Get us to the Church on Time

by on Sep 28, 2012 (Comments Off on Get us to the Church on Time) Comments

After picking my daughter, Christi up from the airport we were sitting in Bar Louis having a late lunch when I got a text from Nate—“don’t forget rehearsal at the church at 5pm.”  I knew my son, Matt was in the wedding party but why would he be texting me that unless it was just a mass text.  Just to be sure I texted back, “just let me know who of my crazy crew is supposed to there and we will be there with bells on.”  It never dawned on me that we would be included in the rehearsal at the church so it was quite shocking when Nate’s response was “You, Dave and Matt are mandatory, the rest of the family is optional.”

According to Nate if we left the Linconshire resort at 4pm we could be at the church at 5pm.  We squealed into the parking lot, met Roxann’s parents as they were leaving for the Church looking quite relaxed, I must say, and burst through the door of our room at about 3:45.  At exactly 4pm on the dot I was sitting in the front seat of the suburban wearing a cute little poky-dot outfit that included a knee length black skirt (legs shaved and everything) hair laying down as best as it ever does for me, make-up in place and only slightly out of breath under the circumstances.  I do believe I set a new record in women’s coiffuring in Guinness world book of records.

Feeling like we were right on time, David, Matt and I chatted casually while Matt and I conferred with the GPSs on our phones to make sure we knew where we were going.  Both GPSs said for us to get on the interstate, so onto the interstate we went.  Just about the time we felt like we were cruising along nicely and were beginning to feel pretty good about arriving safely at 5pm we turned a curve and came to screeching halt.  For the next agonizing 10 minutes we inched along seeing nothing but miles of red tail lights ahead of us, listening to the deafening TICK TOCK TICK TOCK of the clock as it raced closer and closer to 5pm and the dreaded time that everyone in the church would look around and say “Where are Dave, Kae, and Matt? Should we start without them?”

Just about the time I thought I was going to lose my mind, I heard David mutter “That’s enough of this @#&%” (an expletive that really should not be repeated).  Just like that, he craned his neck to look back, cranked the wheel and took off down the shoulder of the road. We rode for the next I don’t know how many miles with David driving like a well-trained presidential escort, two hands on the wheel, hunched over, dodging cars attempting to block his path.  Little did I know that when I met David 29 years ago, I had met my very own personal super hero.  I have always seen myself as a strong and independent woman, but over the past 29 years, my David has had the uncanny super skill of knowing just when I need him to swoop down and save my day.  On this all important day of Nate’s wedding rehearsal, once again my personal super hero donned his cape, punched the gas and got us to the church on time.

The Talk

by on Sep 25, 2012 (Comments Off on The Talk) Comments

When my daughter turned 10 I knew it was time to stop stalling and face my biggest fear – having THE talk. Being the OCD mom that I am, I immediately researched on the internet for books and advice and was quickly overwhelmed with contradicting opinions about what one should or shouldn’t say to a child. So I decided that since flying by the seat of my pants had been my preferred parenting method for the first 10 years, I might as well just stick with what I know. So I ventured in with a pounding heart, nervous stomach and a prayer that God would put the perfect words in my mouth.

My husband took our son out for a day of “manly” fun so Gracie and I could have the whole day. I wasn’t planning on talking about the birds and bees all day but did want adequate recovery time so we could move on to other things long before Scott and Jack returned. I had no idea how my daughter would react to the information she was about to receive and I didn’t want my little son walking in to find his sister sitting shell-shocked in the livingroom.

Our talk, and the rest of the day went beautifully except for the very beginning when I almost had a heart attack after asking my daughter whether anyone had ever told her about periods. I wasn’t sure whether her schoolmates had starting sharing information yet.

“Daddy talks to me about it all the time,” Gracie said.

“WHAT???” I replied while trying to keep my eyes contained in their sockets.

“Yes.”

“And, just what has Daddy said?” I asked.

“He says,” she began matter-of-factly, “Brush your teeth, PERIOD! or stop fighting with your brother, PERIOD!”

Don’t Embarrass Me

by on Sep 17, 2012 (2) Comments

When my kids were little, there was a constant mantra in our house—Don’t Embarrass Me.  Mind your manners when you go to school, your friend’s house, out in public, because you don’t know who you will run into who will know that you are my child, and I don’t want your behavior to embarrass me.  Don’t get your name in the newspaper for anything unseemly—Don’t Embarrass Me.

Now the shoe is on the other foot.  David and I got to be the first in the family to meet my nephew, Nate’s future in-laws.  We knew this was a big deal.  We knew we had to be on our best behavior.  We knew Nate was telling us without verbally telling us—Don’t Embarrass Me!

We met at a restaurant.  I actually wore a dress.  For those who know me—close your mouths—I do own dresses.  David dressed in slacks and, if I do say so myself, we cleaned up quite nicely.  We had been packing my in-laws’ house in Western Springs all day so we were really looking forward to a nice relaxing evening with Nate and Roxann.  To tell the truth I was very nervous.  After years of drilling it into my kids’ heads that their behavior was a direct reflection on me and the family, I realized that now my behavior was a direct reflection on Nate and the rest of our family.  This is a lot of pressure!  The last thing I would ever want to do is accidentally embarrass one of the kids but frankly I do suffer horribly from “hoof–IN-mouth” disease so there is always a chance that I will say something embarrassing.  In an effort to put our family’s best foot forward, I have chosen to wear a dress which means there is a 50/50 shot that someone will get an unwanted peek at my underpants before the night is over.  For some reason every time I put on a dress the scene from Designing Women where Dixie Carter struts her stuff down the runway in a fashion show only to turn at the end of the runway and have her dress tucked up in her underwear comes flooding to my mind. Yep, that is the kind of thing Kae Allen could actually do in real life– hence the reason I am sitting in the front seat of the suburban babbling like a brook all the way to the restauran,t realizing that babbling is the first symptom of hoof-in-mouth but somehow not being able to make it stop.

Ron and Agnes were wonderful.  Within minutes after we slid into our booth I realized with great relief that they adored Nate as much as we adore Roxann.  Our evening was filled with easy get-to-know-you banter.  Unfortunately after a long discussion of various temperatures of steak (I like mine basically still mooing and Ron and Agnes like theirs cooked until all semblance of flesh has been removed) the waiter sits down a well done filet mignon in front of me.  As soon as I cut into it a debate started running in my mind, do I choke down this overdone piece of horse hide and pay $30 for the pleasure so I don’t potentially embarrass Nate or do I send it back to the kitchen and have them bring out a fresh cow.  Before I can decide what to do, the waiter must have read the less than thrilled look on my face and realized something was wrong.  The horribly overdone piece of meat was whisked away from the table with promises of a new one to come. All was fine and we continued with our banter while I nibbled my fries and everyone went on with their meals.  That is until the Manager decided he needed to come over and “apologize” for the kitchen error.  I assured him everything was fine and, no, I didn’t need any complimentary appetizers or other various sundry offerings.  I really just wanted him to leave because I felt like every time this ever well-meaning attendant drew attention to me it opened the giant door for me to embarrass Nate. Then the waiter came by making the same apologies and offers of complimentary appeasements—Geeze just run along and leave me to drink my beer in peace—Now I’m getting embarrassed.  I do not like to be fawned over.

The third time the manager came by, Ron seemed to understand that I was beginning to be uncomfortable with the attention.  When asked again if there was anything I needed — “something to nibble on perhaps” — while I waited, Ron spoke right up and said “No, but she does need another Heineken.”  I knew right then and there, we were going to get along just fine and dandy.  Walking back to our cars after dinner I was elated when Nate graciously conceded that we did not embarrass him.  Even though I know that he would have said that even if we had, it made me feel better to hear him say it.  I never would have thought all those years ago when I set the bar so high for my kids’ behavior, that when they became adults, it would boomerang back to me but it has loud and clear—DO NOT EMBARRASS ME!

County Fair

by on Sep 13, 2012 (Comments Off on County Fair) Comments

Scott decided to take our son, Jack, to the county fair for a day of father/son bonding. The day involved the typical things that men and boys like to do – eat food with no nutritional value whatsoever, drink lots of sugary drinks, sweat a lot, waste money on games in order to hopefully win a worthless prize and of course, spend time on rides that make everyone dizzy. Even if YOU don’t get dizzy, you are guaranteed to get sick watching someone else throw up from being dizzy. So, it was no surprise that Gracie and I passed on this opportunity.

Jack came home with so much cotton candy glued to his cheeks that I had to soften it with a warm, wet washcloth before attempting to do any scrubbing for fear of exfoliating several layers of skin. The layers of sunscreen that my husband kept applying must’ve provided a good glue-like base. Jack also had pieces of dried powdered sugar adhered to his hair that had been glued in place by cotton candy-covered hands over the course of the afternoon. Overall, Jack had a gleaming, sugary glaze covering him. I was surprised he hadn’t attracted a hive of bees during the day.

That night, Jack soaked in the tub to loosen layer upon layer of dirt-encrusted sweat, cemented cotton candy and the remnants of who knows what else he had managed to spill on himself.  He was also given a children’s Tums tablet to ease his aching, sugar-filled stomach.

While in the tub, Jack moaned endlessly about his sore tummy, complained about how hot it had been at the fair, and how sick he felt from the rides. He also griped about the crowds, the noise, the bugs and the long lines. Then, as he was stepping out of the tub and getting dried off, he turned to me and asked “Can we go back again tomorrow… please?”

Bird Attack

by on Aug 29, 2012 (Comments Off on Bird Attack) Comments

Our favorite thing to do when we are in Florida is to eat at restaurants that have outside seating looking out over the water.  One hazard of eating alfresco is that you run the risk that at any second your dining experience can be interrupted by the dreaded sea gull.  Sea gulls are a tourist’s delight.  Standing on the beach throwing up just about anything edible, these black and white winged gliders will flock from miles around to snatch up the tidbits offered.  Every once in a while an overly aggressive sea gull comes along and becomes the bane of an outdoor restaurant’s existence. There will be signs posted everywhere saying “DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS” but someone will want just that one Kodak moment with the wrong seagull and a monster is born.

Our particular monster swooped down out of the clear blue sky, flew under the patio and plucked a portion of appetizer off the poo-poo platter of a party of 20 before anyone at the table had time to register what was going on.  Waiters were deployed with water bottles to deter the winged beast but they always seemed to be too slow to chase the bird away before he got his goods.  Even though every diner was now on high alert it quickly became clear that this was not this bird’s first rodeo in the outdoor dinner raid department.   The bird would swoop down within inches of a diner’s face on one side of the patio eliciting a squeal that drew every other diner’s attention.  While everyone’s attention was turned in the squealer’s direction, the winged mastermind would swoop down from the opposite direction and help himself to whatever delectable treat had caught his eye.  On one attack, he plucked a chicken tender right out of a man’s hand!  Suddenly two little boys came running up swinging their white napkins over their heads.  They shouted orders to one another as they kept a constant vigil on the location of the winged bandit, running to and fro, waving their napkins above their heads, shooing the bird away from the dining area and back out into the bay.  With a sigh of relief the diners went back to eating.  With true admiration we watched the two little boys as they played out their well-orchestrated battle against the determined sea gull.

All too soon, their father walked up and herded our little heroes back to their table muttering something about how he hoped they hadn’t bothered us.  David and I started clapping for them and all the other diners that had felt protected from the birds in their presence gave them a hearty and heartfelt round of applause.  I hope they remember their trip to Florida as the year they had to save that restaurant from being attacked by the crazy BIRD!

American Girl

by on Aug 22, 2012 (Comments Off on American Girl) Comments

This past weekend I had to be in Atlanta as a special guest at an annual animal welfare fundraiser. I decided to bring Gracie along so we could have a special “girls” weekend. I made plans to take her to the American Girl store there so we could have lunch at their bistro and buy a new outfit for her doll.

My sister lives in Atlanta so we drove there Friday night and planned to go to American Girl on Saturday afternoon. Gracie was looking forward to the two of us having a “sleepover” together. As my daughter has gotten older, I’ve truly cherished the times we spend at night when I’m tucking her in and we snuggle together and talk.

Friday night was wonderful and we enjoyed our snuggle time. Saturday morning couldn’t come quickly enough for my excited daughter. She was ready to go to the store by 7am. It took all of her self-control and patience to hang on until 12:30pm.

American Girl, to a middle-aged mom is sensory overload with a lot of sticker shock thrown in for good measure. By the way, if you can only tolerate only so much pink, stay away from American Girl. Pink rules at that place.

After circling the store to gather up all the goodies that Gracie wanted (she was given money by me for one outfit as well as a money gift from a very dear friend), we headed to the American Girl Bistro for lunch. Gracie’s doll received her own place of honor at our table by way of a special high-chair. She was even served a cup of make-believe lemonade. Looking around at all the tables, some girls had three and four dolls seated with them. And of course, I should’ve known this place would be a popular choice for birthday celebrations so throughout our hour-long lunch we heard the happy birthday chorus sung seven different times. One suggestion I have for the American Girl company is that in-tune singing ability should be a requirement for all of their servers.

My daughter’s American Girl shopping day was a thrill for her. She talked about it all afternoon and did several fashion shows for me so I could see just how many clothing combinations she could make out of her two outfits.

Saturday night, as I was getting ready to curl into bed with Gracie I noticed something. She was resting on one of the pillows and her American Girl doll (in her newly purchased pink pajamas) was resting on the other pillow. There was no room for me. So after spending $32 on a doll outfit and $40 on lunch, I kissed my daughter on the cheek and headed to the other guestroom – the room that my sister’s cat has claimed as her own. I spent the night sleeping with a cat who is in desperate need of a bath and a good brushing.

 

Tropical Depression

by on Aug 10, 2012 (Comments Off on Tropical Depression) Comments

Suitcase, check.  Last look under the bed, check.   I stood by the airport aquarium and pretended to carry on a conversation with a beautiful blue dory fish until our little Stephie turned the corner at the security gate.  With one last wave she rounded the corner and was off on her first solo flight to Illinois.  Like a flash, our week long Steph-fest was over.  As we drove back to the condo the atmosphere in the car was gloomy.  It was back to just the base five, Paul, Jackie, Dave, me and of course our constant side-kick, Fred, our female golden-doodle.  Big black ominous clouds began to build on the horizon.  Soon the sun was blocked out entirely leaving nothing in its wake but rainy dripping windy gloom.  The silly weather forecasters kept yacking about some tropical depression.  Little did they know that it was just the four of us pouting because we missed our Stephie!

How not to begin a vacation

by on Aug 02, 2012 (Comments Off on How not to begin a vacation) Comments

Our kids, ages 10 and 8, hadn’t yet been to a beach so my husband and I decided to take four days off for a little family vacation at Gulf Shores. Everyone was excited. I prepped the kids well in-advance about the fact that it would be a seven hour drive. I didn’t want to hear “Are we there yet?” every ½ hour. Just in case though, I packed plenty of snacks, made sure all ipods and other electronic toys were all charged up and off we went.

The ride from Nashville to Gulf Shores went smoothly. I should’ve recognized that the fact that we sailed through the “getting there” portion of our vacation was actually just the precursor to the nightmare that would end our day.

Anxious to see the beach and hungry for dinner, we all headed out. It was magical watching Gracie and Jack run on the sand for the first time and then approach the water. I actually had high hopes for this little vacation.

A friend of Scott’s was also vacationing at Gulf Shores and was raving about the restaurant on the beach so we put our names on the waiting list and prepared to entertain ourselves for the next one-and-a-half hours. Scott’s friend said it would be worth it and my kids were game for the wait so we waited… and waited. We spent time and money in the overpriced gift shop. We then walked over to the outdoor playground for the remainder of the time. That’s when it all went downhill from there. Gracie crawled through one of the play tunnels and when she emerged from the other side, a boy picked up a fistful of sand and threw it right at her face. The evening then turned into an emergency as I led my crying daughter to the restroom in an attempt to flush out her eyes. After splashing her with copious amounts of cool water to be sure all sand was out of her eyes, I tried to rinse the sand from her hair, arms and chest. The combination of sweat, sunscreen and sheer panic make for strong glue when you’re trying to wash sand off the skin of a sobbing, hungry child. At the end of this we were both dripping wet. I spun around to find some towels but found only the air drying machines. Being eco-friendly was extremely inconvenient at the moment.

I looked at our reflections in the mirror. Gracie’s face was blotchy from crying and her hair was a matted mess, sprinkled with sand. My face, although free of sand, was make-up smeared and my t-shirt was stuck to my chest. I looked like someone making a pitiful attempt at a middle aged wet t-shirt contest.

Off to the air dryer we went. After using the forced air to remove as much sand as possible from Gracie’s torso, I turned the dryer on myself in order to dry my t-shirt. Walking out of the restroom with my nipples on display was not how I wanted to begin my vacation.

With still a half-hour to wait for dinner, and my daughter still sniffling from her recent trauma, we returned to the over-priced gift shop to purchase a ridiculously expensive hat that she had loved. Bribery is a perfectly acceptable form of parenting in a crisis situation. The hat was purchased and placed atop my daughter’s head. She smiled and I could feel my heart go back to beating normally beneath my still-soggy shirt.

It was finally our turn to sit down to dinner. We were all hungry but as we sat down, we heard the band start up. Lucky us, we had a ring-side seat. The server couldn’t even hear to take our drink orders. We stood up and walked out.

Five minutes later we were seated at Arby’s eating roast beef sandwiches and French fries. It was quiet, cool and there were paper towels in the rest room.

Sleeping Triple in a Single Bed

by on Jul 26, 2012 (Comments Off on Sleeping Triple in a Single Bed) Comments

Before I met David I made a wish upon a falling star.  Please let me find a man that would adore me.  Sometimes I think I should have put a few qualifiers on that wish.  We are spending a few weeks in Florida at my in-laws condo.

The first week, our niece Stephie, who just graduated from high school and will be heading off to college in the fall, is also staying with us.  The first night it was decided that Stephie and I would share the spare bedroom with its two single beds (being that we were the two girls) and that David and our female golden doodle dog, Fred, would sleep in the family room on the sofa.    So after a rousing game of Rummy it was off to bed we went.  I was snoozing along happy as little clam stretched out in my little single bed until about 3am. Then I heard the door creak open.  Once a Mom, always a Mom, I opened one eye to check to see if Stephie was okay.  This is when I saw the darkened figure of my husband as he made his way to my side of the room and clamored under the covers of my bed saying he was lonely, followed by the unmistakable jingling of Fred’s tag as she jumped up on the end of my bed, curling her less than tiny body around my feet.  So that’s the way the rest of the week turned out.  David, Fred and I sleeping in one single bed and Stephie fighting to keep Fred out of her bed when she got pushed off the end of our bed.  On the bright side, I would say that if Stephie can survive a week sharing a tiny spare bedroom with two grown humans and a giant hairy dog then she’ll do just fine in a college dorm room with just one other teenage girl!

To pierce or not to pierce

by on Jul 21, 2012 (Comments Off on To pierce or not to pierce) Comments

For the last few days Gracie has been in complete turmoil. Ever since she had a slumber party for her birthday and saw that the five girls who came over all had pierced ears, my daughter has been on a mission to psych herself up for what she imagines to be the most painful road to having ear bling. She decided she wanted her ears pierced but was convinced that the process was comparable to having barbaric rusty nails shoved through delicate ear lobes. No matter how much I explained that so many of her friends surely would’ve talked about the unspeakable pain involved if there had truly been pain beyond the nano second of a pinch to the lobe, Gracie was convinced it was akin to torture. She still wanted it though. The lure of bling is hard to resist.

Gracie didn’t buy anyone’s explanation but she was also torn between her desire to wear earrings and her intense fear of anything even remotely associated with saying “ouch.”

Yesterday, while looking at earrings in a store display, she summoned up the courage to announce that tomorrow would be the day she offered up her lobes, no matter how much pain she had to endure. Her lower lip quivered as she spoke and the fingers on her right hand lovingly clutched a pair of pink rhinestone-studded earrings.

I asked her whether she wanted to have her ears pierced at the jewelry store or the doctor’s office. After glancing at the less-than-sanitary looking cashier at the store, Gracie declared that it must be done in the sterile surrounding of the pediatrician’s office. So an appointment was made for the very next day.

Last night after prayers, Gracie started whimpering and then within seconds it accelerated into full blown sobbing. She had changed her mind. She wanted her ear lobes to stay the way God had made them.

This morning, after a good sleep, Gracie changed her mind yet again. She was ready. She wanted pierced ears but there was just one tiny condition. She wanted to know that she could change her mind if it was too painful after the first ear was done. I informed her that it was an all-or-nothing deal and that she could certainly change her mind right up to last minute but once there was a hole in one lobe there would definitely have to be a hole in the second one. She agreed and off we went to the doctor’s office.

If you happen to live in my town and were within the vicinity of the pediatrician’s office, in the parking lot, on the road or even three blocks over and heard what you thought was some out of control siren, it was just Gracie. No, she wasn’t screaming from the pain of having her ears pierced – she was screaming at the sight of the ear-piercing punch gun that the doctor held as he walked into the room. It was at that moment that all I was concerned with was getting my daughter out of the exam room, out of the building and away from everyone who didn’t want permanent hearing loss.

Maybe we’ll try again when Gracie turns 21.