I think I used to somewhat deceive myself that once my three children flew the coup, my house would be a more organized residence.
What a joke.
The reality I have had to face a long time ago (and Bob has patiently and lovingly embraced this with my other idiosyncrasies) is that I am a “messy girl”. Now, add our big, black dog to that mix, and my fur-covered carpet and floors just underscore that truth.
Still being a bit of a novice at this grandparenting thing, I’m told that grandchildren generally chose their own monikers for their grandparents, something easy to say, at times comical and endearing little things that stick like glue: Mimi, Nana, Papoo…so I was curious what the first of this new generation was going to choose for us.
My good blogger buddy, Oneta Hayes at Sweet Aroma, provides me with a perspective I appreciate on several fronts. Here is just one of them, albeit a BIG one. The idea of covenant in marriage is not one that is fairly understood, much less practiced, in our so-called modern society. The idea of sticking with someone through thick and thin (of which I believe they’ve had both) may seem a bit old-fashioned, however…
Here is Oneta’s tribute to such an “old-fashioned” idea. Hat’s off to you, my friend!! And God bless you both!
Posted: MOM FOR HIRE, used but in acceptable condition. Still capable of giving unwanted advice, making you wear a hat in the cold, and generally being an embarrassment in public. Does not do windows. Inquire below–
That title is almost as pretentious as tagging myself as a “writer” in the new facebook page that still trying to link to this site! But if so, it’s probably of little consequence, due to the nature of the blogosphere. It’s not like being in high school when you had to read something and do a book report (I wonder if they still do that??) And I know that this post is mere nano-particle in a galaxy of worm holes and flashy comets (yes, I was a Star Trek fan back in the day–the original version, to be clear.)
And yet, there is something to be said about starting my twenties by having three babies and ending that decade with selling Girl Scout cookies while putting their father through grad school. (I.U.-Bloomington, go big red!) My thirties were filled with prepubescence and flaming adolescence, braces, sporting events, and the task of helping the girls “find themselves”. That’s right, we have no sons, and I was informed that our house rules were “strict” by their friends’ parents’ standards. My home became know as “the Convent” and I was nicknamed (affectionately, I hope) “Mother Superior”.
Forty-something was the transitioning from a full house to my little goslings flying off to college one at a time. I remember the night of my actually “empty nest” experience. Our baby girl, Heather, was on her way out the door for her first night in her new dorm room. Now granted, all the girls spent their first two years of collegiate existance at the small college where their dad is a prof. Basically, down the street and around the corner. But still, this was a bit of a milestone…at least for me! Goodbye hugs, etc. No more Boom Boxes competing on different levels of the house. No more choir concerts, band concerts, and various awards ceremonies at the high school. No more prom dresses, monthly allowances, or staying up waiting from someone to make it home by curfew. Wow.
The college starts their year like most, in August. Here in southern Missouri, August is not the most pleasant month, unless you’re a tropical iguana. Naturally, Heather’s dorm was un-airconditioned, and she was living (as I recall) on the third floor. It wasn’t long (a few hours, max) before I picked up the phone for a request to bring herself and two or three of her new friends “home” to spend that night in the cooler air.
The empty nest can be a bit overrated anyway…
People tend to refer to life stages as “seasons.” My life is better described as “spasms”. I am now in my mid-fifties, gray-er, somewhat more experienced. I have grown to appreciate my parents, who are now in their 80’s, and the humor through which they process life. I have grown to value my past struggles and mistakes, and embrace whatever God has for me (and my family) for the future.
So that. If you are over-heating in life, or even if not, I invite you to join my blog-nest, thoughts (and responses) from a well-used mother, from my home to yours. —- dawnlizjones
Hello, blog number one. Not even sure that anyone would care to read the scratchings of this old woman, but no matter,… at least for now. I’m experiencing the dual thrill and frustration of “surfing” through the different “themes”, setting up “widgets” and “categories”, and figuring out (thus far unsuccessfully) how people can “like” me on some page of a book with my face on it. This is evidently what my New York City thirty-something-year-old middle daughter refers to as Life Skills. Hmmm…
I am now at a stage of life where I find myself using phrases such as “stage of life”. Back in the day (there’s another one!)Life Skills had to do with balancing your check book, the family budget, and your children’s academic and extracurricular activities. Life Skills were defined as learning to maintain a job, a car, and a marriage, generally in that order, and usually for longer than twelve months.
This original conversation began with my daughter when my husband (her father of thirty-something years) and I upgraded phones, called 4-G, whatever that is. (I have to buy us identical phones because he goes into a sixty-something tizzy if I ask him to answer mine when he doesn’t know how.) Bob could care less about all the bells and whistles on “our” new phones. His remains parked on the dresser in the front room, lonely, blinking its little light but totally ignored. Our daughter must have thought this beneath her dad’s intellectual prowess, considering her world of Instgrams, Four Squares (that used to be playground game…), and Tweets.
Life changes quickly, our culture just about as fast. If I’m going to learn to blog, which seems more or less like a public diary (for those chronologically challenged, a diary was a book of our deepest secrets that was kept under lock and key…back in the day, so to speak), then I guess I should just settle on my current WordPress Theme, throw in a few widgets, and have at it for a spell.
My husband remains delinquent in his Life Skills, but is now enjoying his sporting events due to his new HDTV signal. He sure learned how to use the remote without too much difficulty…definite Life Skills for his gender.
Now if I could get him interested in the new dishwasher…