"How's the campaign going?"
It's the question I get most often. It's also the question I'm never quite sure how to answer.
Good? ... Great! ... Your guess is as good as mine. ... We'll see May 17th!
The truth - I suppose - all depends on what you're measuring.
This weekend we hosted a Winter ONE-derland party in honor of Felix's first birthday. Considering this child was born during a snow, it seemed like an appropriate theme. Well, the weather had other plans and it was 70 and sunny! I could have hosted the dang party outside!
For my 30th birthday, I created a list of 30 things I wanted to do. One was to write a historical fiction short story. This is the story and as Ruby keeps calling to me here lately. I thought I'd share it here.
One of Nicholas's New Year's resolutions was to try freezer meals. He'd prepped meals for the week on and off through 2015 and wanted to see how it would work to prepare an entire month's worth. Then, we could just pull a meal from the deep freeze, throw it in the crockpot, and on a busy day dinner would be waiting for us.
When you’re pregnant, the word “excited” comes up about 70 times a day. It’s almost reflexive in conversations.
“You’re pregnant? How exciting!”
“Yes, we’re excited.”
“How far along are you?...You must be excited.”
“It’s a girl! I bet you are so excited.”
“Oh, you’re starting to dilate. EXCITING!”
I’ve been reciting the exciting chorus while struggling with a dark secret: Here, at the halfway point of my second pregnancy, I’m not excited.
Having a grown child and three teenagers at home, it’s safe to say I’ve navigated my share of young adult turmoil. Hearts hurt by friends they trusted. Classes, teams, activities where they are stumbling to keep up. Poor choices that leave them feeling a stranger to themselves. And this constant, exhausting battle between excitement and anxiety for the future.
Through dozens of conversations with my kids over the years, I’ve learned that parents have a unique opportunity - and responsibility, even – to offer balm when their children are hurting. Here are three phrases I have found to be particularly helpful when talking to a teenager who is struggling.
The word STORY seems a bit of a stretch for something that took less than two hours but nothing about this child's arrival fit the mold so we'll just go with it.
Let's begin at the beginning. Both of my other births began in the morning after a nice full night's rest. Not this one! I woke up around 12:35 am with a hard belly. I thought maybe I just had to pee but knew it was odd because I almost never have Braxton Hicks contractions in the middle of the night. On the walk back from the bathroom, I realized the hard belly was accompanied by the slightest bit of cramping.
So, I laid down and waited to see if I would have another one. Sure enough, a few minutes later the hard belly made another appearance - this time with WAY more cramping. I decided to download a contraction counter app and call my midwife.
"I can't get out of my driveway," she replied when I told her I was in labor.
It’s been a long, messy process, but I’ve finally learned to read some of my own cues. When something is bothering me, for instance, I tend to consume food and drink straight from the container. The quantities aren’t excessive, but it’s definitely not normal.
So when, in December of 2013, I found myself leaning against the kitchen sink and staring at a blank wall, a bag of chip crumbs in one hand and a nearly-empty bottle of pinot noir from the previous week in the other, I was surprised.
What was there to be upset about? We had just gotten Collin’s diagnosis. The one we had been pursuing for almost five years. Hooray. Right?
My daughter turned four at the beginning of February. She’s interested in building things, pretend play, super heroes, and animals. Between those interests and the twin gift-giving holidays of her birthday and Christmas, my partner and I have had a lot of conversations about Legos in the last couple of months.
Darlene's three sons before they were grown men.
It was the kind of summer in Kentucky when the hot August day dies at the hands of its own heat and humidity. A sticky, sweaty two-year-old boy was nestled in the ring of a bathtub baby holder (no doubt long since designated as a death trap like so many other devices we were using in 1981) and I was plopped on the cool tile next to him. I distinctly remember thinking: I will be doing this for the rest of my life. Little did I know that within the next three years I would have two more boys placing me securely in what Sarah and I have termed THE MOB (mothers of boys).
Now I’m a capable thinker and I knew in my MIND that I wouldn’t be doing that the rest of my life but at the time I couldn’t see past the long daily and rigorous chores of taking care of a two-year-old. HAD I known then that within the blink of what seemed like only a few more southern summers, I would be sitting next to a 33-year-old attorney with a high school, college, and post graduate career behind him I would have no doubt been more “in the moment” as the much maligned mantra proposes.
I’m filling in today for my sweet young friend, Sarah, who is in the throes (perhaps literally) of delivering her third boy into the world. There may come a day when she is surrounded by three little boys, ALL uncontrollably and inconsolably screaming at the same time, and think: this will never end.
But there will come a day.
There will be a day when the bake sales are behind you, the diapers are done with, the tears are more like mild traumas, the bikes are replaced by a banged-up VW Beetle, and the “what am I going to do with them!” translates to “what am I going to do without them?”
As one of my favorite author/mom types (Anna Quindlen) wrote some years ago, “It’s not simply the loss of these particular people, living here day in, day out, the bickering, the inside jokes, the cereal bowls in the sink and the towels in the hamper—all right, on the floor. It was who I was with them: the general to their battalion, the president to their cabinet.”
When we inhabit motherhood we become someone new. When we hit the teenage years we become someone we may not like. When they leave us on our own, we become someone who feels loss but gains friends.
Yeah, I know once a mom, always a mom. But there is a new joy in creating a relationship with your children that is based on a mutual history and perhaps a newfound respect.
So young moms of the world, there WILL come a day when your full house morphs into an empty nest but believe me— the trip in between is SUCH a great ride!
Darlene Mazzone is a parent, publisher, and country girl in city shoes. She's the mother of three grown men and is the Executive Editor of PADUCAH LIFE Magazine, a feature magazine in Paducah, KY. She was the first healthcare public relations professional in West Kentucky, is in love with screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (it's OK, her husband knows all about it) and loves pasta, English novels, and of course, reruns of West Wing.
My name is Jenny. My internet last name is On The Spot. So, Jenny On The Spot is my full name.
But you can call me Jenny.
I am female. I have aged in the the early part of my 4th decade. I have 3 kids... 9, 12, and, 15. If you do the math I will soon have TWO teenagers, one of whom will be a licensed driver by the beginning of the summer.
Yes, I need a hug. Thank you for asking.
When life gives you snow, make snow cream! For those of you who are just getting introduced to snow via the magic of climate change, let me walk you through how to make this delicious icy treat.
First, gather your ingredients: snow (surprise), milk, vanilla, and sugar. Some zealots out there use heavy cream. Then, there is always Paula Deen ready to take it to the next level with sweetened condensed milk. However, I'm a purist and prefer plain old whole milk.
I think it's easier to mix individual servings. In my experience, if you try to make a big batch you inevitably have a ton of quickly melting snow cream and the freezer is of absolutely no help to you. So, scoop your snow into a bowl and sprinkle about two spoons full of sugar and a splash of vanilla to taste. Mix in the milk until you have your desired consistency and ENJOY!
Trust us. We've got lots of snow cream experience.
