You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Family’ tag.
Hard to believe, but I’m actually happy to be home from Paradise. Oh, we had a fantastic time for sure, but after twelve days on the road…getting in and out of the minivan dozens of times every day…schelpping luggage and tote bags around…and sleeping in strange beds every night, I was most happy to come home and see my boys, my own bathroom, and my bed. And, as has been the case any time I’ve traveled off on my own during the nearly 29 years of our marriage, I came home to a spotless house, an empty laundry basket, a shiny, clean car with a full gas tank, and a bouquet of flowers. Sorry, girls. Tom’s taken. Permanently.
I have so much to tell you–and I will over the next week or two–stuff I just never had the time to sit down and write while we were there mostly because we crammed every day full. By the time we got back to the condo in the evening, we were exhausted. Plus, I encountered technical difficulties at our condo in Waikiki. The one time I attempted to post while we were there, downloading a picture took forever. Since I have lots of pictures to post, I quickly decided I just wasn’t going to use my time in Hawaii watching a stupid progress indicator crawl slowly up to 100% over and over again…especially when there were mai tais to drink, beaches to be walked along, and sunsets to watch.
However, I can report–smugly–that we came home with every item checked off of Ruth’s list of things to see and do. A list that included seeing a volcano, watching a lava flow up close at night, shopping, visiting Pearl Harbor, exploring a coffee plantation and a pineapple plantation, shopping, learning about Hawaii’s history at the Iolani Palace in Honolulu, attending a luau, seeing the BIG waves off the North Shore of Oahu, shopping, and dipping her toes in the surf. We did it ALL! Plus a bit more. And we have the pictures to prove it–more than 1,000 pictures plus hours of video shot and narrated by Carole. Hours. Seriously. She missed nothing.
I’ve given you of brief synopsis of what we did on the Big Island in a previous post, but over the next week or so, I’ll share more details and pictures of our adventures on both islands. Meantime, I’m sorting through all our photos, my notes, the literature we picked up, and my memories while scrambling to get back into the routine of my everyday life. I thank you in advance for your patience while I get it all done. How about if I tempt you to come back with pictures of our view from the lanai at our condo in Waikiki?
Mahalo and aloha!

The view from our lanai in Waikiki looking north

The view from our lanai looking south toward Diamond Head - see it peeking over the top of the buildings?

Moonlight over Waikiki - the morning we left for the airport
Now that Teddy has been living here for more than two months, I believe we have a clearer understanding of one another. At least I feel safe saying I understand him better. It’s not that hard. He’s a pretty straightforward little guy. No pretenses. No wavering. He let’s you know how he feels about something and then has no more to say on the subject. After all, that’s the way it is. End of story.
Teddy’s Tenets:
- Salmon and rice will not be tolerated in any form–canned or kibble–under any circumstances. Amen. Pass the lamb.
- Bodily functions can never be performed in the presence of any of the following: damp grass, wet cement or flagstone, drizzle, rain, thunder, lightning, or lightning bugs. Ever.
- And while we’re on that topic, privacy is preferred during any and all nature calls. Decorous human beings will avert their gaze while bodily functions are being executed.
- No tree, bush, flower, tomato plant, asparagus fern, strawberry patch, fence, or wood pile is sacred. Have a pooper scooper and a plastic bag on your person at all times.
- Glorious daytime weather must be savored with long periods of rolling in the grass, sneezing, and sleeping in the shade. Any attempt to force other behaviors during such times will be considered sacrilegious and ignored accordingly.
- During thunderstorms–or any time lightning is within a 20-mile radius–a human being’s presence is required. Preferably mom’s. Snuggling welcome.
- Snoring and farting are part of the package. Deal with it.
- Belly-rubs, ear-scratches, and hugs are actively encouraged and always accepted.
- Attempts at playing chase, catch, or Gotcha! will be met with a blank stare. A good brushing is preferred.
- Walkers and bicyclists passing on the street out front must be acknowledged with a half-hearted woof. People in the backyard must submit to a full-blown bark or barks. All other vocal emanations are discretionary and meted out accordingly.
- Ear cleaning and trips to the groomer will be tolerated only if extravagant displays of affection are provided afterwards.
- Goofy neckerchiefs will be grudgingly tolerated for short periods of time.
- Failure to extend invitations for all car and/or truck outings will result in The Very-Sad-Dog-Eyes Treatment and other guilt-inducing behaviors, as required. Consider yourself warned.
- All humans, dogs, and cats must be welcomed as friends. Or ignored.
Like I said, straightforward. He’s a pip.
I’m happy to announce that my aunt, the wickedly witty expat who’s lived in Australia for the last 30 years, the same aunt who took me sailing with her on the Queen Mary 2 this past winter, now has her own blog. Read about life Down Under–and lots of other places (she’s a world traveler)–on The Meandering Matriarch. Tell her I sent you!
Eight years ago next month, Tom, Carey, and I loaded up Tom’s truck, my car, and Carey’s car with suitcases full of clothes; Rubbermaid containers full of bedding, power cords, school supplies, and toiletries; a computer; a stereo; a small refrigerator; and Carey’s bike before heading out to Lawrence to get her settled in the dorms for her freshman year at the University of Kansas. Like any other parent moving his or her oldest off to college for the first time, I oscillated between feelings of elation and sadness. I was happy for Carey to be starting off on new adventures but sad because it felt very much like we were writing the first page of the last chapter of our lives with the kids as “kids.”
I distinctly remember noticing the Lawrence City Limit sign as we got to the edge of town that hot, muggy August afternoon and taking solace in the thought that we’d be making the trek to Lawrence for a long time to come. The way I figured it, Carey would be out there for at least four years and then Brian would be for at least another three or four after that. Geez. That would be nearly a decade by the time all was said and done. What was I being all gloomy about? It was going to be a long time before we would finish the chapter.
A long time, indeed. Last night, we wrote the final sentence when we moved the last load of Brian’s mountainous pile of stuff (I’m fighting the urge to use the word “crap” here) back home to Kansas City. I won’t lie. I did tear up a bit as we drove out of town. I reminisced about that hot August day eight years before and thought about all the fun times we’d had in Lawrence with both kids. Then I remembered what awaited me at home.
For the last three years, Brian has lived in a two-bedroom house with a two-car garage. During that time, he has amassed…well, he has amassed quite a collection of household goods, including–but not limited to–a queen-size bed, a large desk with an oversize desk chair, two TVs, stereo equipment, a washer and dryer, a side-by-side refrigerator, a small dorm-size refrigerator, a kitchen table with four chairs, an assortment of end tables, enough small appliances and kitchen paraphernalia to put any new bride to shame, a huge rolling tool chest, an air compressor, a shop vac, and enough neon signs to open his own bar. He also has lots of toys: a half dozen wakeboards and snowboards with bindings and boots, video games and accessories, boxes of DVDs, and a wakeboard boat. Oh, and then there are his clothes. Brian doesn’t like to do laundry, so he developed the habit of buying new socks, underwear, and t-shirts when the ones he had were too stinky to wear. I’m pretty sure he could go a whole semester without doing laundry. At least, he should be able to; we hauled home six huge plastic bags crammed full of mostly dirty socks, underwear… I tell you all this only because it’s NOW ALL IN OUR GARAGE! Well, not all of it. We did stack the bags of clothes in his bedroom and the boat is at the repair shop for a new part.
Before the weekend is over, Brian should have it all moved to the storage locker he’s rented, so our cars should only have to sit out on the driveway for a few more nights–and, if I’m lucky–I won’t need a shovel, or a hammer, or any of our other tools because there’s not a snowball’s chance that I COULD GET TO ANY OF IT. Okay, deep breath.
Brian called just a little bit ago to let me know he’d completed the check-out process with the leasing agent, and all had gone well. He also admitted to being more than a bit sad about saying good-bye to his home of three years. According to him, his years on 24th Street “were a blast.” In fact, he said, his entire college experience “couldn’t have been any better.” Well, what more could a mom ask for… except maybe to GET THAT CRAP OUTTA THE GARAGE!
Tom, Brian, and I are on the road. Well, technically we’re not on the road at the moment. Brian is out with some of his buddies, and Tom and I are in a hotel…in Fargo, North Dakota. Why we’re here is irrelevant to this particular posting, so I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, Fargo is really a lovely city–really, it is–and we’re having a great time.
We rolled into town around 3:00 this afternoon. Brian wasn’t meeting up with his friends until 4:00, so we decided to use the time to run a couple of errands: fill the car with gas, fill Brian with food and drink, etc. Errands which required getting out of the car and walking around in public places. Places where lots of other people were also out walking around. Places where other people were possibly watching me out walking around.
After we finished our errands, we returned to the hotel so Brian could change his clothes. As I got out of the car, I noticed a raisin smashed on the seat of the car where I had been sitting. A raisin from the trail mix we’d been noshing on off and on since early that morning. Hmmm. This was bad. This was very bad. All day long, I’d been prancing around in my white capris, sequined turquoise sandals with matching purse, and kicky turquoise T-shirt, pleased with myself that for once I wasn’t dressed like a bag lady for our long car ride. But a raisin! A smashed raisin and white capris! It doesn’t take much imagination or many brain cells to picture the outcome of those two objects meeting under pressure.
My mind raced as I spun in circles in the parking lot trying to see my rear end: When did I drop the raisin? Was any of it still stuck to my keister? Did anyone see? Was it situated on the car seat so it was right under a butt cheek or –please, dear god– could it have possibly been between my legs? Maybe it didn’t leave a stain at all! Oh, please! Please, don’t let there be a stain!
Dizzy from chasing my tail, I finally bent over with my ass pointing directly at Brian and moaned, “Do I have raisin smashed on my butt?” The poor kid. That’s an image I’m sure he wasn’t anxious to have burned onto his retinas. Nor, I’m sure, was he anxious to tell me that, yes, in fact, I did have a rather ugly-looking splotch in the most inconvenient of places. ARGHHHHH!
That’s what I get for getting tarted up and being smug about it. Hubris. Gets you every time.
An hour or so later, after Brian was off on his adventure, Tom went down to the lobby to get us a copy of the local newspaper. Any embarrassment I was still feeling over the afternoon’s humbling was immediately vanquished (or at least overshadowed) when I scanned the front page of The Fargo-Morehead Forum he brought back upstairs with him.
Under the headline: “ARREST ENDS 9-HOUR S. FARGO STANDOFF” were two pictures. One showed a man, Leonard Ritter, waving a cigarette around in the air while pointing his finger at and defiantly back-talking members of the local SWAT team (after shooting at and flattening one of the tires on their law enforcement robot, I might add). I share the picture here:
The second picture shows poor ol’ doodie-for-brains Leonard being tased into premature–albeit temporary–rigor mortis by the same SWAT team, a SWAT team that had clearly had enough of Leonard’s shit:
I doubt Leonard was having many coherent thoughts at the moment of his tasing, but one would hope that at some point after he gets over the shock of the whole affair (yuck, yuck) he thinks something along the lines of, “Holy crap. That didn’t turn out so well. Maybe I should reconsider my current policy of copping an attitude with police officers wearing military camoflauge and carrying automatic rifles.”
Okay, okay. He probably won’t, but…
My first thought after looking at the pictures was this: Leonard’s lucky he lives in Fargo, North Dakota, instead of a bigger city. Police officers in a larger, meaner metropolitan area probably would have shot Leonard and his cocky attitude with real bullets as soon as he fired at the robot. Like I said, Fargo’s a lovely city. You really should visit sometime.
In any case, I’ve learned my lesson. We can only hope Leonard has learned his.