CSquaredPlus3

I Like Her

Admittedly she wasn't the type of mother who volunteered to host puppet shows in the basement on a rainy day, but she taught me that a Bloody Mary and a Coke would ease my motion sickness on bumpy plane flights.  The carbonation in the Coke relieved excess air/gas in the gastrointestinal tract, the sugary soda and the vegetable juice provided some "umph" to coat my stomach, and the vodka [just a little] calmed my nerves.

There have been occasions over the years that I have been very hard on my mom.  There were parts of her that weren't conventional.  When we lived in the Midwest in the 70s, she looked different than the other moms.  She didn't wear her hair permed and cut short, or carry Wyler's out to the backyard on a tray with a big smile.  She macramed hanging plant holders and matter-of-factly told us to drink out of the hose if we were thirsty.  Her long pony-tails, and Doris Day-like features caught people off-guard when she politely but firmly told a few folks in Indiana that she did not want them to say the "N" word in front of her or her children.

[Mom and me - Christmas 1967]

As each year passes, I appreciate my mother more and more.  Trite, but true.  I now recognize that she mothered conventionally in many ways -- the important ways -- by encouraging us to be kind, to laugh in general... and at ourselves, to read, to try new things, and ultimately to be independent.

Mom doesn't share my love of running, triathlons, skiing or hiking, and there are many aspects of our personalities that are different.  But we are "one" when we shop, and I can't think of a single person that in spite of everything and anything I could have ever said or done to hurt them, remains in my life, other than Mom.  She also makes me laugh.  Contort my face in ugly ways laugh.  I make her laugh too.

[We were trying to get a picture of her dog, Judy, in the tree. (Mom's idea, for the record.)  Every time Mom got close to the tree, Judy stepped on her head.]

We've been cooking together for years...

She's held the bowl not only when I've had to vomit, but has wedged herself between two car seats to help a sick boy on the way to the doctor's office. [It was serendipity at it's finest.  She happened to be at our house for a visit.]

 

Mom was just here for a few days for Mother's Day weekend.  We had a wonderful time.  We become better friends as each year passes.  We understand one another.  I love that she's smart, funny, interesting... and pretty.  She has good taste and a solid sense of self.  She's always been a strong person [probably why we've had our challenges over the years], and that remains, but there's an increasing softness.  A sensible softness, not an ooey-gooey saccharin softness.  Difficult to describe.

[Getting ready to go to brunch on Sunday.  The four-year-old boy refused to have his picture taken with us.]

[A full belly (and a sucker from Kay-Kay) helped him change his mind at the restaurant.]

As a teenager many years ago, I had been particularly sassy and disrespectful to Mom.  Through gritted teeth she said, "You may be my daughter, Christina Hautem, so I have to love you.  But I don't have to like you.  Right now, I don't like you very much."

I understood what she was saying then, but I understand the difference between "love" and "like" when it comes to family members more and more.

I suppose all I'm trying to say is... Mom's fun.  I like her.

**********

[The video shows Mom's picnic attempt with the four-year-old on a cold, windy day.  She was also kind enough to bring a set of her old golf clubs for me.  A friend invited me to play in a fund raising tournament.  I don't golf... but Mother did her best to teach me.]

Mother's Day 2010 from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

The Zen Of My Sons On A Beach

The boys have a two-week spring break every year.  It's great.  Long enough to do something special, as well as rest and refortify.

This year we chose to drive to Anaheim, California, and hit some theme parks.  The drive was only nine hours with Leadfoot Ross at the helm.  Chris and I have become pros at delicately balancing nutritional needs with dehydration while on the road to minimize needless bathroom breaks.  The kids are fine.

My fears about having a "caboose" child were vividly realized on this vacation.  I always wanted to have children close together to avoid the "Space Mountain vs. Tea Cups" dilemma.  Oldest Boy [12] and Middle Boy [10] had a blast riding thrill rides with their father.  Four-Year-Old-Boy and I spent a lot of time perusing gift shops, buying trinkets and toys he didn't need, and eating over-priced snacks.  He was completely overwhelmed by the noise, the music, the characters and the intensity of all things animated and robotic.

The sun even seemed to shine painfully brighter for the four-year-old.  He selected a pair of pink, bejeweled High School Musical sunglasses that he now wears all the time.  His father is so proud.

 

We were in California for a week and managed to hit Disneyland, California Adventure, SeaWorld and Universal Studios, in spite of the fact that we were all battling a virus.  The same virus I'm certain attacks all families as they embark on a much anticipated and valued family vacation.  We medicated.  Problem Solved.

[A medicated family is a happy family!]

We spent our final day of vacation on the beach.  Even though it was cool and breezy, the boys enjoyed flirting with the water and playing in the sand.  I sat on some rocks, taking a few photos and video, and minding our things.  I occasionally irritated all four of my white fellas when I interrupted their fun to reapply sunscreen, or remind Oldest Boy to check his blood sugar, snack or reattach his pump for a quick bolus of insulin.

My interruptions didn't affect them for long... 

[Chris and the boys - JOY!]
 

As I sat looking at the ocean and smelling the air, I looked up at the sky and thought of my grandmother.  She passed away in August 2009.  Before she died, she promised that if she was able [without scaring me], she would contact me after her death to give me the real scoop.  I summoned her, sitting there on those rocks.  Can you hear me, Mamaw?  Please answer me.  I've been waiting for months.  Where are you?  You promised.  There are so many things I need to talk with you about...

I waited, and still, nothing.  I miss her.  I need advice about some specific issues, and her thoughts on some general ones.  Sitting on those rocks, my mind meandered and bounced.  I thought about the past, the present, the future.  I continued to knock on Heaven's door... seeking Mamaw.

Then... I think I heard something.  It was probably my own voice, but allow me to pretend it was her's.  She gently said, Shhh.  I'm watching those wonderful boys play on the beach.  I suggest you do the same.

Priorities - Spring Break 2010 from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

Christmas '09 - or - I'm Behind!

I've read several New Year's Resolution posts.  I'm not there yet.  I feel like I'm straddling 2009 and 2010.  If forced to claim a resolution, I commit to continuing my quest to triage relationships better.  I still find myself watering a few dead plants [unresponsive people], and not nurturing the thirsty ones enough.  Rereading my post [here] from last January, reinforces how important this remains for me.

Christmas.  It came, it went, it brought joy, and it brought stress.  The four-year-old boy refused to sit on Santa's lap, after waiting in line for a very long time, and after his two older brothers had grudgingly agreed to accompany him and prove that it was safe... and fun.  We have video of the drama.  Maybe...

My parents joined us for the holiday.  We went sledding, ate and drank too much, and attempted to get a picture of Mom and Dad with the boys for their New Year's card.

Because the four-year-old has a defiant streak, this was the best we could do.

 

A virus was amongst us over the holidays, and teased us with fatigue before making it's presence officially known.  The kids are doing better, but Chris and I encourage you all to purchase stock in Advil, Sudafed, and Mucinex DM.  We're increasing demand at a freakish rate.

Finally, Mom and I prepared Christmas dinner -- a repeat of last year's menu -- Beef Wellington.  The meal turned out great, and this year we remembered to video the flambe part.  [I recently posted a video of Mom and me from Christmas 2008 [here], where I mentioned we should have videoed us flambeing.]   You'll have to believe me when I tell you that we did a much better job flambeing our sauce in 2008 than we did in 2009.  Yes, we were drinking wine, and I beg you to remember that we were being ambushed by a virus, so fatigue was contributing to the lack of focus and general confusion.

And before I go, I need a jump-start for 2010.  Anyone?

Christmas Flambe '09 from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

Unforgettable

Mary Jane Hautem, my grandmother, passed away on August 20, 2009, at approximately 2:00 p.m.  She would have been 92 on August 28th.

I was able to visit Mamaw in early July when we were in Arizona at my parents' house.  I saw her twice and knew when I said good-bye to her on the last visit, I'd never see her again, even though I promised a return trip to Arizona, without kids, for only her in August or September.  After our annual family trips to Arizona each summer, which are typically busy and hectic caring for kids and spending not-enough-time with family and friends, I have returned a couple of times a year solo so I could share time with Mamaw minus any other obligations or distractions.

Mamaw's physical and cognitive deterioration were evident in July compared to when I saw her in September 2008 and January 2009.  I started to write about the time we spent with her in July when I returned to Utah, but never posted.  Here's a portion:

Chris and I took the boys to visit her one day.  She was sitting at the kitchen table when we arrived.  Her back was towards us and when I walked around to look at her face, her eyes were closed.  She had a slight smile on her face.  I woke her and said, It's me again. ... Chrisy.  I brought Chris-Boy and the boys with me.  I looked in her eyes, begging her to know me.  She smiled, but I could tell she was confused and didn't recognize me.  She was in a different place in her mind, and I wasn't part of her experience.  But her departure was brief.

After a few moments she spoke slowly, still smiling and said, "Well sure it's you, Chrisy.  And look at these boys.  Let's go back to my house." [She meant her room.]

We walked her to her room in the Group Home.  Oldest Boy played his saxophone for her, Middle Boy played his guitar, and Toddler Child writhed around on the floor, growling and whining that he wanted to go home.  Chris and I tried to talk with Mamaw, but she can't hear well.  A true conversation was difficult, but we still managed to connect with her.  I know that she enjoyed watching the boys, even writhing, growling, rude Toddler Child.  I think she could have watched them for hours.  She stared shamelessly at each child, cocking her head, taking in every detail.  At one point she said, "I just love watching their expressions.  Don't you, Chrisy?"

After our visit I asked Oldest Boy if it made him sad to see the effects of age on Mamaw.  He said, No, not really.  I liked it that she was so cheerful.  That made me happy.

A little over four weeks ago, Mamaw was found on the floor in her room by one of the Group Home caregivers.  She had fallen, broken her femur and suffered a brain bleed.  After consulting with doctors at the hospital, and being informed that she would not survive surgeries to repair either injury, Dad and his brother made the difficult decision to move Mamaw to a hospice facility.  The length of her stay at hospice was longer than anyone expected.  It was an unfortunate and difficult process; the dying.  News of her death came as a relief.

Mamaw was a kindred spirit to me.  With no disrespect intended to the important and devoted people in my life, I've never felt more loved by anyone than by Mamaw.  She loved me, accepted me, forgave me, was honest with me, trusted me, apologized to me, and understood me.  I began missing and grieving her some time ago, and I'll miss her thirty years from now.

There was a time when Mamaw and Papaw lived in Tucson, Arizona, and Chris and I lived in Phoenix.  Chris and I spent many weekends in Tucson with them before we had kids.  We even took a week-long trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, when Mamaw and Papaw were 80.  We enjoyed spending time together and were compatible travel mates.

[Note: Papaw died in June 2007.]

 

I have vivid memories of swimming with Mamaw in her backyard pool while a portable cassette player played Natalie Cole's Unforgettable: With Love.  We called it our "synchronized swimming" as we side-stroked, back-stroked, and gracefully moved through the water to the music.  Mamaw sang.  Papaw sat in the shade and tapped his foot as he lifeguarded.  He didn't like Mamaw swimming alone.

I know the lyrics to "Unforgettable" were referring to a romantic relationship, but I believe Mamaw sang them to me when we swam, and I can honestly sing them to her.

Unforgettable, that's what you are
Unforgettable though near or far
Like a song of love that clings to me
How the thought of you does things to me
Never before has someone been more

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that's how you'll stay
That's why, darling, its incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that's how you'll stay
That's why, darling, its incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

-Irving Gordon

A few memories of Mamaw, including the last time I saw her. [The last 50 seconds or so of the video.]

Mamaw - Unforgettable from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

Camp

Oldest Boy is at diabetes camp this week.  We began attending family camp the summer of 2003, shortly after he was diagnosed with type 1.  He was five-years-old and camp helped us all realize there's life after diagnosis -- just make sure you have a glucometer, syringes, insulin and glucose tabs at all times. [Now it's infusion sites, reservoirs and IV prep pads for his insulin pump.]  We returned to family camp the next three summers.  Oldest Boy "graduated" from family camp the summer before he began third grade. He was officially old enough to attend future camps without his parents.  He was eight.

Oldest Boy is eleven now and this is the first year he chose to attend the six-day, five-night camp.  He went to a winter camp for diabetics when he was ten and didn't have the greatest experience.  Some of the counselors were a little rough around the edges, used foul language and discussed inappropriate topics in front of the young campers.  Oldest Boy said he asked them to stop, but it left a bad taste in his mouth.  I'm proud of him.

After discussions with the camp director resulted in promises of better counselor training, and a commitment from a school friend to join him, Oldest Boy was ready to give summer camp a try.  He's older now, equipped with a little more self confidence, and understands if goofy, teenage counselors choose to act stupid... he can tell someone and choose to walk away and do his own thing.  Ironically, it's not Oldest Boy's diabetes care and management that he, his father, and I have had concerns about regarding the decision to go to camp.  It's exposure to older kids who don't realize that you can't unring a bell in the mind of a child.

I left Oldest Boy at camp on Sunday.  He allowed me to help him carry his things to his cabin before we checked-in with the doctor, dietitian, and other people with clipboards.  His friend had arrived at camp before we did which was a huge relief to Oldest Boy.

I was conflicted as I left.  I knew he was in good hands and that experiences like this are important for him, but I worried about the insulin reaction he'd had the night prior [He came to our room sweaty and shaking in the middle of the night. His blood sugar was 35].  I worried he'd get homesick.  I worried the counselor with the stretched earlobes [gauging, I think it's called] and the five o'clock shadow would have porn under his mattress, as I simultaneously realized the clean-shaven, collared-shirt wearing counselor was just as likely to have porn... and blow.

I quit torturing myself, received my farewell hug and kiss from Oldest Boy and watched as he and his friend walked away, happy to simply be boys... at camp.

Snippets of Oldest Boy from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

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That's Gonna Cost You A Hundred Bucks!

Although I've been blogging for nearly a year, I remain technicologically arrested.  I had visions of posting video and creative photos, changing my blog design and layout, but I haven't taken the time to read the books I've purchased or use online tutorials.  I have a Mac that Chris tells me can create feature films, and I use it like a $500 PC.  Middle Boy's been working in Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, so I'm hoping this summer he'll teach me how to transfer the ideas in my head to the computer.

This morning I figured out how to get a video clip to Vimeo.  I'm sure there's a faster, simpler way, than the path I took, but I did it!  It's not the most entertaining, interesting or funny video, it's just the clip I was working with and I'm too tired to scan our hours of film for a different one.  But trust me... I will!

The video was taken early last summer on a windy day.  The boys were using a sled as a sail to catch wind and move their wagon up the sidewalk.  They've done this many times before and love it. 

We have path lights that are not kid friendly and snap easily if a running child isn't paying attention and hits one.  They cost between $100 and $200.  We've replaced... several.  We've told the kids many times to please not play near them, and we feel they're old enough now and have heard their father cuss under his breath each time it happens, to understand and manage.  They have plenty of space to play.

I had reminded the boys to be careful and avoid the lights, maybe start their surfing past the lights.  They hit one.  First I laugh, then I go all Joan Crawford on them when I realized it had happened... again.  Just wanted to explain why I was so sharp and demanded "...a hundred bucks!" from my son who was ten-years-old at the time.  For the record... I never collected.

Boys Windsurfing on Sidewalk from Chris Ross on Vimeo.