With or Without

Growing up, I never wore make-up.  I’m not sure if it was because I was a tomboy, and consequently, my focus was on sports, or because my mother never wore make-up.  I only have one sibling, a brother, so make-up was just not in our house.  Then I had children… and five of them were girls.

From the very beginning, the oldest held a fascination for make-up.  I never understood it, because she did not grow up seeing her mother use it.  I don’t even own any.  Never the less, she begged and begged to be able to wear make-up.  With four younger sisters, the family rules of make-up began.

There was positively no make-up use, with the exception of nail polish, in elementary school.  Let me just say, that sixth grade without make-up is apparently a travesty and my rule bordered on child abuse.  The rule was enforced despite my helping out at the school and seeing 12 year old girls with foundation and some with fake nails!  Some had even began to pluck their pre-pubescent thicker eyebrows.  Years from now I knew they would be wishing they hadn't.

Upon entering junior high you were presented with a clear mascara.  A wonderful invention.  It was like putting a little Vaseline on your lashes to make them shine.  It satisfied my girls need to feel like they were really applying something.

In the ninth grade you were allowed a real mascara, but nothing heavy.  Upon entering high school, the eyeshadow, in neutral shades was allowed and a faint touch of blush.  Fortunately, these three items, mascara, eye shadow, and blush was perfectly fine with them.  Sure there was the occasional “go get me a Kleenex” so I could “soften” their application, but all in all, the rules worked out nicely.

My message was always that they were beautiful with or without make-up and I stand by this still today.

I am participating in a blogger campaign by Bucks2Blog and was
compensated. However, the views and opinions are my own.

I Want A Tank

It’s always a right of passage in a teenager’s life when they turn 16 and can drive.  For a parent, it’s a passage into stress like we’ve never known.  There is the stress over the cost of a vehicle that ultimately will be ruined through multiple fast food drive thru opportunities and other normal teenager uses.  And, what type of vehicle, short of a tank, will safely surround our beloved offspring that we have worked so hard for sixteen years to protect from harm?

When the first of my children was close to turning the magical age, she was very well aware of the minimal financial resources she had at her disposal.  She was the oldest of seven children.  There is the expression that “you either have kids or money… but you can’t have both.”  Well, she knew we were a part of the first group.  This is what jumped her into the purchase of a red Ford Fiesta for $500.  True, the cost of the vehicle was manageable and the insurance on this piece of junk was next to nothing despite her being in the high risk group.  The problem was the match book size and cracker box construction.  I planned a Buick Lucerne type car where a large amount of mass and substantial sheet metal would keep crash forces from my priceless cargo.  She loved it, and thankfully, it died within a year.  I jumped the minute it looked weary so that I could make the next selection.

An Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme was just the ticket.  It had over a 100,000 miles on it.  It was perfect.  It was the tank I was looking for in everyway.  No CD player.  Definitely no iPod capabilities.  Solid.  This car lasted through many a driver in our household and withstood the pressure.  A daughter hit a pole and I couldn’t have been more pleased.  The pole was dented at a good 45 degree angle, but the Oldsmobile… didn’t have a scratch.  Next, a daughter rear ended someone.  Again, damage to their puny vehicle was substantial and required we contact our insurance carrier.  The Oldsmobile didn’t even look like it was involved.  Then the car reached the point where the DMV issued a “Selvage Title” which again, dropped our insurance.  In explaining to my children what this meant I said, “It means the car is worthless”.  You could total the thing and insurance won’t pay us a dime for it.”  Again, thankfully, no one ever did.

I am participating in a blogger campaign for Bucks2Blog about ChicagoSubaru and was compensated. However, the views and opinions are my own.

Losing a Tooth... Literally

According to pediatricians, you can expect your child to lose their first tooth around five or six years of age.  This is considered the “norm”, however, my children have never fit into this category.

My first child managed to lose her tooth less than a year after she got it!  We never found the tooth, but she was so young that The Tooth Fairy could hardly be summoned because she would have swallowed the tooth and any coins that would be under her pillow.  She didn’t even have a pillow at this time!  She went so long without a front tooth, that the skin got calloused and tough… so tough that the permanent tooth could not break through.  It was decided that they would cut the gum to give the tooth a chance to make an appearance.  When it did come make its way to the service, the tooth was covered with a splotch of what looked like white paint.  The dentist explained that this was a type of bruise to the tooth from when she hit it so many years ago.  I am happy to say, she has a beautiful smile today, thanks to cosmetic dentistry and the use of veneers.

My youngest daughter lost both of her front teeth at the age of two, and within a couple of weeks of each other.  The first was lost while tickling her brother… he kicked it right out.  The second was lost when she fell on the driveway.  This particular daughter doesn’t normally scream,  (I mean, when she got her ears pierced, she simply said “thank you” and was on her way.)  but she would not stop screaming.  Finally, I got from her warbled cries “I lost my tooth!”  Yes.  Yes.  We know.  Then we understood the reason for her cries.  She LOST her tooth!  She was having a fit because she didn’t know where the tooth was and needed it for the tooth fairy!  We all made our way to the driveway and didn’t come in until we found it.  And we did.

And we have the time where we tried to pull our daughter’s loose tooth, but gave her little brother a black eye instead?  We wanted to do the old trick of when you tie one end of a string to the tooth and the other end to a doorknob.  Just slam the door and the tooth will pop out.  Just as the door slammed, my daughter stepped forward, and her little brother came through the doorway.  She saved her tooth, but the door knob hit him straight in the eye.  We did have a successful do over, but the tooth went flying and was never found.  We had to write a note to The Tooth Fairy.  She brought a little extra this time… to her brother… for pain and suffering.

I am participating in a blogger campaign by Bucks2Blog and was
compensated. However, the views and opinions are my own.

The Best Part of A Long Distance Move

I’ve asked a few friends on what they think is the best part of a long distance move.  All have agreed it is the use of a moving company.  Sure… it’s easy to do it yourself when you are only moving a short distance.  You don’t even need to rent a moving truck.  You get your friends together, naturally you need one with a truck, promise them pizza and the move begins and ends one very long Saturday.  But a long distance move is more complicated.  The use of a long distance moving company is wonderful and justified by the length of the move.  I agree that the use of a moving company is a luxury, however, it is not the best part of a long distance move. 

My family has moved across the country twice in my life. 

When I was in the 4^th grade, we moved from Annapolis, Maryland to San Diego, California.  Although I was devastated to leave my very best friend, and the very best climbing tree (located in my front yard), the adventure was thrilling.  My Dad got out the map of the United States to show us the distance.  We were going to drive from completely one side of the map all the way to the complete other side of the map!  I was dumbfounded.  Could a car go that far?  And does that mean we will be eating out every single day?  And staying in hotels?  Wow!  We listened to “It Never Rains in California” all the way.  Ironically, we crossed the California boarder in a down pour.  We still laugh about that to this day.

While in college, my brother and I helped my Mom and Dad move from San Diego to Newport, Rhode Island.  This time we got to pick the route.  I chose to see New Orleans and Mount Rushmore along the way.  Obviously, I had not paid attention in geography.  I learned to play the harmonica on this trip.  This second time was extra fun because both my brother and I got to take turns driving.  I’ll never forget my driving in Pennsylvania with all the narrow bridges, turnpikes, and tunnels.  Right as we were entering another tunnel, I casually said, “Again?  Narrow is my worst thing!”  My brother couldn’t decide which was worst;  the harmonica when I wasn’t driving, or having me behind the wheel in Pennsylvania where narrow was “my worst thing”?  Ultimately, I got some harmonica practice in throughout the east coast.

The best part of a long distance move?  Getting there.

I am participating in a blogger campaign by Bucks2Blog and was
compensated. However, the views and opinions are my own.

A House Full of Memories

Our home has always been crazy, chaotic and crowded… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I had seven kids in ten years so you do the math.  I wanted my kids to be close.  And with a 1200 square foot house, we were close!  I loved how our house was never large enough for the kids to have their own rooms.  How we all piled on top of each other in the love sac to watch TV.  We lived together… and it was wonderful.

One by one, they left for college.  Then one by one, they got married.  All the events that you dream and wish for them.  So really, nothing is wrong, and I wouldn’t change a thing, but my crowded little house is not so full.  My home is down to youngest and I, but still full of memories.

Of course, there is the kitchen wall where we have marked the kid’s heights.  It is a monument of memories.  We have one or maybe two marks for the oldest daughter who we call the runt of the family.  And then there is the continual reminder that the younger brother is taller than the older brother.  We have the grandkids on the wall now, and there’s even a mark for our pug.  If I sell the house, can I take that wall?

And what about how the kids would tie sheets onto the monkey bars in the backyard so they could hang in them like a hammock?  Or the time the kids threw a party, and the cops came to the door to tell us we had too many people on the property.  Is that a rule?  I remember the boy’s bedroom was in the family room, complete with bunk beds and how they would play football and soccer down there.   One day they had rearranged and put the bookcase at the end of the hall.  It’s strange for little boys to be concerned with a home’s décor.  But after all these years, the bookcase has stayed in this chosen spot. 

I will have to move one day, although I want a place where the kids will always come home, I can’t take care of a house and yard.  In my eyes the house would sell in a day, if people only knew what I knew.  And if I do move, I will have to move that bookcase.  I wonder if whoever buys the house will love that hole in the wall as much as I do?

i participated in a campaign for Bucks2Blog for missouri real estate and was compensated.  However, the views and opinions are my own.

The Men in My Family and Cars

In my family, the mere mention of a car, in anyway brought instant attention by my father and brother.  For example, I could simply say, “I need to go to the store to buy shampoo, but the car is low on gas.”  Having used the word “car” and “buy” together in any way, this would be interpreted as it is time to “buy” a new “car”.  Without hesitation, both my Dad and brother would be in heavy conversation as to what automobile is the best at this time.  I throw in the “at this time” because they have a favorite for each year.

The other interesting thing about this obsession with purchasing cars is that they take such meticulous care of their cars there is no need to purchase a car… ever.  Meticulous doesn’t do this justice. 

To be brief, here is an example of what I mean by meticulous.  There was a hard fast rule that we were never to eat in my Dad’s car.  Of course I never did.  I knew better.  I would have to be an idiot to attempt eating anything in my Dad’s car.  Right?  There was the time he came in from the garage with a single sesame seed on his index finger.  A single sesame seed!  Not even a piece of bun attached to it!  A single seed!   How does one clean their car so thoroughly as to find a single sesame seed!  Who does that?  Well, this was routine for my Dad.

The research they found necessary to search for the perfect auto would rival any master’s thesis.  And this search is not restricted to the immediate surrounding area.  Any vehicle worthy of the purchase within the 48 continental United States is deemed within reach.  A 15 passenger van was purchased in Michigan to be used by my somewhat large family in Utah.  A white Volkswagen bug was purchased in Las Vegas for use by my niece in Michigan.  No car is safe when the men in my family are out looking.

I must admit that it does come in rather handy when you are looking for a car because two more dedicated research analysts you will never find.  And I have been the beneficiary of their in depth studies on more than one occasion, so who am I to deny them this obsession?  And when in need of their services I simply mention in passing, “I’m going to run to buy some milk.  I’m taking the car.”

I  am participating in a campaign for Bucks2Blog about Chicago Hyundai and was compensated, however the views and opinions are my own.

The Discovery of The Potty

Raising children has many milestones.  Rolling over, the first smile, giggling, crawling, the first tooth, and walking.  The list is endless, however, all will agree that the discovery of the potty is huge.  To be clear, I’m not saying the “use” of the potty, but rather, the “discovery” of the potty.  Sure, eventually all children will be potty trained in their own time, but it is their discovery of this magical device and their creative uses of it that make me smile.

We lived in a three level apartment complex.  With two young children, we chose a bottom level apartment to expedite the going in and out of everyday.  We were also the only family with children and we hoped to keep the pitter patter of little feet to ourselves.  Our neighbors above were very nice, and they loved and admired our two darling daughters.  I remember the afternoon when everyone’s plumbing backed up.  Both apartments directly above us could not use their toilets.  And sure enough, ours was not working either.   It was fairly obvious that the problem was something in this vertical array of three homes.  Discussion began of our calling a plumber, but was quickly thwarted by the fact that neither of us could afford a plumber.  This discussion was quickly back on the table as soon as someone needed to use the bathroom.  An agreement was made that depending upon what was found causing the obstruction… this would determine who was paying the bill.  Everyone agreed, including me, knowing that I certainly had not done anything to warrant a full scale three story blockage.  As we stood to see the plumber’s verdict, all eyes were upon me as he held up small plastic figurines of Grover, Big Bird, Bert and Ernie. Later, and $125 poorer, it was in fact, me that caused the blockage.  I had given birth to children.  Children who had “discovered” the potty. 

I am participating in a campaign for Bucks2Blog about plumbing repair and was compensated.  However, the views and opinions are my own.