Living the American Dream

     My American dream has always been to have a big house with a huge yard. I have fantasised for years about the gazebo that will grace our property and of the room in the house that is all pink and purple, and glittery that no one but I am allowed to enter.  In this dream world of mine, my husband would like to have a room just for playing music and an area that can fit all his tools and machines.

     If you know me, then you know that my family was hit hard by the economic downturn in 2008. If you know me, you also know that our family circumstances have rebounded well, thanks to the automotive bailout. If you know me, you know that my hubs and I have a list. Anytime one of us says "I need..." or , "You know what I really want?" The other one of us will say, "Put it on the list..."

     The list in our home is kind of like our American dream. Anything can and does go on the list. Our list includes things like: a new TV, a sectional that will fit our round living room, a sectional that would fit someone elses living room, or a chair, or a footstool...our list also includes things like: turning half of our huge garage into a sun room, buying a jacuzzi, and heading to Disney Land.

     Our list, very clearly is about THINGS! This is ironic because my hubs and I take great pride in the fact that we don't worry about keeping up with the neighbors or our friends. Reading over our list shows me that although we aren't super extravagant in our wishes(yet!), we are very clearly on our way.

     I wouldn't have recognized this fact if it weren't for my teenage son. As his mother, I try to stay connected with him. I ask him how he feels, if he has any plans and how his day is going.  A few days ago I asked him how he was doing, while I was driving him home from a friends. My son reached over and gave me a little hug and told me," Of course I am fine,  Mom, I am living the American dream. "

     Sometimes, I am a little boggled by the intensity of irony in this new generation, and I have to really think about what and how my son is reacting to my questions. Needless to say, I asked if he was serious! He smiled at me and gave me a list of reasons why his life was good: he has a roof that keeps him warm,(our tiny little house), he has good friends, he loves his school, and his family takes great care of him.

     NOWHERE in my sons list did he mention loving anyTHING. His American dream gave me food for thought about my American dream. I'm thinking that maybe I need a new list. So, here it is.
      
     Reasons Why I am Grateful: 

     I am grateful to have The Todd in my life. My hubs keeps me laughing (even when I am so angry I could explode), and sets an excellent example for how a man should work hard and take care of his family. He works hard at listening to what I am saying...which isn't easy, America, because I have   A LOT to say. He encourages me to follow my dreams and to set goals. He still dances. He has my heart.

     I am grateful that my son Alfred has grown so wise. He has matured so much this last year, and I am proud of the example he is setting for his little brother. I am also grateful that Fred has inherited his Papa's easy smile and his fathers charm.

     I am grateful for my Lewie. He is sensitive. He is kind. He wants to do his best. He is full of funny. He is funny in a way that I never would have dreamed of at his age. (I recently recognized that he inherited his Papa's sense of humor! and I am definitely grateful for that. )He has pride, and ego, and character.

     I am grateful for the friendships I have. My sweet Jodi, Kristen and Cathy are family to me. They are my soul sisters. They have kept me sane with their unconditional love and devotion. 

     I am grateful that Jodi spent the last month of summer tutoring Alfred in Spanish, even though he didn't get it first semester. And that she always calls me back when I call...and says yes to every insane last minute idea that pops into my head.
 
     I am grateful that Kristen listens to my unending tirade against life like I am a comedian. I hope she knows I steal all of my best lines from her! I am grateful that she is a crutch when I need someone to lean on and a boot when I need motivation.

    I am grateful to have met and instantly recognized a sister in my amazing Momma Cathy! She makes me laugh til I pee (literally, dammit Cathy!), doesn't expect or want me to censor myself(except when our kids are present, but that’s how I roll too!) and gracefully accepted the burden of mothering my children when I couldn't be there.

     I am grateful for my extended family. You are there when I want you and when I don't! My cousins are like brothers and sisters. I am grateful to have finally realized how much I need the flavor you add to my life.

     I am grateful for Todd's family. You are mine now too. And I love each and every one of you. You took me in when mine threw me out, and I will always appreciate the way you welcomed me in and held on.

     I am grateful to live in a neighborhood where everyone knows each other and is willing to send over an onion or an egg, dog food or a garbage bag whenever needed. I am grateful that I could spend my mornings sharing coffee and kids and chaos all summer long.  
  
      I have so much more to be thankful for, more than I could ever list. I guess Freddy is right, this is the American dream.

You Are My Sunshine

     On this dreary but strangely peaceful rainy Sunday, I have woken with a desire to write about mothers. Mothers are the foundation of life. The pinnacle of the food chain. A good mother can make you great, a loving mother can make you love, a sad mother will make you sad, a mother who loves life will make you live. I would like to talk about the woman who made me live today. She has been in my heart sharing her smile with me for years.
    
    A few weeks ago I attended an event known as The Moth. It is an event that occurs once a month all over this beautiful country of ours. During the course of the evening, strangers will gather to share stories. Ten lucky ones are able to stand in front of the room and share their true life stories, be judged and rated, win and lose. It is a competition. I have put speaking like this in public on my bucket list. However, that night I didn't speak, didn't even try. The topic for the evening was Mothers....I didn't know what to say on this oh so very complicated subject. For weeks, I have been thinking, what would make a good story? If I had spoken, who's story would I have shared? My amazing grandmother? My complicated childhood? My own mom who has so many stories buried inside her, but very few she will share? and then I remembered one of the amazing speakers from my night at The Moth. The mother was talking about her son and his food allergies and how she loves him but she could kill him...which I kept repeating because it was so profound...then I realized if I had spoken that night of nights there was only  one woman whom I  would have been able to speak of.  This woman saved my life.

     *This is not easy for me to write, friends, but I would like to pay tribute to this woman today. For her I will be brave and speak truth.

      Growing up with an alcoholic for a father was a challenge. I loved my dad, and I know that he loved me, I say this truthfully: He was a good man.  However, when he drank he was either super funny or incredibly bitter. There were a few shades of grey in there, but these were the most frequent realities of life with him. There were nights when I would wake to hear him yelling, my parents fighting, nights when my siblings and I would huddle together on the stairs holding hands with our hearts pounding and our eyes super wide...terrified of what would happen next. Sometimes his rages would carry on until the early hours, or sometimes the police would come to the door and "encourage" our family to go somewhere else until my dad calmed down. Sometimes we would all barricade ourselves in my moms bedroom until the morning.

     How do I describe the jealousy and angst I felt toward my normal friends and family? I don't have the words. But it is a personality trait that I still carry. I don't share well. Ever. and I want my kids to feel normal so badly that I have built an invisible wall of acceptable behavior that you cannot cross if you want to be in our lives...it can be a little stifling.
  
    As a young girl, I felt out of place. I truly thought every neighbor could see our shame. That when I would step out the door, those lights on top of the police cruiser would be going off and everyone would be looking out their windows. When I was 11 years old, in the fifth grade, I wanted to die.  Every night for months I would steal a bottle of pills from my dad, usually his blood pressure medicine and stand at the bathroom sink, looking at myself in the mirror and seeing the ugly girl who didn't have a future because of where she came from...sometimes I would pour the pills into my hand and once I even put some in my mouth...I was so very sad. 

     I'm not sure how she heard, maybe I screamed at my mom in one of my adolescent rages that I wanted to die, maybe my mom told her...but one Easter at my grandparents house, she took me aside and asked me to take a walk with her. With a serious look in her eye, she asked me if I wanted to talk. She listened and then she told me how special I was. She gave me this little notebook with a puppy on it. Then she sang to me. She made me laugh and she made me cry. She gave me hope that day. She made me feel loved.

     My aunt Linda Kay didn't forget about me or my problems. She called me to check up on me. She invited me to sleepovers at her house. She called herself my second mother. She called herself that for a lot of kids. But for me, she meant it and I knew it. She gave me life.

     Linda Kay Berger...my moms fun loving younger sister was born with a hole in her heart and was never expected to live to see 18 or be able to have children. This grandmother passed away in her sixties after living a full life--getting married a few times, having a couple of kids, bingo, bowling, and having a good  laugh the whole way. When she died, my quirky aunt was loved by many and missed by all who knew her.

      At her funeral, my cousin asked if there was anything anyone wanted to say about his mom. There must have been 100 people standing around the crypt where her ashes were going. I didn't speak up, in my heart I did...today I will..."You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know dear how much I love you...please don't take my sunshine away. " Happy Mothers Day Aunt Linda. I love you.
    

Time for Love

Driving this morning hopped up on a mocha latte espresso(awesome! combo) my wandering fingers found Alan Jackson's Livin on Love.  Couldn't help thinking bout my Grandparents, how much they loved each other and how much I am missing them today.

Hazel Marquerite Groat and (William) Clare Beaudry met and fell instantly in love at a baseball game. My grandpa was playing a game with his friends(Hazel's brother being one of them) and my Grandma was flipping the score cards on the board. They were too young to get married, she was only 15 years old and he wasn't much older.  Against the wishes of her family they married and had 11 children. Raising their large family was a financial burden, but it didn't hinder their commitment to each other. During their life time they survived the depression, being estranged from family (the marriage wasn't looked on fondly ) being separated for two years during World War II,  the loss of their young son,a daughter born with a hole in her heart, and both working many jobs as they made ends meet, as well as living with the challenges of emphysema and diabetes in their later years.

                                                          
We live in a society that doesn't seem to have much staying power. Marriages seem to be as disposable as Kleenex. My Grandparents were married for 59 years and I know they weren't always easy ones. However, my grandparents were having  a glorious love affair with each other and I know that is what got them through the tough times. 

Growing up, I spent many of my weekends and family vacations staying with my grandparents, I called them Papa and Meemaw. My grandma always wore red lipstick, had her hair done and had red nail polish on her fingers. She played bingo, talked to her daughters every day, and didn't take any bologna from kids. My grandpa was always convinced that my grandma was busy flirting with the old men if she took too long at the grocery store. He watched baseball(all the flippity doo dah time!), watched CBS soap operas, and gave great advice.

                                           
                                                     
My Grandma was a lady. Sure, she swore sometimes...but hell, damn, and sh#$ were the absolute limits. She twinkled and she was a charmer. As a child, I was terrified of my grandma. As a teenager I was in awe of her. The older I became, the more clearly I saw her. A woman with 10 kids to raise, hold down a job(or two), and keep her home up  had to be tough. As I aged, I saw her resiliency come through. She was there for everyone in her life. Always giving a smile, a phone call, a meal, or a dollar.

                                                          

My Papa was the same way. He gave nicknames to the grand kids...oddly appropriate ones...mine was Weasel. He was always reorganizing his home, or building a lamp or visiting his kids. Or in my case, attending the Daddy/Daughter dance dressed up in his best suit and sitting with the other dads clapping for the girls singing and dancing out on the dance floor.

My grandparents had so much love for each other that it overflowed and spilled out to the rest of us. Days spent with them were filled with laughter and stories told sitting at the dining room table playing kings in the corner or 10,000. There are many examples I could share with you of how madly and  deeply they were in love...but I will give just a few of my favorites. Driving with my grandparents to Algonac to spend the day with  family my Grandma put her hand on my Papa's where it was resting on the stick shift and they drove like that the whole way(they lived in Fraser).   My favorite moment happened once around the time my Grandma's kidney's started to give out on her. My Grandpa was sitting in his recliner in the corner of the living room, and my Grandma was walking by. I was sitting on the couch. My Grandpa just said her name...real soft...and she looked over at him and smiled(twinkled at him)...and he smiled back. She walked back to him and sat on the arm of his chair and kissed him. They had to be at least in their late 70's...

                                                              
I thought of them today and I cried just a little.  I wish everyone could be inspired by this  kind of love or at least have the opportunity to share it.

                                                       

                                                              

A Musical Tribute

Today I would like to share my thanks for some of the people who help to get me out of bed in the morning.  I have decided to share songs instead of stories. The songs selected are each significant to myself and the person I am thanking.  Each one is indicative of a moment, a memory, an event that we have experienced together.


The one I love the most! He keeps me sane, and grounded(as in feet on the ground!) and is a part of the voices in the back of my head(as in a conscience!) and still likes to dance.

My First Born. The child I birthed and tried to change my whole self for in the hopes of raising him right. It feels like I gave him all my hopes and aspirations to carry...what a heavy burdon for a young man. (I'm trying to take them back, and let him have his own!)

The young one. The little boss man in our house. He says jump and we say how high. Begrudgingly we move but every smile he gives out is precious to my heart. This was a tough nut to crack...he's sensitive, I don't want to break that creative spirit waiting to take flight.

 My soul sister who I still live vicariously through

My Sweet Friend who shares the burden of dysfunction and teenagers with me and gives me laughter instead of tears and a swift kick in the pants instead of sympathy

My Friend who seems more lost than found and is too far away for me to ever see, I miss our moments of shared insanity...and looking back, those are some of my favorite days

Sometimes, it feels as if the world has left me alone in a puddle and there isn't anything except rain to look forward to. Each of these people has handed me an umbrella, given me a hand or shown me in some special way that the sun will shine again. I won't name them they know who they are. I would be lost and quite possibly drown with out them.