For some reason, J has been completely stubborn about riding his bike this summer. We have always enjoyed family bike rides; the boys started out in an attached trailer but quickly became too big for the free ride. P transitioned when he was five. He was a quick study post training wheel removal, taking a few tentative treks around our court and then zipping away. Proud to be out of the trailer and on his own, despite a handful of rides that required some creative manipulation of children and bikes when he declared that he was simply too tired to continue.
We didn't push our youngest quite as hard. It took him longer to learn how to ride with training wheels and we wanted to make sure he was physically able to balance on his own before removing them. But over the last two summers, the wheels became a hindrance. Last year we tried taking a family bike ride along a paved trail that transitioned onto an unpaved trail. Three of us were able to maneuver through the brush. One of us got stuck, training wheels spinning, and had a mini meltdown that required intervention and resulted in two of us getting left behind. About a month ago we tried another path that ultimately led out into a neighborhood, and three of us peddled along the quiet side streets admiring the scenery while one of us freaked out because he was afraid of.... well, I'm not entirely sure. It was a long, slow return to the car after which J declared that he was never riding his bike again.
He had already been refusing to ride it before the family bike ride, with really no explanation. There were excuses:
"My training wheels are loose." Tighten training wheels.
"My seat is too high." Lower seat.
"The tires are flat." Inflate tires.
My father found a used bike to keep at his house and tried to coax J into riding it without training wheels. Nope.
With training wheels. Nope.
With the training wheels on a different bike. Nope.
Seriously? What kid doesn't love to ride bikes? It wasn't as if he had fallen off the bike and suffered serious injuries. Heck, our oldest has more bike related scars on his knees that I can count. When I was learning how to ride a bike, my brother took me to the park to practice, and despite him telling me not to put my foot down I put my foot down, crashed, and a huge rock lodged into my right knee. Bleeding down my leg into my sock, he made me ride the bike all the way back home. With the rock in my knee. And I still ride.
Nothing that tragic has happened to our boy. So what, you say. So what if he doesn't want to learn how to ride a bike. I'll tell you what. We live in the suburbs. It is a childhood requirement. Besides, older brother wants to bike to and from school while the weather is nice, and I think it would be great if they went together.
School starts Tuesday. I declared this morning that this would be the day J would learn to ride his bike without training wheels. No, he said. Hmm. I want to go buy Yu-Gi-Oh cards, he said. Hmm. How about if you can ride your bike around the court without training wheels, we'll go to the store and buy you a pack? Contemplation. Some heel dragging. Forcing mom to put his sandals on even though he could do it himself.
And then.
He did it.
Hubs held on to him about halfway around the court, let go, and whoosh! The boy was off, just like that. He never even fell. His face filled with pure joy. After a few successful stops and starts he declared, "Now I can go on family bike rides!"
Perhaps it was bad to use bribery. But there was this little voice of fear in his head that kept him from moving forward, from doing something he was perfectly capable of doing. And I guess sometimes it takes a pack of Yu-Gi-Oh cards to tell that voice to shove it.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Love at First Sight - It Does Exist!
My family has this weird way of doing everything in the years divisible by five. There are several members who celebrate milestone birthdays on the 5's (we call them "the fivers"); the trend started in 1915 with my maternal grandmother and lasted until 1995. (I had really hoped to have a fiver, but my son was born in early 2006. As far as I know, no one is due to have a baby this year either, so it looks like the trend has officially ended.) My sister is a fiver, having just celebrated her 50th birthday, and I am as well. (Stay tuned for posts about turning forty. I'm actually pretty excited about it.)
But it doesn't end there. All of us siblings got married in a year divisible by five. My sister in 1990, my brother in 1995, and me in 2000. We told our mother it was so that she could easily remember how many years we'd each been married, but I'm pretty sure it was just coincidence. Although it does come in handy when I'm trying to remember how many years I've been married.
FIFTEEN. Fifteen years. It still blows my mind that someone agreed to spend the rest of their life with me, and that the someone was my first love. Now before you start gagging, it's a really sweet story. See hubs and I met way back in high school at a drama club meeting. He was a sophomore, and I was a senior. Someone introduced us, and his first words to me were, "Those are some funky eyebrows." I thought he was making fun of me. Who wouldn't? My eyebrows were funky. And by funky I mean unnaturally thick. Frida Kahlo thick.
But he was actually admiring them. I shrugged it off, but I couldn't get him out of my head. Later in the meeting our friend Jen was singing "Age of Aquarius" and I distinctly remember getting this feeling that I had just met my soul mate. That this underclassman, this eyebrow critic, was going to be my husband some day.
He would be. Eventually. But first I had to find out who he was, where he lived, and did he actually like me? Later in the week I was coming home from a blind date that had gone quite poorly, and when I pulled into my driveway, there was my destiny. Heading to Mighty with his friends. I invited him to take a walk with me to the playground across the street, where we got to know each other and would have kissed if it weren't for my mother's headlights beckoning me to "GET. HOME. NOW." (They had slightly panicked when they saw my car but not me.)
We dated for a while in high school, but as high school romances go it wasn't all that wonderful. Too many feelings, not enough feelings, feelings for other people, foolish mistakes - all the good stuff of YA romance. We had a love/hate relationship after that until the day he broke my heart. The day he told me he was planning to marry this other girl and I felt an ache in my chest like nothing I had ever felt before.
Now I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but my chest truly hurt that day. Nevertheless, I accepted my fate and accepted the girl, and made a plan to stay single forever in my house full of cats. Because truthfully? No one ever compared to him.
Fast forward a year or two. He made plans to come in from college and visit his girlfriend, and they were going to road trip out to see me for a day. Only the moment he got off the bus, she dumped him. Now I'm not going to say that he immediately came running into my arms and I welcomed him in a warm embrace. This is reality, not a romance novel. It took some time. But within a few weeks he invited me to come with him to visit family in the Netherlands, and the night before we left we officially declared ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend. A year later we were engaged.
Our marriage has survived several deployments (one that lasted nearly nine months), infertility, the crazy invasive process that is an adoption home study, and all the little ups and downs that come with being a couple. Hubs asked me last night if I thought we'd make it to fifteen years. Of course I did. The universe went through all that trouble to bring us together, there's no way I'd do anything to screw that up. Also? I'm not the easiest person to live with, but for some reason he gets up every day, smiles at me, gives me a kiss, and makes me feel like I can conquer anything.
Even if he no longer likes my eyebrows.
But it doesn't end there. All of us siblings got married in a year divisible by five. My sister in 1990, my brother in 1995, and me in 2000. We told our mother it was so that she could easily remember how many years we'd each been married, but I'm pretty sure it was just coincidence. Although it does come in handy when I'm trying to remember how many years I've been married.
FIFTEEN. Fifteen years. It still blows my mind that someone agreed to spend the rest of their life with me, and that the someone was my first love. Now before you start gagging, it's a really sweet story. See hubs and I met way back in high school at a drama club meeting. He was a sophomore, and I was a senior. Someone introduced us, and his first words to me were, "Those are some funky eyebrows." I thought he was making fun of me. Who wouldn't? My eyebrows were funky. And by funky I mean unnaturally thick. Frida Kahlo thick.
 |
| See? |
He would be. Eventually. But first I had to find out who he was, where he lived, and did he actually like me? Later in the week I was coming home from a blind date that had gone quite poorly, and when I pulled into my driveway, there was my destiny. Heading to Mighty with his friends. I invited him to take a walk with me to the playground across the street, where we got to know each other and would have kissed if it weren't for my mother's headlights beckoning me to "GET. HOME. NOW." (They had slightly panicked when they saw my car but not me.)
We dated for a while in high school, but as high school romances go it wasn't all that wonderful. Too many feelings, not enough feelings, feelings for other people, foolish mistakes - all the good stuff of YA romance. We had a love/hate relationship after that until the day he broke my heart. The day he told me he was planning to marry this other girl and I felt an ache in my chest like nothing I had ever felt before.
Now I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but my chest truly hurt that day. Nevertheless, I accepted my fate and accepted the girl, and made a plan to stay single forever in my house full of cats. Because truthfully? No one ever compared to him.
 |
| That's us in the Netherlands. So young! |
Our marriage has survived several deployments (one that lasted nearly nine months), infertility, the crazy invasive process that is an adoption home study, and all the little ups and downs that come with being a couple. Hubs asked me last night if I thought we'd make it to fifteen years. Of course I did. The universe went through all that trouble to bring us together, there's no way I'd do anything to screw that up. Also? I'm not the easiest person to live with, but for some reason he gets up every day, smiles at me, gives me a kiss, and makes me feel like I can conquer anything.
Even if he no longer likes my eyebrows.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Being me
The conference was wonderful. I learned a ton and met some great people along the way. Here's the thing: it is possible for me to break out of my shell a little and talk to strangers.
I'll wait while you collect yourself.
Basically I had a choice: allow myself to be swallowed by social anxiety and spend the weekend curled up in a ball in the corner OR jump into the pool and doggy paddle for a while. (I may have taken the metaphor too literally though because on the first night I decided to join a new friend in the hot tub. In my dress. Because why not.)
The most difficult part of meeting new people is that initial conversation where you break the ice with something witty enough to get another person to talk to you, and then the part where you keep the conversation going by being a good listener and not letting the dreaded awkward silence creep in, oh and the part where you don't say anything stupid or embarrassing. Okay, so basically everything about meeting new people scares the crap out of me. But I kept telling myself that there was a good chance that most of the other people at the conference were likely experiencing the same fears and anxieties. It was a conference full of writers. We lock ourselves in a room and spend hours typing away into a void FOR A REASON.
Here's an example: It's lunchtime. TACO BAR. I enthusiastically fill my plate with taco goodness and enter into the large meeting room. There are round tables full of happy, chatty people, and I don't recognize a single face. It's like that time in middle school when you walk out of the cafeteria line with your tray and decide you'd rather eat lunch in the hallway/bathroom/inside your locker than face the sea of strangers. So I see this guy who sat with us the night before at introductions, and he has the same eyes-scanning-the-crowd-for-someone-he-knows expression. I walk up to him and say, "This is way too much like middle school." He laughs. Doesn't run away with his plate full of tacos. So I follow with, "Let's sit over there," and head for an empty table. He agrees, and we have a great chat during the meal.
Imagine that. I CAN be a normal person.
I keep the energy up for most of the weekend. Introduce myself to people in line, ask them about their writing, their families, listen to their stories. It's as if the introvert in me got left behind at the security checkpoint. (Those body scan machines are weird, people. Weird.)
But then, I hit a wall. It's Saturday afternoon and I'm feeling a bit drained from a harsh (but helpful and necessary) manuscript critique from an agent. I sit through the final session at a table with some women I had chatted with before, but they aren't talking to me. Then it's happy hour. Happy hour is a great time for people who like to drink and socialize. But I just want to crawl into a comfy chair and be alone. I stand around for a few minutes with no one to talk to. Find my friend from home, but she's got a line of people waiting to pick her brain. Feel the panic start to set in.
You see, people can push themselves out of their comfort zone, and it may even feel good for a while, but we always come back to who we truly are. And I am truly an introvert. I'm not ashamed of it, and I have learned to pick up on the signs that it is time to get the hell out of dodge before my breath quickens and tears start to flow. It happened when I was at camp with the boys last week, and I was determined to get myself together before it happened in front of all the nice writerly types. So I take a walk. Calm myself down. Call CJ because he truly gets me and knows what I need to hear. Go back inside and find my hot tub friend and tell her to stay by my side. She understands.
It's tough to be shy in a world that expects you to network, to sell yourself, to be someone people want to follow on twitter. But I'm okay with that. I am me, and if you don't like it, oh well. Sometimes I say inappropriate things. Sometimes I create the world's most uncomfortable silence. Sometimes I want everyone to just leave me alone.
But sometimes I am witty and fun to be around. Sometimes I go hot tubbing in my dress and make jokes that cause the whole table to laugh. I guess the bottom line is that while wandering out of the comfort zone is important and healthy, it's okay to be who you are. Whatever that may be.
I'll wait while you collect yourself.
Basically I had a choice: allow myself to be swallowed by social anxiety and spend the weekend curled up in a ball in the corner OR jump into the pool and doggy paddle for a while. (I may have taken the metaphor too literally though because on the first night I decided to join a new friend in the hot tub. In my dress. Because why not.)
The most difficult part of meeting new people is that initial conversation where you break the ice with something witty enough to get another person to talk to you, and then the part where you keep the conversation going by being a good listener and not letting the dreaded awkward silence creep in, oh and the part where you don't say anything stupid or embarrassing. Okay, so basically everything about meeting new people scares the crap out of me. But I kept telling myself that there was a good chance that most of the other people at the conference were likely experiencing the same fears and anxieties. It was a conference full of writers. We lock ourselves in a room and spend hours typing away into a void FOR A REASON.
Here's an example: It's lunchtime. TACO BAR. I enthusiastically fill my plate with taco goodness and enter into the large meeting room. There are round tables full of happy, chatty people, and I don't recognize a single face. It's like that time in middle school when you walk out of the cafeteria line with your tray and decide you'd rather eat lunch in the hallway/bathroom/inside your locker than face the sea of strangers. So I see this guy who sat with us the night before at introductions, and he has the same eyes-scanning-the-crowd-for-someone-he-knows expression. I walk up to him and say, "This is way too much like middle school." He laughs. Doesn't run away with his plate full of tacos. So I follow with, "Let's sit over there," and head for an empty table. He agrees, and we have a great chat during the meal.
Imagine that. I CAN be a normal person.
I keep the energy up for most of the weekend. Introduce myself to people in line, ask them about their writing, their families, listen to their stories. It's as if the introvert in me got left behind at the security checkpoint. (Those body scan machines are weird, people. Weird.)
But then, I hit a wall. It's Saturday afternoon and I'm feeling a bit drained from a harsh (but helpful and necessary) manuscript critique from an agent. I sit through the final session at a table with some women I had chatted with before, but they aren't talking to me. Then it's happy hour. Happy hour is a great time for people who like to drink and socialize. But I just want to crawl into a comfy chair and be alone. I stand around for a few minutes with no one to talk to. Find my friend from home, but she's got a line of people waiting to pick her brain. Feel the panic start to set in.
You see, people can push themselves out of their comfort zone, and it may even feel good for a while, but we always come back to who we truly are. And I am truly an introvert. I'm not ashamed of it, and I have learned to pick up on the signs that it is time to get the hell out of dodge before my breath quickens and tears start to flow. It happened when I was at camp with the boys last week, and I was determined to get myself together before it happened in front of all the nice writerly types. So I take a walk. Calm myself down. Call CJ because he truly gets me and knows what I need to hear. Go back inside and find my hot tub friend and tell her to stay by my side. She understands.
It's tough to be shy in a world that expects you to network, to sell yourself, to be someone people want to follow on twitter. But I'm okay with that. I am me, and if you don't like it, oh well. Sometimes I say inappropriate things. Sometimes I create the world's most uncomfortable silence. Sometimes I want everyone to just leave me alone.
But sometimes I am witty and fun to be around. Sometimes I go hot tubbing in my dress and make jokes that cause the whole table to laugh. I guess the bottom line is that while wandering out of the comfort zone is important and healthy, it's okay to be who you are. Whatever that may be.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Going Solo
The last time I traveled alone was in 2003. The husband was on deployment for pretty much the entire year, and although I can't remember the exact date I'm sure I traveled back home at least once that year. That was also the year I went on my scariest adventure: Hong Kong. While hubs was sure to point out that I wasn't technically alone for that trip - a group of wives traveled together, but none of them were my friends so it only sort of counts - it was pretty darn terrifying. And once in China I needed to navigate to my hotel alone and then walk to the dock by myself in the morning.
TERRIFYING.
You see I'm not the best traveler. I get nervous. Like, I can't eat for 24 hours prior because my stomach is in ragey knots nervous. It doesn't matter where we are going, what we plan to do there, or who is coming. So it's not a big surprise that I am a ball of nerves right now and have been since yesterday. Today I am setting off to my third writing conference and the biggest one yet. Oh, and I'm traveling alone. Which is pretty awesome on one hand - no one to entertain but myself, no one whining about how hungry/bored/full of pee they are. Just me. And my tiny little bag filled with just my stuff that took about 10 minutes to pack. Okay, it took about two hours to pick out what I was going to wear, but the actual packing part was super fast.
I'm meeting my friend on the other end and then we have a driver taking us to the hotel. A driver. As in some guy is going to hold up a sign with her name on it and everything. Here's the thing. My friend is kinda famous in the writing community and she's part of the faculty for this conference, and I am crazy lucky because she still wants to hang out with me despite the emotional word dump she endured on our last few road trips. (Seriously. Sometimes I don't know when to shut up.) Oh, and she lets me tag along with her on conferences. And she brings sponge candy. And introduces me to amazing people. So yeah. Anyway, the conference is going to be huge and a bunch of well known people from the writing community will be there, and I get to meet them and sit down and talk about my book with them and holy crap that is a lot of things to make me a nervous wreck.
My husband told me this morning that I can't put my best face forward when I feel this way, and he's right. I need to get out of my head and enjoy the journey. I had an amazing time at the last conference - made new friends, had a ton of fun, and learned a lot about writing and about myself. I didn't want it to end. It's something I get to do that is entirely selfish and hey - I'm not going to apologize for this - it feels good. So as I sit here waiting to board and thinking about what is just around the corner, I'm hoping the nervous feelings with hit the road because frankly, I am sick of them holding me back. I walked through a communist country alone and lived to tell the tale; this is easy compared to that. Right?
TERRIFYING.
You see I'm not the best traveler. I get nervous. Like, I can't eat for 24 hours prior because my stomach is in ragey knots nervous. It doesn't matter where we are going, what we plan to do there, or who is coming. So it's not a big surprise that I am a ball of nerves right now and have been since yesterday. Today I am setting off to my third writing conference and the biggest one yet. Oh, and I'm traveling alone. Which is pretty awesome on one hand - no one to entertain but myself, no one whining about how hungry/bored/full of pee they are. Just me. And my tiny little bag filled with just my stuff that took about 10 minutes to pack. Okay, it took about two hours to pick out what I was going to wear, but the actual packing part was super fast.
I'm meeting my friend on the other end and then we have a driver taking us to the hotel. A driver. As in some guy is going to hold up a sign with her name on it and everything. Here's the thing. My friend is kinda famous in the writing community and she's part of the faculty for this conference, and I am crazy lucky because she still wants to hang out with me despite the emotional word dump she endured on our last few road trips. (Seriously. Sometimes I don't know when to shut up.) Oh, and she lets me tag along with her on conferences. And she brings sponge candy. And introduces me to amazing people. So yeah. Anyway, the conference is going to be huge and a bunch of well known people from the writing community will be there, and I get to meet them and sit down and talk about my book with them and holy crap that is a lot of things to make me a nervous wreck.
My husband told me this morning that I can't put my best face forward when I feel this way, and he's right. I need to get out of my head and enjoy the journey. I had an amazing time at the last conference - made new friends, had a ton of fun, and learned a lot about writing and about myself. I didn't want it to end. It's something I get to do that is entirely selfish and hey - I'm not going to apologize for this - it feels good. So as I sit here waiting to board and thinking about what is just around the corner, I'm hoping the nervous feelings with hit the road because frankly, I am sick of them holding me back. I walked through a communist country alone and lived to tell the tale; this is easy compared to that. Right?
Friday, June 26, 2015
Birthday Week: Day Five
Decade Five: 2005-2015
We have arrived at the present. It has been an interesting journey to say the least, has it not? A lot changed in the past ten years. My sister discovered her passion for running and found a relationship that fulfills her heart and soul. She sent that adorable little baby from yesterday's post off to college, and he is becoming an incredible young man. I am proud to say that I watched him grow up and introduced him to his first roller coaster. (Technically it was my husband. But I was there!) My family doubled in size, and Chrissy has been there to guide me through the crazy maze that is motherhood.
Now that we are both full fledged adults, we get to have fun together. Family friendly activities like our annual apple picking trip, or not so family friendly activities like wine tours. An awesome trip to Florida where Chrissy and the hubs enjoyed beers of the world at Epcot (photo not included). And Christmas celebrations that inevitably get silly.
I consider myself pretty darn lucky to have spent my (gulp) four decades as Chrissy's baby sister. Cheers to the next decade and to more adventures, laughter and not Chardonnay.
I leave you with this little anthem. It may not be as fabulous as the tape recorded version of Fleetwood Mac's "Gold" (stay tuned for that little gem), but it reminds me of my sister. What a long strange trip it's been.
We have arrived at the present. It has been an interesting journey to say the least, has it not? A lot changed in the past ten years. My sister discovered her passion for running and found a relationship that fulfills her heart and soul. She sent that adorable little baby from yesterday's post off to college, and he is becoming an incredible young man. I am proud to say that I watched him grow up and introduced him to his first roller coaster. (Technically it was my husband. But I was there!) My family doubled in size, and Chrissy has been there to guide me through the crazy maze that is motherhood.
Now that we are both full fledged adults, we get to have fun together. Family friendly activities like our annual apple picking trip, or not so family friendly activities like wine tours. An awesome trip to Florida where Chrissy and the hubs enjoyed beers of the world at Epcot (photo not included). And Christmas celebrations that inevitably get silly.
I consider myself pretty darn lucky to have spent my (gulp) four decades as Chrissy's baby sister. Cheers to the next decade and to more adventures, laughter and not Chardonnay.
I leave you with this little anthem. It may not be as fabulous as the tape recorded version of Fleetwood Mac's "Gold" (stay tuned for that little gem), but it reminds me of my sister. What a long strange trip it's been.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Birthday Week: Day Four
Decade Four: 1995-2005
Earlier this week I was over at my parents' house sorting through pictures for the blog. It was somewhat challenging because nearly every album was full of pictures of me. Yep, I'm the baby of the family and was pretty darn adorable. My mother laughed as she flipped page after page of my smiling mug and said, "You were the center of attention for a lotta years. Until Mitch came along."
Mitch. He was the first grandchild (and the only one for nearly eight years) and a super cute kid. I honestly didn't mind passing along the attention torch. He transformed my sister's life and it is obvious when you see them together that they have a strong bond. Mitch has a calmness about him, with a quiet, wry sense of humor and a huge heart.
My sister continued to second-mother me, but I certainly still needed it. She took me in when my roommates kicked me out of the house (that is a convoluted story and not blog appropriate; let's just say that sometimes I don't make good choices), and she kept me calm on my wedding day. I tried my best to be there for her when she needed me, even if it just meant making her laugh when life got her down.
Around the middle of this decade, I graduated from college, moved away, and got married. And then I moved again. And again. And again. And... (you get the idea - we were the traveling vans for sure back then!) Chrissy and Mitch came to visit me in Virginia and Washington; both trips served as much needed diversions for the lonely life of a military wife. I loved taking them around to see the sights and remember my sister remarking at how impressed she was at my ability to navigate in a new town year after year. (This is of course because she did not have to witness the previous attempts at navigation which involved much cursing and turning around in parking lots.) It was wonderful to have connections to home when I was far away.
Earlier this week I was over at my parents' house sorting through pictures for the blog. It was somewhat challenging because nearly every album was full of pictures of me. Yep, I'm the baby of the family and was pretty darn adorable. My mother laughed as she flipped page after page of my smiling mug and said, "You were the center of attention for a lotta years. Until Mitch came along."
Mitch. He was the first grandchild (and the only one for nearly eight years) and a super cute kid. I honestly didn't mind passing along the attention torch. He transformed my sister's life and it is obvious when you see them together that they have a strong bond. Mitch has a calmness about him, with a quiet, wry sense of humor and a huge heart.
My sister continued to second-mother me, but I certainly still needed it. She took me in when my roommates kicked me out of the house (that is a convoluted story and not blog appropriate; let's just say that sometimes I don't make good choices), and she kept me calm on my wedding day. I tried my best to be there for her when she needed me, even if it just meant making her laugh when life got her down.
Around the middle of this decade, I graduated from college, moved away, and got married. And then I moved again. And again. And again. And... (you get the idea - we were the traveling vans for sure back then!) Chrissy and Mitch came to visit me in Virginia and Washington; both trips served as much needed diversions for the lonely life of a military wife. I loved taking them around to see the sights and remember my sister remarking at how impressed she was at my ability to navigate in a new town year after year. (This is of course because she did not have to witness the previous attempts at navigation which involved much cursing and turning around in parking lots.) It was wonderful to have connections to home when I was far away.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Birthday Week: Day Three
Decade three: 1985-1995
Despite being only 15 and legally unable to serve as a witness, my sister chose me to be her maid of honor. I was matched with Larry, the three fingered man (if I recall correctly, he lost two of his digits in a saw accident) who tried to hit on me in the limo. I was thrilled to become an aunt five years later, even if it meant listening to my sister scream through endless hours of labor before my nephew finally made his entrance. But the big arrival was not until Chrissy's fourth decade, so you'll have to check back tomorrow for Mitch.
Enjoy the pics. Appreciate the glorious 80's hair.
A year after my grandpa died we took a family vacation (minus my brother) out to California so that grandma could see the Queen Mary. The trip was a lot of fun despite the daily sunrise wake ups, the impending doom of dad speeding around the curves of Route 1 at Big Sur, and an animatronic shark attack at Universal Studios. Chrissy was thrilled to pose with her "date" (as it is described on the back of the photo below) and also got the opportunity to wear an astronaut suit and experience zero gravity.
Soon after, she graduated from college and moved away. Permanently. Despite our physical separation, we remained close. My memories from this time period range from the goofy (Chrissy philosophizing about the deep lyrics to "Pump up the Volume" on the way home from religion class) to the educational (everything I ever needed and not so much wanted to know about sex, drugs, and rock and roll), to the profound (she took me to my first and only Grateful Dead concert where I learned many, many, MANY interesting things about human nature).
We share a common bond of,"What ridiculous behavior can we exhibit that will drive mom crazy?" For example: on one road trip we made up a silly rhyming poem and repeated it over and over until mom begged us to stop. Read it here. Another time we wrote a parody to Lionel Richie's "Hello" called "Jello" and sang it at the top of our lungs. Success was reached when mom said, "GIRLS. ENOUGH." And I am proud to say we haven't changed much since then. Although, karma caught up to me - my children are happy to provide payback with their endless silliness. I guess what goes around comes around.
Soon after, she graduated from college and moved away. Permanently. Despite our physical separation, we remained close. My memories from this time period range from the goofy (Chrissy philosophizing about the deep lyrics to "Pump up the Volume" on the way home from religion class) to the educational (everything I ever needed and not so much wanted to know about sex, drugs, and rock and roll), to the profound (she took me to my first and only Grateful Dead concert where I learned many, many, MANY interesting things about human nature).
Despite being only 15 and legally unable to serve as a witness, my sister chose me to be her maid of honor. I was matched with Larry, the three fingered man (if I recall correctly, he lost two of his digits in a saw accident) who tried to hit on me in the limo. I was thrilled to become an aunt five years later, even if it meant listening to my sister scream through endless hours of labor before my nephew finally made his entrance. But the big arrival was not until Chrissy's fourth decade, so you'll have to check back tomorrow for Mitch.
Enjoy the pics. Appreciate the glorious 80's hair.
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