Wilson Post Blogs

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine 

My youngest is mad at me… again. When we pulled out old family movies and started the stroll down memory lane something (or someone) was missing. We watched my oldest coo, eat solids, laugh, roll over, crawl, walk and fall all for the first time. Halfway through watching his big brother delight at the ape at Animal Kingdom came the first, ‘Hey! Where am I?’

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

If I were running the world and had to dole out punishment to those in my kingdom, I would make them do laundry.

In particular – my family’s laundry.

We are a family of five, but some days I feel there must be 55 of us living in this house, given the clothes I am constantly washing, folding and putting away.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

I knew it when I married him. I knew that when it came to romance he was more Ralph Kramden than Casanova. Truth be told, my husband has never changed. He is who he is, and that’s what I love about him. While I can be a bit wishy-washy, he makes his mind up and never questions the decision made. So why am I surprised that he’s STILL not a hopeless romantic and just “hopeless?”

I notice it more now than ever, because we are trapped in the busyness of life. With two careers, two children, three pets, three sisters, two brothers, one mother-in-law and one father-in-law, there doesn’t seem to be enough time or energy to devote to our relationship. Since the vision of ships passing in the night insinuates romance, I would say we are more minivans stuck beside each other in the car pool lane.

Not being an athlete, I’ve spent most of my life…in the stands.

When I was younger, I remember attending my brother’s soccer games. And it went something like this…

We’d walk in. Dad would pay for Mom and I. Mom would find her spot on the bleachers. Dad and I would sit three rows behind her.

The game would start…which meant within minutes…so would my mother!

I’m sick of it! Every time I turn on the TV, radio, computer or Dr. Oz, there’s something else I use every day that might cause cancer, crow’s feet or cardiac arrest! If I start to feel dizzy from the only perfume I wear, I can’t even dial 911 because my cell phone “might” cause a brain tumor… It makes me want to scream… Literally and out loud and in front of TV news people, NPR, bloggers and that little twit, Oz. Don’t they know they are making an already slightly neurotic mother who suffers from a mild form of hypochondria even more unbearable to be around?

As I sat with friends at dinner on New Year’s Eve, the conversation turned to Caroline’s mother’s heated mattress pad.

“She just loves it. Turns it on about an hour before bed and hasn’t missed a night in years.”

The New Year’s Eve festivities continued, but for me, the idea of a heated mattress, seemed outstanding, unbelievable …. and completely unfathomable that I had never heard of it before!

I liken it to when Bill Gates first saw Steve Job’s iPod!  

I’ve always wondered what a stomach bug looks like. It sounds like it would be a cute little character that would appear in a Pixar movie. I’ve now decided that little twit is anything but cute.  Someone should change the description of this menacing little contagion that hits households every year just in time for Christmas. The “bug” hit us this year with a vengeance. Especially me!

End of the year means lots of things to lots of people.

In the Kane household, it means…check ups. From the adults, to the kids, to the pets – everyone gets their annual physical right before the year ends.

And in our household, we are firm believers that doctors are on a need to know basis.

That’s because I have every intention that one of my children will one day be President. And as we all know, when that time comes their medical records become public.

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a gift had been purchased without the click of a mouse.

The stockings sat upright on the living room floor,

No chimney meant Santa would be using the door.

The children complained about going to bed

And because the XBOX controller batteries were dead!

Mom and Dad in work clothes, trying to wrap

Not believing that once again, they bought all of this crap

In the beginning, there were no sleepovers…

When birthday time rolls around for my boy’s one item always listed on their celebration itinerary is ‘sleepover’. We host sleepovers throughout the year but the birthday sleepover is different. Instead of one friend, there could be 5, 6, 7 or 8. Eight was the magic number this year for my youngest child’s birthday soiree. An event of this magnitude is as elusive as Bigfoot to the adolescent. Parents know what goes down at these things. No matter how fun the party, kids just want to stay up all night.

So armed with only pizza, juice boxes, XBOX360 and our wits, my husband and I were ready.

The drop off…

There are three types of parents when it comes to a sleepover.  The concerned, 'are you sure about this’ parent.  This is the same parent pulling away in their car when asking that question. Then there’s the, ‘No take back, who cares if you changed your mind, we’ve already made plans for a date night and nobody is going to keep us from a dinner out where no one spills juice or milk’ parent.  And lastly, the,  ‘Now if he gets scared in the middle of the night, forget my name, forget my number, forget me. He can wait until the morning’ parent. 

When all the boys arrived, we started to get concerned. The adult to child ratio was 2-8. Because of the power shift, we did what any normal parent would do- deleted ‘Lord of the Flies’ from the DVR and braced for a long night.

Almost 2 years ago our beloved Sasha went to doggie heaven. She was 14 years old and seriously the sweetest dog. She was our child before we had the two little humans who inhabit our home now.

Shortly after Sasha died, my husband and our children began the search for a replacement. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her, but when she died I assumed that was the end of our dog days. As much as I adored her, I didn’t want another pet. Not because I didn’t want to replace her or my heart was too broken. Our family just doesn’t have the time to give a puppy all the attention it deserves. Sure my husband does all the feeding and playing and training. But what happens when he forgets to pick up dog food, the dog gets sick or has to go out to pee in the middle of the night. That’s right, it’s my job. Since giving birth to my first child, I have enforced a strict rule: I don’t feed, water or play with anything unless I’m required by law to do so. It’s not like I will purposefully ignore the needs of our pets or houseplants, there’s just a good chance I’ll forget to feed or water it.

It wasn’t long after we married that my husband decided against sending an innocent houseplant to its inevitable death just because it was our anniversary. Instead he opted for a nice Fichus tree. It’s still as green as it was the day he gave it to me AND it doesn’t shed dead leaves.

My husband and I have been married 17 years! Truly amazing…given we are complete opposites.

I’m the type who never puts the cap back on the toothpaste, wipes the fog off my window shield with my hand, the only place I ever show up on time is court … and that’s because jail scares me, and believe letting my kids eat cake for breakfast makes me the best Mom in the world!

My husband, on the other hand …well, let’s say is a little more rule-oriented.

I recently found out he has folders at his office with all our children’s names on them, and in them places their extracurricular schedules, their grades and all the print outs their teachers send us. (I call them the “when I divorce Angel – I am so going to win custody files.”) He shows up for everything exactly on time, remembers everybody’s name, and his side of the closet looks like a picture out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue with everything perfectly lined up and color-coordinated.

It’s midnight and I can’t sleep. So instead of just enjoying the quiet hum of an otherwise bustling house, I think.  And you know what “that” leads to... I start out thinking about the birthday party I need to plan for my youngest. Then I remember Thanksgiving hits right before his birthday, so I need to mentally and physically prepare for hosting a day full of brothers, sisters, and in-laws, not to mention nieces and nephews with sticky fingers, loaded diapers and missing parents.

Have I told you about my new home? Oh, it’s to die for!

It’s about a year old, has heat and air, wall-to-wall carpeting and great acoustics. It’s a little on the small side, but that just means less space to keep clean. Did I mention it has 360 degree views, large windows and a skylight?

Most evenings you can find me in my new home, playing on my phone, flipping through Pottery Barn catalogues and drinking Dunkin’ Doughnuts coffee. And sometimes, if you look closely through the windows, you may even see me ….banging my head …repeatedly…against the walls of my new home.

No worries though – it doesn’t hurt – the walls are made of fake leather.

Oh, wait – did you think I bought a new house? Oh, no – I didn’t buy a new house. I mean, what’s the point, I no longer live in a house.

These days - I just live in my car!

Somewhere in history, who knows when, it became clear that ‘Enough-would NEVER be- Enough.’ It probably started between Cleopatra and Marc Antony’s demise at the Battle of Actium and they knew death was not far off that Cleo turned to Mark and said,

“Why didn’t you bring more than two spears? Now we are staring death in the face”

“Maybe if you would have packed more”

‘Maybe if you would have bought more”

“If you can tell me where I can buy more than two at a time, I’ll do it. Until then, shut up and fight!”

And so the Big, Bulk, Budget Club was born. Where the diapers come in packs of 800, canned corn is purchased by the gross, and you can get your tires rotated while picking out an engagement ring.

Since writing my last column, I’ve been asked quite a bit if we went anywhere for Fall break.

And the answer is yes, and it didn‘t involve any camping gear!

Instead, we went to Chicago. The trip was filled with museums, the zoo, shopping Miracle mile, and bike rides on Lake Michigan. It was perfect, except…. that due to the fact the trip was planned at the last minute, (by me) we decided to drive.

And that meant 7 hours, 20 minutes, 42 seconds, in the car…with our children.

One way!

My children have very different personalities. The oldest is kind, considerate, extremely unorganized and forgiving to a fault. Some of these traits he inherited from his mama. The youngest is cautious, focused, type A and if he’s wronged, he holds a grudge. Proof of this was when he played baseball this summer. A little boy from an opposing team ran on the field.  My child turned to me and said,

“That’s the boy who took the ball away from me when I played soccer!”

He then walked past the kid, stared him down and gave him the universal sign for, ‘I’m watching you.’

This may not seem like a big deal if Jackson wasn’t referring to the 1 season he played soccer when he was 3!

He inherited these traits, especially the grudge thing, from his dad. My husband still talks about a friend from elementary school who tore his Bo Derek poster and even though he hasn’t seen this person in more than 30 years he insists that kid should be punished.

It’s those differences that can make my children the worst of enemies or the best of friends.

Last year, one of our cats died.  Before we buried her, my husband asked the boys if they wanted to say anything. My oldest stood, fighting back tears and said, “I’m not going to cry. She’s in a better place. She shouldn’t have to suffer.” My husband then asked our youngest if he would like to say something. To which he replied, “Yeah. Can you throw me the ball? Baseball practice starts in like an hour.”

There are three things that I HATE-HATE to do. (And yes, I know hate is a strong word.)

Camping, as you know, is one of the top 3 on the list. I dislike sleeping on the ground, in a tent, after a night spent around a campfire (with no television), eating food wrapped in foil. I don’t intend to ever do this again unless a natural disaster hits and the Red Cross forcibly makes me sleep in a tent. And then I assure you, my mournful sobs and cries of “why have you deserted me, oh Lord” will keep the whole camp awake, until a collection is raised and I am moved to indoor accommodations (with cable).

Swimming in any water that is not heavily chlorinated is #2 on the list. Knowing me as you do, you probably think it has to do with germs, but germs are just the beginning. Chlorine kills two things: germs and sharks. Like many people my age, I directly attribute my intense hatred of sharks to the movie Jaws. Followed, by my cousin George whispering in my ear, just prior to his pushing me off the float in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, “you better swim fast, there are sharks all over this place.” Ever since that fateful day, sharks have been on my hit list. As such, unless my water is heavily chlorinated and I can clearly see the bottom, count me out.    

This past week, Becky and I had the pleasure of being guest speakers for Wilson O.N.E. Wilson O.N.E. is a local organization that fosters the enablement of working individuals, paid and non-paid, within Wilson County. The organization was celebrating their 10 year anniversary. We were honored to be part of the event and enjoyed sharing our "Telling Tales’" columns with these lovely ladies.

As part of our presentation, we prepared the following:

"Top Ten Ways to Spot a Working Mother."

1. Her car is so dirty, a small animal can live in it for a week.

2. Her purse is so heavy, it can be used as a deadly weapon (and if she has more than one child – then it already has been!)

3. Dinner most nights consists of chicken nuggets (a protein wrapped in a carb – otherwise know as a twofer in MOM world.)

Ketchup – which any good mother knows is a vegetable.

And if she is one of those "healthy" moms – a Flintstone vitamin for dessert.