It never stops.

Boys.

When they were babies, they slept, ate, then slept again.  I expected it, because like everyone else, I read the book.
Now they are teens. They sleep, eat, then sleep again. I did NOT expect this.  They eat me out of house and home, then they sleep for half the day if I don't force them to stay awake.
And before you tell me it is because they are growing, my 13 yo is 6 ft tall with  a 13 shoe size. I need him to stay awake so he DOESN'T grow!

Wordless Wednesday: Rainy Day in the drought state.

Keep it coming, Mother Nature.

Grading on a Rainy Day

It has been a weekend of rain. If you are paying attention, you know it is much needed. That doesn't mean it is not dragging every last bit of energy out of everyone in this house.  Kids are studying for upcoming tests so the house is quiet. We are able to hear the soft pitter patter of never ending rain. Someone has let the papers stack up all week so she is sitting at the table "quietly" grading. Every so often, I hear commentary from under her breath. Here are some priceless ones:

• No. Not  what I said. Nobody listens to me when I talk.
• I stood there, telling them where to find it! Told them!
• I need a drink.
• I should just play Xbox now. It's more productive.
• I'm thinking I can be done and just do an hour of this a day. I can't do more.

Who says teachers aren't funny?

This.

Catching up from Wordless Wednesday and combining it with WTFriday. Yup.

Weather Update

I can't really be writing about the weather can I?
But yes, it appears I am.
I live in the Golden State. Right now we have had little to no rain so it is more like the dry and dusty state. Nothing is golden anymore, just this sad heartless brown color. We had about a minute of rain this weekend, leaving us with muddy grass because it forgot how to soak it up. This is upsetting because we may be the Golden State on paper, but in real life, we are the agriculture state. We grown fruits and veggies galore.
Here is the thing with growing things, we need water to do it. A state that is in drought conditions and rationing water will suffer when spring officially come along. I say officially because if I glance out my window right now, I will see my cherry tree blossoming already. It's February.
Normally, I try not to worry about these things. I have faith all things will work out in the end. But things are starting to look pretty desperate here. I mean, I couldn't remember how to turn the wipers on in the truck. That's how long it has been.  Fresh fruits and vegetables are going to be a small fortune to buy, meaning in order to stay healthy, our pocket book is gonna feel the pain.
Yet, here is the real concern. The grapes. The heartless brown color of the earth is doing great damage to the grapes of California. Gentle, gorgeous grapes; the main staple of the nectar of the Gods. All this lack of rain is ruining the wine crops. Oh the humanity! Local wineries are actually having rain dance ceremonies, ( complete with chiding publications stating "only come if serious").  See? I told you, things are getting serious over here.  I considered for a moment going to a rain dance, but somehow I don't think me getting jiggy with it is going to make the clouds appear. So instead, I do what every sane person does, look to the skies in earnest and stock up on the penny wine sales at the local BevMo.
Liquid Zen, boys and girls. Liquid Zen.

I live on Writer's Block Lane...

Let's Blog again, she said. 

Yeah... That would be great.

It sounded like a good idea then, but as the days creeped up on me, I suddenly remembered why I stopped blogging. I have too much and not enough to say. At the same time. Honestly, I stopped writing because I couldn't organize it in a timely fashion. And when I finally did, it was too late to post it because 8 billion other bloggers had already beat it to a pulp. And so, I remained silent. And my writers block grew to the size of a house. And then I started living there.
But then my former very good friend (ok, the former was a bit dramatic)  encouraged me to start it up again.
With her.
As a challenge.
30 days of blogging starting.. well... 2 days ago. True to form, I like being fashionably late to the big things. So prepare yourself cyberverse, because here it goes! I am attempting to suck a little less at blogging from here on out. Stay tuned!

It's the Little Things

Today I witnessed a rare event. I saw an elderly man walking with his empty grocery cart back to the store to put it away. It was a hot day and he was moving slowly. An airman came waking out of the store.. walked right up to the old man, spoke to him briefly, then took the cart from him and put it away. The old man sat and watched him, turned and walked back to his car, and had a ginormous smile on his face .
It is the little things that make a difference everyday after all.

Play time

If you work from home, just skip this post all together. You are probably experiencing the same thing right now and will nod you head in vicious agreement and say a version of "Amen Sista" to your screen. For the rest of you, I am taking the time to tell you this: working from home is the procrastinators playground. And like a playground, it is open and luring during daylight hours. This is why I tend to write at night, but I am also mildly attached to sleeping, so I really should focus on getting my writing down in the day.  I am on a deadline. I should be head bent working on a piece right now. And I was. Except, I got hungry. I got up to go grab a bite and saw the breakfast dishes needed washing. I took care of them quickly and noticed a smell coming from the garbage disposal. Pour some sanitizer down there and go into the living room and light the candle. Oh look! I meant to put away those socks under the table last night, lean to grab them and notice the dust bunnies under the sofa are breeding again. Go into the laundry room to throw the socks and get the broom and figure throw a load in while I am in there. Go back and sweep under the sofa and then back into the kitchen to prepare my food because by now I am near fainting of hunger. No possible way to write now. Bring my leftover dinner to the desk to multi task and write while eating and notice the wind chimes are outside blowing hard. Better move them before my neighbors complain. While out there, fix the table cloth on the patio table that is flapping in the wind. Come back in and take a bit of food and wander into the kitchen. How could I have forgotten my drink? Back to the desk to sit and ponder my words.
Start, delete, restart.
Stare out the window at the sunlit back yard. Wonder if I should make a planter box out of the kids old beds.. that is green to the core right? What a good mom I would be reusing wood for something family driven. Look up plans on the Internet. Wait.. didn't I have a book about that over here?
Hold on. Focus. Deadline.
Write.
In my blog.

Ladies and gents... the playground is open.
Have you seen my Zen?

Whoosh! goes childhood.

I have had a surreal weekend. I was lucky enough to get the loft bed from my friend  for Robbie's room. He had been wanting one and in my quest to make him feel like the "big kid" he is, I snatched up the bed. It is an Ikea bed. Ikea is great, but you need a degree in astro physics to put together anything from there. After SEVERAL false starts. restarts, tear apart and realignments, we got the bed up. Then we took down all his "little kid' posters and put up flags he wanted and new posters. He got flags from Mexico, Scotland, Sweden and Ireland plus some posters of bands he likes. We went to Staples and got desks for his room. Also, Kohl's had a sale for over sized floor pillows, and I got one. So we created a room for Robbie that is very" big kid." For lack of another term. Lost are all the small child things he once had. His dinosaurs are tucked away in the closet. The very one's he would line up in a line outside of his room for protection when he was scared. He moved all the toys into the loft area. He is a 4th grader now, he informs me when I drop them off at school. He won't let me walk him to his playground, and instead says good bye in front of the car and branches off from me and AJ and goes the opposite way.. the big kid playground way. My heart hurts. This is my little red head who followed me around. This is the little guy who sat for hours in the sand box, playing with his cars.  This is the little one who would bring a chair up to the counter to watch me make him play dough. Now, he wears deodorant and has a loft bed. Where did the time go? And why did it go so fast?

However, this morning, before school there a moment. I was pouring my coffee and he put 2 waffles in the toaster, then went to do his hair.When they popped up, he was still gone so I went over and cut up the waffles in triangles and arranged them on his plate like I used to when he really was a little guy: in tee pee shapes and formation. Then I drizzled syrup around them like meandering rivers. Once upon a time, this used to make him so happy, so filled with excitement. He came out of the bathroom and looked at the plate and said "aww mama... you made tee pees and rivers for me! Thanks mama!"  And threw his arms around me. And in that moment... my heart healed. Even if just for the moment. Then in a flash, he was the big kid again.

I think I am gonna go line up Robbie's dinosaurs in a line outside my room.

Hey! What's this weird thing on my car?

I have road rage. I don't mean to, it just happens. Everyday. But I really shouldn't. It is an avoidable situation. I admit I am a fast (er) driver than most, but I don't think my driving skills are any different than others. Here is the main point in my driving that I find that many.. MANY.. others lack.

I use my mirrors.
I look in them often.

If I see, say, a LINE of people  forming in back of me I say to myself  'Why Self.. it looks like these people might be going faster than you so perhaps you should move over to the less fast lane and let them pass!" I then use said mirrors and move aside. What I find so impossible to understand is why it seems such a foreign thing for other people to do the same thing. I can not tell you how many times I have been stuck behind a slow driver going (ack!) the speed limit in the fast lane of the freeway. Daydreaming about what to eat for dinner, talking on the phone, happily looking at the scenery, none should be done from the fast lane. If you feel the need to conserve gas, avoid tickets, .. whatever.. please do it in the slow lane. If I get a ticket on my way to the next gas station, that is my business. But sitting in the lane, scooting along at a snails pace, building a long line for miles behind you is just rude. And I can't help but wonder.... who are these people in real life? Do they ever notice situations around them? Do they go to the grocery, park in the middle of the aisle as they walk away to grab an item? Do they stand at the checkout of the store and text people while a line awaits behind them? Are these the same people who balance their checkbook in the kiss and go line at the kids school? Just where did these people learn manners?? Cuz lets face it.. that's what it boils down to. Being aware of others beside yourself.  In my opinion, most problems can be solved this way. Plus it is very zen.

Mirrors: not just a shiny ornament anymore!!

Road Rage: a thing of the past if mirrors are used correctly.

Holy Hair Batman

I have curly hair. Or wavy. Or straight. I have about $500 worth of product under and over my sink to make my hair be whatever I choose it to be that day.. all while looking natural. Of course, if I let my hair air dry from the shower on any given day, it would be curly. I hate it. I have to put extra goo on it to tame it. You know how you hear stories of old men sitting on a porch and they are able to tell the upcoming weather by how their knees hurt? That's me.. but with hair. I can spend an hour in my climate controled bathroom straightening it, making it shine and look silky, then walk outside to a humid day and it acts like a spring board. Insta curls.
Today, I went for some much needed girl time with.. well.. the girls. When we gathered in the local park to eat our lunches, we were basking in the sun. My hair was straightened and blowing softly in the wind, and in my mind, I am sure looking very modelisque and elegnat. However, the sun soon went to hide behind clouds and as the day grew darker with the swollen clouds, my hair inched its way up my head. Currently, even my bangs are in a wavy motion. It is ridiculous. Why do I fight it you ask? Because its not always curly! If the weather is warm, it is limp and drab. If the weather is wet or humid, its wicked curly. If it's a "normal" California day, it borders on wavy. It's enough to make your head hurt.. the constant watching of the weather to dictate how you will wear your hair. I envy the straight haired friends of mine with their glorious long constant straight hair, regardless of the shift in weather.
Oh look! It's must be calling for rain, my hair just switched to wicked curly. I'll be on the porch with the old men....

Look! There goes childhood whooshing by!

Recently, Robbie came downstairs singing a merry little tune that I instantly recognized. I was astounded that he was singing an old song that I have heard countless times without paying attention to it, but he obviously had. It's an oldy but a goody, he came down the stairs singing an old Kenny Rogers song, Lucille. In it, there is a line that says..

"You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille, with 4 hungry children and a crop in the fields."

However, the red head came down singing a much better version...

"You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille, with 400 children and a crop in the fields" ... (snicker) The best part is when he looked at me sincerely and said "That's a lot of kids!". Precious!

It reminds me of the all the things they do that are innocent and pure, that are quickly changing. Austin used to have trouble with the sound "c" so he decided the replacement of "t" would suit him better. Years of saying "where's the blue tar? I want tandy please. I don't like take for my birthday." used to bring a smile to my face. Those days are gone now and all I hear is the latest slang coming out of their precious mouths. "My bad. That's sic. What up??" I miss the innocence and it saddens me it is robbed from them so quickly. They are in such a hurry to grow up! And that's OK for the most part. But days like today, well.. I miss my very little boys.

You really did pick a fine time to leave me Lucille....

The Army Way

Hurry up and wait.
I spent yesterday waiting. Waiting to get information on a shooting. waiting to hear what happened. Waiting to see if the people who are my extended family were OK. Waiting, waiting, waiting, Hurry and wait. It's an old army saying.. and its true to every letter. I spent many a day standing around all day waiting on a mission to be accomplished before I could start mine. It's rather ironic how it follows you everywhere.
After all that waiting, I heard from my people. Some were hurt, all were OK and alive. Waiting stopped and relief stepped in. That actual full breath and actual full release of tension you didn't know you were carrying. You know that feeling, right?
Finally, I spoke to one of my injured friends and I asked matter of factly how they were. The response still makes me smile: "Everyday above ground is a good day."
I don't pretend to know much about any other branch life but Army. I was born into it from a long line ahead of me, and made the choice to continue it in my own life. When I say I bleed green, I am fairly certain I really do! I am proud of every person who joins the armed services, its a great gift they give to their Country, but I will admit, I play favorites with the Army. They are my kind of people. They are the people who are trained to be expert shots, who can pull apart and reassemble a weapon in quick time. Who can sleep on rocks, sleep on rumbling trucks, wear the same clothes for a week straight. They sit in foxholes, march in the dark of the night, bang down doors and train in the rain. And here is the best part: in all of that, in the misery and the dank, you can still hear laughter. Hearty, happy laughter. The spirit endures. Not looking at the reasons to be mad and annoyed, but finding happiness in the moment.
"Everyday above ground is a good day"
And that's the Army way.
Hooah.

hello sun

I am a sun worshipper. This should not be a secret. I am very vocal about it. I can sit in the sun all day and it makes all the nerve ending of my body feel alive! I love the way it beats down on my back and makes me feel relaxed and calm. I consider myself a Californian, simply because I have spent the most formative years of my life here, however, my home is in Arizona. My roots are deep there. All my familia lives there and occasionally, when I cant remember what it is to take a deep cleansing breath, the desert is where I run to find who I am again. Arizona sun is a force all of its own. In the dead of summer, I jokingly call it the face of the sun, and its an accurate description. However, the sun there is plentiful. I think its why I am the sun worshipper I am. I am a desert girl at heart.

The favorite part of my sunny days is the dusk time frame. When the warm sun is heading towards the horizon and the rays beat shadows on everything it touches. In my opinion, there is no prettier time of day. I love the way the sun kisses a romantic look to peoples faces and hair. How the air starts to cool down here in my dock by the bay, how the shadows lazily stretch.

All the important parts of my life, have this exact time frame of the day as a memory. I recall my grandfather coming home from work with the sun on his back, a smile on his face because he was so happy to see me. I remember sitting under my grandmothers rose bushes, feet sunk into the mud as she went through her rows of rosebushes watering them. Playing with my cousins in the dirt, waiting on dinner... oh the cousin memories are precious. In my later years, I remember the way the Golden Gate looked as the sun hit it as I drove across it, making me fall in love with this place. Waves slapping on the rocks in Bodega Bay, the sun glistening off the water. Laughing in a car with my friends, sun visors down. In my adult life, long road marches home at this time of day. Gear filthy, boots covered in dirt, strides less lengthy than earlier in the day, body slightly limp, rifle lightly carried, but the glorious sun streaming on our bodies casting shadows, pointing the way home. Cowboys sitting on a fence line. Rushing to the hospital to give birth to my son with slanted streams of sun coming through the windows. Watching my kids play in the sandbox as young children while I read books on how to become a writer. All of these memories carry the one common denominator, the evening sun that I love to worship.

I guess you could say, I find my zen in the setting sun.

Life and its funny little changes

14 years ago, on a day not unlike today.... I was diagnosed with a deadly disease. In that small moment, from one second to the next, my life was changed forever. I suddenly became a fighter. I suddenly became less innocent. I suddenly knew real fear.
One moment, I was living a life without a care in the world. Honking at a bad driver. Yelling at screaming kids. Mad at the lady taking too long to write her check. Then the three words.... " you need chemo" changed it all.
In that moment, I started to live. I saw colors I had never seen. Morning light exploded. Dusk crept into night hood in silent colors. Screaming children became musical chimes. Watching people live their life became a past time, something I could not do, but ached for. It was like standing still in a fast forward film, where everything flew by you, people living, happy, laughing, running, and you were standing. Cemented in. Screaming inside to let me live, too weak to open my mouth.
Tomorrow, someone can look at you and tell you that everything you are, every moment you have lived is no more. In that moment, you will have to stand and join me. You will have to stand and fight. Fight for all your lost dreams. Fight for all your hopes. Fight to live a normal life. You will want to shake the people who fail to see how waking each day is precious. You will want to scream so loud that your voice can not be heard. You will want your whisper of prayers to echo throughout the heavens. In that moment you will become like me.
Life and it's funny little changes. When I became the fighter that you see now, I learned to mantra to myself it will be OK. I learned to mantra my own belief. I learned real hope. I believed if I had to go, that I would leave people smiling and strong. And in that, found strength. Found me. I lost my hair, but I found a new person. I will live every day of my life like its my very last.
And I will beg every one to do the same. To hug the ones you love and tell them why you love them. To tell your person everyday how beautiful they are in case one day your voice can't be heard. To laugh as often and as freely as you can. To eat the things that make your smile. To feel the sun on your face and savor it. To drive with the windows down. To feel your hair whip about you. To wear the Mary Jane shoes to the market. To tattoo your body in things that make you happy. To sing regardless of your voice. To write your heart onto paper. To love as fiercely as you can. To hold tight to you. To get back up after you fall and try again. To not let something as simple as fear stop you. To run to your happiness and if you can't find it, run in the direction you think its in. Stop standing still. Death is still. Life is moving forward... no matter how painful it can be.

Life and its funny little changes taught me that. Today, in spite of that fateful news, I stand before you a Survivor. I am a proud, strong Survivor of Cancer. I won. But, I keep its lessons close to my heart, and can never go back. "Don't tell me that I'm dying...cuz I don't want to know" I hope you all learn from me now..... everyday is the first of the rest of your life.

If you have...then I beg you ... now...
Run wildly.

In the direction of your dreams.

This is for for my fellow fighters, the ones who stand with me, the ones who didn't make the fight, the families who silently stand beside and watch, the friends who shave their heads and hold the basins, and the ONE that gave up her fight for me to live. I live for you June.

I found it.....

I miss my family. I miss how when I am lost and wandering, they circle me in their love and hold me tight. I miss the loud laughter of gatherings, cousins running in and out of the house. I miss arms wrapped around each other and 17 people sprawled out on a bed. I miss how they look at me and all they see is me, the little goofy girl in pigtails and buck teeth. I miss that feeling of pureness that comes with utter acceptance. I miss the love that lies in being called Mija.
I miss my sister. I miss the hysterical laughter that finds its way to us after a cry. I miss laying watching TV together. I miss the innocence of our time together. I miss how she looks at me and only sees the older sister, beautiful and smart. I miss how she understands my pain and my loss. I miss looking at her and seeing perfect ringlets and smiles. I miss her pureness, the whispers of secrets, the sharing of ideas and dreams. I miss her so much that I feel like I could fall apart on a daily basis.
Somedays are really harder to get started than others. Somedays, you can't hear you whisper to yourself to get up and start fresh. Somedays you need to scream it. Somedays the soft drip of the coffee maker can not rustle you up out of the sheets. Somedays, it takes and act of the almighty to get there. Luckily, I find the strength on those days, on those early mornings where I miss my sister more than my heart can hold. On those sleepless nights where I ache for those who are gone from my life. On those dusky days where my family seems light years away. I see a red head peek out and smile to me, holding my hand. I see a brown haired toothless grin rubbing my back as he hugs me tight. All the strength I once had, somehow, I put into my children. And they give it back to me when I need it the most. And in that moment... I found it.

Live well

In life, you get dealt an even hand. You get bad experiences that kill a moment and damage your soul. They ruin your chances of ever looking at a situation the same, and you never get that innocence back. However, if you are very lucky, not long will pass before a good experience which will heal a said mistake occurs. Sadly, sometimes it takes years, decades even before something happens that will change it for the better.
Oh! But the wonder of it all when it happens. No matter the span in between. That awaking and knowing that you have turned a corner, you have made it through your personal hell. So many of us don't even realize there is a personal hell we are living because it has become so normal and routine... the going through the motions becomes a part of your life until you are blessed enough to run smack into the wall of reality.
Personally, I hate that feeling.
And I love that feeling.
Letting go is one of the hardest things. The crutch that sometimes you use to justify your actions. The pain you felt which in turn you use to keep you from feeling. Its easier to blame than to feel it, face it and move through it. But when you find it within yourself to move on through, its like coming out of a fog. Clear skies await. Beauty is in everything. Color drips from the world. And you can look yourself in the mirror and know that, indeed, you have walked your plank and survived.

So, for all the people out there who have found their way: whether by a new love, a new religion, a new life, a new hope, I say this: Live well, believe in you. Only you can make it a better day.


This is me, feeling the zen.

What change really means.....

Tomorrow history will be made. Regardless of who you voted for, there is no denying it will be a sight to be seen. The biggest inauguration to date. History is in our hands. And no one seems to know it better than my youngest son. The fact that a 7 year old is so interested in the race and was so over joyed with the outcome is, all by itself, something worth mentioning. I admit there were times I would stare at him as he got excited overhearing Obama speak and visions of Alex from Family Ties would fill my head. (come on, you remember that don't you???) But in the next hand, I was proud that I have been able to hand down the sense of thinking outside ourselves to my children. We are a split house, canceling each other out in the polls, but I vote. And I make sure my kids see me doing it. I speak at the table about things I hear on the news, I chat on the phone and push my girlfriends to research the causes before voting.
I guess some of it has rubbed off.
But, I wasn't aware of it until a trip to the bookstore. I admit, I jumped on the Twilight bandwagon. After much complaints, I opened the book up and rushed through it one day. I was then very antsy to get the rest of the series and went out the next day to find it. This turned out to be harder than it sounds. All the bookstore were sold out and I ended up dragging AJ from place to place in search of the series. Finally, at the local Borders, I saw a display near the front of Twilight and went immediately to it and in search of the others. I stood there enveloped in vampire books and I saw out of the corner of my eye my youngest move to the table next to me and gasp in excitement (and as loud as possible)

"MOM! Look! Obama wrote a book!!!!!"
I stood there with my hand wrapped around a teen vampire book and was so proud. I did it right. I made a difference. I don't know how. I am sure it wasn't by that particular example. But I did it. It doesn't matter to me who he votes for, what political side he chooses, what matters to me is that he sees it as a part of normal life, that he is excited by it and he is making the choice now. And regardless of what anyone says, this Presidential election was a big part of that.... it changed history already. People sat up and payed attention. People were passionate again. People voted. I am glad I already got to see it in our future.... I somehow feel stronger. Because, really.. history is made today, and I was a part of it.

Little Pink Houses

Every now and again you can catch a song on the radio from John Cougar Mellencamp and if you listen to it, it is always glorifying small town America. Somehow, these songs bring out an endearment and nostalgia for close knit communities and small town feelings. I hear them and I find that I myself have a soft spot for them. But the feeling generally passes. You see, like many other living in a big city life now, I am "from a small town". I didn't grow up there perse, but I did grow there. And I certainly didn't look back when I left there.

Small town America is just that.. small. But all the things that you find in a big city occur in small towns, just usually at a slower pace, and with more people watching closely. There is crime, even if it is simply robbing the quick stop for beer. There is traffic problems, even if it is at the school pick up area. Cruising, vandalism, their own version of gangs, it all happened. And, there is gossip.. usually rampant. I lived in a small town, worked in it. We bought a house there and had kids there. Life has a funny way of turning sometimes, and when it does, its not always welcomed to have people watching it. Naturally, in a small pond every fish is visible. And so, we ran from that small town and went on with our lives.. building something bigger and better and leaving behind all the memories that made up our small town America. We kept our house, rented it out to small town people who worked big time jobs and didn't look back.

Until last month.

6 years had passed since we left that house, and our renters finally had enough of the town too and cut rope. Needless to say, we had to head back to re-rent the house. Back to small town America. The disdain oozed out of us. But it was something we had to do, so we put our heads down and went.

Isn't it true that this is usually when something magical happens?
With a skeptical eye, I went in to my little town, ready to prejudge. Entering my home, a flood of memories and nostalgia came racing back and then I noticed how much work was needed in this house where my children were born. Walls needed repainting, sinks needed replacing. Yada, yada. And so, off to small town hardware store we went. And then it happened that the magic started.

As we drove threw town, people waved. People leaned against their fences and trucks talking with neighbors, chatting with friends. Kids rode bikes up to the 7-11 for slurpies and sat outside laughing and chewing gum. The walmart was filled with people laughing and talking as they shopped. And as we pulled up to our house, armed to the tee with renovating materials.. there was a knock on our door and there are people who were part of our lives before we left. People who I hadn't had much contact with. People who stayed behind while we forged our way out of that town. There they were, and standing tall and strong in our front entry way with a smile on their face and a ready hand. They replaced sinks. They helped with doors and mostly, they helped with healing the heart.

Small town America is more than a song. Those little pink houses have at last found their way back into my heart. They reminded me of who I am. I used to wave at my neighbors. And borrow sugar or ketchup in my pj's over the fence. Game night was a weekly thing. Beers in the garage were a must every Friday. Ready hands, open hearts and homes are a way of life. No one is alone in a small town, even when you want to be.

And so, once again, Winslow has given me something to think about. It gave me back a friend who remembers who I am even when I don't. It has given me focus to whats important in life. It replaced old memories with fresh and happy new ones. And, its given me pride. Pride in me. Pride in my family. Pride in my little pink houses.

HIstory repeats itself.. or did I say that already?

So, I was sitting in the car and glancing back at my youngest son. I see out of the corner of my eye that he is sticking his hand into an empty cup and grabbing ice and sucking on it, then.. to my horror.. spitting it on my floor! In my car! How could confuse it with a stable floor for Pete's sake! So, in my best admonishing voice, I tell him to stop and how disgusting that is.. and yada, yada, yada.. (because you know that all he really heard anyhow) and then turn back in my seat feeling very proud of how I handled it.

Then, because I am a woman and mother, therefore, suspicious, I glance back again. And yes, you have it.. his hand was in the cup. I do the death stare at him and he promptly pulls it out again. I turn back around, glance back-- he is doing it again. I give him the REALLY HARD death stare, and he pulls his hand out. I turn away, then back... and.. HIS HAND IS IN THE CUP AGAIN! But, this time.. he has a smile on his face and his eyes are narrowed to let me know-- he is enjoying this! I whip around to face front and realize.. to my horror...I have seen this before.

I flash back to the early part of my life. Pre kids, pre adult life.. just me and my sister in the grocery store with my parents. I can see my little sister pushing the cart and my dad saying to her... " don't' move the cart-- I will be right back" and going around the corner to grab something. (OK.. obviously I am old and this was back in a world where you could go around the corner of the grocery store and not worry of pedophiles or mass murders lying in lurk) .. anyhow.. there is my little sister.. waiting on my dad to turn the corner and .. she moved the cart. Just a small bit, but she did. My dad comes back.. stares at the cart and says-- "I told you not to move it." He goes in search of something else.. and she then pushed the cart a bit more forward. He turns around and glares at her and she stands there innocently looking at beans or something. He turns away.. and this time , my little sister goes in a flat run to the end of the aisle with the cart. My dad blows a gasket.. saying.. "I told you not to move the cart!"

I remember this being hysterical at the time, I remember laughing until my sides hurt. Why am I not laughing now? Oh yeah-- because basically, I am my dad now. What I find so incredible is that really, my youngest child acts a great deal like my younger sister! It could be birth order, it could be that she was around so much when he was a baby, or it just could be that I am destined to repeat my dad's parental agonies if I don't learn to see the humor in it all.

And mind, you, it was funny seeing him try to slip his hand in there without my seeing it. And while I cant stand for the spitting part, I can learn to see the humor in history repeating itself and hope that it will continue to do so for them when they are older... because what is it that our parents always said?

Oh yeah..."Just wait to till you have your own kids..."