Confessions of a middle class mom

The Fight of My Life

2018-03-20T14:32:00.000-07:00

Standing in the middle of the boxing ring..mouth guard in, hands taped, gloves on, oh and it’s pitch black. I’m blindfolded. I can feel the presence of someone or something. Every step forward or back only brings uncertainty. Should I run? I can’t see. What if I stumble? What if I’m pinned against the ropes? There is no time to go over scenarios in my mind. The air is displaced as who or what moves closer and steps back. The fear is paralyzing. I hear the swing of a gloved fist, as I move left my jaw is met with a direct blow. I can taste the blood in my mouth. I put myself here. I stepped into the ring. I placed the blindfold on years ago. Bloodied, battered, bruised but never broken. I may not be declared the winner but I will survive.. head held high and better for it.

Hurricane

2018-03-20T14:28:00.001-07:00

I am standing in the eye of the storm. I’ve been here for so long that I feel a false sense of security in the stillness. The hurricane of my circumstances rage all around me but it’s quiet in the eye. If I don’t reach out too far for help or to try and navigate the pain stinging truths I can simply pretend there is no storm. I can see a faint light beyond the black swirling torrents. I imagine it’s a place I’d want to be maybe it’s hope maybe a mirage. The place where I hide is getting uncomfortably small. Just standing tall allows the chaos to tear me away from this perceived safety. I’m screaming but the hurricane is so deafening I’m sure no one can hear my plea to let the storm subside. I have to let go of the fear that immobilizes me and allow myself to weather this. I just wish I knew how.

Sent from my iPhone

Tight Rope Walker

2018-03-06T07:26:00.003-08:00

I keep telling myself to just put one foot in front of the other. The high wire is no place for the faint of heart. Here I am, not looking down nor back but head held high looking forward..forward in direction, in intention, in spirit. Never closing my eyes in fear as that would surely cause me to lose my balance and fall. There is no safety net subsequently the height is dizzying. Forward focused, slow measured calculated steps. I’m just a few feet off the perch where I started. It seems like an unending journey to the other side. I will get there, and every single breath is a victory.

On The High Dive

2018-02-18T21:15:00.000-08:00

Is it wrong to fear success? I am standing on the precipice of amazing and terrifying things. All at once I’m giddy with the hope and promise of success in doing what I love to do and leaping into a whole new world away from the comfort and perceived stability of a relationship I thought would sustain me. I am terrified. It’s like watching everyone line up for the high dive, climbing the ladder and realizing you’re all alone on that board. Twelve seasoned kids rolling their eyes while you contemplate the jump or dive. It feels so much more dangerous than it looked from the pool deck. It’s silent, the air feels cooler, the board more unstable. You can only feel the prickly texture of the board and how it quivers and flexes under your feet,the goosebumps on your skin and the sound of your heat beating out of your chest. You know you need to do it and wish someone would just shove you off. No luck, this is the juxtapose, you have to do this, on your own, no one can push you, the choice is yours and you’ve made it, you cannot back down off of the ladder, you won’t back down off the ladder. Will you feel liberated, maybe. Will you be praised, probably not. “Change is hard”, said without a thought so many times. Change isn’t always good, but it is necessary and inevitable. To grow we have to accept change. Wish me luck as I jump off of the high dive and into an unknown future.

Lee

2015-07-20T17:17:00.000-07:00

Acute Heroin intoxication. Those are the indelibly written words on
 my brother Lee Burton's death certificate and on my heart.  One year 
ago today marks the end of his horrible ugly addiction. What it doesn't 
mark is the continued sadness and guilt felt by those left behind. Those
 including myself who turned a blind eye to the symptoms and behaviors 
that were slapping me in the face daily. It took me 9 months to order 
his death certificate with cause of death included. My mother cannot 
enter the apartment attached to her home where she found him. Don't be 
mistaken my brother was a wonderful, loving, caring person who on many 
levels I still admire.Heroin however doesn't care who you are, how 
bright talented and amazing you might be. It can be injected into any 
socioeconomic class. You could say it doesn't discriminate.  Ultimately 
my brother made his own choices but when this black grim reaper gets a 
choke hold on you it chokes your ability to make rational decisions for 
yourself. This is where the guilt has it's staring role. When Lee was in
 its grip I was so incredibly angry at the mess that was his life I 
couldn't see that he was unable to cry for help. This monster literally 
choked the life out of him.  No longer angry I feel so cheated by this 
easy readily available vixen of a drug. I'm not writing to stand on a 
soap box and point fingers at anyone else I'm doing quite the opposite. 
Today I'm pointing the finger at myself for not being brave enough to 
fight for my brothers life. I'm also writing to declare my sense of loss
 for Lee and my love for him. He always stood up for me even if I knew I
 was wrong. He loved unconditionally. 
He didn't judge, anyone ever. I see him in every butterfly. Amazing, 
strong and fragile at the same time.

This New Year

2014-12-31T07:05:00.000-08:00

On this New Year's Eve I am unexpectedly giddy with the promise of the year to come. I find myself pushing past the intense heartache and pain that permeated 2014. and feeling an overwhelming rush of hope and love. It is an almost perfect parallel to the feelings that have not faded from 26 years ago. I gave birth to my oldest daughter Katie just past midnight on New Years morning. The fear and pain...the unknown...the weighty reality of responsibility beyond anything I had ever felt, melted into inexplicable joy the moment she was laid in my arms. I have dreams and plans for this new year that mirror those I had for that precious little baby. I know I will have to crawl before I walk. That I will stumble and fall. I also am certain that I will surpass my own expectations. There will be more laughter than tears more celebrations than grief. As this year comes to a close and I mean close in a very literal sense. I am thrilled to step over that imaginary threshold of the past and fully embrace the possibilities this new year holds. Won't you take my hand and come with me? Think of all the extraordinary memories we will make..Happy Joyous New Year to all of my family and friends. God has a great adventure planned for us!

Sent from my iPhone

What I Realize is Important

2014-10-30T16:30:00.001-07:00

Three months earlier............

Tonight’s been rough. I have been alone for two days…I haven’t been alone really since before my dad died. I didn’t realize how dependent on others I am. More than that, I realize that even when I am with others, I am alone in my grief. Not to say I don’t value my friends and families well wishes, company and comfort. I am realizing this is an experience I have to go through alone. I have to own it. I will need the shoulders, sweet words and understanding of many, but my experience is unique and I have to fight through it. I grieve the love I didn’t have with my brother…I mourn the memories my dad didn’t have of my girls. I am desperately afraid my children will have to endure the loss of a sibling…they are so intricately tied to one another. If I am suffering so deeply how will they feel at the loss of one another. My head is swimming with tears and regret. I am so grateful for my family and close friends, but mostly my children. Their relationships are so normal and beautiful unlike my own. I pray they all grow very, very old together enjoying one another and all of their children and grand children.

When I hear them talk to each other, giggle, and give advise. I know that God had a plan for me. I’m not saying that I’m a martyr or that my sad situation with my own siblings was a horrible fairytale out of the Brother’s Grimm, what I am saying is that despite my circumstances there is light and hope and joy. I have been able to, partly with God’s grace, and with the experience and help of two amazing women, my mother and my mother in law, raise three incredibly bright, sweet compassionate girls who individually are amazing but together as sisters are unstoppable human beings. Everything that I wished I had in a relationship with my own siblings they have in spades. I’m not sure if this was completely by design or if I just worked harder to correct my own broken relationships in them. No matter. As I struggle with a kind of grief I don’t wish upon anyone, I take great comfort in the simple joy of three sisters who genuinely love each other and are willing to fight for their relationships as family. I know I will get through this. I will feel alone among many. I will question my relationships and wonder if there was anything I could have said or done..I will never regret my experience, my childhood, my family dynamic. This is all a part of who I am. Funny, ugly, fierce and dysfunctional.

Not ready to say goodbye

2014-08-12T18:13:00.000-07:00

I suppose I'm the queen of compartmentalization. If you need to get through something I can teach you how to put your emotions in a box, seal them up and file them away indefinitely. God only knows what treasures lie buried in my subconscious and God knows no one needs to know. Scary I'm certain! I find myself in a very awkward place. Drippy tears eak out at inappropriate times and places. While watching commercials or looking at my children's photos I am overcome with uncontrollable emotion. Not good for the Q of C. I do have a lot to cry about of late, but haven't really been able to let it all come to the surface. That is until the news of the very sudden and unfortunate passing of comedian Robin Williams. Isn't it funny how someone whom I never met, didn't really know at all, could cause a wave of uncontrollable grief to be released. I lost my father in April to heart failure and cancer which seamed to rage in and deplete him in an instant. Then in late July I lost my big brother to a drug overdose. I feel like these endings were an inevitable scene in a very heartbreaking film, but I just am not ready to say goodbye. To watch the credits scroll up, with a large part of my life too...The End....it's almost easier to wail and scream for someone whose life story hasn't amputated my own. I know I will have to open these carefully closed boxes sooner than later and really deal with my loss, but for now, I will pause the story.. I'm just not ready to say goodbye.

Cousins

2014-08-09T21:33:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing my family did well it was fostering relationships between cousins. Although my experience with my own siblings was strange and could have been the used as a doctoral thesis for a budding psychiatrist, my cousin relationship was filled with sweet summer play and was as normal as I think it should have been. My dad was one of four kids. His twin sisters each had four as well. Now we had three in our family, but I was the only one who went on extended "cousin cations". Every summer I would take the greyhound bus from Phoenix to Tucson, a sometimes sketchy two hour ride, and stay for 2 weeks, sometimes 3, depending on how sick we got of each other. I would start and end at Aunt Nancy and Uncle Burt's house and spend the middle of my trip at Aunt Margaret and Uncle Bill's house. This was truly the highlight of my summer. I could not wait to simply play all day with these wonderful creatures. We fought too, like normal kids do. To disagree,feel sorry, forgive and move on , was a completely foreign concept to me. I hope I have instilled this in my own children. At Aunt Nancy's I got to play with "the boys". Danny, Kevin and John...there was Colleen too. We would swim, ride bikes, play at the park across the street for hours.... Colleen and I would ride the city bus all over Tucson! I watched little boys do little boy things. My brother locked himself in his room , I was forbidden to enter or bother him. These boy cousins transfixed me. They did things like, carefully tying a string around the body of a cicada and then let the buzzing large black bug zoom around in circles. They would also put the bugs on Colleen and me and then run away. It was almost like watching a beautiful story unfold before your eyes. I felt so tickled to be a small part of their everyday life. I've never felt so safe and free at the same time as I did those summer days. My uncle Burt, after I'm certain, was an exhausting day at work, would sit down with a cocktail and be instantly bombarded with attention seeking children. His tone seemed slightly agitated but he would relent and finally listen intently to the trials and triumphs of the day. He would fire back like only a seasoned attorney can do with his own set of questions. Some seemed appropriate some seemed to just fuel a bigger discussion. He wasn't what I would call warm and fuzzy but his care and concern were and still are very genuine. He was strict but generous. My Aunt Nancy was and is still everything I strive to be. Her diminutive size was only predicated by her huge heart, and amazing ability to command her "troops". Gentle disciplinarian , champion for all, and I mean ALL. She effortlessly was able to make meals for her crew, volunteer not only herself but all of us to do philanthropic things, more importantly, she had and still does have a unshakable faith in God and a fantastic sense of humor. Beyond the love of my own mother, my love for this woman is unrivaled. Colleen and I to this day are amazed that she was so trusting. To let us venture off with a promise to be back by dinner time is so beyond how we hover over our children monitoring their every move like a carefully played game of chess. I suppose she just had more faith in society and us to do the right thing.
Aunt Margaret and Uncle Bill's house was another adventure. They had four girls. So I just fit right in like another. The girls shared two rooms. Andy and Sally in one and Tina and Jenny in another. What I remember most about those summer days were the nights. We would stay awake for hours it seemed and talk about everything. Boys, friends, school, family, scary stories. I couldn't imagine better "sisters". They we're definitely not girlie girls. Uncle Bill made up for not having boys by coaching his own team of girls. They were and still are pretty amazing athletes. Uncle Bill loved to run and was so thrilled to compete and complete the Boston Marathon. The Polson's are Greek. Which meant being a fly on the wall for some pretty amazing parties... Belly dancers included. The food was the most amazing part. I can credit my love for spanakopita to my Polson clan. We would swim and play all day, doing crazy jumps and tricks off the diving board. I felt like I could tell those girls any secret and know it would be safe. We all live very different lives now. Spread across the country and raising our own families. Most of us are still in Arizona but I only see them on rare occasions. I do stalk them on Facebook, and am delighted to see the next generations of cousins flourish. As my immediate family has become smaller I am reminded of how great an impact my extended family has had on who I am as a mother, wife, friend and even child. When Hillary Clinton used the African proverb, " it takes a village" she wasn't kidding. I will never be able to adequately express the gratitude I have for my cousins, aunts and uncles for embracing me, treating me like one of their own, parenting me without reservation.

Daddy's Girl

2013-02-19T21:55:00.002-08:00

On the Eve of my father's Birthday I am struck with a poignant, childhood memory of my relationship with my "Daddy". One of my first memories of my dad is laden with so many senses. I am sitting on the bathroom counter. I couldn't have been more than two or three years old...Perched near the sink, legs crossed. I helped my father lather his face with sweet, silky shaving cream...I can still smell the clean soapy cream, and vividly remember how carefully I spread the white , fluffy, airy foam all over his face. He would lean in close so I could "carefully" paint his stubbly cheeks, lip, and neck. I then would sit and stare in amazement as he expertly whisked the razor across his face. He then dipped the razor into a sink full of hot water, which I dipped my fingers in, watching the shaving cream float and then melt into the little pool. All the while he would listen to whatever I jabbered about as if it was the most important information he would ever hear. I would ask him questions which I can no longer recall. I'm sure they were earth shattering things like, "What are you going to do today?" "Do you love me as much as you love Susie?" Each question was met with a constant, low reassuring tone. To this day, when I call my dad, and, I often have frantic, earth shattering questions or concerns, I am met with the very same comforting voice I heard as a child. The most recent memory is as poignant. I called on the phone faced with an impossible situation. I had to confess to him the most unbearable raw ugly truth that I had deceived my family and put them in financial peril. The details are unimportant and the situation is well on it's way to being resolved. It was absolutely the hardest thing I have ever or will ever have to do. It is so easy to love your own children completely and unconditionally. It is yet another to accept that kind of love from others. Isn't it funny how we can marvel at our children's questioning our forgiveness yet we refuse to know in our hearts we are forgiven by our parents in the same fashion. When I was finally able to choke the horrible words out of my mouth to my father's quiet listening ears there was no yelling, no silent disappointment. There were tears. Lots and lots of tears. He was so sorry I felt I had to bear this alone. He cried with me and for me. It was the most reaffirming moment of parent child love I have ever experienced. My Dad is far from perfect in his own life of failed endeavors and relationships. He also is brilliant, funny, sensitive and proud. Too proud to ask for help...gee I guess I come by that naturally. Bursting with pride for his grandchildren and their accomplishments. Proud of his children for simply being. I am certain he doesn't see these wonderful qualities in himself because he is also terribly self deprecating. I hope he will read this and know that I wouldn't be the parent I am if he weren't the wonderful dad he has been. Happy Birthday Daddy.

Moments of Clarity

2013-01-15T10:28:00.000-08:00

Moments of Clarity

Our individual realities are always shaped and formed by our varying circumstances and life experiences. My sister had a profound effect on mine.

Growing up with an undiagnosed bipolar sibling was at the very least unpredictably terrifying. Living with the reality that my parents were in total denial was devastating.

From my earliest memory Susie emotionally hijacked our family. I was sure the phrase “walking on egg shells” was coined expressly for us. Susie was and still is one of the most intelligent, beautiful and funny people I know. Her ability to turn a bad situation into something glorious was only predicated by her unpredictable, wildly aggressive temper. One moment you were lured into laughing, smiling and letting your guard down. Like a snake charmer she could will you to get comfortable, tell her your innermost secrets, ask you how you really felt about something personal and then SNAP! It was an actual physical transformation. Like a contortionist she took shape into another person. Ugly, angry and venomous, she would strike out. Using words and expletives beyond description she would verbally assault. Physically her 5’3” 100lb stature changed into a hulk-like creature capable of taking down people 3 times her size.

The undeniable fact that my sister suffers from a debilitating mental illness is not lost on me. Her outbursts unprovoked and nonsensical were horrifying as a child yet my love for her always outweighed her episodes. I wanted so badly for her to

be the sister everyone else had. The one who braided their hair, took them to the mall, helped them with boy problems. I had glimpse of that sister. She had moments of clarity.

She was fiercely loyal. The one saying our family used still holds true. “You definitely want her on your side and not against you”.

Susie is the middle child. A lot of her behaviors were written off to “being the middle child”. I was so convinced that this was a viable reason that I was very concerned when I became pregnant for the third time that my middle daughter would be doomed to exhibit the same traits as my sister.

My brother, Lee, the oldest was usually the target for the more physical attacks. He was under strict orders to NEVER hit a girl. He was relegated to hitting the walls or doors in the hallway. When we sold our home we spent an unusually large amount of money patching the drywall. My clever mother mod-podged flowers cut out from existing wallpaper scraps on the holes in closet doors.

Susie was great at psychological warfare. She knew my brother hated peanut butter so everything she baked for home economics had peanut butter in it. She didn’t eat any of her creations but she enjoyed torturing Lee by ruining any chance he had for eating yummy desserts. Things would take “a turn for the worse” when Lee would ask her why she did that. The result was usually a battle of words followed by punching and hitting, by my sister. For me, it was the allure of “The Twilight Zone”. It was a super scary TV show that was on Friday nights past my bedtime. When my parents were out and Susie was babysitting me she would encourage me to watch the show promising a happy outcome. The happy outcome never happened and Susie would then shut off the lights and chase me around in the dark. Locking me in the hall closet was always an option too.

I'm not sure when or how the power shift happened from parent to child.

I can hope and dream that somehow there's a special reason she's like this. Maybe Motzart was like this. Maybe her brilliance cannot be understood or processed by me. "Let go and let God" is given a whole new meaning when it comes to my sister. It's so hard to stand by and watch someone seemingly unravel before your eyes and know there is not a thing you can do about it. She won't allow it. I just wait for the moments of clarity.

"Shoot out at the OK Corral" or "You think I'm Old Enough To Qualify for the Senior Discount??!!"

2012-03-24T12:35:00.002-07:00

There is nothing more affirming than the unbiased opinion of a young stranger manning the checkout at your local grocery. I have an unrealistic image of myself. I know how old I am, I know what size I wear, and my glasses prescription. When I get dressed in the morning, gussy up my hair and make-up, and tilt my head to the side while looking in the mirror...I see who I want to see. Who is apparently someone completely foreign to the rest of the general public. I see a well put together, middle age , confident, happy (most of the time) person. I do, occasionally, catch a glimpse of a really overweight, frumpy, frazzled and disheveled older woman in desperate need of a wardrobe make-over and cosmetic surgery following me. I look over my shoulder in the reflection of the glass in a store window. There she is! She is definitely stalking me... I am convinced that "she" isn't me, or well, I was...Until a few weeks ago. I went to the grocery with my happy attitude and cute "flattering" ensemble. I made my way through the store smiling at strangers, making small talk with clerks. Then it happened...The most unspeakable event in my life thus far. At the check out counter after I put in my frequent shopper number and got ready to swipe my credit card for payment I nearly collapsed, which doesn't help my case, being the happy, jazzy, middle aged mom. The unassuming clerk made a, horrifying to me, assumption...He gave me the Super Senior Discount!!! He didn't ask , are you 55? No he just hit the, She is OBVIOUSLY old enough for the discount key. Mouth dry, ears ringing, and heart racing I swiped my card graciously accepting the receipt, and walked at a faster than normal pace out of the store...I am 46, 46!!!!

So thank you, young, store clerk for giving me more resolve than I've had in years. I have given up sweets, and fried snacks. I am changing up my every day outfits, wearing more lipstick and I'm working my apparently older than I think I look, tush off every day.

We will meet again!!!

Next time, by summer's end, I will be asked if I'm old enough to have college aged children, because I OBVIOUSLY don't look old enough...

When I grow up...or, Do I have to grow up?

2012-02-22T16:27:00.000-08:00

I am reminded today of how many things there are, that I still need to learn and do...and of those childish things I refuse to give up. Today as a colleague celebrated his 39th birthday, I say, knowing many of you are 39ish or younger, "Really, ugh, only 39? I wish!" I stood and watched the interaction of he and others in our office, and I swear if I squinted a little I could see their true 16 year old personalities. The awkward laughs, juvenile jokes, which we all think are hilarious, and that ever present need for approval. I am right there too...I know I am "technically" a grown up, but, if truth were to be told I don't feel grown up at all. Most of the time I think my kids are more mature than I am, and they would agree wholeheartedly. I can certainly kick into grown up mode when necessary. When a problem arises or one of my friends or children have an emotional meltdown looming on the horizon I can dress up in my grown up costume and handle the monster problems with the best of them...but, most of the time I catch myself day dreaming of driving with the convertible top down, singing Eagles songs at the top of my lungs. When I walk by a mirror or window and catch a glimpse of the pudgy older lady starring back at me I am horrified! Wow! She looks awful. Glad I'm still young, svelte and beautiful! We spend so much of our high school and college years wishing to be done and on with our "adult" lives only to be tricked that we are still those gangly, free spirited, goof balls...Who now have to punch a time clock and pay mortgages. Some days I really wish there was a Neverland, an island of lost boys and Peter Pan leading the charge against the perils of adulthood. I did, as a child, have an unhealthy obsession with pixie dust, and am probably alive today because we didn't live in a two story home.

So here I sit, and as I have those haunting memories of my parents embarrassing me to the point of certain death by their display of very un-adult like behavior. I have turned into that same un-adult like person. I think, or rather know, that losing those childlike qualities is not fun, attractive or necessary. We need to be goofy, day dream, sing at the top of our lungs! If we forget how to be childlike than how can we appreciate our own children, grandchildren...Here's to giggling, to playing hopscotch, listening to the car radio loud enough to burst your eardrums. There are plenty of opportunities to don our grown up costumes and tackle the problems de jour. If I can't feel like a kid, I won't be able to act like a grown up...Just sayin'

The Trouble with Four Year Olds

2012-02-21T17:30:00.000-08:00

The trouble with four year olds is that have discovered the power of negotiation. They know if they eat their green beans they can successfully argue that green beans and ice cream cancel each other out. " Mommy, don't you want ice cream too?" You do of course and who can argue with this brilliant force of nature. Four year olds have the uncanny ability to make you laugh, cry, and question your sanity all at the same time. My friend's four year old, " Hey Mom, see those sun shine streams through the clouds? That's God. He's smiling at us." When my daughter was four, she was obsessed with two things. Barney and Ariel. Unfortunately, she received a dingy Barney sleep shirt from a yard sale while "junking" with her grandparents. She also had a pair of Ariel leggings. Surprise! This was her outfit of choice for months. Did I mention four year olds insist on being their own stylists? It's true, every four year old must pick out and don outfits they put together themselves, or you will face the dreaded tantrum. Not only did my daughter dress herself she refused to have her hair brushed, and always seemed to have a rash on her face. I was certain I would be hand cuffed and taken away by Child Protective Services. She would proudly wear her sloppy Barney shirt, dirty kneed Ariel leggings and flip flops in January as if she was about to be on the catwalk during New York's Fashion Week. All of you who haven't had a four year old or have conveniently blocked the memory out, let me remind you that reasoning with a four year old, hell bent on doing something, is like watching a presidential debate during the primaries. It is far easier on everyone to pretend you're the babysitter and convince them to call you by your first name when in public, than to coif their hair dress them in pressed clean adorable matching outfits and having their heads spin around like the exorcist. Trust me I've done it, not pretty. That same four year old can touch your cheek softly and sing you the lullaby you've been singing to them since before they were born. I guess the problem or "trouble" with four year olds is that as their amazing minds expand and their beautiful personalities become solidified you lose the control you once had over their every step. It is the natural ebb and flow of the parent child relationship. "Relationship" being the key word here. My four year old is now 21 years old. How I long for the days when she would sing " A Part of Your World" at the top of her lungs while trying to brush her hair with a fork. Believing for certain anything was possible. Release your inner four year old! God Bless...

Things I Know...or, It's okay, I'm a mom

2012-02-20T11:32:00.000-08:00

I admittedly am not the smartest or most successful person, but there are a few things I know for sure. Having one child is a life changing, beautiful adventure. Having two children is manageable chaos. Having three children is circus mayhem. There is a reason they call it a three ring circus. If you're lucky enough to have three children. You have officially earned the title of "Ring Master". Put on your top hat grab you whip and bull horn, own this title or you will be eaten alive. I know that in 2 minutes several day destroying things can happen. A crayon can be lodged up a 2 year old's nose. An eighteen month old can successfully scale the counter to the cupboard where you keep the Dimetapp, and drink the entire bottle. Your two adorable dogs can take a perfectly cooked, 14 pound turkey off the counter, eat it, leaving nothing behind, not even the wishbone and feel no ill effects or remorse. Your three year old can decorate your yellow lab with colorful Sharpies. In the next minute they can paint all of their big sister's stuffed animals ,"toes" with nail polish and confidently say the dog did it. A barbie placed on top of a lamp, can become "disabled" barbie when their arm melts off. Dog food becomes a crunchy, healthy, in between meal snack. Bangs that didn't exist before suddenly appear, and are significantly shorter than your hairdresser would recommend, again, the dog has done this. A VCR can become a make shift depository for money and grilled cheese sandwiches. I know that your children can and will repeat everything they hear, in front of your Mother in law, at church, or to a group of other children who will then repeat everything to their parents. " I love you" and "I'm sorry" mean more than you know and aren't spoken often enough. "Sticks and stones will break your bones." Broken bones heal. "but words will never harm you." Words can leave scars that last a lifetime so choose them carefully. People who say they feel better in their 40's and 50's are obviously suffering from dementia and don't remember what it felt like, physically, to be 20. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Get the "Joy of Cooking" and use it! A thoughtful word or a gentle pat on the back can turn someone's day around. I know that there is no easy way to get gum out of hair, lipstick out of carpet or red latex paint out of car flooring. I know for sure that good friends, family and faith can get you through anything. Laughter is good medicine, and being able to laugh at yourself is the best medicine. I know that bubble gum, a rubber band and a paperclip can fix just about everything. I know for sure as you get older time does goes by faster. Enjoy your children. Stop. Smile. Get on the floor and play with them while you can. I know for sure that there is a God, he is awesome, sovereign and he answers prayers. Pray, a lot...for humility, patience and forgiveness.

Time for Change or Watch out for the lava!

2012-02-17T17:33:00.000-08:00

My life, like all of our lives, is in a constant upheaval. I compare mine to those videos in science class we watched in Jr. High of the earth's crust erupting with moving molten lava, as they tried to liken the video footage with what they assume is how our planet was formed. I know if I breathe, and stand still for just a moment I realize that others have more tumultuous events occurring in their lives. Eventually, it all comes back to the hot molten lava...I can justify any and every event as a cosmic collision. "I know you're going through a lot right now,but, let me fill you in on my latest catastrophe!" It's really funny in a ridiculous, sitcom kind of way when I think about it...I have, undeniably, been through a lot these past six months. My mother, 74, was blindsided by a petition for divorce from my second stepfather. My sister was evicted from her apartment and happily reported she was eating hotel patrons leftovers placed outside their rooms for Thanksgiving dinner. I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, not life threatening, stable in growth for now. My dear friends daughter was diagnosed and successfully treated for Leukemia. We are being hounded by the IRS...I could go on and on, the molten lava overtaking every nook and cranny of my existence until I am perched on the corner of an end table hanging on to sanity so the lava won't swallow me up and burn me alive! That's when breathing is a really good idea. I know everyone else is living with the "lava effect". Our church recently added a contemporary service to our worship options. Now, understand, we are a Presbyterian church in an predominantly white, upper middle class neighborhood. We have been doing the same thing for more than 25 years...Adding this service was like asking the congregation to accept live sacrifices on the alter every Sunday. Don't misunderstand. It wasn't the idea of contemporary worship. We talk about it, embrace the principles, encourage those who want to participate in worship in any form,but...Change? Add something, different? To our worship schedule? Hmmm, not so comfortable. Here comes that lava! Every aspect of this monumental event was scrutinized. Where will people park? Won't this pull people from our traditional service? It was almost as if we were taking ownership of worship itself. "their way might be okay, our way is the right way". This Sunday, in the traditional service, yes, I go to the traditional service. Don't hate me. I like it, I sing in the choir, I feel comfortable there. Anyway, in the traditional service the sermon was about being who God wants you to be...Living up to the expectations He has for us. Stop, breathe, listen...Listen to your own heart. Don't let the lava over take your life. It isn't about you. It's about Him working in your life. It is time for change. I am trying to envision the waves crashing on the lava, cooling it, washing away the stress and tumult of the day. I know that my life will always be in upheaval. I can look at it as destructive, or...look at it as growth. Those layers of lava in my life once cooled by love and faith give me strength...

February 14th...No, not Valentine's day, Arizona's Birthday!

2012-02-14T19:44:00.000-08:00

100 years ago on February 14th, Arizona became the 48th state of the union...I am a fourth generation Arizonan...my family was here when we were a territory, we fought in the only battle of the civil war at Picacho Peak...We were confederates...We won. We protected our border ensuring Tucson was, and is a part of our great state and not taken by Spaniards. My Grandmother attended Tempe Normal, ...now ASU...when it was a college for women educators. My father was born in a midwife facility in Tucson and was Scottsdale's first city attorney. We are a diverse, bright, complicated group of amazing citizens. We are quirky, brash and outspoken. My great great grandfather brought his family across the country by horse drawn wagon and was a first family of Tempe...no, I am not a Mormon. He then moved to Glendale where he was a farmer. He took his crops to Tempe to sell and crossed the Salt River using Hayden's Ferry. Lattie Coor, Carl Hayden, and my great grandfather had their hair cut by the same barber every week. Prescott, is pronounced Preskitt. My grandmother and her sisters summered in Flagstaff . It was too hot in the valley and they didn't have air conditioning. Hanging wet sheets between trees and sleeping on mattresses outside was their air conditioning. I grew up in Scottsdale before it was cool. The big indoor mall was Los Arcos. We were influenced by Wallace and Ladmo, a local "kids" TV show where adults were laughing harder than the kids. The Phoenician was The Jokake Inn and I rode my horse on the golf course regularly. Fashion Square's coolest department store wasn't Barney it was Goldwater's, yes, owned by Barry Goldwater's family. I am an proud American and Arizonan. I know we have far to go and aren't perfect. I could live anywhere, but couldn't dream of living anywhere else. Happy Birthday Arizona!

Patience, Yeah Whatever!

2011-08-16T10:55:00.000-07:00

Patience is the state of endurance under difficult circumstances, which can mean persevering in the face of delay or provocation without acting on annoyance/anger in a negative way; or exhibiting forbearance when under strain, especially when faced with longer-term difficulties. Patience is the level of endurance one's character can take before negativity. It is also used to refer to the character trait of being steadfast.

We tell our children constantly to be patient. " Please be patient. Good things come to those who wait." On the other hand when they won't do or act according to our plan we blurt, "You are testing my patience!" I have been faced with the issue of patience lately, in almost all aspects of my life. As I looked again at the definition of patience I realized, this is NO easy task. I think it comes from unreasonable expectations, which I admit I have about almost everything. I expect things to happen on my schedule. I want results, reactions, redemption, and sometimes revenge instantaneously. I know in my squirrely head that this is not right, that these things will not happen on my time line or maybe ever. But without a doubt I let these expectations run my life. I get angry, frustrated, incensed....when I can't get an answer, finish a project or make other people have unreasonable expectations to match mine! I guess I need to redefine my expectations in order to wrap my head around the idea of true patience.

Patience is the state of endurance under difficult circumstances.

Are my daily circumstances really difficult, no...Do I have situations in my life that truly require patience, of course. This all falls back to a little cliche....I know, I love these.....Let Go and Let God. So for today I will take a deep breath and practice patience where it is needed and you know what I'll do with the rest of it.....

When we sweat the small stuff......

2011-08-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

When we sweat the small stuff we miss out on the big stuff.

We become consumed with what others think instead of worrying about others. We can't look beyond our own needs and wants to discover that we hold the power to change someone's life with a caring act or a listening ear. Sweating the small stuff in our lives is actually quite selfish. Who are we to fret and worry about our possessions, our position. If we truly believe it is all in God's hands we are not being very trusting when we can't give it all, and I mean all of it, into God's very capable hands. If we can find a way to let loose of all the worries, big and little, it gives us so much more time and capacity to love others in a meaningful way. To really hear our children when they are expressing their feelings of happiness, disappointment, anger and fear. To let worry go gives our hearts room for great giving and compassion. It is such a puny rather insignificant statement, "Don't sweat the small stuff", but to me it doesn't mean we shouldn't give time to look at our own lives or problems, to me it means, "don't let the trivial everyday situations prevent you from being who God created you to be......The loving, caring, forgiving image of Himself."

Ernie the Bug Man

2011-08-03T15:54:00.000-07:00

Being a religious person, and trying, most of the time, without success, I do try to see God's work and the good in people everywhere. I seem to gravitate to the obvious...children, pastors, well meaning friends. I DO try to look beyond the most likely candidates, and see God in people who aren't always nice, smiling, friendly or well meaning. Today I saw God, I stood in an open garage and actually spoke to God....He wasn't a pastor, a friend, or someone I would consider unpleasant, and definitely wasn't a complete stranger......It was Ernie, the "bug man", otherwise known as an exterminator. Ernie had come to my friend's home to spray for bugs and do a preventative check for termites. My friend's daughter is in the hospital and I have offered to help get her daughter's room ready for her return home. Ernie went about his business and we came to a stopping point. He thought we should clear some plants against the house and I couldn't have that done immediately. We agreed that we would schedule another time when he could finish spraying, and as he said, "Do the best job he could do." We headed out of the house and he looked at his palm pilot, checking dates.....He said, "You know, she is going to be alright." Before I could utter a response he went on, he told me that God works through situations. He hasn't necessarily created the situation , but He can teach his followers something through them. I stood with my mouth, which I'm sure was hanging open, unable to speak. He went on......He said," You know all the good you're doing here? All the good that this family has done? Your church?" I said." Yes." He said," God accepts it, but he doesn't need it. He is everything, everywhere, perfection, that is why he gives it back to you in another form. It may be a strengthened faith, it may be a prayer answered or a healthy outcome. It comes back, whether you feel you deserve it or not." At this point I started to weep. I wasn't sobbing but, I WAS weeping. He took my hand and confidently stated, "She is going to be fine." I composed myself and told him I would call him with a follow up appointment time, that would work with the outpatient treatments my friend's daughter would be having. I put out my hand to shake his....he shook his head and with open arms embraced me. He told me he would be gone to Guadalajara on a mission trip for a week and to call him after that..... I am certain I have seen God before, but my eyes were not open to it. Thank you Ernie, for opening my eyes to see God right in front of me, working through you.......

One Feather at a Time.....

2011-07-28T11:44:00.000-07:00

I have recently been struck by the generosity of others. Not necessarily strangers, but my awareness of the tiniest gestures have seemed somehow magnified. Every door opened, kind word. Offers of help are being taken seriously. When a life changing event happens to people you love it has an almost Matrix effect. Things around you are moving at warp speed and frame by frame slow motion at the same time. People say everyday," live each day to the fullest", " you don't know what tomorrow will bring", I hear these words I fully acknowledge they are true. It isn't until your life has been touched by unforeseen circumstances that they actually resonate within you. There are so many ways to spread love and kindness. I guess what I'm getting at is...no gesture is too small, cliche I know. What seems insignificant to you, may mean the one bright spot in someone's very dark day. It doesn't need to make you feel ethereal, although that would be nice. As the Nike campaign says, 'Just Do It'.... Open a door, smile at a stranger, send a card, a call, even a text to someone who is scared, ill or hurting. It might not even effect you all that much, but I guarantee the kindness will have great ramifications. Never think, "what can I do? They don't know me. Someone else would do a better, bigger, more heartfelt job" Giving generously of yourself should become routine. Like gardening, the results you see and feel may not happen right away, but they will happen. The love and nurturing feelings however small will produce contentment, understanding, patience, and joy. A friend of mine just told me I was an angel......I said I was doing what needed to be done and that I am far from being an angel. She said these simple words which won't stop replaying in my mind...... Referring to angel's wings, "We all can become angels, one feather at a time.

Dinner and a show?

2011-07-25T12:18:00.000-07:00

I admit that I am less of a mediator/parent and more of a referee/parent. My style is to sit back watch the escalating match of words between three bright sometimes too articulate daughters. If there is blood drawn, or low punches are thrown I will don my black and white jersey blow my whistle and yell foul. When you think of fights between siblings you might think of slapping, hitting a little name calling and crying. Watching an altercation between my girls is like riding California Screamin' at Disneyland's California Adventure. Fast, and furious, your emotions teeter between laughter and terror. Even though these debates, that's putting it lightly, are a regular occurrence, my girls are actually very close friends. The gloves come on, the bell sounds, the fight ensues and then when it's done...it's done. My husband retreats at the onset. He doesn't understand, he wants to step in. He would like a meeting to convene like the U.N. of sisterhood and have them respectfully, calmly, QUIETLY work out the problem de jour. Not happening! There is screaming, there is occasionally pushing, but, there is always cruel articulation of how they really feel. Feelings are hurt, tears are shed, gratefully, apologies are inevitable. You will never find three sisters who can fight against and for each other as fiercely as these. In the past several years there has been an added element in the sisterly arena of battle. Her name is Hannah Cobley. The daughter of a very close friend, or I should say, their friendship started first. Hannah is nicely placed exactly 2 years in between my middle and youngest daughters. Because of this I have always referred to her as my missing link. She has been a dear friend to both Allie and Mary, and a loving annoyance to my oldest daughter Katie. As the friendship grew, the more often we invited Hannah to join us on weekend trips and sleepovers, the more comfortable she became. Hannah has not only been privy to watching the sister fights but more than occasionally she has been a real part of them. Fights between these girls have been long and often times hurtful and down right ugly. But as the true sisters they are, they love as hard as they fight. Hannah once said after coming over for an impromptu dinner when a sister fight loomed near, "I didn't know there would be dinner and a show". We all laughed so hard I can't remember what they were fighting about. Well, now it's time for Hannah's Outcalt sisters to fight with Hannah on a different battle field. Hannah has been diagnosed with Leukemia. Her prognosis is great. She and her family are ready for this war. I want to let Hannah know, on no uncertain terms, that this isn't just her fight. She has three more sisters who are armor clad and battle ready. So, Leukemia, you better watch out, Hannah knows first hand how powerful Oucalt sister fights can be....Bring it on!

Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do

2011-07-23T13:14:00.000-07:00

Let me set the scene...One hundred or so children. Ages range from 3 to 18, three weeks in the stinking hot Arizona summer. Three to five different groups, defined by age. Two crazed women. Kay Randolph, pianist and vocal coach. Polly Chapman, director and choreographer. Three to five, depending on the summer, abridged musicals. THREE WEEKS!!! We are talking scenery, costumes, lines, lines lines.....Dancing, blocking, staging, props, more lines...Singing, more dancing more blocking and of course more lines. My children have had the great privilege to participate in this chaotic, theatrical, menagerie for the better part of their lives. After 25 glorious years the superhuman production team are turning off the stage lights, packing away the props and wiping away the greasepaint along with countless tears. These aren't members of my family, but they might as well be. They have helped me raise my children and have given me unwanted advise more times than I can count. So

I sit here, thinking about how Do Re Mi's Summer Company has affected my life during the past 18 years I have been a part of it...Summer Company has not just been a part of my and my children's lives but an extension of our lives. It all started 18 summers ago when my now 22-year-old college graduate, Katie, was in Hot Sizzling Summer. From that moment on, when Kay and Polly stood on the stage, and said the words I've now heard at least 300 times," Our job is not to make your child a star, but a better person through theater.” with that strong promise I was hooked, line and sinker. It's all true, believe it or not. They had visions of better-behaved, well rounded, likable tots all do to with a simple premise, team work. Like a soccer or softball team these kids ran lines, moved stage pieces, danced, sang, laughed and cried. They rarely let each other down and when that happened, the dynamic duo turned it into a teachable moment. I was not left out of this 25-year escapade. I was sucked into teaching art, have done this for 11 years now. I also have done the props for 13 years, and sold dash o grams for 10. Don't get me wrong I have loved every minute of it! I have convinced myself that I am the only person who could have expertly executed all of these jobs! I've stood in the back of the room during rehearsals every summer and watched Kay and Polly encourage, scold and LOVE all of the children who have been fortunate enough to sign up and spend three amazing weeks with them. My three girls have learned teamwork, poise, and most importantly self respect. They have formed friendships that will truly last a lifetime. I have learned that the time you invest in all children has the biggest return. I know I'm a decent parent but I have to give a lot of credit to two super talented women who forever changed my summers and forever changed my children for the better.....Thanks for the memories Kay and Polly!

Love,

Bethie

Boot the Trike!

2011-07-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

Recently I was reminiscing with some friends about rules imposed on us as youth by our parents. Here is one doosey of a story. All true, and the kicker is my parents strong sense of justice.

I was 4 years old. We lived in a pretty busy suburb. I had rules to follow that were straight forward, simple and always enforced. It was a summer afternoon. My mom had appointments to keep and so I headed down to the end of my block for a play date with a little boy named John. His mom was "taking a nap" at 11:00am, I'm to this day convinced she had been nipping at a bottle of jack or something of the sort. We played in his yard and then made our way inside. We were playing with toys unsupervised in his bedroom when I spotted a large silver piggy bank. I asked what was in the bank, shaking it near my ear. He proclaimed, "My money, from being baptized!!" "Can I see it?" I begged. He opened the bottom and poured the contents out onto his bed. There were savings bonds, coins and several bills. One in particular intrigued me. I had never seen a 50 dollar bill before. I then proposed a shopping spree, like any savvy girl would do. We lived about 2 and 1/2 miles from a Smitty's Shopping Store. This was like a Target Great-land or Super Walmart in our neighborhood. Groceries, sundries, clothing, toys and more.....so much more!! I suggested we take our trikes and some of "his" money and buy wonderful things. I mean, it WAS his money he should be able to spend it however he wanted to..right?? I guess I inherited my powers of persuasion from my father, the attorney. He thought about it and before anyone was the wiser we were off. We rode our trikes across a busy street that anchored our neighborhood and rode the 2 and 1/2 miles in over 100 degree temperatures to Smitty's. We didn't have things like water bottles back then so we stopped once and drank from a neighbors hose. Remember how good that water tasted?? I don't recall how long it took us to get there but I remember where we headed next. The Brach's candy display. We filled what seemed like large bags full of our favorite treats. We then went to the candy and hot nut counter to pay ordering Icee's as well. When John handed the woman the 50 she asked, "Where is your mother?" John replied without breaking a sweat, "Over there?", pointing in the direction of the produce. Wow I was amazed at his ability to fib. She believed him and off we went shopping playing and spending. We finally decided we would get a handful of coins to ride the mechanical merry go round out front before our trek home. When we arrived back at his house, I still do not know how we got there and back at age four without getting lost or abducted, we sat on his front porch and played with the loot. His mother still "sleeping" at least 2 to 3 hours later. His dad got home from work and asked John who gave him permission to have the toys and candy. He, unflinching, said "Mom did." Then his mother appeared, bleary eyed, and said, "John, WHO said you could have this candy and these toys? Again, stealthily he replied,"Dad did." This is where it all unravels. Still playing outside in front I see in the distance, my parents. Not quite running but sort of speed walking arm in arm speaking sharply to one another as they approach me. After a brief discussion with Johns parents, my mom and dad send me home saying the dreaded words, "We will deal with you later!" I marched home bag of candy in tow. I awaited my fate. When my parents arrived they swatted my behind, yes parents spanked their children back then, and told me I broke a rule. I crossed Oak Street without an adult. That was it? No lecture about Smitty's, candy or toys? No. They had never told me I couldn't go to Smitty's. Crossing the street was my only offense. Of course after that, they realized the rules needed to encompass more. I also was never allowed to play with John again. Not because he wasn't a nice kid but because he was never really supervised by his own parents. I think, although my parents never said anything , they were quite impressed with my ability to plan and execute such a clever adventure.

*The title of this blog was provided by my dear friend Lauren, who thought it would have been a good idea to "boot my trike" after such a wild escapade!

It's my birthday and I don't have to like it!

2011-07-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

The truth is....I don't really like celebrating my birthday. Never have. It's not an age thing. My sister did a wonderful job of making sure I would forever be somewhat uncomfortable celebrating. How did she manage this? SURPRISE PARTIES!!! Not one, or two....Every year from age 3 to 8 she would plan, scheme, and execute the torturous event. She would gather every child in our family laden neighborhood. Some of my friends, mostly kids I had never laid eyes on. I guess after the second year in a row of me screaming like a panic stricken sissy at a horror show I mistakenly thought she would give up. Oh no! This reaction, I have come to realize, after many self help books and too much Dr. Phil was like heroin to her. She delighted in watching me panic, scream, cry and run and hide under my bed. I did this every time, without fail. So...I thank all well wishers. I honestly appreciate the sentiment. I hold my breath praying no one jumps out at me wearing the dreaded party hat. I will leave you with this. This is the book my mother lovingly bought me, age 8 to try and do some damage control.

Today is my birthday and on this auspicious occasion I would like to quote my all time favorite author, Dr. Seuss.This is from a book I had as a child, "Happy Birthday To You"

If we didn’t have birthdays,
you wouldn’t be you.
If you’d never been born,
well then what would you do?
If you’d never been born,
well then what would you be?
You might be a fish!
Or a toad in a tree!
You might be a doorknob!
Or three baked potatoes!
You might be a bag full of
hard green tomatoes."

"Or worse than all that…Why,
you might be a WASN’T!
A Wasn’t has no fun at all.
No, he doesn’t.
A Wasn’t just isn’t.
He just isn’t present.
But you…You ARE YOU!
And, now isn’t that pleasant!"
"Today you are you!
That is truer than true!
There is no one alive...

...who is you-er than you!
Shout loud, “I am lucky
to be what I am!
Thank goodness I’m not
just a clam or a ham
Or a dusty old jar of
sour gooseberry jam!
I am what I am! That’s a
great thing to be!
If I say so myself,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!”