Picking Favorites

Have you had this conversation yet parents?  The completely irrational child that says "you love --- best!"  "They are your favorite, I just know!"  And your response is?  My response is "yep"  I don't always mean it, but if one of my kids is going to pull this crap, well, I only think it is best to agree with them and move on. 
In all seriousness, I admire any parent that can make all of their children feel equally loved and admired at all times.  I came from parents that could not do that and I am a parent that does not seem to do that.  Oh, I knew I was loved.  But there were times when I was not the most important.  And that was right.  With five children, there was bound to be times when one child needed a parent more, or pleased a parent more or (in my case) less and needed extra love or punishment.  It wasn't a matter of being the favorite, though Sheila and Dick were Mom's favorites.  It was a matter of putting a little more parenting where it was needed. 
Hayley is quite sure that she is not my favorite.  I tend to agree with her because how can I argue with her?  If I deny it, then I look guilty.  If I say nothing then she says I have no answer.  So I agree and, because she is my favorite, make her happy.
Ashlyn knows she is my favorite.   Whether she is or not, she just knows she is.  In other words, I don't think Ashlyn gives it much thought.  Maybe because she has known me longest, she knows that I do my best to love my three the best I can.  She knows that each one of my kids is my favorite.  I know it sounds like a cheap answer and it is, to an unfair question.
I have three very different children.  I cannot love them the same.  I love them the same amount - endless - but the love can be different for different reasons and at different times.
I remember having this overwhelming love and pride for Ashlyn at my mom's wake.  She was fifteen at the time.  Ashlyn and her cousin had stayed in the funeral home.  They spoke to people and represented the grandchildren quite gracefully.  Hayley and Jacob were outside a lot, being 13 and 10.  I didn't love them less, just differently.  More nervously as I knew they were out near the swans.  I loved them for being outside and enjoying themselves, for finding happy instead of sad.
Hayley has come into her own so much this past year.  She has found a career path that excites her and a young man that loves her.  She is a young woman with dreams and goals.  I cannot possibly love her the same as I love Ashlyn or Jacob because she is neither of them.  I can glow her her glow and be so proud of her as she makes these new and wonderful choices.
Jacob is loved in yet another way.  He is my son, so that is a different kind of love from daughters.  He is also growing into a young man so that love grows and shifts as well.  I love him as he discusses what his future holds.  I love him for his unashamed profession of his love for me. 
I don't have favorites.  With kids like these, it would be impossible to choose.  Honestly, truthfully, I love them all the same amount.  Bunches and bunches. 
So Hayley, just accept it, you are my favorite.  Except that I love Jacob more.  And Ashlyn, I love her a lot, too.

I'm Just Saying

That was going to be the title of my blog, but it was already taken.  So I switched it to Kind of Like Writing, but this blog is still just my thoughts and opinions.  My musings, much like Peggy Hill's, are ridiculous and have no basis in science.  I think what I think because of the life I have lead, the man I have married and the children that I have had.  My parents have also influenced my opinions a great deal, but my opinions often differed from my parents.
So yesterday I posted this status "have you ever had a status that was so true yet so polarizing that posting it would cause at least three fourths of your friends to delete you?"  I got some silly responses and some serious responses.  I tried to form in my mind exactly what I wanted to say that would not piss a lot of people off, but came to the realization that that was just not gonna happen so I said this.
"I haven't posted anything really offensive- I was just wondering if people ever had such a post. You know one about abortions or gun control or mental illness or the war or the president or the Dallas Cowboys or puppy mills or religion or prayers in school or creationism or aliens building pyramids or killing bin laden or waterboarding or violent video games or adventure time or Disney films or gay marriage or speed cameras or pot or personal responsibility. I was just wondering, that's all!"  I got nothing after that.
Facebook gets pretty darn opinionated after a national tragedy, during a war or election and in the week before the Super Bowl and during the game.  Hayley had made the comment that this was when she needed to avoid Facebook because it just drove her nuts!  I think she is correct.
I grew up around guns.  I watched war movies.  MASH was on daily, twice daily, thrice daily.  I, according to some doctors, have a mental illness.  I cut for over twenty years.  My son plays violent video games.  He has always known guns, his father carries one for a living.  My son does not publicly pray in school.  These are all reasons that have been given for the horrible actions taken by different people in recent months and years.  Horrible, horrific actions.  Actions that I cannot even comprehend.  Experts all over television and opinions all over Facebook point the finger at everything, everything but the persons that committed the acts.  Where is the personal responsibility?
A couple of years ago, a kid got really pissed off at a teacher in school, tried to throw an overhead projector at him, missed and hit my Jacob.  After that, I heard a lot of reasons why this kid did what he did.  He had issues and blah, blah, blah.  No one would just say that the kid was a shit and he needed to have been parented, not labeled.  He needed to take responsibility, not be coddled. 
Why can't there be more personal responsibility?  Why can't there be awful people that do not suffer from a mental illness?  Why can't they just be assholes, or pieces of shit, or evil? 

It's A Wonderful Life

Finally, after forty three years, I saw It's A Wonderful Life.  I was not prepared for the type of movie that it was.  I thought it was going to be incredibly sappy and without much entertainment value but I was in for a treat.  Jimmy Stewart is one of my favorites, Harvey being one of my top ten movies.  Though the character of George Bailey is not quite as enduring as Elwood P. Dowd (seriously, who could be) he struck a cord with me.
The obvious question after seeing this movie is Who would name their kid Zuzu?
The next obvious question is, what would the world you live in be like if you were never born?  I thought of that question and it's answer and, well, came to the conclusion that I have no idea.  Obviously, if I didn't work at Walgreens or the hardware store, or the paper route, someone else would have.  They would have given excellent customer service, would have bitched to their boss and would have replaced me pretty easily.  Oh, there would have been those moments, those customers that I connected with in such a way that someone else may not have, but from a stocking shelves and selling stuff point of view, life would have gone on. 
Life on Park Avenue would have been quite different indeed.  Now what I am about to say is not a plea for pity, it is the truth- life on Park Avenue would have been much simpler without the fifth Snow kid.  I mucked things up, I am well aware of that.  Oh, I was loved and spoiled and much appreciated, but if there would have never been me, my parents lives would have been much easier.  Of course, with out me, there would have been no trips to Germany...Anyway, the point I am trying to make is I never saved Dicky or Sheila from the pond.  I did not rescue puppies from burning buildings.  I did create a lot of angst and worry for my parents.  They could have done without that!
I think about Danny and the ripple he has had on the world.  I cannot begin to imagine the impact he has made.  Through the military and law enforcement, his impact is really quite, well, big.  Bigger than I can know.   I am often envious of Danny for this- he knows, at the end of his day, what he has accomplished.  Bad guy in jail.  Drunk off the street.  Meth no longer for sale.
Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob are only beginning their life long impacts.  I can very clearly see what would be missing in my life if one of them had not been born.  I don't know if they see it for themselves, I hope they do.  I hope that they see the light they bring, the joy, the laughter.  I pray that they continue to see the differences that they are capable of making in others lives. 
I could write for days on the wonderful lives of Danny and Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob.  But lets go back to me!
Here on Pleasant Street, well that is where I would be missed.  Who would have Barron loved?  Who would love and tolerate Harlow?  Would another woman had been able to love and support Danny the way that I do?  Would Danny and another woman had made such awesome kids?  That is a rhetorical question - it is an impossibility. 
I have a wonderful life.  Though I am not loaning money so that people can buy homes and escape the horrors of Potterville, I am being kind (usually) and helpful (sometimes) and hilarious (always).  I am never going to get a visit from Clarence.  I will not get to see the world without me.  In fact, none of us will ever get that.  None of us will never know all the impacts we make on a daily basis.  So I am going  to keep living my wonderful life and try to make the lives around me, well, wonderful as well.
Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

Last Night

Tonight is Danny's last night on overnights.  He has been on this shift since leaving the Army in October of 1998.  It has worked well for our family.  We didn't have to have babysitters in the summer or when the kids were home from school.  Danny would get home from work just as I was getting up for work.  We always had our evenings together.  We were always able to eat dinner together as a family. 
But it's time now to move on, move over.  Danny is going to days as a detective.  This is a regular shift, no nights, no weekends, no holidays.  Too weird.  Of course, he will be on call regularly and that will include nights, weekends and holidays.  And there will be times when the hours will be much longer than 9-5 or what ever his shift will be.  But for the most part, we will be normal.
I know that he is very excited for the new adventure.  I don't know if I am.  I joke about not wanting to share the bed or the late night tv, but it isn't that.  I just keep thinking he is going to miss hanging out with the scum of Des Moines.  I think he is going to miss the pleasant interactions that he is accustom to with meth heads and crack whores.  I think he will long for the days (nights) when the average client had a below average I.Q.  But then again, the idiots are not confined to the midnight hours.
Starting Monday, Danny puts on dress shirt and tie (and pants).  No more uniform.  No more uniform?  Not since 1989 has that happened.  I don't know what it is like to not have something with patches hanging in my closet.  It will be strange.  I will miss the sound of velcro every morning.  That sweet sound that Danny is home and is safe. 
I feel like we are starting something completely new.  No more leaving early from the party, or not even going because of work.  He can watch a Monday Night Football game to the end.  We won't be rushed each evening.  It will be a slight adjustment, but one that will be really quite grand.
But then there is Harlow.  She camps out next to my side of the bed.  Danny will kick her out the first night she snores.  Emmitt will lose his place on Danny's side of the bed.  Sophie will be kicked out because she knocks on the door at three in the morning to be let out.  Elsa can stay because she is a good night time kitty.  They will have a hard time adjusting, that is for certain.
So here it is, Danny's last night.  Good on ya sir!  See you in the morning.

I Am Running

Running, by definition, is not what I am doing.  There are no track athletes taking notice of my speed and form.  There is no one taking notice of my speed and form mainly because there is no speed and my form is pretty pathetic. 
But I am running.  I have started the couch to five kilometer program on my fancy pants phone.  The app tells me to warm up, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk,  cool down.  What I actually do is warm up, no problem there.  I have 80s rock in my old school headphones.  My ears are too little for ear buds so I am sporting the 80s type.  Nothing quite as cool as 70s rollerskating headphones, but its what works for me.  I am moving right along warming up and shit.  then she tells me to run.  And run I do.  Well, not lion is chasing me run, more of a good jog.  My form is good, I am breathing, nice stride.  And then the nice lady tells me to walk.  And walk I do.  We repeat this a couple of times and then something terrible happens.
I have taken a turn onto a hilly street and the bitch tells me to run.  Run my ass.  More like a shuffle.  And I don't mean Superbowl Shuffle.  I mean I cannot lift my legs to save my sorry self shuffle.  There is no form, no breathing, no stride.  I am actually moving backward and my breathing has become this gasping.  I feel like I should be pulling an oxygen tank to offset my unfiltered camels induced hacking (ok, that is a bit of an over exaggeration). 
And then we are friends again because she tells me it is time to walk.  She flips out on me one or two more times and I really try to run.  But I am moving slower than if I were walking.  It is frustrating.  It pisses me off.  It is the exact opposite of this elusive runner's high all the cool kids talk about.
Finally it is cool down time.  I am really good at the cool down time.  In fact, I pick it up a bit and am feeling pretty good.  In fact, I feel good enough to jog, but it isn't jog time, it is cool down time.  Being the rule breaker that I am not, I continue to walk, to cool down, to let my heart rate settle and my breathing return to normal.
I really want to quit.  I want to just walk.  I like to give up on things that are hard.  Hard is dumb.  Giving up is easy.  I like easy.  But in eight months time I have a ten mile obstacle course.  So hard or easy, I cannot quit.  In fact, I have to do a lot more than just learn to run.  I have to build my core strength so I don't blow my back.  I have to improve (and by improve I mean create some!) my upper body strength so I can pull myself over a wall.  I have to stretch so I don't pull a hammy. 
There is a basement full of just about everything I need to reach my goals.  I don't have a treadmill, but I can run outside until it gets cold and then I will switch it up to cardio indoors.  I have to.  I have to get this body in fighting shape because when this race is over I plan to start MMA fighting.  You know, or sit on the couch.

Hot Jesus, Hot Paul

So back in high school there was a portrait of Jesus in the chapel.  A close up of his face.  His completion clear of stubble, his rich brown hair feathered back from his face.  His eyes a piercing blue.  If it weren't Jesus, heck, if it were Jesus, this guy was cute.
Fast forward twenty five years later and a church group that I have joined.  I am not sure how it came up, I think one of the women either presented a prayer card with this image on it or had bought a larger framed print for their home.  Either way, I failed to have my filter on my brain or mouth and commented on the Hot Jesus.  No disrespect meant, and I hope no disrespect taken, because the man in this print is good looking.  And if we were all created in God's image and Jesus is God's Son well, you see where I am going with this.  Anyway, Hot Jesus.
Later the entire group was given prayer cards of Hot Jesus. 
Now in contrast to this Hot Jesus image was the teacher (killjoy) that described the times of Jesus as really rather un-hot.  She left us with an image of a filthy man who probably had lice.  He washed infrequently and walked every where in desert heat.  Now remember that it is a dry heat so, forget it, Jesus probably stank.  Dental hygiene, unheard of.  And well, you all get the picture.  Which is exactly why I want the picture of Hot Jesus. 
I don't want to think of anyone from the past like they actually would have been.  Marie Antoinette with chicken fat on her face to moisturize her skin.  Henry the eighth with his gaping open wound on this thigh, turkey leg juice dripping from his chin.  No thanks, give me the beautiful queen, the handsome, physically fit king.   Make my mental image of history like a 1930s Cecil B Demille film not some historically Oscar winner that makes me feel too queasy to enjoy my popcorn.
Now on to my other theory.  And this one is about Saul/Paul.  I think Paul was the first Teen Beat type heart throb.  Call me crazy (you won't be the first) but look at the facts.  And by facts I mean the stuff we know and guess about Paul and the life he lead.  By facts, I also mean by what seems more exciting than the truth! 
Fact- Paul was Saul, a roman soldier.  Roman soldiers are buff.  They are out there loping off heads with swords, wearing armor, riding horses.  Saul had the thighs and biceps of a bodybuilder.  Sword wielding would require great core strength.  Saul not only had a six pack, but I would venture to guess an eight pack.  So he was buff. 
Then there was the blinding and getting his ass thrown from the horse.  Practically smited, he had the good sense to change his ways and his name.  So now, not only was he ripped, he was sensitive and he was Paul.  Who doesn't like a guy named Paul.  (Sorry John, George and Ringo).
Paul travels around sharing the Good News of Jesus.  He comes into town, the girls are lining the streets weeping, screaming, swooning.  You know they were.  And then what does he do when he leaves?  He writes them.  Now he is buff, sensitive, thoughtful Paul.  No wonder he became so popular. 
Now before you gasp at the very idea that I would write and talk about Jesus and Paul in this manner, remember I mean no disrespect.  I have all the respect in the world for these two.  They were out there saving souls, mine included.  We all know what Jesus gave up, and Paul followed a very similar path.  Talking about these religious and historical people in such a common way makes them more real to me.  I like to think of Jesus laughing at Peter's antics.  Or Paul stopping at the papyrus store to pick up some new stationary.   After all, if we were all made in God's image then He must have a sense of humor as well.

Our Friend Bernie

This past Monday our family lost a dear and much loved friend.  Bernie Allard had been dating my dad for just over four years.  Her death was sudden and has left a gaping hole in our family.  Though I didn't know her nearly as well as my Cedar Rapids siblings did, I knew what she did.  She brought joy to my dad.  She brought wisdom to my sisters.  She brought a sense of grandma to my nieces and nephews. 
To me, she brought just a little bit of my mom to big, important family affairs.  For that little gift, I will always be grateful.  I don't know if they knew each other, my mom and Bernie.  (My dad and Bernie's deceased husband were classmates so they may have known each other a little).  Though I imagine that my mom has sought her out by now, up there in heaven.  I am sure that my mom has thanked her for her love and kindness that she gave us all.  Mom was big on thank you notes, but I don't think that is an option there.  Anyway, Bernie would sneak up to me at some point when I was particularly emotional and she would tell me "your mom would have loved this" or "your mom would be so proud".  And I would be so grateful for that.  For that simple gift.
Just two weeks ago my sister Crissy planned a surprise eightieth birthday party for Bernie.  All of my mom's sisters and brother were there.   That spoke volumes about how people felt about Bernie.  My mom's family loved her dearly because she was wonderful AND she was wonderful to my mom's family.  How lucky are we to see that kind of love?  Very lucky indeed. 
And at Bernie's wake, there were so many people there because of my dad.  There to share in his grief, in all of our grief.  My kids would ask me who I was talking to and I would explain that it was a guy that grew up across the street from our house.  Did he know Bernie they would ask.  Nope, I would tell them.  He knew us, and he knew we were hurting.  I think that made an impression on them.  Grief is shared, it makes the burden lighter. 
As I move forward from knowing Bernie Allard, I pray that I take with me her joy and humor.  Her love.  Her sense of style.  I pray that she continues to impact my life is gentle ways.  I pray that my dad finds comfort in her memory and that my siblings and family continue to rejoice in having had known her so well.  I pray that Bernie keeps an eye on us as we move through our lives. 
Thanks Bernie for your love and laughter. 

No Shave November

No Shave November is upon us and I am thrilled.  Oh, I don't participate.  I believe that leg shaving is a form of weight loss so I continue to shave throughout the year!  It is on for Danny, though.  Yes, Danny takes No Shave November very seriously.
Many of you may remember last year.  It was the first year that he really participated.  People were given the opportunity to sponsor his moustache.  The proceeds going to charity.  He raised a lot of money.  Last year Children's Cancer Connection benefited from a lot of bad facial hair.
Then there was the photo shoot.  Think 70s porn moustaches on a bunch of cops.  Pretty creepy but pretty freakin funny.  And, a lot of money raised for charity.  If you supported Danny's 'stache then you got the collage of horribly wonderful photos depicting Officer Danny White in 'stache action.
So here it is, November again.  And you all have the opportunity to sponsor his moustache again.  This year Danny and friends will be donating all of the No Shave November proceeds to Make a Wish of Iowa.  We happen to think the world of this organization.  They have taken very good care of us and many other families that we know.  I am very pleased and proud of these First Watch guys to chose to support this charity. 
So, here I go begging and pleading for your donation.  No, I am bribing you with a promise of a kick ass photo of Police Officer Danny White looking pretty freakin sweet.  Need more?  Well, I don't know what to tell you because it doesn't get much better than this.
You support the 'stache and Make a Wish gets the cash!

KC 909

I remember it as always a part of my existence.  The Club.   As a child there were the Christmas parties, old cartoons on a movie screen.  A visit from Santa.  A pre-made mesh stocking filled with candy and fruit.  It is where my own daughters met Santa for the first time, safely from the arms of Grandpa Snow.  Ashlyn in 1991, Hayley two years later.
The Club.  A long, low building on A Ave and 8th Street.  The front of the building, brick and glass.  The back, buried.  The parking lot nearly to the roof. We always used the back door.  Big, heavy metal door that blocked the outside smells and sounds of Quaker oats and the interstate from the smells and sounds of the KC hall.  The sounds, clinking of glass, the conversations, the occasional " for Christ's Sake!"  the clomp of kids' shoes on the worn wood floor.  But it was the smell of grease and beer and time that marked the KCs .  It is a smell that is not describable, but ask a Snow, a Fagan, a Derby and they will know exactly what I am referring to.
The Club was, aside from the bathrooms and office, five spaces.  The hall, where the tables ran in long rows covered with white paper, metal chairs pushed up against them, six to a side.  There was a stage at the far end.  Steak frys, fish frys, parties, receptions, even weddings took place in this hall.
Running the length of the building at the front was another room that was a wall of windows covered with sheer panels.  Kids wrapped themselves up in those curtains while parents sat at the long tables, or at the bar.  It was ok.  It was somebody's kid and really, no damage was done.  This room was tag, and hot lava and a place for naps.  One wall held row after row of photos.  Old Knights, many in black and white print.  Horned rimmed glasses, flat tops.  If you would have asked me, all head knights looked exactly like Vince Lombardi.
Along the back of the club was the kitchen , the bar and the card room.  I never went into the kitchen as the club was full of men and they seemed to have everything under control.  The bar, that was my favorite.  The regulars sitting around tables, shooting the shit.  I was a Little Snow.  Annie.  Bob's daughter.  I would climb up on the bar stool, order a Shirley Temple, extra cherries.  It was grand.  As I grew, I grew to know more of the people there.  People from my childhood and from my siblings' childhood,  People that knew me forever.  And it was great. 
Next to the bar was the card room.  I don't really know what the room was for, but there were plenty of round tables in there, it was usually a little quieter in there compared to the bar and in later years, there was a pool table.  It was another place to hang out, to chat with the IC people, the KC people, the people of my childhood.  The Fagans and Derbys and Bears.  Others I didn't know by name but knew just the same. 
My sister, Sheila told me that the KCs had been sold.  Another one of those places that belong in my past, but not in my future, I suppose.  So much of Cedar Rapids is like that for me now.  The place of my past.  I never thought I would really move away from there, that I would always feel like it was home, but it is now a city that I hardly recognize.  Sheila didn't know what was going to happen to the building.  Or the guys that call it home on Friday and Saturday nights. 
My sister Crissy was married there, at 909.  My parents celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary there.  I spent nearly every Friday evening of my childhood lents there and many other Fridays, as well.    It is where I developed my love of beer battered fish.  Because of 909, I am a seafood snob.  It is where my mother fiercely defended me as a young mom with a deployed husband.   That particular story goes like this:  Mom was holding Ashlyn, who was somewhere between three and nine months, Danny was deployed and I was at the bar.  When I came back to Mom, she was talking to a lady that I didn't know.  Mom introduced me as Ashlyn's mom. The lady made a comment about my age in relation to me being a mom.  It was the one time I got to see Rita get riled up about my life and she put this lady in her place.  In that way, The Club was my redemption center!
So I file away these memories.  And to The Club, The KCs, 909 or whatever else you may want to call it, I say God bless and thanks.

September is National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month

It is the end of September which means the end of my September is National Children's Cancer Awareness Month campaign on Facebook.  Was it well received?  I don't know that I care.  It was important to me to revisit this month four years ago.  It was important to me to revisit all that a child's cancer brought to my life, and took from it. 
When I was little there was a girl that had cancer.  I don't remember what kind for sure, but I think leukemia.  When I went outside to play, she stayed inside.  I don't remember her dying, but I know that she did.  I imagine it was too difficult for my parents to explain the death of a child to me.  It is still too difficult for the death of a child to be explained to me. 
You all know Ashlyn's story, our story.  I repeat it often because hers is a story of strength and faith.  It is a story of our community wrapping their arms around us and doing all that they could possibly do to make sure we were ok.  It is a story about a family that has been a team, an undefeatable team for over 22 years. 
I know that there are a million and one charities that are worthy of your money.  But when you are asked to donate to Curesearch. Make a Wish, Child Life, St Jude's or any number of other children's charities, please know that you are giving in the name of people like Ashlyn who is in her third year of remission, is an honor student at ISU, has traveled to Europe, volunteered with Dance Marathon, and continues to live her life fully.  You are also donating in the name of people like Ella who will forever be five years old.  A child that took on cancer with such a zest for living that we all were sure that she would survive.  On the day that Ashlyn and I last visited her, she should have been wiped out in bed but instead, had sheets and blankets draped over chairs and IV poles.  She and her sister had created a mess of a town in her hospital room.  She went to Kansas City for a transplant.  It all became too much for her little body.  If you ask Ashlyn, she will tell you that she will always make forts.
So, I wrap up this month with one last thing.  September is National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.  For many every day is an awareness.  Cancer can be treated, it can go into remission, a person can be declared cancer free.  But what it does to a person, to their family, to their faith, it lasts a lifetime.  I will not speak for Ashlyn or for Hayley, Jacob or Danny, but for me cancer only intensified the incredible family bond that we have.  Cancer brought me back to faith, brought me back my mom, brought me a feeling of overwhelming grace and peace and understanding.  Understanding that everyone has a struggle, a fight, a battle and that these wars we wage or that are waged against us have no measure. 

53 Years Ago

I am a day late with this post.  I knew that yesterday was the fifty third anniversary of my parents marriage and that could have easily been the subject of my blog about faith and trust.  Ashlyn and Hayley's stories needed to be told though. 
September 12, 1959 my dad hit the jackpot.  Don't get me wrong, he was a good looking guy.  But my mom, my mom was a knock out.  Just today at work when someone complimented me, I said I owe it all to my parents.  If you think I am pretty, you should've seen my mom.  She was stunning.  Sometimes it takes my breath away, that black hair and ivory skin.  And she was pretty tall and was lucky enough to live in the world of sixties dresses.  Not that hippy crap but the tailored, darted, fitted numbers that just made a woman look fantastic.
I am amazed and in awe of what my parents were able to achieve as husband and wife, parents and partners.  I wish I knew more about their early years.  I wish I knew more about their courtship.  I have romanticized that, I am sure.  My dad in his cuffed jeans.  My mom in her white nurse's cap. 
My mom was twenty three, my dad nearly twenty six when they married.  They were parents less then a year later.  They bought their first and only home within the next two years.  They raised five children there.   All went to Catholic school, first through twelfth.  There was never a moment that I remember wanting for food, for clothing, for anything.  We were not rich by any means, but we were provided for. 
I think back now to their fortieth wedding anniversary party, the summer of 1999.  The dementia had already taken ahold of Mom.  Someone always stayed close to her that day to help her with names.  There were a lot of people there so I don't blame her for being overwhelmed.  I remember that day as being so much fun.  So much life and laughter in the KC Hall that afternoon.  How blessed my parents were to be surrounded by so many friends and family.
I don't ever remember them fighting.  They must have though.  Maybe their opposite sleep schedules just didn't allow for a big row so they said their peace as they met each other on the stairs.  I don't know.  They loved each other.  That I know.  I knew it more by their actions then their words.  I wish I would have paid attention more to their love, learned from it. 
So here I am, all because two people fell in love.

Cheers to Bob and Rita Snow.  Married on September 12, 1959 at St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Fairfax.  The bride was stunning and the groom was grinning from ear to ear. 

An Act of Faith, Part Two

So the story I told talked about worth and trust. 
I did not have a lot of trust in the Lord.  I was one of those that thought it was some sort of tit for tat game with Him.  If I said my prayers then He would answer them.  You know what I am talking about.  Ask and I shall receive.  Well, like all things in life, it is not that simple.
Sometimes I think it took something huge to wake me up to the love of God.  Apparently a war and the death of my mom weren't huge enough for me to see the love.  Knowing what I know now, the love was there.  It was always there but that worth thing I talked about earlier, well the lack of worth tends to make someone see a lack of love.  That was me anyway.  I couldn't always see the love that was around me.  Or if I did see it, I thought it was only there because of Danny and the kids. 
Ok, back to the point of today's blog, trust.
Forgive me Ashlyn if I tell too much.  It's just that this part of your story is so powerful.  It brings me to tears whenever I think of it. 
Trust or Faith or what ever you would like to call it was taught to me at about this time, four years ago.  Ashlyn had been diagnosed with acute myloid leukemia.  She was seventeen.  I believe that traditionally, seventeen is one of those completely self absorbed years.  The life's not fair, why me phase.  It was for me.  Anyway, back to the real story.  Ashlyn had had enough of her weepy, mopey parents.  How were we to fight this if we were too weak to get through the first weekend?  We were the Whites.  We bucked up and soldiered through all kinds of crap.  Right?  Right.
Ashlyn, one of the wisest people I know, had learned a very valuable lesson while teaching religious education with a friend of hers, Anne.  Anne was very knowledgeable about the bible and was able to share a story with the children that they taught.  It was a story about how Jesus did not want us to worry.  He was there for us and would help us carry our burdens.  You can look it up, 1 Peter 5: cast all your worries upon him because he cares for you.  I looked it up, I know how to do that now!
So Ashlyn, freshly diagnosed with a very rotten disease tells me that "Jesus does not want us to worry so I gave this diagnosis to Him."  Simple as that.  Ashlyn trusted the plan.  She didn't understand it, maybe.  I certainly didn't.  But I thought if she was brave enough or smart enough to hand it over then who was I to hold on to this burden.  I said the words aloud.  As hokey as it sounds I told the Lord that this was His.  And even hokier, a weight was lifted from me, physically, I felt lighter. 
From that moment on, cancer did not seem so great.  There was something greater happening here.  I didn't really know what it was.  But the Lord showed His hand pretty quickly when the phone and doorbell started to ring.
We were flooded with love.  You know what I am talking about.  The good old fashioned casserole kind of love.  For almost a year, we were provided for in one way or another.  I could write forever on the kindness and love of our community.
So Ashlyn taught me my first very important lesson in trust.  It was Hayley who would teach me the second most important lesson.  I raised very smart children.
Hayley took the news of Ashlyn very hard.  She needed to come home from school even though Ashlyn stayed.  I think she felt pretty helpless.  I suppose there was that fear of death that everyone has when they hear cancer. 
Hayley and I were in the car.  She asked me about treatment for Ashlyn.  We hadn't met with the doctors yet so I didn't know the plan, but knew that a bone marrow transplant (had no idea what that was) was something doctors did along with chemo and radiation.  Mind you, I didn't know what any of this was, I watched a fair amount of doctor shows, this was all seat of my pants conversating.  So I say that a bone marrow transplant might be something we would do.  Hayley (who has no recollection of this conversation, but I will never forget) says "And that's where I come in."  We would find out later that Hayley was the perfect match.  She must have always known. 
Now, there is never a why me.  I don't understand the plan, but I trust it.  And if it turns out that there is no God and this is all a random lucky collection of happenings, I will still trust God.  Because Faith is believing without seeing.  Trust is knowing without seeing. 

An Act of Faith

I had the opportunity to spend the weekend on a religious retreat.  During this retreat I was able to share my faith journey with the group.  Though my subject was reconciliation, that was just a small portion of my story.  My faith story is about trust and worth.
I have come to terms with my worth.  My worth is quite high.  As is yours and his and hers.  Why wouldn't be?  Why shouldn't it be?  We are incredible people full of grace and kindness, brilliant ideas and marvelous creations.  We were created in His image.  We are really quite spectacular.
It makes me sad when people don't see their worth.  That was me at 13, 27, 35.  I have the scars to prove it.  I can say that it was outside opinions that formed my ideas of my worth, but it really isn't.  Now, I use a lot of self depreciating humor but I know that I am the cat's meow, the bees knees, I am the shit, a rockstar, freakin awesome.  I can also tell you that I am not all things to all people.  I have many failings, more than I can count.  But those two facts do not take away from all that I am.  And I would expect the rest of you to view yourself in a similar way.
Maybe I am terribly conceited.  I am full of sin.  I should be humble and contrite.  I should lift others up while I keep myself respectably down.  But I won't.  Oh, I will lift you up because you are equally amazing.  There is a very good chance that you are more amazing.  In fact, I will just say it.  You are more amazing than you can possibly know!  But I will not keep myself down.  I will tell you that I baked that wonderful cake you are enjoying because it is a gift given to me from my mom.  I will tell you that is my section at work that looks GOLD (grand opening look daily) and to not muck it up.  I will thank you when you have appreciated my story because it is a gift that God has given me that I am required to share. 
I know that I cannot do whatever I like.  I cannot play professional basketball or be a rockette or a great number of other things.  So I do what I can do with more gusto, with more care, with the effort that will show its and my worth.  I spent too many years not doing any of what I wanted because I didn't think I was good enough.  That, my friends, is the sin.
Just this weekend, I woman I find to be stunningly smart and beautiful told me that I should get paid for my blogs.  I don't need the money after a compliment like that.  That would be really cool, to get paid to write, but it is so much cooler to know that what I have to say is being heard and being filed away in a heart for later use.
Sometimes, often times, I think it is important to stop and count the gifts that God has given me.  I have had that opportunity a lot lately because these women I mentioned earlier have told me.  I will admit that I don't see myself as the beacon of faith that they see, but I am.  I have faith.  That is a gift.  I believe in a power greater than myself.  And I believe that this power that is greater than everything loves me.  He really does.  He made me and forgave me and He gives me a million and ten chances to fail.  And He never thinks I am worthless.  He never points to my scars and says that I should have tried harder.  He points to my scars and He reminds me that I had to put them there to get here.  To get to this spot where I can see what I am worth.  To Him and to myself and to all those around me. 
My worth is more than the stars in the sky.  I hope I remember that always.  That I keep instilling that in my family, my friends, in everyone I pass along the way.  That we are all worth it.  We are all valuable.  We are all rockstars!

Things That'll Get Me Fired

So I don't usually talk about work on this blog because I don't really associate myself with my job.  It doesn't define me, man.  And, I don't want to say anything here that might get me in trouble there.  I do enough of that there.  But we had a visit from one of the slightly higher ups today and I noticed that my boss keeps me at arm's length during those visits.  I think he is terrified by what I will say.  But honestly, what can I say that hasn't already been said in retail America?  What kind of bitch will I bring forth that hasn't been bitched to death?  And I don't want to be that person that only has the negative.  There isn't much fun in that.
That being said- I have great fear for the future of retail.  Not so much for the store but for the shopper.  All of the work is going to be shifted on to them.  First it was coupons.  Less and less coupons were being offered in the Sunday paper.  People had to go online, put their email address into a million and one different websites, sift through pages of worthless coupon offers like a free 8x10 at Sears to find that one $1.00 off Dove deodorant.  After they find the coupon, they have to print it off at home.  Have you noticed how those coupons can use a whole sheet of paper.  Now you are saving 99cents.  If you factor in your time, you are in the hole.  Sometimes a pretty deep one, at that.  I talked to a lady today that said couponing was her hobby but that she found no joy in it.  That is sad. 
Next is the wallet full of cards one must carry to get the deals, sales, rewards, points etc.  Luckily most of them link to a phone number so I don't have to carry all these cards.  I absolutely love the idea of stores knowing what I buy and when.  I imagine some creepy, pasty guy sitting in a room full of monitors reviewing my six month purchases.  He will see that I bought work out clothes at Sports Authority and Reeses Peanut Butter cups at Walgreens.  Then he reviews my movie purchases and decides that I am some sort of weirdo that watches a lot of Disney movies while drinking Banquet Beer. 
Anyway, back to things that'll get me fired. 
I am not in support of these programs.  I am in support of helping the consumer get a decent price in a decent amount of time.  I can not be the cheerleader of up in your business store cards.  It is redonk.  When a person comes in for a pack of smokes and some slim jims, he does not want to go through hoops to save 49cents.  He just wants to buy his shit for the price on the ad tag and be on his merry way to lung cancer and heart disease.
We have been encouraged to raise money for various charities.  That is great, it really is but they are not charities that I want to support.  I don't want to pay ten bucks to wear jeans to work so our store can raise X amount of dollars for whatever the case may be.  I want to wear my very inexpensive khaki pants that I don't care about.  I do not want to ruin the super cool trouser jeans that Ashlyn gave me for Christmas.  I truly believe that my charity dollars are my charity dollars and I should not feel pressured to give in a way that does not sit right with me.  Now one of these charities directly effects a person that donated blood when Ashlyn was sick so in a blood for money type of deal, I will donate.  But you can bet that the check will be written out to the charity, not my store.  I will get the tax benefit!
But the things that will really get me fired is my constant litany of insubordinate comments.  Comments about the inconsistencies in policy and procedure.  They are all petty comments about dress code, reading magazines, eating on the sales floor etc.  But these type of inconsistencies lead to other greater inconsistencies.  People get fed up, work doesn't get done and all of a sudden a whole lot of shit hits the fan and the good employees are left to clean it up.  Literally, by the way.  One afternoon, a little old lady has a biological mishap in the aisle.  Bless her heart, she tried to clean it up, but it was cleaned up by an employee instead.  This employee handled the situation with dignity and did all she could to help this little old lady.  When the management heard about it, there was no atta girl.  In fact there was no comment made.  How much above and beyond does an employee go for a customer?  People want to feel appreciated by the people they work with and for.  They want the public to understand that they don't make the decisions and most often, are not happy about them either. 
I have been trying to get fired for twelve years, but they keep putting up with me because I do a pretty decent job for them and oddly, customers like me. 
I hope consumers get fed up with all the hoops that they must jump through at stores.  I hope a string of angry letters head to corporate headquarters.  I hope there is a trend to return to stores that value their customers even if the price is slightly higher.  I hope the stores that used to put their customers and employees first will return to that practice.  I hope I don't get fired in the meantime!

Really Cool Parents

That is what the tipsy high school teacher told Jacob last night as we were leaving the Def Leppard-Poison concert. 
And she is correct.  We are really cool parents.  Not only did we have the good sense to grow up in the best music decade (Beatles fans, shut it.  Not even going to discuss it.  I enjoy The Beatles very much but this is my blog.   And they don't tour anymore.) ever, we had the better sense to get you listening to it from womb, on.
I learned early on the Bat Out of Hell sooths a screaming child.  I would turn the bass up and that thump, thump, thump would shhsh a screaming Ashlyn.  For Crying Out Loud was her favorite.  It worked so well with her that I used it all on the kinder.  Forget pacifiers, I gave them Meatloaf.
In their formative years, we listened to a lot of 80s New Wave.  It was still popular in Germany so it was easy to find mixed CDs.  Jacob could tell you the first song played on MTV before he could recite his ABC's.  He could stump his seventh grade teacher with the second song ever played on MTV (Pat Benatar, You Better Run). 
We took the kids to their first concert at Newton Speedway in 2007.  It was Summer Jam featuring Veins of Jenna, Great White, Dokken, Ratt and Poison.  The first time Hayley heard Every Rose has a Thorn live was the first time she really understood life, love and hurt.  Pretty profound moment there in the stands! 
Since that fateful day in 2007, there have been many more concerts.  Another Summer Jam.  Tesla, where we got to hobknob with the band because Danny is buddies with Troy.  There was KISS in Minnesota for Danny and Jacob.  They put on the full make up for that show.  They saw KISS again this summer with Motley Crue. Jacob, Danny and I saw Def Leppard and Heart last year at the fair.   The boys also saw Van Halen this summer.  Ashlyn, Hayley and I saw Backstreet Boys last summer in Chicago.  That was unreal!  Of course, there is at least one Hairball show a year where we see all our favorites at once!
I think how lucky we are to be able to share this with our kids.  Had my parents been able to take me to the concerts of their favorites, I think I would have seen some Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra.  How amazing that would have been.  But Dean was dead and Frank wasn't touring.  My parents just didn't have that opportunity.  I did see Barry Manilow with my mom when I was in the 6th grade.  I hope I didn't act embarrassed to be with her.  I got the tickets for my birthday.  It was my first concert and it was pretty great. 
So anyway, back to being really cool parents.  I corrected the teacher last night, even after Jacob agreed with her.  Danny and I, we have really cool kids.  I can't quite convey the pride I have when I see them fist pumping to Pour Some Sugar on Me or swaying slowly to Every Rose has its Thorn,  knowing full well who hurt Brett Micheals, but willing to ask the question again.  A family of five in their band t shirts, devil horns in the air.  I can't imagine it any better until...
Def Leppard slowed it down a bit and did a mix of songs including Two Steps Behind.  I didn't remember it the first time I saw them, but when they started playing it this time, it became an instant favorite.  A bit of the lyrics go something like
 Whatever you do - I'll be two steps behind you
Wherever you go - and I'll be there to remind you
That it only takes a minute of your precious time
To turn around, I'll be two steps behind
While Joe Elliot is belting this out, Jacob is taking two steps behind his sister to get to me.  There in front of ten thousand people, Joe Elliot, Brett Micheals and God, Jacob gives me a big hug and tells me he loves me. 
So if all the rock and roll words are true and
 life really is nothing but a good time
and You keep on shoutin', you keep on shoutin'
I wanna rock and roll all night and party everyday
then it will be as a family that we
Rise up, gather round, rock this place to the ground!
Hell yeah! 

Snarky

Snarky, one of my most favorite words, is defined as crotchety or snappish.  Sarcastic and irreverent are words also used to describe snarky.  But are they words that I would use to describe myself?
Well, that is where it gets tricky, but I don't think of myself as crotchety.  In a few years I plan to be very crotchety.  I plan to be the poster child of crotchety.  I plan to load my cart up with crotchety and push it slowly around the store, stopping frequently in the card aisle and in the candy aisle.  In both, I will lament about the high prices of everything, will buy the generic cards that come in the mixed box and will browse for candy that hasn't been made in twenty years.  I will then push my cart to the make up aisle and gasp at the vulgar colors of nail polish, forgetting that I wore those colors during my youth. 
Snappish?  Me?  I don't think so.  I flip out from time to time, but I don't think that I am ever snappish.  Oh, wait, snappish is what I am right before someone continues to piss me off and I then I just move up to bitchy.  Snappish is kind of like that point in a cat fight where the paw is drawn and the ears are back.  I am frequently snappish.
But sarcastic?  Never.  I cannot think of one single moment where I have been sarcastic or irreverent.  Sometimes I am so reverent that I think I will find my photo in my saints book.  Ok, not my photo but a Byzantine tile likeness of me. 
Anyway, back to me being snarky.  I am, of course.  I don't know how to not be snarky.  I have tried.  I can keep my thoughts to myself, but it is in my thoughts that the snarky runs wild.  And sometimes they do escape out my mouth and I hurt feelings or I surprise innocent bystanders or I just sound like a bitch.
But there are the times when I am really and truly being nice.  The times when I mean the kind words I say.  The times when I want to be helpful and gentle and, well, not snarky.  But no one seems to believe me.  I suppose that's my own doing.  As I meet new people, I try to keep the snarky in check, just a little, so they like me before they really know me.  That's tricky, not snarky.
Like most Snarks, I have developed this habit to protect my insecurities.  It's hard to get hurt if I'm the one deflecting all the insults back out into the masses.  It is hard to take that good long look in the mirror if I am too busy looking at everyone else.  That's a little too deep for a Thursday evening.  And I am a little too realistic to buy into that particular bag of blah blah blah!  Nowadays, I am snarky because I am good at it.  And I don't really think I could change now.  What is it that Goethe says?  " "I call architecture frozen music."  No, not that, though he does say that.  What an odd thing to say, that's like me saying "I call Popsicles frozen kool aid" and people quoting me and shit.  Anyway, Goethe says  "If God had wanted me otherwise, He would have created me otherwise."

 

By the by, if I were a saint, which isn't to say that I won't be someday, I would like to be the patron saint of snarky people.  My medal would be of me snickering...

All's Quiet on the West Des Moines Front

It is 2116 on a Saturday night.  Danny is busy doing homework.  Jacob is out roaming the neighborhood with Robert.  They were going to walk up to Hy Vee.  I suspect he will get some cookies and a Red Bull or some awful combination like that.  He is sporting new back to school clothes.  He looks sharp!
Harlow is in the yard.  I can hear her dog tags clink together as she dinks around.  It won't be long before she is at the back door.  She will sense that I am lonely for a busy house again.  She will lumber around the first floor for a bit, then get tired and camp out on the landing.  Every once in a while, she will come check on me.  Emmitt and Elsa have been doing that as well.  Checking on me, not lumbering.  Cats don't lumber.  Physically impossible, something to do with pride.
I made the mistake of watching graduation videos.  A five song trip down memory lane for both Ashlyn and Hayley.  Inevitably, I started thinking about Jacob's video, which won't be made for twenty months or so.  Not that I am counting or anything like that.  Because I am not counting the days until my boy leaves.  In fact, I plan to enjoy all (most) of the days I have with him until he heads off to leave his impact on the world!
The girls are living off on their own.  Ashlyn in an apartment.  Hayley in a dorm.  I won't say that they don't need me anymore, because I know they do.  They need the comfort and security of home when the world gets kinda ugly.  They need a sounding board.  They need a cozy bed.  They need hugs that they can only get from me.  But at the same time, they are forging their way in the world, making decisions we know nothing about.  They are astounding me with their all growed up behaviors. 
I won't be melancholy for long, in fact, I am not even that melancholy.  It's just that the quiet is weird. 

Who Will Love Emmitt

He is hiding under a table right now because Harlow is barking.  Poor Emmitt.  He is scared and not really happy.  Ashlyn left today and Hayley leaves tomorrow.  All he is left with is Jacob and that is no comfort at all. 
I know how he feels.  Because not only did Emmitt lose his momma, but I lost my Lynnie to the bright lights of Ames.  She will be busy fixing up her apartment, cheering on her Cyclones and doing all her big girl homework.  I will be missing her as will Emmitt.  He will probably miss her more, but not really because anyone can kind of scratch him behind the ears correctly, but not everyone can keep me in check like Ashlyn can.  No one has ridiculous hard and fast rules like I do (except Jacob!).  No one will remember to feed Harlow when I forget. 
But don't feel sorry for us, we did this to ourselves.  "The world is yours to explore and love and blah blah blah.  You can do anything, go anywhere, be anyone!  Seize the carp and all that crap!"  We didn't think she was listening.  We didn't think she would go.  All that roots and wings talk is a bunch a bull when it is your daughter that has wings. 
But I would not have clipped them, even if I could have.  I knew this day would come again and again and again.  And every time she packs up, I get sad and happy.  Sad for all the obvious reasons, but happy because we did it.  We watched her grow such beautiful wings.  We see her fly to college and Chicago and London and beyond.  And we don't forget that there was a time when things were different.
But that brings us back to the age old question, Who Will Love Emmitt? 
I will love him when he bursts into a room hollering about God only knows.  I will love him when he grips my neck tight like a monkey, purring in my ear.  I will love him when he gets cantankerous and a tummy rub quickly escalates into a fierce bare knuckles brawl.  I will.

What Cures Olympic Fever?

If we are friends on Facebook then you know that I have had the fever.  I absolutely love the Olympics and this year has been extra special since we were just in London.  There is great fun is screaming "We were there" at the television as scenes of London are shown.   Ashlyn took us out to the Olympic park area to show us the stadium.  There was a new mall across the way and we got to see the stadium, pool and that crazy sculpture that really has nothing to do with these games.  Ashlyn feels particularly attached to these games because London was home for four months and she celebrates the success of these games with her adopted town!
It is no secret that I am just an average gal.  There was never going to be an Olympic gold in my future.  I didn't have any amazing talent.  I certainly never had the drive.  I am a fan.  And I am a pretty good one at that. 
When we lived in Germany, we were able to watch a lot of the 1996 Olympics on SKY TV.  It was such a different perspective to watch an American Olympics being broadcast by the British.  It was the first time that we saw any of the horse events or rowing.  And all told with those brilliant accents and catch phrases, like brilliant.  This was the first Olympics that Ashlyn and Hayley would watch.  We cheered as a family. 

I cannot imagine what it takes to get to the Olympics.  Bob Costas and friends try to show us some of what a family must give up to help their kid reach this point, but there is no way to grasp that financial and emotional commitment that everyone makes.  Danny and I were not prepared for this kind of commitment when Ashlyn and Hayley had dreams of being the first golds in pairs gymnastics.  One can still feel the bitterness in the room when the subject is brought up.

This year, I am repeatedly struck by the humility of the athletes. And the joy. I have lost count the number of times that I have welled up. From the opening ceremonies to Phelps last race, it has been a bit of a ride!
The United States should be very proud of her showing this year.  I love that the dream team basketball players walked in the opening ceremony.  My opinion of pro basketball players has certainly changes since watching them soak up the moments!  I am so freakin proud of our athletes.  I just cannot get over them.  How will I wait for two more and four more years?
I love that the Royals are sitting in the stands, cheering, hugging and being a part of the event. I love that Sir Paul led the stadium in a round of "All you need is love" shortly after Jessica Ennis won the gold for the heptathlon. I love that the floor sweepers at the volleyball games appear to be choreographed! I love that The Spice Girls came together to Spice Up My Life!  Well done London!
 You should all be very proud of the Games you put on. 
But what is to become of me?  What is to become of my Union Jack that flew for two weeks beneath the Stars and Stripes?  What shall I watch and how shall I cheer?  When will I know that Bob has said something stupid?  Pro football has started, that helps.  And I suppose I could actually do some of my to do list.  But somehow my days seem emptier without rowing and swimming and volleyball and water polo and judo and table tennis and gymnastics and men's gymnastics and diving and discus and 100m and 200m and race walking and heptathlon and archery and handball and trampolining and dressage and skulling and steeplechase and every other event I managed to watch. 
So I must wait two long years for Sochi and four much longer years for Rio...will that be enough for me to get over my loathing for Bob Costas?

Texas Cake

I have a potluck tonight so I am, of course, making Texas Cake.  Texas cake is a very simple cake to make and one that I have known all my life.  My mom used to make it for so many events.  Family picnics, church potlucks, just because in the summer when the milk went sour.  In fact, I am pretty sure that the potluck alphabet divisions were done in such a way that S always brought dessert so that Mom would bring Texas cake or pie.  She often brought both.
From a young age I learned that a potluck or picnic required, yes required a home made dish from my mom.  Forget that fact that she worked a full time job and had five kids running amok.  She always brought a homemade dish, usually several.  As the kids grew older, it would fall on Crissy to make something if Mom had to work, but it was always homemade.  Of course, the only things we would usually eat at the potluck was the food my mom brought, I suppose that is why she always made meatloaf as well.
One of my fondest sound memories is the sounds coming from the kitchen and patio on the morning of the Martin Picnic.  I have no idea what time Mom and Dad got up, long before me, I am sure.  I usually woke up to the sound of Dad on the patio with milk cartons filled with ice.  Ever thrifty, Mom and Dad would fill the empty cartons with water and freeze so they didn't need to buy ice later. Dad would be out on the patio, cigarette hanging from his lip, cup of steaming coffee nearby, banging on the junk of ice.  The cooler would be at the ready to take the ice that would keep the potato salad cool on the way to Hannen Lake. 
Coming down the stairs, I would hear the sounds coming from the kitchen.  The squeak of the sifter handle, the scrap of the leveler on the big wooden cutting board.  The chop chop chop of pickles for the salad. 
The smells would hit at the landing.  The vinegar of the potato salad, the cinnamon of the pie, the brown sugar of the beans.  And the smells didn't mix but each held its own place in the air.  The decent down the stairs bringing a new and mouth watering scent into the nose.  By the time I hit the kitchen door, I knew all that we were taking.  Texas cake, apple pie, baked beans, potato salad and meat loaf. 
Then I would be spotted and put to work.  Usually it was something simple like gathering up my swimsuit and towel and rolling the swimsuit into the towel.  I would try to get out of the house to help Dad because he never put me to work.  All of us kids would be dinking around.  Creating more havoc then help. 
After all was baked and cooked and chilled, the pack up began.  All pans, bowls, spoons and spatulas were labeled with SNOW on medical tape and black felt tip pen.  There are still dishes at home with these pieces of tape on them, or the permanent residue of where the tape once was.  My dad would wrap the meat loaf and beans in newspaper, multiple layers to keep in the heat.  Cooler packed, hot box packed, picnic basket packed, kids packed.  That was the toughest part, who got window, who got way back.  Who sat by Sheila as she bounced. 
This is the part of the story where I get teary eyed.  When I think about my mom and all the little gifts she has left me to unwrap as I grow.  Years from now, my kids won't have this memory because there were no more family picnics.  People became too busy for church socials and school potlucks.  But maybe they will tell their kids about Great Grandma Snow and the great cook she was, her apple pies far superior to anyone's.  Yes, anyone's.  In a homemade crust of flour and lard. 
The Texas cake is cooling.  My heart is warm with my memories.  Hugs from great aunts that I didn't know.  Getting to drink Pepsi from a bottle.  walking on the rocks to get to the lake.  Burning my butt on the hot slide.  Cousins and food.  Funny how Texas cake can bring all that right back to the surface. 

Happy Birthday Jacob!

Today is the seventeenth birthday of my son, Jacob. 
Often the subject of my blogs, Jacob is a real treat.  On a daily basis he brings new and interesting ideas into my life.  And by new and interesting, I mean odd.  He infuriates and entertains.  Jacob is truly one of a kind.
In his seventeen years, Jacob has not always been the center of attention.  In fact, he as often been the one in the background keeping it all together.  I will forever remember that little guy of nine that took such good care of me while Danny was in Iraq.  He would stand on the bottom step so when he gave me a hug, I could put my head on his shoulder.  Now when he gives me a hug, I have to get on my toes to put my head on his shoulder.
While Ashlyn went through treatment and Hayley geared up to save her, Jacob never acted up.  I know that it had to be hard on him to be neither sick or savior, but his good behavior was a Godsend in such a time.  I would not have been so sweet.  I would have clamored for attention, good or bad.  Jacob took care of what he could the best he could.  A real stand up guy.
And now he is in the thick of his teenage years.  Jacob is beginning to give his future some semi-serious thought.   The world is wide open for kid like him as long as he isn't afraid to give it a sot.  Jacob is funny and smart.  He says ridiculous things all the time.  He is pretty good with numbers.  He does not serve idiots well.  I think he ought to be a game show host or a therapist. 
So we celebrated his birthday today with gifts and dinner, a movie and cake.  Jacob wanted a Lego cake, not a Megablocks cake.  I haven't made him an actual birthday cake in several years and now he wants a theme cake!  We went to Abe Lincoln, Vampire Killer.  It was a historical fiction.  Dinner was at Lonestar.  The presents, two foam rockets from Harlow.  A 12 pack of Hawaiian Punch from Brett.  A banjo from the rest of us.  He was very excited for all of it.  I quit buying the canned HP so that was a real treat.  Jacob has already been learning the opening of Rainbow Connection on the banjo.  As one of the girls so nicely stated "if a frog can play it, so can you."  It was a good day.
Being Jacob's mom has been a tremendous treat.  I hope he realizes that.  I hope Jacob knows that all those I love you's are true and real.  I hope he realizes that even though I am kicking him out of my room and serious about it, that secretly, deep, deep down, I feel so very blessed that my boy still wants to play opossum here instead of wanting to sulk in his room. 
Happy Birthday Jacob!  I love you.

First Tuesday in November

Oh election time is upon us.  Well it is still several months but the candidates have entirely too much advertising money to spend so instead of hiring the agency that does the Allstate Mayhem commercials, to create something worth watching, they are just going to buy up every moment of airspace that they can and call each other names.

I am not politically savvy.  I don’t understand pork spending unless I am at Costco and then it is buying the four pack of bacon.  I do not understand the concept of pacs or superpacs.  I imagine a superpac is a lot of regular pacs that have joined together much in the same way that the Power Rangers set aside their color differences to become an undefeatable Super Ranger.   I don’t know what bipartisanship means but it sounds like a word that would get you a lot of points on words with friends.  Here’s what I do know, the political world today is not what George, Ben and the like had in mind.

According to my Facebook page I am a moderate republican.  Meaning, stay out of my wedding reception,  bedroom and prescription files but pat me down at the airport, let me arm my home and kick ass on the battlefield.  Test welfare recipients for drugs.  It only seems fair since soldiers are frequently peeing in a cup.

I have been alive for eight presidents.  I do not remember Nixon or Ford.  Most of what I remember of Carter is his daughter’s cat, his brother’s beer and his complete debacle of the Iran hostage situation.  Ronald Reagan, who is my obvious favorite, was the president of my formative years.  He served from 1980 to 1988.  I have read a couple of books on the man and have come away with these thoughts.  He loved his wife like crazy.  He was not a fantastic dad.  He believed that everyone in a nation like ours had the opportunity to be successful.  He loved America.  He had balls.  The man broke in a new pair of jeans by swimming in them and then let them dry on his body so they would have the right fit.  That is some hardcore cowboy shit right there. 

He was a great speaker.  He moved me, even as a kid I could tell that he really believed in the United States.  Reagan loved our nation and was proud of who were and what we were doing. 

There were many scandals during his administrations.  I remember bits of Iran Contra but didn’t know what that meant.  All I knew was we were kicking ass and taking names.  In true superhero fashion, Reagan punched a hole in the Berlin wall and brought communism to its knees.  (I don’t know how true that statement is, but it would make a great tagline for a movie!). 

George HW Bush was the president during Desert Shield and Storm.  He was Danny’s commander and chief.  Again I saw a leader that loved the United States.  I also saw a leader that surrounded himself with very smart military leaders.  You thought I was going to include Qualye in that statement, didn’t you!  I am not that crazy. 

I voted for Bush in the ’92 election, but was not surprised when Clinton won.  Outside of his office sexcapades, or because of them, he was a good president.  We were financially secure and I didn’t fear for my children’s future like I do now.  I wish he would had have been more aggressive with terrorist threats, but it is hard to be ballsy when…insert Monica joke here.

Dubya.   Again, my husband’s commander in chief.  Again, a man that made his love for our nation obvious.  Again, financially, we were doing alright.  But things did get dicey in the end.  I liked that Dubya could not string three words together to make a coherent sentence.  I liked that he threw the dictionary away and made up his own words.  I did not like that he had wars on two fronts.  But I always felt like he believed in what he was doing and was doing what he could to keep the US strong.

There are many things I like about Obama.  He is very intelligent.  The big words that he uses are real words, not odd mash ups.  He is a good dad.  I think Bush and Clinton were as well.  He does a great Al Green.  But do I think he loves America, no I don’t.  Not in the way that he needs to to make her great again.  I don’t think Romney does either, though.  I think Obama can be a great leader but too many of the people that voted for him went back to their couches and are just waiting for their next check.  Oh wait, not check, electronic deposit onto their EBT card.  I realize that that sounds incredibly racist of me and I suppose it is.  But only if it is fair to say that many people voted of Obama strictly based on the color of his skin.  They did not know what his platform was or even what his expectations were of his voters.  I believe that Obama thought the fire he had started in his campaign would keep burning.  People would try to be proactive and make something of themselves.  Can he make things better in the next four years?  I don’t know.  We are a divided nation.  Not just in half, but each half is in half.  There are tea partiers and tea baggers and birthers and birth controllers and people with their hand out and most with just a finger up.  No one with a thumbs up.

And then there is Mitt.  I liked him four years ago.  He seemed to have the answers to the questions I might ask.  But now days, I don’t know.  I don’t trust a man that has just the right amount of gray at the temples.  Seems to me he is being application specific with his Nice and Easy.  And then there is the whole Irish setter on the roof of the car thing.  I realize that that was many years ago, but I get the feeling that it was not a Clark Griswald type of mistake but a more calculated, asshole kind of move.  It does bother me that none of his boys have served our nation in a way that took them out of their comfort zones and put them in a war zone.  Because they would have never needed to go into the military for the money or education, they would have entered to serve.  That they would have had a call for love of country.  I don’t get the feeling that they love their country.  Not in the way that we need it to be loved.  I also realize that there are millions of families that do not have a member in the military and they do truly love this nation.  It’s just that the Romney boys seem to think that renting a RV and traveling all counties of Iowa somehow constitutes service and love.   

Show me how you will create jobs.  Show me that you can create a nation that will grow and support my children.  Show me that there are far more important things then gay marriage.  Like  being number one in education.  Like making sure that my children will not be swallowed up in our debt.  That someone in Washington knows how to balance a budget. 

I am glad November is a few months off because I don’t know who gets my vote. I will have to weigh Mitt’s running mate against Obama’s well educated, F bomb dropping sidekick.   Not that I really believe that one vote makes a difference, huh Gore?  But if I don’t vote than I can’t bitch and I will not give up bitching. 

Happy 4th of July

Happy 4th of July!!!  Fireworks and sparklers!  Potato salad and Texas cake!  Family and fun!
This is what this holiday has been for me my entire life.  Long before I understood what we were celebrating, I was celebrating! 
My earliest memories of July 4th are with my cousins on their farm.  I am sure that these memories are a bit muddled and I am going to confuse years and events.  But the feeling of that time is accurate.  The Hansons had four kids at the time.  We were five.  Everyone was pretty close in age.  Aunt Elaine, my mom's sister, and her husband, Arnie would host us for a few days.  I remember going swimming at a lake, and on the way my cousin Marty and I would come up with a very elaborate songs in honor of Smokey the Bear.   If I remember correctly, there was a sign of him as we entered the beach area. 
I don't remember much else about what we did on our visits, but I do remember that there was always kiss cookies.  So much so that I associate kiss cookies with July 4th and not Christmas. 
I also remember the year that my cousin Angie dropped a firecracker under my mom's lawn chair.  Ooops! 
Fireworks were at the ballpark in either Parnell or Williamsburg.  My sister Sheila and my Aunt Elaine would count the fireworks and duds.  On the bicenenteial there was a special firework that burned 1976.  I think it was hanging over one of the dugouts. 
Again, I didn't know the signifigance of theis day, just that we had a lot of fun, ate such good food and ended the evening back on Hanson's farm.  It always rained the night of the 4th.  My grandpa said it was because God wanted to be sure all the sparklers were put out!
Later 4th of July's were spent at home.  I remember watching the Cedar Rapids display from the KC parking lot.  One year, Dad and I parked at IC and walked downtown to see them. 
My first 4th as a married woman was spent in Oceanside with no husband.  I stayed at home (because I was too scared to drive anywhere!) and enjoyed the display from my little patio.  The following year, Danny was home.  Crissy and Sheila had come out to visit (and help us move our stuff to a storage unit since Ashlyn and I were moving back to Cedar Rapids) Ashlyn and us.  We watched the display on the Oceanside beach where we could watch both the city display and the Marine Corps display.  A year later, Ashlyn was all hyped up on the 4th of July.  She ran all over the place with her flag.  She was the ambassador of the day, greeting all!  She could not wait for the fireworks to begin!  But alas, after all her running, greeting and ambassadoring, she was asleep before the first fierwork burst into the air!
4th of July's in Germany were awesome!  We had two little girls running aout the base.  The atmosphere was completely different becasue there the 4th of July was just not a day off from work as it was for so many people in the states.  Ashlyn and Hayley were celebrating with the people that protected our freedoms.  People that were following in the footsteps of those first members of the United States military.  ALong with the fireworks display, we were treated to static displays of tanks, humvees and heios.  It was awesome!
Twice, Danny adn I have celebrated the hokiday in Washington DC.  Once it was just Danny and I.  The second time we took Jacob.  The one thing I have to say about the display at the Mall is this, the entire display is one big fanale!  Amazing!!!   And being in the Capital city on such a day brings a special meaning to the holiday!
Now days, we spend the 4th at home.  It's not that we don't want to go out, but Harlow likes us to stay at home.  When Barron was alive, he twice removed the screen from the backdoor.  Harlow hasn't gone that far (because we never replaced the screen) but she does a fair amount of pacing and barking and farting. 
I think it is time to start an old tradition.  Next year, there will be kiss cookies and family.  Swimming (in a pool, not a lake), grilling and maybe even a trip to see the display.

Another one about Jacob

I haven't blogged in so many days. 
Mainly because Jacob hasn't been up to much.  But tonight he is in my room at 12:17 complaining about the lack of food in the house.  He has been out and about in his car with a white board.  Apparently, it is great fun to write a message on the white board at a stop light and show it to the driver next to you.  So tonight Jacob told drivers "you're doing a great job"  "I hope you're having a great day"  "you look pretty".  I am really hoping that he used these messages appropriately and wasn't offending a middle aged man with the pretty comment. 
Prior to the white board adventure was an evening of shooting foam rockets at friends.  The friends shot back.  That's what friends are for, right?  Well, for Jacob, it is.  He has this good group of friends that don't seem too interested in getting into real trouble, just fun trouble.  And as long as the cops don't show up, it's alright with me.
So, now he is back to the food.  I don't know what he is complaining about.  There is all kinds of pasta to eat now that Danny and I are on the caveman bullshit diet.  So at 12:23 he is going to make alfredo.  That seems pretty reasonable.  He actually just went to Hayley's room to see if she was in on the early morning carb load. 
You know, it may seem like I am complaining about Jacob and his late night hi jinks, but I know how fortunate I am that he is in my room right now stealing the remotes with his feet.  I know that there are tons of parents out there that have no idea where there kid is, let alone what he is doing.  I was just informed that "I haven't showered in days" by way of white board!  So maybe I am not so fortunate to have him hugging me right now, considering what the white board just said.
In just over a year, this kid will be an adult.  Say this aloud "Jacob will be eightteen next summer."  Does it freak you out like it freaks me out?  Seriously, there is no way that this kid should be put in the adult column. 
He will vote in school board elections. 
He will buy cigarettes and porn. 
He will sign legal documents.
He will still do avalanche of love.  I will still find him in my bed POSSUM.  He will still find it neccessary to find a reason to come into my room at ungodly hours to talk about his day, to share his grand adventures and to let me know that I am pretty and that I am a great mom and that he loves me, very much.

What I am Wearing These Days

Some brilliant friends of mine were talking about what they put on in the morning.  Obviously, shirt and shoes, if you want service.  A sweater, if you're chilly.  A nylon jacket in case it rains.  But what else? 
What I wear says a lot about me.  If you see me Monday through Friday at Walgreens, you will see that I adhere to the very unfasinating khaki pant/navy button down uniform.  I am a policy follower. 
If you see me otherwise, you will see me attired in a wide variety of outfits. 
I can be sporty in my yoga pants and go fasters.  Headphones and a ball cap round out the sporty spice look.  I wear that three to four times a week.
I can be as cute as can be in my walking around money shoes and Mata clothes.  In fact, when I am a little bit lighter, I have a lot of fun stuff to wear.  There is also a fair number of Snoopy shirts, band T's, and souvenir garb  in my drawer to make it obvious what makes me happy, where I like to go and who is on my mixed tape.
In high school, I was fond of shopping in the attic.  And by attic I mean the space above my second floor.  I dug out a ton of my parents old clothes and breathed new life into them.  One of my favorites was a maternity shirt my mom wore when she was pregnant with me.  It just so happened to have a collar, buttoned up and was white.  I wore it to Regis.  Nuns loved it!
But there are a few other things that I have started to 'put on' in the morning that are not tucked in a drawer or hanging in my closet.  I am making a conscious decision to put on patience, kindness, joy.  "Put on?" you ask.  "Yes, put on."  I know it sounds new agey or Goddish or just plain creepy, but it works, for me. 
Putting on patience means that I am not rolling my eyes or exhaling dramatically when someone asks me a question that I think they should know the answer.  Putting on patience means smiling as the woman digs in her purse for that penny so she doesn't get nine more.  It is reassuring her that she is not a bother, because she isn't.  There is nothing more pressing at my job then making sure this customer was taken care of pleasantly by me. 
Putting on kindness is very similar to putting on patience.  It means thanking my husband and kids for the work they do around the house instead of pointing out what they could have done.  It means scratching Harlow behind the ears and letting her big slobbery head rest in my lap instead of being too busy to give her the love.  It means creating a pretty green space in our yard that we don't often see but that the neighbor sees regularly.
Putting on joy becomes a better fit as I wear the others.  Joy is the accessory that everyone is wanting these days and so many can not seem to find it.  Joy makes me look beautiful.  It brightens my eyes and shows off my smile.  Joy makes me look slimmer, my hair shinier, my teeth whiter.  Joy is light weight and oh, so versatile.  It does not wrinkle in a suitcase, is stain resistant and like sweatpants on Thanksgiving, remains comfortable the entire day.

Your 22nd Father's Day

Happy Father's Day, Honey.  This is your 22nd one, hence the title of this blog.  Let that sink in for a moment.  You have been at this dad thing for a long time.  And I will tell you this, you have done alright.  Look at what we got, three relatively well adjusted kids that are probably going to be productive citizens of the world. 
Do you remember when you first found out that you were going to be a dad?  I wonder if you still have that letter or if you had to burn it, just in case.  I remember when I found out that you knew.  A reporter called me to relay your message that you knew you were going to be a daddy. 
I was terrified of the idea of being a parent, but you were so sure of us.  We would figure it out.  And we did.  We really did!  And look at us now being all successful and shit. 
Danny, I will never know what it was like for you to leave us.  To do what you could do to make the world a little bit better.  I will never know what it was like for you to miss out on the moments that you did.  But if you asked your kids, they would tell you that they really don't remember you being gone.  Because even so far away, you were always right here.  I think that is such a testament to the kind of dad you were and are. 
I remember being terrified by the idea of having a baby, but you just knew that it would be alright.  You knew that we would figure it out, make a few (million) mistakes, adapt and overcome.  You were right.  We muddled through just fine and in the process showed our kids a pretty great time. 
I don't know how many Father's Days you missed.  I stopped keeping track a long time ago.  I don't know how many of anything you missed for that matter.  Because it has never been about what you missed.  It has always been about what you were present for.  And you have been present for them every single day.  Except for those days when you are growly and no one wants you to be present.
Danny, it has been a true pleasure to be with you all these Father's Days and every day in between.
From the afternoon you spent dancing with Ashlyn to Van Halen in our little one bedroom in Oceanside to rocking out at the Van Halen concert with Jacob, you have been amazing!