Rambling Autobiography #sol22 Day 4

 Linda Rief's Quickwrites are my favorite! Here's her "Rambling Autobiography" followed by mine. 

Angela's Rambling Autobiography: 

I was born right before a blizzard, my young parents taking their new little family to a friend's house, one with a fireplace and lots of warmth. I adore Dietsch's chocolate covered pretzels. I bought my favorite pair or corduroy pants from Salvation Army and sewed a butterfly patch over the hole I burnt with a cigarette, back when I smoked (a lifetime ago). I snuck a copy of Forever by Judy Blume from desk to desk, a bunch of 8th grade kids at Catholic school trying to glean more than what the religion class tells us. That was the same year I prayed "God, please don't call me to be a nun. I really want to make out" after visiting a convent and hearing all about answering God's call. When I was 9, I lost my baby sister when she crawled through a tear in the screened in porch. My favorite place to hide was the tree house across the street, the one the older boys built. I can still smell the baby powder my mom would sprinkle on our newly cleaned sheets, something my husband still does for me today (only on my side of the bed). I am a daughter who grew up, a mom trying to create memories just as indelible. 

My life in numbers #sol22 - Day 3

(with thanks to Alison Gettler for inspiration)

I am1020 Hurd, a life spent spilling off a porch, grabbing sticks of gum from Grandma's junk drawer. I am 419 through and through, with a little bit of 33967. I am from alleys and bike rides and sidewalks. All my favorite houses have porches.

I am 1995, and then no pomp again until 2000. I liked being a Bobcat. A lot. I am brick sidewalks and arches. Big hills (the only school where you lose 15 pounds freshman year). I am South Green all the way with ass trees (Seriously. Who planted those?) haunting in the spring.

I am 2001, defining moments of my first year of teaching: living through national tragedy, joining a bowling league, falling in love with my craft and my life. 

I am from 2004, dancing my way through the year. Saying yes to Greg has been the absolute best decision I've ever made. Then we were the Faulhaber Five, 2007 a double whammy, then 2010 our little exclamation point. It feels like we've been running ever since. 

I am a word nerd trying to live in the moment, balancing nostalgia and excogitating (I had to use the google for that one; it's ok if you do too). 

This is 45 Day 2 #sol22

"Man, it's so hot in here, huh?" I asked my colleague. From his noncomittal response, I could tell that no, it wasn't hot in here. Not to him anyway. 

Later, I mentioned it to the school secretary, asking if the heat could be turned down.

Ten minutes later, the head custodian walked into our meeting room, holding a probe in his hand, looking like he was hunting ghosts. 

"It's 67 degrees in here," he said to the room, the probe showing the temperature. "Who said it was hot in here?" 

I wanted to melt into a puddle (much like the one that was pooling in my pits). Others looked around confused. "I think it's really comfortable," said a young man who has never had a hormone flare.

I smiled and walked over to this dear man, trying to ward him off from declaring the temperature again. "Scully," I playfully hissed. "Are you trying to pre-menopause shame me?" He laughed, used to working with women. 

Kayaking - a 17 year anniversary adventure

We had just passed the yellow sign tacked to a tree alerting us that we were on mile four of the river. I’d been doing great, surprising myself. I was in the lead, Greg trailing behind me. I had managed to navigate the river like this wasn’t the third time I’d ever kayaked (first time in a river), dragging my paddle when I needed to slow down, digging deep when I needed to speed up. It’s safe to say, I was impressed with myself. 

So impressed, in fact, that I started to think I might have missed a calling. Are there adult rowing teams, I wondered as I navigated around a small rapid. My shoulders had never felt stronger, my posture never better. Just minutes ago, I had paddled UPSTREAM in order to wait for Greg when he was stuck on a log. I was basically a pro. 

And then. Ahead, hanging over the river was a fallen tree, reaching out over the water. And from that tree hung some branches. I’d come up against branches before, ducking under them, making it to the other side. Sure this branch was thicker than the others, more dense. 

I felt the instant it happened, that tree trunk in the sky hooking my life vest, snagging me, yanking me back. My kayak tipped, spilling me into the river. I curled my toes, trying to keep my new Teva flip-flops on my feet. I scooped up my favorite Reds cap, grabbed for my paddle, all while hanging on to the kayak. My feet sank into silt. 

I looked back at Greg, trying to drag his paddle to stop to help. 

“Do you still have your phone?” he hollered. I felt my pocket. I nodded, pulling it out, noticing I was getting text messages as the river rushed around me. I handed it to him as he floated past. Priorities. 

Thankfully there were some experienced kayakers just ahead of us. They noticed me standing there, chest deep, Greg trying to stay even with me. They paddled up the river, talking me through how to get myself back on track. They crowded me into a calm spot. The bearded guy, the one who looked like one of my former students, held my paddle, sidled his kayak up to mine and held it steady.

“Go ahead,” he said encouragingly. 

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” I said to him, laughing but embarrassed. Putting my pride aside, I plopped my body back into the kayak. 

Thoughts of joining an adult rowing team were dashed as he gave me the most rudimentary lessons in kayaking — things I already knew, but he felt like he needed to tell me: how to hold the paddle, how far to dip them in, how to turn. That’s how ridiculous I looked to him. 

The group of men let us go ahead of them; they with their life-jackets stowed near their feet, playing a game of catch, their ease on the river a mockery of my mishap. We said our thanks and continued on our way. 

A mile later, not yet dry, I tipped again. Same situation. Trees dipping reaching towards the river snagged me. It was as if I were a magnet for these dense, cataclysmic branches. This time, I knew what to do. I flipped the kayak back over and shoved it to the small beach I’d been trying to avoid. Once again, of course, I had an audience. 

Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. I hurried to get back into the kayak, glancing up river. I did not want to be wading in the water when my rescuers from earlier came around the bend. 

We made it the final two miles without much fanfare. I managed to avoid any more trees, only getting caught and stuck once. I had given up my dream of an adult rowing team by mile seven, right around the time I got beached up against a snarl of tree branches and had to push myself off twice. At mile eight, I paddled my kayak into the small bank and barely dragged it up to the grassy area. 

It was a good day. Inspiring & invigorating. Humbling. 

I'm not a Karen; I'm an Angela

We're sitting by the pool tonight and suddenly a group of five 20-somethings shows up. They're in full Spring Break mode, even if we are at a pool that is mostly populated by families with kids 15 and under. The first boy (man? man-child?) loudly proclaims, "Watch this," and does a front flip into the pool. In the shallow end. Three feet. His friends cheer and the next two boys do the same. 

Greg and I sit in our chairs watching, shaking our heads. I glance at our own boys in the pool. They're grinning ear to ear, loving every minute of it. 

Justin, our youngest and most-likely-to-dress-as-Jim-Belushi shouts, "Do a black flip!" And the boy-man does. a. back. flip in 3-feet of water. He jumps up and as his friends admonish him, he says, "The kid wanted a back flip." 

You can imagine Justin's reaction. I shook my head and told Justin to stay out of it. 

For the next half hour, the Spring Breakers flip into the pool, tossing the two girls in the group on their shoulders and playing chicken. I sat in my chair and cringed at how close they were to the edge, my shoulders raising in anticipation, looking around for Someone In Charge. 

Finally at 9, when the pool was supposed to close but showed no sign of closing, my family gathered our trash and pizza boxes and goggles. It was time to head back to our condo. As I passed by a few of the Spring Breakers, I couldn't stop myself. I leaned down and said, "I'm your mom's voice reminding you to be careful tonight. Have fun, but be careful."

The kids looked up, mid-flirt, disoriented by alcohol and hormones. They smiled, not hearing me, not really. 

My own kids were mortified. With a capital-M. 

"Moooooooom," they whispered. "You are such a Karen." 

"I am not," I told them. "I'm an Angela. I can't stop myself. When you are a 20-something and doing dumb stuff I hope someone tells you the same. That your mom is always there."

They rolled their eyes. Because that's what they do to me now. I remember doing the same to my own mother, but it doesn't make it any less annoying on this end of things. What's the kid-version of a Karen? That's what I want to call my kids, doing the time-worn dance of the young, acting like they're the first to ever feel mortified. 

In the meantime, though, I'll keep watching out for the young adults who aren't quite done being kids. Everyone needs an Angela.  

Kids Cooking

About six weeks ago, I realized that Jacob needed a goal. He's doing remote schooling and it got really hard after winter break. He needed to feel good at something. And based on the way he was doctoring the pierogies he was making for lunch, he had some innate talent around cooking. Those pierogies were banging. 

First, I did what I always do: I texted my mom and sisters. Then I started looking for kids cooking classes. Due to the pandemic, though, everything is shut down for the time-being. Uncle Matt to the rescue! My brother-in-law is the best cook any of us have met. He makes burgers that rival anything you'd pay for in a restaurant. Our mom requests his ribs. Even his grilled cheese is elevated (he uses garlic powder). 

I encouraged Jacob to reach out to his uncle for dinner ideas. And they delivered. They sent Jacob a recipe for hamburger egg rolls and he did such an amazing job making them. They were perfection. And the best part was that he did not ask for my help once. It was so cool to see how excited he was to plate the food and watch our reactions. He did a thing that I notice people who love to cook do: with each bite he took, he would mention an improvement he'll make next time, but also would say something about what he liked. 

His confidence soared. 

And because the other two saw how delicious and cool it was, they wanted to cook too. So the following Tuesday, Emma made tiktok pasta. It was wonderful! And then Justin, courtesy of Uncle Matt, made fish tacos (with fish sticks...right up our alley). They were so happy to be contributing and proud of their efforts. 

I'm noticing too that the kids are so much more willing to try new things when their sibling makes it. Who knew??? Uncle Matt, apparently. 

I also ordered a new cookbook, in the hopes of us all being inspired and getting new ideas. Lo and behold, the cheeseburger egg roll recipe is in there, so that bodes well for our family's taste! 

Moving forward, I think we'll do Tuesday nights as a Kids-Make-Dinner night. I can see it building their confidence, making them feel like they're really contributing to the family in a meaningful way. And giving me one night when I don't have to hear "Chicken? Again?"

Big Kid Mom

Things are starting to feel normal-ish. Tonight felt super normal. 

Justin, who is 11, had his neighborhood buddy show up around 2:30 today. I was grateful as I was hoping for a relatively screen-free weekend. The boys were jumping on the trampoline and playing with the dog. 

I looked out the window an hour later and there were two more neighbor boys jumping, laughing, horsing around. I couldn't stop smiling

I left for a bit to pick the twins up from a youth group event. When I got home nearly an hour later, there was yet ANOTHER friend out back. Now there were five kids jumping and laughing. My heart was singing! 

Every Wednesday Justin has been attending "Adventure Crew" after-school. Part of this experience has been learning how to start a fire, a skill which Justin has perfected. So tonight Justin and another friend started a fire in our fire pit. They tended to it, figuring out where to place the fire wood. Justin taught a third friend how to strike a match. 

I loved every minute. 

Having big kids is amazing. Watching them grow into these little people, with thoughts and talents and feelings that have nothing to do with me is both humbling and inspiring. I just love it. 

The kids kept the fire going long enough to make s'mores. They begged to jump on the trampoline in the dark. They got trampoline lights for Christmas and they've been waiting and waiting to use them. 

I listened to them gossip about school friends, talk about baseball, and strategize what foods to eat next. I listened to them laugh and tease and call each other by nicknames I didn't even know they had. 

I'm so grateful to be in this moment, to be a mom of big kids.