Wednesday, May 6, 2015

BFF-less at 52


The word 'bestie' and BFF is discussed quite frequently when you have 10 year old twin daughters.  One day you have one, the next day you don't. 

It always makes me think. I have no history with anyone. No siblings. There are friends from grade school and high school. There are a few people from college. There are friends from past jobs. And there are acquaintances from places I've lived. But among all those, there's no one who has been through everything with me. There's no one with inside jokes. The knowledge of all the broken hearts. No one knows my fears and deep insecurities.  The pain of miscarriages, and the struggle and joy of having babies. No annual girls' trips. No special birthday parties. No pictures assuming the "sorority hug" pose with beaming smiles at some fancy event. 

Ken has a bestie. Almost everyone I know has a bestie. Yet, I don't. 

Even at my 'advanced' age, you'd think that I wouldn't care or be sad about something as trivial as this, but ya know, it can hurt my heart, until I think of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. There's a time for everything in life. And I guess there's people for every part of your life, too.  I can think of many people who, unbeknownst to them, played a big part in my life for some specific reason. And then they are gone. Did I not do enough to 'keep' these people in my life? I always thought I wore my heart on my sleeve, but maybe I don't.  Did they just not value me as much as I valued them? I guess I'll never know. 

But one thing I do know is that while I don't have a bestie on earth, I do have an amazing bestie in Jesus. He knows the inside jokes. He feels all my pain and joy. He thinks I'm pretty special.  In fact, He knows the number of hairs on my head.....but seriously, ENOUGH with the gray ones!  

As my girls grow up, I know they will have many BFF's as the seasons of their lives change. My prayer is they will always be each others' BFF and know that Jesus is their real bestie! 

I know, when my time is up, Jesus will be there with a hug. A 'Jesus hug' vs 'sorority hug'?  Yeah, no contest. 

Thursday, February 19, 2015

A facebook post. Husqvarna mower. Les Schwab tires. A story of determination or stubborness - whatever.

This was a draft post that I came across today from back in June, 2014 prior to our move to AL....still makes me laugh!
I started my day with an inspirational facebook post of a soldier who asked his wife to send him grass seed and soil so he could grow grass with American soil while being deployed. He and the other soldiers would step on it as good luck when they went into the field.  Knowing I needed to mow the lawn again, in Ken's absence,  I took this wonderful story as a sign I should just go ahead and get the lawn mowed today.  Piece of cake - I'd done it before.  I had this! 


I got the riding mower out, had my lemonade in the cup holder, and vroom - started that puppy right up, while singing "Green Acres"!  We have a somewhat hilly yard, and the side yard is kind of a trick.  I had managed to combat the hill last time, and proceeded as before.   I went straight down on my first lap, but got stuck.  No matter how sunny it has been, the stupid grass up here in WA is always wet!  The back right wheel was spinning and making absolutely no contact with this lovely American soil!  Well, I thought, I could add some weight to my seat upon this awesome orange Husqvarna and proceeded to place a bag of grout and 20 lb pound of dog food on the seat with me!  Great - except that the dog food bag slipped and hit my foot, which accelerated the mower forward so it was teetering off the 1 foot high rock wall. Shit! I got off and pushed and pushed to no avail.  Not sure why I thought I could move this thing, but gave it the old college try anyway. While standing at the end of the driveway and pondering my slight problem, I decided I would use my Expedition to gently nudge the mower back off its unfortunate perch on the rock wall.  After all, I had a back-up camera so I could see perfectly where I was and then I could put that mower back in its place.  But wait, that wasn't such a great idea.  I remembered that not too long ago I had to have the back-up camera sensor replaced because Ken, WHILE looking at the backup camera, backed into a pole!  That's a whole other story, but knowing how freaking expensive a backup camera sensor is, I decided to go at it from the front. Gently. Gently I inched my way to the mower and Expedition and Husqvarna sweetly kissed, and I got the mower back off the rock wall.  Whew!  Yay for me!  Nope - because the tire had come off the rim of the mower.  Husqvarna - 1  Marliss - 0.  I called Ken, who just laughs as he tells me I'm screwed and he'd just have to fix in on Sunday when he gets here.  Well, that does not work for a stubborn redhead.  By God, I was going to mow the freaking lawn because there's a soldier somewhere who would LOVE to mow a lawn!


Hmmmm, who to call.....I know, Les Schwab tires!  They seem like lovely people from their TV commercials and they are always saving the day!  Exactly what was it I was going to ask for when they answered.  So, I just started in with my story - complete with the motivating factor of a soldier and his American soil.  After the person on the other end stopped laughing, she said she could have someone make a service call to get the tire.  Awesome!  Maybe I could be in one of their commercials!  A couple hours pass and the Les Schwab truck comes up my driveway.  As Sara, the insanely strong tire chick gets out of her truck, I could tell by the look on her face that she kinda wanted to just jump back in and drive away.  Well, I figured I would just go ahead and tell her my story and let her laugh at me too!  I'm not sure what Sara had for breakfast, but she lifted the mower up and put blocks under it so the tire could be removed.  Off she went with the tire to the shop where she would work her magic on ol' orange Husqy's misshapen tire.  Shortly, Sara the tire chick returned with the tire.  This time it was round.  The Wheaties kicked in and in a matter of minutes the wheel was on and Sara was kindly using her brute force to push me on the mower and unstick me from the pickle I was in.  Yay for me!  Husqvarna - 1,  Marliss - 1!  Nope - the blade was not engaging,  and making that ridiculous racket of a blade rotating viciously enough to chop off a human limb.  Damnit.  Husqvarna - 2, Marliss - 1!  I just wanted to mow the lawn and be appreciative of the opportunity that a soldier was missing.  The picture in the motivational story showed him using scissors to trim his "lawn".  I had scissors and I was about to use them. 


While waiting for Sara, the insanely strong tire chick, I began consolidating crap in the garage in preparation for movers on Monday.  Spiders. Spider webs. Only 2 decomposing, petrified mice, and a crap ton of holiday decorations that hadn't been out of their boxes for a month of Sundays.  I was already dirty, so figured laying down in the grass and trying to look under the mower wasn't going to kill me.  Hmmm, it appears that there belt was off its round thingyamajigs.  All 5 of the round thingyamajibs.  Okay fine. I'll just follow the little drawing, which luckily hadn't been drawn by the people who draw IKEA directions, so I should be able to put the belt on the appropriate thingyamajigs.  Nope.  My weenie arm muscles weren't engaging and therefore, neither would the mower belt.  So, off I went to the neighbor's house.  Now, our neighbor is a great guy - just think Frozen's Olaf in human form.  As we are walking to the house, I am telling him my story, which has him doubling over in laughter.  By now, it is getting dusk and with what little light was left, we managed to get the belt situated so blade would do its job.  Not only did I get the lawn mowed, but I did it under the moonlight, which is a rare sight in the PNW.  Stubbornness can be a good thing. 



Sunday, August 24, 2014

Dagwood. Grilled Cheese. Peanut Butter and Jelly. Marliss.

Dagwood.  Grilled cheese. Peanut butter and jelly.  Marliss.

What do all these things have in common?  They are sandwiches.  Yes, I am a sandwich.  I am the middle between my twin 9 year old daughters and my 81 year old mother.

My father passed away 3 weeks ago tonight.  It was always the plan for my parents to move to AL and live with us.  We had designed the floor plan to accommodate a place for them in our new home - the new home that hasn't been started yet (but will in about 10 days).   After my Dad passed, we went ahead and brought Mom back to AL with us.  There was no reason for her to stay in their big house in CO by herself.  So, taking FULL ADVANTAGE of Southwest Airlines "two suitcases for free per flyer" offer, we packed lots of Mom's stuff and schlepped it all to AL.  Truly, I have no idea what we really packed, because packing with eyes swollen with sadness is not advised.  But luckily, most everything she needed for the time being somehow made it into the suitcases.  Mom would be moving into our rental, which looks like a dorm room with just the bare necessities for Ken, me and the girls, because all our stuff is in storage and new stuff would be purchased for the new house - which is many months in the future.

Mom's arrival coincided with the girls starting school.  At a new school.  With no one they know.
Funny enough, Mom's arrival to Auburn also coincided with the onslaught of university students coming back after summer break.  Our trips to Target and Walmart required 2 carts - one with hangars, plastic chests of drawers, shampoo, pillows, comforters and a little bedside lamp for Mom and,  the other one with markers, notebooks, papers, scissors, pencils, backpacks, lunch boxes for the girls.  And, I was sandwiched in the middle.

As a sandwich, I am trying to help the girls get organized, settle into the school, dance, gymnastics, and the homework routine.  I am also trying to make my Mom feel comfortable without her life partner of almost 58 years.  She had never even been to Auburn, yet here she is dropped into the complete unknown.  She was used to going to Curves 3 times a week, however, there isn't one here.  She had great neighbors who kept their eye on her and Dad.  She had a niece that lived up the road.  And, she had lived in Pueblo her entire life.  Here in Auburn, she has her granddaughters and son-in-law.  Oh, and she brought her dog.  And, she has her daughter, who doesn't have any friends here either.

Everyone who knows me, knows that the kitchen is not my place of comfort.  I don't cook.  But, a sandwich is something that I can make.  As a sandwich some days it's like being a Dagwood - lots of all kinds of things piled SO HIGH and SO BIG you can't get your mouth around it.  Some days, it's like Grilled Cheese, where everything nicely melts together and all is good.  And some days, it's like Peanut Butter and Jelly, salty, sticky, and crunchy mixed with some sweet.  But in the end, we all have to stick together on the plate of life.  We all need each other because Peanut Butter and Jelly without bread would just be weird.  However, it WOULD be great to have a side dish of some new friends for us all!

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

A Balloon Animal Funeral


I think it all started with the 4th of July at the Cemetery.  That opening line, in and of itself, just sounds wrong, but it is the beginning point to this story.

On the 4th of July, we went to watch the Tumwater fireworks.  We didn’t want to spend the $10 to park our car at the festival, plus there wasn’t any parking anyway.  There are plenty of places to watch the fireworks, but a vantage point worth considering was the Odd Fellows cemetery.  Now, please note that we weren’t the only people who decided upon this venue for spewing our ooohhhhs and aaaaahhhs for the 15 minute firework show we sat at least an hour to experience.

We maneuvered our Excursion, with Poppy and Gram, and the girls, down a narrow street at the cemetery.   Of course, all roads at cemeteries are narrow, so once we parked, we had the fun of watching others try to jockey for the perfect viewing point.

Ken, the girls and I, took a quick walk to the end of the entrance, just for something to do to occupy a few minutes.  Others had set up camp at the cemetery for a lot longer than we had, as evidenced by their grill, blankets, and low and behold – a Croquet set – winding easily through a few nearby headstones.  I cracked myself up when I expressed that there obviously was “No rest for the wicket” ……….I’m still laughing at my hilarity.

Back at the vehicle, the girls chose to do cartwheels in the grassy area nearby.  Again, doing cartwheels at a cemetery just sounds wrong, but when the cemetery is for  “Odd Fellows”, perhaps it isn’t that “odd”.

This was the girls’ first exposure to a cemetery.  We talked about the headstones, the meaning behind the numbers and dates, and marveled at how old some of the headstones were.

Ooooohhhhh AAAAHHHH  WOW – okay, fireworks are over. 

Now it is 4 days later. 

We went to the Farmer’s Market Sunday.  Jillian wanted a balloon animal.  Great.  Let’s go find the creepy man who makes them.  Jillian chose a butterfly (Bo) and Sloan chose a dog (Pinky).  I thought I heard “Deliverance” banjos start to play as the pink and blue latex was being twisted into somewhat recognizable things.  However, it was such a nice moment as the creepy man was teaching his 2 school –aged children the “family business”.  I really was creeped out, but the girls loved their balloons. 

The balloons came with a Guarantee – 100%  Guaranteed to pop! 

Bo – the butterfly, was the first to meet his demise.  Not entirely, just a wing.  But, as Jillian so exactly informed us, Mrs. Thome told them that a butterfly dies if it loses a wing.  Jillian was distraught.  I mean – boo hooing like Belle or Lucy had died, or if she had missed the most recent episode of “Good Luck Charlie”  - something more meaningful than just the popping of a balloon animal made by a large creepy man teaching his creepy children the creepy business of making balloon animals at a Farmer’s Market.

Next thing I knew, she had piled up a bit of cut grass, topped it off with flowers, and there was a handwritten note with “Bo’s” birthday and date of death.  She was still crying.

And, as I’m typing this, I have finally stopped crying.  My tears were of laughter – like I haven’t had in a very, very, very long time.

Today is 5 days since the “birth” of Bo and Pinky.  And today, Pinky is no longer.   Sloan, contrary to Jillian, was not distressed at all about Pinky becoming airless.  She had more fun playing with the lone, last, long, pink balloon that was used as Pinky’s leash.

I was busy working at the kitchen table – Real Estate, not cooking.  The girls came to inform me that they were having a funeral and I was invited.  They needed a piece of bread – for the communion of course.  They remembered this from Uncle Don’s funeral, and have expressed a concern as to who was going to hold the basket of bread at Aunt Jerre’s funeral since she had held it at Don’s.  But, I digress.

Finally the funeral was to start.  Gram and I went to the lower back deck.  We waited, and waited, while arrangements were finalized between 2   7 year olds. 

First, came the directions.  We were not to talk or get up until the funeral was over.  Got it.

Next  came the pink, wooden tray with a bowl of bread, and an empty bowl which had water in it.  The girls were carrying it down the grassy hill and the water had spilled.  Luckily the sides of the tray kept the water from completely disappearing.  This came in extremely handy when Jillian took the orange Solo cup and scooped up the water for us to dip our bread in.  It was at this point when I completely,  totally, without any ability to control my laughter, LOST IT!  The sight of Jillian tilting the tray, scooping up the water, was more than I could take.  I have no idea why, but I just couldn’t stop laughing.  The “formality” of this funeral for 2 balloon animals, made by a creepy man, teaching his creepy kids the family business of making balloon animals at a Farmer’s Market, had just descended to something so completely irreverent and hysterically funny the tears were running down my leg!!!

Of course, being the awesome and sensitive mom that I am (not), I pretended I was crying over the loss of these 2 new members of our family.  After all, the girls had gone to such extremes that I certainly didn’t want to hurt their little feelings. 

On the table was 3 more orange Solo cups.  I noticed that the middle one wasn’t stacked tightly with the others.  So, just out of curiosity, I pulled it out of the others…..never in my wildest dreams would I guess what I would find.

Tied to the bottom of the cup with the remaining strip of latex balloon from Bo the butterfly, was a dollar bill.  I was “awarded” the prize at the funeral. Woo Hoo -  I just made a buck!!!

I was then asked to say a prayer.  It went something like this:

Dearly  Beloved, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to our longtime family members, Bo and Pinky.  They were the best creepy balloons we’ve ever had, and we will miss them as they’ve turn into airless pieces of latex.  We will remember them always, or at least until Thursday.  Amen”

The service then ended with the Pledge of Allegiance. 

The end.

And to think, I took a break from doing a market analysis for an upcoming foreclosure listing for this!!!  The complete and utter joy of working at home!

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Borrowing car keys....

My parents are 78 and 83.  They live in Colorado and come to visit us for 4-5 weeks at a time.  I love my parents immensely and so does Ken and the girls.  Mom and Dad are here now and it has just now sunk in that I basically have 4 kids to take care of!

Sloan and Jillian both have wiggly front teeth.  Not to be outdone, Dad breaks his front tooth off eating a cheese sandwich.   Apparently 83 year old teeth just can't stand up to the Rainbow white bread and fake individually wrapped slices of cheese that Dad used for his sandwich!  I made sure he knew the tooth fairy was NOT going to leave him anything under his pillow.  There's no "double dippin" the tooth fairy at our house!

Then Mom and Dad decided they were going to take Ken's truck for a sojurn.  Is "sojurn" the word they used in their teens when they took their parents' car for a cruise?  Oh wait, they didn't have cars back then did they???  At any rate, I stood at the window and watched them get in the truck, back out, and I had a lump in my throat.  Should they still be driving?  Did Mom have her cell phone with her - and if so, did she even have it turned on?  What if they got lost finding the antique stores they wanted to find?  All of a sudden I realized that in a few short years, I would be worrying just the same way when the girls take the car.   But then, I really got sad.  Because it wouldn't be too much longer before the girls would have to start taking care of Ken and I!!!


I'm hating the fact that everyone is getting older :-(

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Team Peeta.... or Team Gale?

You'll have to excuse my absence - I've just returned from Panem and District 13 - and I am exhausted!

Oh my goodness!  I had NO IDEA what I was in for when I decided that I should probably read something other than Judy Blume or Dr Seuss, and decided to read "The Hunger Games".  It's been a long time since I, Me, Marliss - not Mom - read a book for MY enjoyment.

I had no knowledge of what the book was about.  I knew it was a bestseller, so I just downloaded it on my Nook.  After the 1st pages of "The Hunger Games", I was hooked.  I am somewhat of a techy geek, so I had the book on my Color Nook, which in turn allowed it to be on my iphone Nook app, and backed up by the ipad Nook app.  If I was really desperate, I could also read it on my laptop.  I read whenever I could.  I took my phone to the bathroom and read a few pages at a time.  I read it while at the girl's swim lessons, I read it at night until 2 in the morning.  I was a complete dork.

I was obsessed.  And when I was done with "The Hunger Games", I immediately (I think it was 1:38 am)  downloaded "Catching Fire", so that I could continue with this newfound love of reading.

I was obsessed. 

Then, I finished "Mockingjay" and cried a bit at the end.  It took me a bit to figure out why I was crying, but I think there were so many things that moved me throughout the series - which by the way, was originally written to attract the young readers genre.  I've had many people tell me I act like a teenager, so perhaps this was just another example of my mentality!

I cried because I was done.  Now what will I do?  I cried because of the storyline and the horrific torture inflicted upon people by a government.  Could this really happen in our lifetimes?  I cried because I know I would never ever in a million years be as strong a survivor as Katniss.  I cried because I realized how much time I waste doing nothing and wondered why I only read stupid magazines and the captions under the pictures. 

But I also think I cried as I thought about what happens to our imaginations as we get older.  At what point do most of us lose the ability to imagine things as grand as this author?  Just watch kids play - the driving force behind their play is imagination.  What happens to that?  Do we lose it in school when we are told to pay attention instead of letting our mind wander in class?  Do we lose it when we are working and come up with a great idea, only to have it squashed by a boss?   Do we lose it because someone makes fun of us at some point?  And I also wondered how many hallucinogenics would I have to take to come up with something like The Hunger Games?  How does the author keep everything straight in her mind? 

In the end,  I decided I was Team Peeta and I decided I was going to try to use my imagination everyday and most importantly, try to never squash anyone else's.

I might also go shoot a few of Ken's arrows :-)



Friday, March 16, 2012

The newest store in town!

I just opened a store!  Yep, it was a spur of the moment venture which I hope will produce a lifetime of wealth!

You see, I have 2 sweet daughters who share a room.  This is a good thing and a bad thing. 

It's good because they love each other and can spend hours playing "dance school", or "teacher" or "restaurant" or "store" or a host of other imaginative, wonderful activities they love.

But it's bad because the room is small.  It's bad because they have too much stuff, and it's bad because they don't put things back where they belong!  This is an ongoing struggle and a bone of contention because they just look at me and hear the "wah wah wah wah" of my voice and never pick anything up. (I am so very thankful that my mother doesn't have a clue how to comment on my blog because she would be frothing at the mouth exposing my childhood room cleaning skills.)  But, hey, this isn't about me :-)

Today was the last straw and I had had it!

While I was bagging up all this crap, my original thought was "darn it, the trash man already came today and now there won't be room in the trash barrel the rest of the week". But then the genius in me (that part of every Mom's brain that get's overworked and underpaid) thought of a better, dual purpose, exploitative use of this teaching moment.

I will open a store.

And today was the grand opening!!!

The inventory consists of all the things I located off the floor of their room - minus the dry cereal found in a lonely bowl, dried apple slices which didn't start out that way, and other science projects retrieved from under the bunk beds.

All of the books, clothes, shoes, toys, dolls, etc are displayed in clear trashbags, and stored in a enclosed trailer we have.

The girls can "buy" back their toys.  Their "currency" would be additional chores - not the ones they have to do anyway - but extra chores!  They can also choose to use their own money. (Of course, this money will go right back in their piggy bank, but don't tell them that!)

So when the girls got home and headed to their room, they stopped dead in their tracks!  Taken aback by the sight of their carpeted floor, which hadn't seen the light of day in quite some time, Jillian asked "what happened"?  Sloan started crying.  And, I was overjoyed to announce the grand opening of my store!  I explained the shopping rules quite succinctly:  Extra chore=1 tally mark= 1 toy bought back.  Easy Peasy!  Sloan went fetal, and Jillian responded with "well, I better get busy then."

The tally marks of chores have already started.  If they argue about who did what,  a tally mark is deducted.

My goal is that they will learn the following:
1)  If you want something, you have to work for it!
2)  Arguing is of no benefit.
3)  This will help them decide which toys they really want and enjoy, and the rest will go to GoodWill;
and
the
MOST
IMPORTANT
LESSON.......

Don't jack with Mama! 

Wait, maybe this IS about me after all!!!

I'll keep you posted on the sales volume at the store.