 on my first visit and I love it still.
I’m so happy that Jesse’s been able to stay in Hawaii and work. He really does love it there. It’s just that I really miss him. Yes, I have five other children. Still, with one so far away, there’s just always a little ache in my heart. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if we had a way to talk to each other more often. but all we have are our cell phones and reception on the north shore of Kauai is worse than it is here in the hills of West Virginia - and that’s saying a lot!
Granted, the lush greenery, the majestic mountain in the center of the island, the valley where Jesse’s house is located, all make for a paradise setting. And they also make cell phone reception unbearable! Every conversation takes about 5 or 6 redials - yes, we get cut off that often.
What’s the answer? Well, after some research it seems that the best way to stabilize our cell phone reception is to invest in a portable cell phone booster. This device not only boosts signal strength but it also reduces disconnects and extends battery life. Can you imagine how much better Jesse’s signal will be with one of these? We’ll be able to talk anytime we want! Just look at these test results:
Not only does it operate on AC at home, but it can also switch to DC power for use in the car with a cigarette lighter. That makes it an excellent bargain since there are a number of beaches that we enjoy there with an even weaker signal than Jesse gets at his house. It’s really kind of frightening to be near the water with no way to call for emergency services; the portable cell phone booster isn’t simply convenient, it’s a potential life saver, too.
The more I read about this signal booster, the more I know it would be perfect for Jesse in Hawaii. It comes with a protective case and according to the directions on the website, it looks like it would be snap to set up.
Jesse has been in Hawaii since 2005. We’ve spent three of his birthdays and one Christmas apart. I’ve been fortunate to have visited him a few times each year, even bringing his baby niece with us last March, but it just isn’t the same. As much as I love having a reason to travel to Hawaii, I would much rather have my son home. That probably won’t happen this year, but I think I’ve found a way to bring him a little closer. Well, to bring his voice closer, at least.
It’s kind of odd to view an electronics product in such an emotional way. I guess you’d have to be a mom with a child almost 5000 miles from home to understand. All I know is that Jesse’s phone calls are usually one of the best parts of my day. This signal booster can make those calls even better.
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After Levi’s basketball game today, we stopped by my mom’s for a few a hours. Levi wanted to stay for the next game but I didn’t think Kendyll would sit still for another hour. So my mom stayed at the game with Levi - she’s a real basketball fan - and I took Maggie, Boomer and Kendyll to her house to spend time with my dad.
My dad was still sleeping when we got there. He’s 84 so I guess it’s normal that he sleeps till noon. I went in to his room to give him a kiss and I think I scared him a little bit. He can’t hear so I woke him with a kiss.
It’s odd seeing my dad looking old. I remember when his brother slept in that bed as my parents nursed him through his last days with cancer. I remember my grandmother and my Aunt Jo in that room, so old and frail. In fact, you’d think my parents would have adjustable beds set up in every bedroom, so they could care for elderly relatives. There have been four in all, as recently as a year ago. My parents are amazing.
We’re all growing older but it just doesn’t feel right seeing my dad aging like this. He’s supposed to stay young. In my mind, my dad is 40, handsome. He’s got a spring in his step. He stands up straight, goes to Elby’s with his friends or takes us downtown to visit his old hangouts. Like this:
Or I remember my dad as a grandfather, just recently retired and enjoying the kids. He’d drive down to my house to pick up one of the kids, take them out to McDonalds or something. He’d let the boys hang out with him when he cut the grass or did some chore that my mom assigned him but my dad’s best side was when he was just being his own loving self. And that was always most evident with his granddaughters. My dad was the best father a daughter could ever have. He loved us unconditionally. He loves his granddaughters the same way. Maggie always loved her Pap Pap, too.
But my dad is 84 and looking aged. He doesn’t leave the house much these days. He hasn’t driven for several years because he had too many accidents in a short time. He’s forgetful. He sleep late, and naps often. There’s more gray in his hair, but he’s still not totally white. He walks with a cane, although he still shuffles around the kitchen without it.
After we left my mom’s, she talked my dad into coming to my house for a little birthday party for Kendyll. My dad loves Kendyll and really comes alive when she’s around. He plays hide and seek with her and doesn’t seem to get tired of looking for her over and over again. And Kendyll loves my dad. The two of them talk to each other and somehow, my dad understands what Kendyll is saying. That’s funny because my dad can’t even hear the rest of us. My dad has always loved his girls.
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I’m washing clothes. I know, that doesn’t seem like a big deal, seeing as how I’m a mom and all. But this is a big deal today. Well, actually it started yesterday and may continue into tomorrow, but who’s counting days when laundry exceeds 2 dozen loads?
I finally decided to open all those plastic containers where the kids put the clothes that no longer fit and go through them once and for all. Oh, what a chore! And thanks to my kids, I’m having to wash most of them.
I guess I ought to know better than to not supervise the kids in a such a task, but some of this happened when I was still working full time outside the home. I got lazy. I gave the kids plastic containers and told them to put clothes that were too small in the containers. It’s my fault for instructing them to put only clean clothes in the containers. How silly of me to expect my kids to figure that part out for themselves.
Besides the normal collection of dirty school clothes, play clothes, work clothes, going-to-the-movies clothes and bed and bath linens, I also had 6 large plastic containers of clothes, some clean, some not. After sorting through the first container, I gave up and just started washing everything. This is called “mom is losing her mind and is ready to blow a gasket” behavior. This also explains why the kids were so excited to go to school today.
So my online blogging is hit or miss today. I’m here, then I’m gone, folding and packing and stacking. These clothes are out of here this week. I’m not running a second hand store. Everything that still has some wear will be sent to the Salvation Army.
And for the record, the only reason the kids are not helping me with this monumental chore is because they have exams this week. No TV, no video games, just studying. Until Wednesday.
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Some of you may know that one of my hobbies is making soap. I started several years ago and do it only for my own pleasure, never have sold it. There is something very therapeutic about making hot process soap. I can’t explain it, I just know that I feel so accomplished when I’m done.
It took me a very long time to find a creative outlet as a hobby and once I did I really threw myself into it. I’d tried many other hobbies over the years but always walked away very disappointed. It isn’t that I didn’t try, because I did. It’s just that I had no natural talent nor adequate aptitude and ended up spending money on supplies that never made it farther than the trash. Nothing is sadder than spending three weeks crocheting a a little afghan or 4 days attempting to sew a simple little dress only to realize that the afghan is the shape of a trapezoid or the dress has no armholes.
So, imagine my surprise when I opened the Christmas gift from my almost 15 year old daughter and discovered that she inherited her talent for crocheting not from me, but from my grandma! My Grandma could crochet a full size afghan in one weekend. And by full size, I mean it could be used as a bedspread on a full size bed. I’ve never seen hands and fingers move so quickly!
It seems Maggie’s skill is not as honed as Grandma’s; it took her several months to crochet the scarf that she gave me. but her stitches were all uniform which is a major accomplishment in my book. I don’t think I ever crocheted two stitches that were even close to be the same in all my attempts. So even though Maggie has developed the speed, she definitely has the technique.
Next up, we’re going to talk about color choices. For now, though, I’m wearing this scarf with my black leather coat. I even wore it to Mass on Christmas Eve. I was so proud that if I’d had a shirt that said, “My Daughter Made My Scarf” I would have worn that, too.
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My husband is a brick layer and master stone mason, as is one of my sons. Two of my other sons have been laboring for my husband since before they were old enough. You would think that every one of my kids would expect to someday live in a brick or stone house.
So who brought the latest issue of Log Home Magazine into the house? And perhaps more important, why? I’m pretty sure Boomer, Maggie and Levi did not buy the magazine. That would leave me (I didn’t buy it), Brian (not likely) or Nick. Nick? Is he really thinking of building a log home?
Naturally, being so fascinated by building and architecture, I flipped through the book to check out the floor plans and furnishing. A few things caught my eye like a pretty plasma tv lift in a master bedroom and these great floor to ceiling windows at the front of one of the houses. I even found a floor plan that would be perfect for our family. Of course, we’d have to brick the house if we used those plans, and we aren’t in the market for a new house anyway, but still. I could definitely live in a house like that.
I really need to ask Nick why he’s looking at log homes. You think he’s planning to move away? Nah.
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My six kids range in age from almost 29 to 11. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Even harder to believe is that I can remember so clearly my own kids’ Christmases as if it happened yesterday. And here I am, preparing for Kendyll’s second Christmas.
As I put the tree up last weekend I noticed some of the Christmas ornaments from those early years. I still have the ornament that Chris got in kindergarten; many are dated as far back as the early 80s. I saw, too, that tucked into Chris and Jesse’s stockings were the Letters From Santa that I’d sent for all those years ago. Yes, we still have them; they stay in the stockings and are taken out and read every year. Even boys grown men have a sentimental twinge now and then.
Back then, we saw the advertisement for the letters in Parade magazine. Today, parents and grandparents can click right on over to the website to fill out an online form and order these wonderful keepsakes. I know it seems like such a small thing but a Letter from Santa is so significant to a child. From the moment you hand them that envelope addressed to your child until they marvel at the words as you read the letter aloud, the wonderment of the season and the feeling of being special in the eyes of the Santa himself will leave a lasting impression on your child.
How lasting? Here are Chris and Jesse’s stockings with their letters from Santa, ready to be read again this Christmas Eve.
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My heart is breaking. I’m sure I’m getting way too emotional about this and I need to step back and wait to see what happens. After all, this is business. Okay, deep breath.
I just read that the family that has owned Kennywood Park in West Miflin, PA near Pittsburgh for over 100 years has sold the park as well as its other amusement park holdings. Harry Henniger, a direct descendent of one of the original owners, F A Henniger, announced that Parques Reunidos, based in Madrid, Spain has purchased the park holdings of Kennywood Entertainment. Apparently, Henniger and family are comfortable with Parques Reunidos and their plans for the future of Kennywood.
“The Kennywood experience—as visitors have come to love and expect—will continue. Nothing will seem different, even to the folks working at the parks. Existing management and staff will remain in place,” said Harry Henninger, Chairman of Kennywood Entertainment. “In recent years, we’ve had talks with other operators wishing to acquire us, but Parques Reunidos is the first one to share our vision and philosophy.”
Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just that Kennywood is a tradition. It’s special. It’s this wonderful amusement park nestled in the valley where people are encouraged to bring picnic baskets rather than buy overpriced food. It’s where every single school kid in the Pittsburgh area, including those in surrounding West Virginia and Ohio, visits on class trips at the end of the school year.
There is something both exciting and comforting about Kennywood. It isn’t “someone else’s” park; it’s ours. By the time a kid is 10, he knows the lay of Kennywood as well as he knows his own neighborhood. Yet, there’s always a few new rides side by side with the old favorites. This past summer I rode through Garfield’s Nightmare with Kendyll; 33 years ago I rode through with a boyfriend but it was called the Old Mill then. Think Tunnel of Love.
Kennywood isn’t as famous as Disney; it isn’t as flashy as a Vegas hotel or the neon signs of Broadway. Kennywood park is a family tradition where the “family” is anyone who grew up within 70 or so miles from the park. Let’s just hope that in 30 years, my granddaughter is able to share the magic of Kennywood Park with her children, and they with theirs. Anything less would be tragic.
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