Yes - That's why I became a mom. Because I love cleaning toilets, said No One, EVER!

Why did I want to be a mom? Evidently because I love to clean toilets. I am now what is referred to as the sandwich generation, raising my teenage boys and taking care of aging parents. I am blessed to have a part-time job where I am off on Friday and I usually take that day to travel two hours to check in on and take care of my parents.

When this started I would get up an hour earlier and clean my own house, get my kids off to school, then take off for my parents where I would -you guessed it - clean their house. Over the summer it finally dawned on me, I am a very slow learner, instead of me maybe my family could clean our house. Or so I could hope.

Someone who's children were older than mine said to me when I had two small boys, "How do you raise boys to be good husbands? To understand it's a partnership, they should help clean, they should change diapers, they should think about the needs of others? I don't want my future daughter-in-law to say 'God you raised a monster!'" I didn't know either, but it was a very good question.

My father was an only child who was extremely good at getting others to do things for him and had a wife that did everything. I married an only child who moved 5,000 miles away from home very young so he was a little better, but still really good at getting others to do things for him. I was raising two boys who were watching me take care of everything - this might not end well. That's when I decided Saturday morning cleaning time would include them. I put a tube sock on their hand and sprayed it with furniture polish and sent them around to wipe anything made of wood. I gave them the vacuum and taught them to make lines. I had them bag up recycling, collect trash, sort laundry, make a bed, etc. Now I can not be sure anymore but I feel like I have taught ALL the men in this house how to clean a toilet. Even showing them how to get your face right next to the toilet bowl to scrub the pee off the sides of the toilet, their pee by the way. Yet I am still the only one that ever cleans a toilet.

Cleaning my parents house went faster if I just got to work and plowed through it myself but that really wasn't the point of going to spend time with mom and bringing purpose to her day. So like our Saturday morning cleaning I would give mom a job. Dusting, trash, laundry collection, or vacuuming. She loved vacuuming. Who doesn't love vacuuming? If you have to do a chore, at least you see and hear (sucking up a Lego or coin) immediate results. And it is not putting your face damn near in the toilet bowl to clean up OTHER people's waste. "I love cleaning toilets!" Said No One Ever!!

My husband and I recently got in a loud, heated, cussing discussion about chores in our house. He said for the 10,000th time in our 25+year marriage. "I help! I do dishes, laundry, vacuum." Yes. You do all the things you want or need to do - not all the things that need to be done. No one but me cleans a toilet. God love him, he really is a slower learner, he said "I clean toilets." I said when? There was a huge, very pregnant pause...because the one and only time he cleaned the toilets was when he told me they were gross and I was 8 months pregnant. I didn't kill him, but had one of our loud, heated, cussing discussions where I said "You do it!"

My best friend of 25+ years and I have discussed how growing up Midwestern Catholic girls left us with a few ridiculous ideas. One being that life was not about joy or happiness but serving others. Shut up. Clean it up. Offer it up. We were not exactly told to be a mom, have babies, serve your husband -but that was the reality of our lives. It was the 70's and we were told we could be "Anything you want to be" but not really shown. And it makes me wonder- is how I am perceived by my kids? That I am a mom because I love to clean toilets.

I can not put into words all the reason why I wanted to be a mom. But I just spent two days with my mom who has basically Alzheimer's disease. She doesn't always know who I am or what I am doing there. I know this. It's gut wrenching. But what I do want her to know when I am there is that she is loved, she is safe, and she is OK exactly the way she is. When I was leaving yesterday she asked how long of a drive I had and quickly pressed several granola bars into my hand. I gave her a hug and told her I loved her very very much.

She said "Tell your mom thank you, she did a good job." I said "I know she did" She said "I bet she is a good woman." I said "She is the best, I love her more than words can say."

Why did I become a Mom? Because of her. She showed me this kind of love. The kind where you clean the pee around the toilet even if it is not yours, because it is the right thing to do. Because it is taking care of the people you love, keeping them safe, showing them how to love even the hard stuff that is not as immediate and gratifying as vacuuming. And because of love, I continue to do it. Hopefully, one day if I am there, my boys will come to clean my toilets.

Who really needs Drivers Education??!

 Do you want to know the truly horrible part of teaching a teenager to drive?

YOU Assholes!

I refuse to put a permanent bumper sticker on my car that says STUDENT DRIVER. Because like Baby On Board one day he will not be a student driver and also he's using My Car! Most importantly, is that going to make any of you less of an asshole??

He is driving the speed limit, coming to a complete stop at a stop sign, waiting for a light to actually turn green and then checking for red light runners so as not to get t-boned, stopping for pedestrians in crosswalks, yielding for oncoming traffic, etc. In so many words - He is following the damn rules. And what does he get for it?

Honked at, cussed at, flipped off, tailgated, passed in intersections, and passed in neighborhoods not to mention a two lane road with no shoulder. I have never been more tempted to get a dash cam in my life and put your cars, license plates, and faces all over the internet. What is wrong with you people? Who should really have to pay $800 for Drivers Education - my 16 year-old? Or Assholes?

Personally, I think a better use of police patrol time would just be to write tickets to Assholes and when you get to 10 you have to pay $800 and go back to Driver's Education. If you get to 20 you go to Anger Management and you get a special color licensee plate. If you continue to get Asshole tickets you get the Scarlet Letter - a bright flashing A for your car so everyone else knows what to expect. Stay away from them! They are an Asshole.

I get very frustrated and fired up when it comes to having to police people into kindness. We are all in this together. Kindness doesn't cost anything - unless you refuse to use it. Because the cost of riding on my son's ass every time he drives is that you are creating a cynical, frustrated, angry driver. YEAH!! Just what you really wanted more of on the road right Asshole?! Drivers like you.....

Thank you Abby Wombach!

 Abby Wombach's Commencement Speech at LMU

Sometimes someone puts something so simply, but so eloquently that it touches your soul. Abby Wombach has done just that for that for me in her commencement speech to LMU Class of 2022.

Miss Wombach is not only one of the most decorated Female athlete of all times - she is damn near the most decorated soccer player of all times! She can literally run with the big dogs. She is openly Gay, Democratic, and Catholic. In her speech Miss Wombach clearly, simply, and eloquently describes being 4 years old and wanting a world that didn't exist yet. And now she is living and forming that world every day.

There are many things that touched me about her speech, truly. But the very first thing was when she said, "I was a little gay girl in Catholic schools and churches. And while there was much about it I loved, I didn't always feel loved back. I often felt unvalued and unsafe being who God made me to be. In the one place I should have felt the safest and most valued"

Read that again. And if you identify as Christian -read it again.

I was not a little gay girl, but I was a very anxious girl. I was a molested and raped girl. I was an emotionally abused girl that was being told, God made you in his likeness and YOU screwed that up. He doesn't like who you are now, you are bad, you must prostrate yourself and repent if you want to go to Heaven and not spend eternity burning in Hell.

If you are devote you maybe shaking your head. But that is exactly what I was hearing from the Nuns, the brothers, and Priests week after week after week. I didn't have the words or the right to say to them -You're scaring me! A 6/8/10 year-old shouldn't have to shout to adults in power in organized Religion -please stop telling me I am not worthy of Heaven, I already know that and I lie awake at night terrified "if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take" DON'T TAKE ME TO HELL!

Even at 6 years-old I knew something was not right. Every week my parents got all jacked up, dad cussed us into the car, drove 60 mph to church, marched us up to the front pews where we were suppose to sit, stand, kneel, and chant on cue in front of a bigger than life man naked, bloodied, and staked to a cross. After church the same routine ensued in reverse, cuss us into the car, drive 60 mph home, march us into the house where he expected us sit, stand, and answer on cue but otherwise stay the hell out of his way.

As a Catholic, in 8th grade there is a right of passage called Confirmation. Girls wear a white dress, pick a Holy name, and stand in front of God and the church and commit to a life of devotion to the Church. Around that time in our Parish we had a Deacon working for the Church and school. When it was time for Confirmation I said to my Mom - Um, No thanks! I'm good. Well, she sent me to talk to Deacon Tom who became a very good friend and officiant at my wedding years later. Deacon Tom had a wife, and kids, and a life outside of the church. He listened carefully, he asked the right questions, and most important he agreed that what I felt was accurate and valuable. He apologized that I had spent so much time feeling terrified by God and assured me that he was not, as I put it, sitting on a cloud with a clipboard making tick marks that were damning me to hell.

He told me I had every right to question everything about a religion before making a commitment and helped me learn more about the religion that I wanted to choose - Judaism. Ultimately, my mother agreed but laid out the reality. My father and grandparents would have 10 heartaches if I didn't get Confirmed. Then she revealed that even after going to Catholic schools all her life, going to a Catholic college, dragging us to church each week, volunteering at our catholic school, and teaching CCD for years she didn't believe everything. Wait What??!!

Both of them opened the door for me to question the difference between being Spiritual and being Religious. In my opinion being religious is Jim and Tammy Faye Baker. Being religious was my dad cussing at us on Sunday morning to get to church then cussing at us to get out after communion to beat the crowd. Religious, in my opinion, is someone who talks about it, demands it of others, but doesn't have to live it. I am not a fan of organized religion because I think it quickly corrupts what is good.

In my opinion, being Spiritual is not about waving the flag of God but living it. I do not have to tell people I am spiritual but when my best friend gets cancer for the second time I surely fell to my knees and prayed. And I went with her to the Doctor's appointments, put together a calendar of help, and spent 10+ terrifying days in the hospital with her. Because in my opinion, like Miss Wombach says, I took to heart Do unto others, as you would have them to do unto you. 

Can it be that simple? 

Do you like your religion? Do you appreciate the fact that you get to choose your religion? That you can celebrate, practice, and enjoy your religion?

Then my only question is - Why are you taking that away from me? I am not taking it away from you? I'm not asking for laws that make worshipping on Sunday illegal. And believe you me after the trauma of my childhood experience it would be warranted! It would be protecting all those innocent children from extreme trauma, depression, and anxiety. I would be doing all the world a great service!

Read that again.

From screamer to screenwriter

Finding time to sit down and write can  be challenging. Figuring out what to write can be just as challenging - I've been told I am "the sandwich" generation. Taking care of teenagers and my parents at the same time. Most of the time I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

My youngest son has always been very vocal. (That's being nice.) He's a fantastic fit thrower. When he was little he would scream when it was time to go pick up his brother from school. He would scream when it was time to leave a playdate. He would scream when it was time to go to bed.  My neighbor finally said to me, "He's not good with transition". Well that much I had figured out!

He has come a long way over the years. There was the always screaming phase, the screaming when he was tired or angry phase (those might have been the same 10 years), the screaming when he was given consequences, and most recently screaming when he is tired or angry. Wait! We are going backwards. Crap.

Now a days he saves the screaming for interactions with his father. (I find it hard to reprimand him because his dad can lose it pretty quickly himself.  Tree meet Apple.) But what I have seen more and more since Junior High is his sense of humor and his ability to defuse a difficulty or highly emotional situation. Thank Goodness! Because living with a Greek there is no shortage of highly emotional difficult situations. Deciding what to have for dinner can go DEFCON 5 in a heartbeat.

This New Year's Eve I texted everyone a question in the morning to think about during the day and have an answer ready for dinner. The questions was: someone you love woke up this morning with no memory of who they were....tell them about themselves.

My husband made notes but it was "You are all wonderful and beautiful. I have the best family and I am very lucky. I love you all very much." He was close - second language - he gets a pass. My oldest son shrugged. Being the one who sent out the question to begin with, feeling nostalgic and lonely for family, tradition, and ritual I wrote each person a three page paper. But it was my youngest who grabbed his phone and started typing as I finished dinner and the others set the table. My husband never stopped yelling at him to PUT HIS PHONE AWAY!!

When it came time to share, he pulled out his phone and started to read. You are Yiannis God of working out and Head of the Greek mafia. Recruited when you were just a boy, you infiltrated the mafia and made yourself indispensable by training all the hitmen. Bored with the Mafia life you came to America and posed as a college student where you met your future wife. You really had no intention of settling down but what you did not know about her was that she too was recruited at a young age to become a paid Siren for the CIA. There was no escaping her wiley ways once she got her sights set. After the CIA discovered that you were not a threat to anyone except the out of shape they deprogrammed both of you so that you could live happily ever after. But you had us and now you live angrily ever after.

Maybe there was something to all those screaming years......

How to make a "Karen"

In case you have been under a rock and are not familiar with the term "Karen" I can give you the #1-Urban Dictionary version - or #2- my teenagers version.

1. A woman whose behavior is characterized--by most standards--to be self-serving, self-preserving, self-entitled and is directly influenced by privilege.

2.Me

First of all I want to make clear, this is NOT a defense of Karen's out there who have done ridiculous things like call the police on a dog walker, threatened a girl scout, or refused to wear their masks or said the hairdresser is their God Given right during the pandemic. 

What I am trying to do is shed some light, for my sons, on how anyone even their mom can be pushed to the absolute limit. Thus - creating a Karen.

I have been under a lot of extra stress as of late while going back and forth to the hospital to support my friend. During that time my family has pitched in and helped out. There were certain things that they left for me - cleaning, shopping, cooking. Please note that during this time, I was still trying to call my mom, who has dementia, everyday. And work a part time job. And shower and sleep at some points. I have a feeling most women are nodding at this point.

So last Saturday when my husband was doing bills and saw something he didn't like in the checking account (the matter is pointless) he promptly started yelling at me. I told him that I would not argue with him about this because there was nothing we could do until Monday. He didn't like my answer. He stopped speaking to me. (It's Tuesday we have argued and snipped but still - not speaking. But also the issue could not be resolved on Monday.)

He was angry enough, we've been married long enough, that I knew on Saturday-I'd be in this for the long haul. That doesn't make it easier, or hurt any less. Also throughout the weekend I was still the mom of 18 and 15 year-old boys. Needless to say, I did not become any less annoying or any more smarter. (Ha! Get it, more smarter.) Likewise throughout the weekend, the world did not become any less divided or any more smarter. (now it's just depressing) We were down to one car because of Snowmageddon and thanks to a long overdue mail delivery, down to one driver because my husband got notice his drivers license was expired. I also had to rack up additional workhours getting things done because I was so far behind.

Fine. Monday. It was a ridiculous day at work. On top of that I called about the checking account issue (university charges) and they said "I'm sorry we can't talk to you because it's your son's account. He has to grant you access." My college aged son with no current job was too busy to grant said access (still not as of Tuesday night). Whatever. I got home from work and asked my husband if he needed a ride to the BMV. He said he made his own plan since he didn't know when I would be home. Hmmmmm??? 4 years now, I work M-TH 8-1pm. But, ok, Passive aggressive much? His ride cancelled so I took him. The BMV was packed so I waited in the car for 30 minutes. During that time I stupidly checked my email and see that I have a bill from the Dr office. Recent office visit for my son was $255.

My husband comes out still not speaking to me. The car is making an awful noise and then starts dinging. It needs gas, was all he said. We stop at the gas station on the way home. I drop him off and head straight to school to pick up the 15 year old from track. He is in a mood because we have taken away all video games until his math grade is a B and he failed his math test, again. As I am coming down the hill in school/rush hour traffic the car stalls. The power steering goes out. I am going down a hill toward a guardrail, a 50 foot drop, and a drainage ditch. While my teenager is yelling at me.

So when I get the wheel turned, throw the car in neutral and restart it, and get going again it was not fast enough for the person behind me and they proceeded to honk and gesture and be a $&%@ I lost my shit for the FIRST FREAKING TIME SINCE SATURDAY!!! 

and my son mumbles, Don't be such a Karen. I turned on him. Do you want to know why there are Karen's? Because everyone is allowed to have a bad day EXCEPT ME! My teenagers are allowed to be shitty and yell at me, my husband is allowed to get pissed and stop talking to me, everyone at work is allowed to miss deadlines and ignore my emails, and on top of that people are allowed to honk and flip me off and I HAVE TO TAKE IT!!! @&$)%# &%#$*@ (*&#@!*$

We rode home in silence. He made me dinner. He chatted about school and life. He's given me unlimited hugs! He's checked in several times today to ask how I'm doing or just said I love you. My husband-still not talking to me. One out of three isn't bad. And it's the only thing keep me from going full on Karen all over the Insurance Company, the University, and my 18 year-old - but I think this will start to come out when my husband gets home. I'll try to restrain Karen, but I can't promise anything.

It's the moments that count....

The journey of parenting is a long and winding road. There are many hills, lots of hills, years of hills! My friend that was facing cancer surgery again, and again, is finally recovering at home. She is surrounded by her grown son's who have gone above and beyond to do whatever is needed for Mom. She is impressed - I am not surprised. She worked hard to raise good children - damn hard. She was a single mom with three kids - one with physical and developmental delays - no real spousal support or family support to speak of.

Everything that her boys are today is because of her! (Just my biased opinion) And they are amazing young men. They have picked up the ball at every down and run with it. Just like their cherished Bengals will do in the SUPERBOWL baby! Who Dey!! I digress.

Just the other day her son looked at her and said, "Mom. I don't know how you raised three of us all alone. I am in awe. Thank you. For all that you did for us growing up, because now I have just a hint of how hard it was." Go ahead get some tissues...I am too!

As I round a Century Old I feel like we still scare the shit out of people about having babies. When the reality is those babies are the easiest ones. Teenagers are the ones that will kill ya'! Or send you to jail for killing. Middle school and high school years are the literal reason for a hair color industry. I just read that being President of the US takes like 20 years off their life. The teenage years easily one up that.

I have been sending my friend a daily quote some inspirational some humor depending on her latest mood. After she texted me her son's words I found a beautiful picture with the infamous quote:

So much of what she is going through right now is a struggle and that moment - that moment that your grown son realizes how much it took for you to get through the day - and thanks you. That is pure parenting gold. It helps to put back into your life force some of what they extracted with door slamming, silent treatment, and Algebra II. (Why are we still teaching this??)

Don't let the golden parenting moments go by without taking a breath and saying Thank you. I did it because I love you. I did because you are worth it. I did it because I knew someday we would have a moment just like this.

When I'm sorry is not enough....

If I looked back through my blogs I know that I will find an entry from 5 years ago when I wrote about my friend who was diagnosed with cancer. 

Here we are 5 years later - it's back.

And after another horrendously painful and extensive surgery she was due to go home tomorrow, I was on my way back to the hospital tonight when I got a call that they rushed her back into the OR.

I am at a loss for words. "I'm sorry" are not sufficient to convey the depth of guilt and grief I feel for the pain and suffering she has endured.  Both surgeries have now resulted in a trauma not just to her body but to her soul. And as her friend, her person, her "family" my heart breaks. She doesn't deserve ANY of this but feeling terrified and being alone - feeling all alone. No one deserves that. Especially someone this good.

My prayers tonight are not just for the surgeons skilled hands and God's grace but that she may heal both inside and out. May her soul heal as well.

Welcome 2022

I didn't even go back and look at prior New Year's post but considering my relationship to resolutions there is no need. I laid awake last night as I always do, trying to replay the year in my head. Mostly I sit and breathe through the panic attack that is me the Monkey's screaming :WHAT HAVE YOU DONE THIS YEAR!!!!"

So you see why I do not like resolutions - it just gives the Monkey's fuel for the New Year's Dumpster fire at Midnight. But last night after my husband lost it at me because evidently I had lost it at him all day, we cut the New Year's cake in silence. Then he went to bed. I sat there replaying the day, the years, my entire life. HAPPY NEW YEAR party of 1.

We will all be headed back to work and school on Monday - and we will start the race all over again. Mark, Set, GO! Sigh.....nope. Two dinners left. So I am giving my family homework.  Your loved one has suffered a blow to the head and they have retrograde amnesia. They wake up and have no idea who you are, but more important, they don't know who THEY are....that's up to you.

Write a not to your family member and tell them all about themselves.

What do you tell them? How do you describe them-to them?

My hope? That when we step back for a moment we can look at loved ones with love and not the annoyance of normal everyday living. Yes. One of us will always be the task master, One of us the martyr. One of us the Diva, etc etc. You know what I mean! If you are a member of a family you get it. We take each other and their roles for granted. 

Instead of resolutions this year - try asking your loved ones to describe yourself to you. Open your heart and your mind and let's fil this year with LOVE. Happy New Year.