Brotherly Love....NOT!

I found a great birthday card one day while out shopping. It showed a cartoon of a man heading into a tattoo parlor and read "you don't need a tattoo or piercing to look younger....you just need to be born later." Isn't that funny? So few words, but such a true message. Country songs, greeting cards, and blogs....concise messages, yet they speak the truth.

I sent the card to my older brother, Ray, for his birthday. Okay, I sent it late, but the point is I still sent it. I could have just not sent it after the fact and pretended he was never born, but I didn't. I sent it home with my parents to deliver to my brother (they live in the same town) along with a little gift. I feel it's always best to send a little gift when sending a late card. That way you don't appear so lame and inconsiderate. You can always pretend that you were waiting for just the right gift to be created especially for them, and that's why the card is late. Not because you were lazy and a procrastinator, but because you wanted it to be just right!

The memento I sent along was something I came across while going through some old saved papers in my "treasure" box. My parents did a good job of saving report cards and homemade cards and pictures I made when I was younger and passed them on to me a few years ago. In the pile was a simple piece of yellowed paper. We had an old typewriter, back in the day, and apparently I liked to pretend that I could type real fast by just hitting any old key on the home row over and over and over. Occasionally, I would form real words into a quasi-sentence. This particular time, I had typed the words... "heis a -nut-heisa-dumy durty-rat-hisname...isray." Apparently, I had some anger issues on October 5, 1969 (which was the date my dad wrote on this piece of work). I wonder what my brother had done to me that day to create such anger. I was seven, he was thirteen. That's such an evil age for older brothers (along with 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, and 21).

One could argue that I was the "dumy" since I didn't know how to spell "dummy," but in analyzing this message, you've got to love the way "dirty" is spelled as "durty". Can't you just hear me in my seven-year old mind really saying it as "durrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrty rat". When Aunt Mary read this, she noted the effectively used spaces when I say "his name is....(space, space, space----pause, pause, pause,----drum roll please).....Ray. I like to think that at the age of seven, this was my first foray into the world of blogging.

I hated it when my brother babysat us and was in charge. To say it went to his head, would be an understatement. I seem to recall him being so bossy and crabby. I'm sure I was an absolute doll. Of course we only had one television, which only had three or four channels at the most, which almost invariably ended up on "Star Trek" or "Combat". I remember one time "The Wizard of Oz" was on TV, which, back in the 60's or early 70's, was probably a once in a lifetime event. Do you think we got to watch it? No! If there would have been a remote, my sister and I would not have been allowed to touch it. At a young age I learned the techniques of "reverse psychology" and if he turned the channel to something I found intriguing (which was probably something like "Wild Kingdom" I'd pretend it was stupid and didn't want to watch it. That was a sure way to watch it! I must have been too eager to watch the Wizard of Oz, thus, no Wizard of Oz for me! Thank goodness he never had to babysit in the middle of the day when "Kimba, the White Lion" was on. I LOVED that show!

By the time I was entering my teen years, he was well into high school and just about graduated. I remember his friends, Rick and Tom, coming over to pick him up, often. They were always so nice to me. I'm sure I thought "oh my God....a high school boy is talking to me and being nice!" My brother became a swimmer during his high school years and I recall him eating food like it was going out of style. He affectionately became know as the "garbage disposal" around the house. If you didn't want it, he would finish it. And because he was a swimmer, it seemed like he took MULTIPLE showers, possibly to get rid of the smell of chlorine, I don't know. Shower in the morning before school, shower when he got home after school, shower before bedtime (probably to get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke). I'm pretty certain my parents had high water bills and high grocery bills.

My brother was born with a set of perfectly aligned beautiful teeth. I was not. He also was blessed with beautiful thick, dark hair with just a hint of curl for body. I was not. Both of these are evident in my seventh and eighth grade school pictures where I appear as a geeky dork with braces and poker straight hair. Life is so unfair, sometimes.

Now my brother and I get along great that were into our 40's and 50's. He's quite the well respected councilman and politician in his hometown. And, now that he has two kids of his own--a daughter in high school and son in grade school--I like to think that history has come back to haunt him and he gets to relive sibling rivalry from a new perspective. All I have to say to that is "nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyaaaaaaahhh!"

Tips for Taking Your Kid to College

Now that I have successfully prepared, packed up, and delivered one child to college, I feel that I can speak with authority on such matters and offer you parents and kids who have yet to experience this task a couple of dos and don'ts that just may make your transition go smoother.

Bring a door stop. A simple 99 cent purchase will make your life a teeny tiny bit easier. This way you don't have to use a case of water, an empty trash can, or your twisted leg sticking out backwards to try and hold the door open. And, once you have moved all of your child's belongings (along with their roommate's) into this space they call a "room," you will find it comes in handy when you need to prop open the door to try and create a cross breeze that doesn't exist, just so you don't pass out from heat exhaustion due to the 99% humidity level.

Moms--don't bother applying any makeup, no matter how natural, light, or simple it is because it will only melt off your face. Plan on arriving ugly and leaving even uglier. College move-in day is not pretty, unless you are an 18-year old with flawless, taut skin that only glistens more in the searing sunlight when you sweat, thus making you more attractive. Also, don't bother fixing your hair as you normally would for public viewing. It will only droop and drip due to the amount of moisture coming out of your sweat glands. If possible, plan on moving your child into college with a paper bag over your head with a pretty face drawn on it.

Dads--bring an extra shirt (and deodorant) to change into after move-in so that when you have to go to a parent orientation meeting, you don't look like you a) just suffered a heart attack, b) just got done running a marathon, or c) smell like crap.

Students--pack realistically! Do you really need to bring every t-shirt and pair of shoes that you never wore at home? What makes you think you'll wear it at college? And we haven't even brought the winter clothing yet! I have a son. I pray for you parents of girls.

Moms--when you hug your child goodbye, make it quick and under no circumstances do you make eye contact with anyone involved. Keep your sunglasses on (besides, it helps hide your sweaty face). Also, be prepared that "dad", and not just you, might have some mixed feelings swirling around as well (it never occurred to me that Ed had feelings) because when they do, it will send you over the edge causing you to run screaming back to your car as fast as you can (however, you are also anxious to get back to air conditioning but don't want your child to know this is a factor in you leaving 45 minutes earlier than you are scheduled to).

Parents--under no circumstances are you to go into your child's room upon arrival at home and smell their pillow. This will only cause further grief, which is really unnecessary since you will most likely be seeing them in a week, if not in person, via Skype, Facebook, or some other satellite transmission.

Siblings--if you are chomping at the bit to move into your brother or sister's room ASAP, try to wait at least an hour and then do it with a little bit of reverence.

Moms--even though you may have no interest in being your child's "friend" on Facebook (and they certainly don't want to be yours) you will find that you may have to "request to be their friend" and hope they will comply. This will be one of the few ways in which you can keep up to date on how they are doing and adjusting. Seeing as how no one under the age of 21 uses email anymore, the only way to get them to communicate with you or at least see you communicating with them is via Facebook or texting. You'll certainly want to put on blinders and mentally block out any postings or visuals from their "real" friends that may contain objectionable content. Only use it to communicate with your child and do not stray onto other pages. Doing so could cause you to post a maternal comment on your child's page (for all to see) and then you would find yourself dropped from their friend list faster than a hot potato. This action would cause you to be cut off from their electronic world forever!

If only college could start in late-October or early-November when the weather is cool and crisp and get out in early-April when there is just a hint of spring in the air. I just realized, everything we just did has to be undone in June. I better find a paper bag and start drawing my pretty move-out face on it right now, because it will be here before I know it.

I Don't Feel So Good...

Clickety, clackety, clickety, clickety, clackety.....oh my God...oh no.....oh God.......no, no, no.......what was I thinking.....holy shhhhh********ttttttttttt!

That was pretty much the soundtrack of me on any given roller coaster at Cedar Point (and I only went on four). Had there been video to go along with it, it would have shown me with my head down, body tensed, and eyes closed (however, you wouldn't know this because my head was practically in my lap, like I was preparing for a 1970's tornado drill in the hallway of my grade school). The video would have also been x-rated because I dropped the F-bomb so many times that Ed had to apologize to a man and his little girl for my uncontrollable behavior (sorry little girl!) while we were on the Gemini. Every souvenir photo of me taken on a ride by the park was of me, ducking, cowering, and wetting my pants. Thank goodness all you could see was my head!

Our family, along with Alex's girlfriend, Lauren, and Cameron's buddy, Tyler, travelled to Cedar Point for a quick getaway a couple of weeks ago. I went with realistic expectations, knowing I would NEVER, EVER, EVER voluntarily get on the Millenium Force or Top Thrill Dragster. Mainly because I do not like blacking out or losing control of multiple bodily functions on a regular basis. After too many rides (which for me, is about two) my brain starts to feel like it is coming loose in my head. My thrill came from watching them have fun. Sure, they kept telling me "it's safe." Hah! Tell that to the people who recently were stuck on a roller coaster in California this week when it came to a screeching halt. They were suspended on the rails for four hours.

Anyway, I set my sights on the "smaller" coasters like the Magnum, Mantis, Gemini, and forced myself to go on the Maverick. My family and their friends were total ride warriors. They all loved the thrill of these rides and some of them even waited in line extra long to sit in the front row so they could watch themselves free falling to the ground at 90 miles per hour. Apparently the thrill of defying gravity just doesn't feel the same in the third or fourth row.

I was amazed, and a little bit envious, of all the people I saw riding these coasters with such passion and bravery. I was astounded at how they could actually form thoughts in their heads and raise their arms up in the air while flying over the rails, down the hills, and through the tunnels when I couldn't even hold up my head. So many of them, my group included, had the presence of mind to mug for the camera that was posted somewhere inside one of the tunnels. You could see the variety of photos posted up on monitors (where you could purchase them for a minor fortune). Some made funny faces, some smiled for the camera, some did something obscene, like lifted their shirt or who knows what else, and their photos were promptly deleted from public viewing. One guy was able to smile and flex his muscles for the camera. I actually thought it was a great picture.

I saw slightly built, young children skipping through the exit, totally unfazed. How do they do it? Even my 9-year old nephew, Rory, is a psycho for coasters and has been his entire life. And yet, he used to be afraid to play in my basement with the other kids, when he was younger, for fear that his family would accidentally leave without him. What kind of rationalization is that? "Hmmmm.....which is scarier? Fly through the air at ridiculously high speeds and shoot back down to earth like a rocket ship, or needlessly worry about getting left at cool Aunt Becky's house to play with cousins I adore?"

Throughout the day I continued to gawk at two rides in particular with reverence. The Millennium Force, which climbs one very tall 310 foot hill, and speeds down one very steep, 80 degree drop at 93 miles per hour.

The other was the Top Thrill Dragster which, after waiting in line for over one hour, is a 17-second ride that launches you up to a speed of 120 mph in less than four seconds, climbs 420 feet at a 90 degree angle, crests, and then races back toward earth at a 270 degree spiral with a 400 foot vertical drop. Aaahhhh....good times.

It's funny what we consider scary isn't it. Some people I know would never be brave enough to paint a room in their house with a bold color, or have kids, donate blood, plant a garden, write a blog, or ride with their 15-year old son behind the wheel (now that's scary!). Fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of embarrassment, fear of death.

While at the park, I quickly observed that the rides were not the only scary things. I saw many people with way too many tattoos, odd looking, ill-fitting summer outfits, and inflated park prices. A bottle of water...$3. A photo of you crapping your pants on a ride...$10. A day full of thrills, vomit spills, and shrills.....priceless.

Time to Come Ashore

This summer I have felt like I'm drifting at sea. Aimlessly floating on the water and vulnerable to the winds of change. It has been a summer of too little family time--a husband who has been absent way too much on business, an 18-year old son who is soaking up every last minute of summer fun with his friends (not family) before he heads off to football camp and college this Saturday and, a 15-year old son who has been consumed with summer school, football conditioning, camps, and now two-a-day practices.

Last week, our wonderful friend, Camille, passed away suddenly while camping with her family and friends. She was a giver, a lover of life, a very recent proud grandmother, and she exuded happiness.

Disoriented and distraught. That's how I have been feeling. I try to remind myself that I should be grateful that Ed actually has business to tend to, in light of the fact that he lost his job in January after 20 years of service. He was very fortunate to bounce back quickly, while many of his coworkers, with multiple engineering degrees, have yet to land an interview. I try to remind myself that I am blessed to have two healthy and able-bodied boys who have learned to be independent and are ready to move onto the next stage of life. And, I definitely try to remind myself that I'm blessed because my family currently has good health and we are in tact.

I realize that my little "ship of dreams" may be temporarily lost at sea, but Camille's family's ship has totally capsized. I know the coming weeks, months, and year will find them just trying to keep their heads above water.

I must say, in the last three years we have lost some special people in our lives to cancer, suicide, and now a pulmonary embolism. Hearing tragic news is never easy. In fact, it's down right surreal. You think your ears have misheard. You think the person speaking to you is talking in a foreign language because all you can say is "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What did you say?" You are in disbelief. It's just like how you see people react in the movies when they are in denial. All you can say is "no, no, no....there must be some mistake. That couldn't possibly happen to me or anyone I know."

If you think hearing bad news is difficult, delivering it is even worse. Having the responsibility of telling someone something that you know is going to crush their world is way too much power. For me it happened when I had to tell Ed over the phone (while on business in Mexico) that his father's cancer had become terminal and he had only a short time left. It happened again when I had to tell my children that their dear friend had made a terrible mistake and took his own life. For me, it's a horrible feeling to know that someone's exact moment of shock and sadness may be forever etched in their memory and I played a role in that.

Once again, it is time for me to regroup. With one week left before Alex heads off to Kalamazoo, I know that it's important for me to pick up my oars and starting rowing in a direction. With friends in distress, I need to try and be a beacon of light for them--no matter how small. Bring them a meal, help with a chore, take care of an errand. Time for me to pull out my spiritual compass and get back on course.