Wilson Post Blogs

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.

To whom it may concern (i.e. Heavenly Father, Jesus, God, etc.)

I know it’s been awhile and I’m sorry about that. It’s just that when you let Kate Gosselin make it through six weeks of eliminations, my faith began to wane. Kidding! You know I like to open my prayers on a light note.

I’m sure You are aware of all that’s been going on lately. What with the volatile stock market, housing crisis and Kim Kardashian’s wedding, it’s been pretty tough on all of us financially. (Except for those Kardashians who seem to be the leaders of a new crowd making a fortune by being famous for absolutely NOTHING!)

Now I’m not saying we don’t deserve a little hardship. It was the greed wasn’t it? Or was it how we all tried to buy our way into modern day salvation with fancy cars, obnoxious housing, expensive vacations and ‘questionable’ Facebook relationships? We didn’t worry about money. Nope, we just worried about the other ‘M’ word; MORE. Nobody noticed our worry though. How could they when Botox erased any hint of emotion?

By BECKY ANDREWS, Wilson Living Magazine
Raise your hand if you’re perfect. If you’ve never made a mistake, raised your voice at your children, husband, friend or parent, cursed at an idiot driver, cursed at an idiot driver in front of your children, lied about your age, weight (or in Angel Kane’s case), your height, drank or ate too much. If you did raise your hand, pat yourself on the back.

Liar! Seriously, most of us have made one or more errors in judgment. That is life. And for someone to admit that they are not perfect, well this is the first step to being real. That takes a lot of audacity, being real.

By ANGEL KANE, Wilson Living Magazine
We recently traveled to visit the newest member of our family. Her name is Ana, my brother’s third child. As I held her all weekend, my husband knew what was coming….

…with her baby powder smell, adorable, pink onesies and warm, little snuggles…

…there was no doubt about it.

So, I said it loud and clear for everyone to hear, “She is so precious. I think I should have another baby!” 

To which my sister-in-law responded…

But first - a word about my sister-in-law.

I only have one sibling, my younger brother. Six years my junior, he was really too young to play with, so instead, he became my indentured servant. We did everything together. And he did everything I told him to do… that was… until he married HER.

Now, don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of things I like about HER. She is ultra-OCD. Everything and everybody has its place. In many ways, I broke my brother in, just for her…so she kind of owes me!

And as I was sitting, cooing over her newest baby, and telling everyone within earshot that I was definitely going to have a fourth child,

SHE hollered from the kitchen…“You can’t have another baby! You are too old!”

I immediately looked at my little brother. His mouth was open, aghast, at what SHE had said to ME.  My husband, on the other hand, sat back laughing…ready for the show!   

“What did you say to me???!!!! I am not old! I am only 40, six years older than you! And for your information, there are lots of people my age, who are only now having their first child.”

SHE then made her way from the kitchen to where we were all sitting,

“You traded in your mini-van, turned your playroom into a media room, joined a gym and every time we talk are threatening to botox those wrinkles between your eyes…YOU are now too old to have a baby!”

Later that day, as we drove home, my husband said, “I thought you were going to take her out when she made that “old” comment, but instead you let it go.”

“Well, I figure she is on her third kid, which means she owns a dirty van, her playroom is littered with half naked Barbies and various Uno cards, her only form of exercise is yelling at her kids and those furrows between her eyes will only get deeper with each and every day that Ana doesn’t sleep through the night.

I, on the other hand, am going to spend the money I would have spent on HER Christmas gift, on Botox!”  

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns, go to www.wilsonpost.com and hit Blogs.

By BECKY ANDREWS, Wilson Living Magazine
Many of us know someone who has perfect children. The children who never talk back (even though they started talking in complete sentences at 6 weeks old), their children began reading and could recite all the amendments of the Bill of Rights by age 2, could kick a field goal from the 50 yard line at 8 years old and now colleges from the top 10 have already reserved a full scholarship for Junior.

Of course all of the above is according to the parents, who tend to embellish at times. These are also the parents that you can tell take secret joy in discovering that your youngest didn’t learn how to tie his shoes until 2nd grade.

This type of parent never seemed to faze my mother. I’d like to think she was so incredibly open about the failings of her children because she simply liked to make others feel better. But part of me knows better. When I would ask her why she insisted on telling the parents of my classmates I sucked my thumb until age 11 she’d reply,

“But look at you now. You don’t suck your thumb anymore.”

She did this quite often. We (my brothers and sisters) like to reminisce about how mom introduced us to complete strangers. It always went a little like this,

“This is my oldest son, Mike. He’s very creative and so sensitive. Don’t offer him a drink though. He’s a recovering alcoholic.”

“This is Laura. She’s our oldest daughter. Isn’t she pretty? You should have seen her before she gained all that weight from the kids. Talk about a knockout.”

“Here’s Kathy. She is the most reliable of our children. I don’t know where she got her chest from though.”

I cringed when it was my turn. Out of all of my brothers and sisters, I provided the most entertainment and disappointment so there was no telling where this introduction would go.

“Becky is our fourth. Look how pretty her teeth are. Thank God she quit sucking her thumb.”  “She’s on another diet so keep an eye on your dessert. She has a sweet tooth, don’t you, Beck?”

“This is Christy. She’s our baby girl. She’s also agnostic. You know, she doesn’t believe in God. I’ve told her about hell. But, she’s my stubborn child. I guess some of us just have to learn the hard way.”

“And our baby, Tony. He’s just precious. You’d never know his big sisters dressed him in drag when he was little. Although, who knows what he’s wearing under those jeans.”

I can’t wait to create similar memories for my children. Some traditions should never be lost.

Email your embarrassing stories to Becky! This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

By BECKY ANDREWS, Wilson Living Magazine
With all that everyone is trying to accomplish in 24 hours, it’s clear that no one is planning on slowing down. So to that effect, I think there is a need to create some sort of reference formula to keep you from losing it while trying to do too much.

Here it goes…

Ingedients:
1-2 overworked, underappreciated adults
1-3 over stimulated, over indulged children who can’t hear you ask them if they have homework on the ride home from school but, can hear their cell phone vibrate (in their bedroom) before walking in the front door.
1-4 over fed, dirty, accident prone animals that have the nerve to look right at you while relieving themselves on the living room rug.

Directions
Take adults (1-2). For female, have coffee ready and waiting. Make sure her favorite mug wasn’t used as the paintbrush cleaner for a watercolor painting the youngest created last night. If it was, wash it quickly. Warning: DO NOT ask where your keys, wallet or socks are located before that first mug has been sufficiently digested. This is not the time to talk about anything likely to cause stress, i.e. - a leaking roof, clogged toilet or what appears to be water damage on the floors upstairs. In fact, before this first cup, talking should be kept at a minimum and for God’s sake, don’t ask for a kiss! The early morning adult female is like a soufflé, one false move and it’s ruined.

For male, give him a few uninterrupted minutes of SportCenter before complaining about dishes in the sink or mud he tracked into the house yesterday. This is also not the time to bring up the unfinished landscaping, new paint colors for the house or anything about HIS mother.

Special Note: Do yourself a favor and don’t use this quiet time to ask him if you look fat. Give the man a few minutes to recharge so he can look serious when he says, “You look so skinny!”

For children, don’t ask 20 questions before they get out of bed. Let them take a shower first. Also, let them pick out their own clothes. Who cares if their ensemble doesn’t match? It’s amazing what this little bit of responsibility can do for them. Who knows, one day they may start loading the dishwasher or mow the yard without you asking them.  (Depending on how many children you have, if they like the same style shirt or pants or skirt, buy them all for each member. This will help you avoid screaming matches followed by hair pulling over who gets to wear the plaid skirt-I grew up one of four girls so I speak from experience.)

For the pets… HIRE A TRAINER… or you can just decide that this little four legged creature is an irreplaceable member of your family and who cares about the rugs anyway.

Mix the above ingredients well. This will get your day started relatively stress free. Now the rest of the day is up to you.

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By BECKY ANDREWS, Wilson Living Magazine
I’d like to meet the person who coined the term, ‘family vacation’ just once.  First, I’d ask, “Have you ever taken a vacation with your family? How old were the children that went on this trip? Were they potty trained? Were they teenagers? Could they talk?” And before that person could answer any of those questions, I’d go for the jugular, “Did you take your mother-in-law?  I didn’t think so.”

Besides Spanx and the Wonderbra, there are few things more overrated than the family vacation. When did it become a good idea to leave the space and comfort of our home, go to a strange city with higher crime rates and pay $300 a night to stay in a space smaller than your bedroom with your entire family? I’ll tell you when.

When we all started working more, eating-in less and signing up our children for everything from basketball camp to chess lessons.  Since we can’t seem to unwind in our homes, we take a ‘vacation’ (insert sarcasm).

I try every year to plan the perfect trip. I envy those families who talk about how their vacations were everything they dreamed of and more. And when I get the Christmas card that features their whole family wearing mouse ears, grinning from ear to ear, it gives me one more reason to believe that Walt Disney created a ridiculous little rodent mascot to mock me. It makes me hate the happiest place on earth.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine
This past week, my husband attended a meeting in Memphis and, while there, was completely overjoyed to pop in for a visit with my family. On his way back to town, he called me, “Tell the kids to wait up because I’m bringing home a surprise.”

When I got off the phone, I informed all of them of the possibility of huge surprise and each starting playing the guessing game.

By BECKY ANDREWS, Wilson Living Magazine We all have a person that gets us. The person that appreciates your sense of humor appreciates your fashion sense-even though they frequently make fun of it- and agrees that when it comes to this friendship it’s pretty special.