My past, on wheels

Growing up in Germantown in the late 80's was pretty idyllic, aside from an over-sized dose of small town gossip and lack of a decent community park.

Our little town of 5,000 celebrated the "diversity" of 15 or 20 very white, (yes, very German) last names. We had a whooping culture of hard-core football fans who hardly understood that there was a world beyond our big hair and friday night lights.

We were a microcosm, for sure. Relatively no commerce and a complete lack of fast food—aside from a very busy Dairy Queen—led us to the local swimming pool in the summer. In the winter, it was Romar skating rink. It was the only roller rink for miles around. It brought dozens of neighboring school kids into our tiny town.

Fast forward 25 years.

Ella brings home an announcement:

MEDLARVIEW ELEMENTARY SKATING PARTY!!!

Romar Skating Rink, Germantown Ohio

 

We made the 20-minute journey and found that the rink is still there, the freshly-painted black letters now crumbling from years of ice and rain. We stepped inside, and Ella ran to the skate rental booth. I stood there, silent, moving my phone in slow motion to snap this very familiar sight:

 

Ella, Carson and Derek laced up their skates. I followed them in my flip flops out to the rink, where they rolled in hardwood orbit to the latest Katy Perry tune. My mind conjured a different memory; instead, my ears heard the beat of  "She Dropped a Bomb On Me...Baby." It was a trip, to say the least.

I left the rink area and headed for the restroom, where I remember hiding out as a sixth grader. I remember cowering in a stall with a kleenex and my own hormonal misery, wiping away tears because my best friend called me a "snob." I had never felt so misunderstood.

 

As soon as I got to the door, my mouth flew open. The original sign...the original horrid hand towel dispenser, and even the toilet tissue were exactly the same as they'd been the last time I was there in as a kid in 1985. I stood there wondering who still manufactures rectangular folds of toilet paper. 

And just in case there were any question, the sign still hangs:

Ella had a blast and got a little more steady on her wheels. Carson showed his usual sense of absolutely NO fear. Derek got some exercise. And I found my own personal flux capacitor and joined Marty McFly in the time machine.

Celery Art!

It was a chilly Sunday afternoon and Derek was doing yard work. I was in the kitchen with the kids making vegetable soup, and went to toss what was left of the celery. 

I showed it to Ella and we didn't have to exchange a word. We both ran to the art room and opened up the paints!

By dinner time we had a freshly cut lawn, a warm pot of soup, two budding artists, and a new set of stationery. Perfect.

Spring Gym•nap•sticks

Neither of our kids can/could say this word before the age of 4, so their pronunciation is above. That little stuff is so important. It's kind of thing that I worry about forgetting someday when I'm old and grey, lying in bed with Readers Digest, my teeth in a jar on my night stand. Although I suppose if I can't find a better magazine and I can't really chew, remembering how the kids said "gymnastics" will not be my biggest challenge.

Anyway - I digress.

It has been made clear to us by Carson's teachers that he has "extremely advanced" upper body strength, and for that reason, there is no place he's more excited about than TWIGS gym-nap-sticks. This kid is doing chin-ups by the dozen on the bars, bouncing and flipping like he was born for it.

By George, i think we've found an outlet for this little monster's excess energy!

It Takes a Village

We often take for granted that which is closest to us.

I makes absolutely no sense to hand out all your energy to the strangers and acquaintances in your life, but I suppose it's human nature...you get comfortable with the people closest to your heart, and you assume they'll always be there.

In the case of your Mimi, your Grandma, and your Grandpa, they really HAVE always been here while Daddy and I were away at work. They've been here week after week, helping to feed you breakfast or pick you up from daycare, change your diapers and read you books, run to your soccer games and drive you to church. While all that seems rather hectic, there have been many an afternoon where they were at our house, simply holding you in the recliner or coloring yet another Disney Princess coloring book page.

Both of you are incredible little artists, largely due to your Grandma. Ella, your teachers have noted your exceptional skill in writing, which comes from your Mimi. And Carson, there is no doubt that your Grandpa will have you throwing a lightning-fast pitch before you're 10.

This kind of love and attention has helped form who you are. As parents, we are grateful for any help we can get, but what we don't bank on is that our kids are learning their value system from the people who are co-parenting with us.

That daycare provider, or first grade teacher, or family member who is so intimately involved? They act as maple trees, the little helicopter seedlings of their character landing softly and sprouting in the hearts and minds of our children. What a TRUE BLESSING  to know that your maple trees are those that raised your own parents with the same care and guidance.

So, my sweets: what you're learning from your Grandparents is faith, devotion and creative expression. How do I know you're picking it up? Because I see it on display as you giggle and clap at the library and the theater...

And as you proudly stand on stage and sing about God, faith and love.

I'm proud of you, Ella, and I'll be proud of Carson when he gets old enough to join you. My childhood is filled with memories just like these, and that set the moral guard rails for how I live my life and how I express myself.

That doesn't mean I am perfect, or that you have to be...but that little voice inside all of us that lets us know when something doesn't feel right? Well, that's God. All you have to do is listen.

Creative expression? Just keep writing, keep dancing, keep drawing, keep singing and keep loving. If it's from your heart, it will reach someone and open their heart, too.

And you are closer to all this understanding because of your grandparents' influence. Let's love them fiercely and never, ever take that for granted! 

Hippity Hop.

I don't know why I don't love Easter. Maybe it's the baskets full of candy nestled in shreds of uber-synthetic green plastic, or the competition of hunting for those little plastic eggs with a penny inside. Maybe it's the faces on those creepy, giant easter bunnies at the mall. I don't know—it's just not my thing. 

For a few years, I could get by with not doing much besides putting out our centerpiece, which again celebrates the holiday with tongue firmly planted in cheek. Our vintage, glitter-laden bunny wears false eyelashes and that's about the end of it. 

Now let's be clear—none of my disdain is related to the purpose behind the holiday. I observe and respect the religious side of things...its just that waxy, molded chocolate and white ruffled socks are not my gig.

So alas, I planned nothing this year besides the unveiling of their baskets. I figured this was no big deal and even told Ella that they would get easter baskets, but we didn't have plans for an Easter egg hunt this year. She seemed unaffected.

Then Derek and I got home from a Reds game with friends that Saturday night. We walked into the kitchen to find this note on the counter:

In the spirit of my failure as a Mom, I darted into her room and immediately looked behind her door to find this basket. She had no access to money or a car or a store, so she made a basket full of handmade paper "eggs" with notes and treats inside...one for everyone in the family to open on Easter Morning. I went to bed and cried. What's wrong with me? We didn't even dye eggs! Or hide them! My 6 year old showed me how it's done.

 

Sunday morning, all four of us slept in our bed, then enjoyed a big breakfast. We had a great family discussion about Christ, the meaning of the Resurrection, and all we've been granted.

The kiddos opened their baskets from "The Bunny" and baskets from their grandparents.

 

We let Ella go last, her toothless grin showcasing her excitement as she handed out her beautiful paper eggs. I opened mine carefully, read her sweet note, and savored the laffy taffy slowly, with gratitude...and pride.

Build, Destroy. Build, Destroy.

I'm not sure I can cite the last time that Derek and I looked each other in the eye. We swirl around the house in a frenetic waltz that involves one of us constantly monitoring Carson to make him stop:

• spritzing Nellie's back fur with carpet cleaner
• painting the kitchen chairs with a melting popsicle
• swinging from our chandelier (yes, still)
• sitting on the kitchen counter, faucet on and spray hose in hand, waiting for one of us to cross through the room

...the list goes on. When we get really mad, his lip quivers so innocently, as if he truly doesn't understand why these experiments and laughter are worthy of everyone getting so loud and twisty.

Maybe there's a lesson here.

The toilet paper gig is one of his more benign routines. So today instead of getting frustrated, I took these pics and then joined in for round two to help him build (and destroy) the next magic tower.

Friendship, Lesson 1

My sweet babes, over the next 20 years you will be bullied. You will get hurt. Your hearts will be broken. You'll cry at the dance. A friend will turn on you. A clique of kids will reject you.

And through it all, we will remind you how amazing you are and how much we love you, but none of our words will matter to your sweet teenage soul.

What will matter, however, is the collection of people you choose to become your lifelong friends. These are people that know you through life phases and changes, celebrations and failures, heartbreaks and first jobs. And second jobs. And marriages. Divorces. Babies. Whatever. They risk your friendship to confront you about what's right for you. They're the ones who tell you about the food in your teeth and listen to your shamelessly dramatic rants about whatever was important to you that day. And they love you anyway.

I met some of those friends at Miami, and over 15 years later we are still gathering for reunions. This one was perfect - no husbands or kids, and only scattered talk of them. Maybe we're all at the age and phase of life now where the transitions are over and it's about us again. It's more likely that we have all been driven insane by them, and being in Oxford meant getting back to who we were before we started taking care of everyone else.

It was the perfect girls weekend - honest, easy and natural. That's the essence of friendships that stand the test of distance and time. If you ever need to present yourself as something you're not, keep searching.

My babies, prom dates will come and go, but hold on tight to your family and your lifelong friends. They are your history, and in some way they shaped you—they are a part of you. And you are brilliant. Choose well!