A Mother's Day Letter

As Mother’s Day approaches I wanted to let you know that you are in my thoughts every day. That everything you’ve taught me, everything I’ve learned from watching you, is an ingrained part of who I am.

I want to thank you for teaching me to play hopscotch. For showing me how to make mud pies and jump on a trampoline. For taking me walking in the rain and jumping in the middle of the largest puddle you could find. For rolling around in the leaves and snow like it was the most fun you’d ever had.

Thank you for introducing me to new music, books, and movies; for enriching my vocabulary on a daily basis.

I appreciate the time you put in without complaint as I learned to clean house, wash laundry, and prepare mostly eatable meals.

You inspire me. Make me feel like there is nothing I can’t reach for and accomplish. You make me strong.

You’ve taught me the importance of sacrifice, of looking out for others, of unconditional love.

I look forward to learning much more from you.

Love, Mom

Fat Percentage

Years, and years, and years ago -- practically another life ago -- I was training to run a marathon. Prior to each run, a different speaker would talk to the group about health related issues: stretching, good fitting clothing to run in, shoes that fit, watching what you eat, etc.

One comment made by an instructor has stayed with me ever since. In fact, I think about it every time I walk into a restaurant.

Basically, the guy said you could always tell if a restaurant was a good choice for the health or weight conscious by checking out the other customers. The higher the percentage of obese people to healthy people; the worse the restaurant choice.

I find that, at least in Austin, it holds pretty damn true.

A fine example was tonight. Steve and I went out to dinner without Will this evening and decided to eat at a restaurant we haven't been to in years, Cherry Creek Cafe. When we walked in there were six or so tables filled. All with overweight people. By the time we left another three to four tables had filled - there were at least 30 customers besides us. There was only two people who were not obese, and one of them was about nine.

But the food was great.

The Suitcase

There is an episode of Everyone Loves Raymond where Debra, Raymond's wife, leaves a suitcase on the stairs for weeks after they return from a vacation. The reason she leaves it there is because Raymond always just brings the luggage into the house and drops it off somewhere, expecting her to unpack and put it up.

I laughed so hard through the entire episode I could hardly breath. Raymond knew what was going on and he refused to be the first to "break". Everyone who visited the house - grandparents, siblings, neighbors - would ask about the luggage that would just not go away.

It struck me as funny because I've done the same thing, with one exception. Steve never knew I was leaving it out for him to deal with. He's clueless when it comes to subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints.

My dearly beloved husband has this one flaw that makes me want to choke him; he never puts anything up. It's bad enough I day dream about being a "nagging wife". I know if I mentioned it every time, if I harped on it, he'd do it. The problem is that type of action is totally against my personality. I'm not a harper - and somehow I feel weak just admitting it.

So every time Steve goes on a trip, fishing, out to the skeet range, etc., he brings home whatever and plops it in the nearest clear spot. He and Will went camping last weekend. He came in about lunch on Sunday and dragged an ice chest, suitcase, and gun case into the house. I finally dumped out the ice chest contents on Tuesday when they began to smell.

This morning Steve went to the kitchen, where his suitcase is still located, and opened it to dig out some boots. But he left the suitcase there. I hauled it into the laundry room and washed everything in it - how am I suppose to know what's clean? I'm not smelling anything that man owns.

I also went ahead and put up his gun today, too. Just like I put up the fishing poles and tackle box from the last fishing trip that he left in my car for weeks.

You would think after picking up from behind him for fourteen years it wouldn't still bother me. Yet, every time I finally give in and put up his stuff, I feel like I lost again.

The Uni-Bra

I recently bought some very nice Victoria Secret bras that I love. They are comfortable, fit well, and give me cleavage to die for.

However, the second or third time I wore one, I noticed something odd.

The bra pushes from the sides in, as well as from the bottom up - which is what gives me great cleavage. However, it leaves me no boobs on the side.

I look a lot like the photo above (if she was a mid-40s, overweight, brunette) when I wear the new bras. Like I have a uni-boob with a crease.

Roasted Potatoes With Rosemary

I have two flower beds in my back yard that surround the base of a tree. Stacked rocks forms the walls, which are about 12 inches deep. In one of these flower beds I have a small rosemary plant that was a cutting from Dona's rosemary bush.

As a general rule of thumb, rosemary loves to grow in Texas. Most people I know with rosemary bushes are overwhelmed within a year or two. Not so with mine. Most of the problem is a lack of direct sun light.

After three years my rosemary bush was only about the size of two gallons of milk. As I wanted it to surround the entire tree I started taking cuttings and reseeding them last year. I now have four small rosemary bushes, all healthy and growing.

Several months ago I gave Will some potatoes that had gone to seed and told him he could plant them outside if he wanted to. He planted them in my rosemary flowerbed. I didn't worry about it, I expected they would die from neglect.

Not so. The potato bushes are larger than my rosemary and seem quite happy. The other day I was out watering and I kind of smiled thinking that all I really needed was some oil and a really hot day and I'd have roasted potatoes with rosemary - my favorite.

Then a laugh broke out.

Not an hour before I had sprayed the plants down with a solution of 99% water/1% canola oil for bugs.

Just need a nice hot day now.

Will's Room

My family went camping this weekend and I took the opportunity to tackle Will's room. One of the reoccuring issues with his room is how much junk/toys he has. And that's my fault. So I feel some responsibility to clean it out every now and then.

Today I spent six and a half hours of my "free" day working on a room that is about 10x10 in size. I gave away four huge trash bags of toys, books, and puzzels. I filled our large out door trash can, removed a shelf unit, and utilized the closet, dresser and built in shelves better. I also mopped, twice.

This isn't the first time I've had to work this hard to clean his room and I fear it won't be the last. Since I know it won't last, I have to enjoy it while I can.

Three Great Memories

It's sad that as we age the easist memories to maintain are those of the bad or stressful times. The times we were hurt, physically or emotionally. Today I recall three seperate really great memories of my childhood that all originate with my mother.


May Day
Growing up as Jehova's Witnesses (JWs) we didn't celebrate any holidays. As you can imagine, this was very hard on us kids, especially once we were in school. Mom located a holiday that the JWs didn't spefically preach against, May Day.

Each May Day, she would order small baskets of flowers from our local florist for me to hand out to my best friends. There were always three or four of them. As a child, it felt wonderful to have an acceptable method of showing how much I cared for my friends. Even though it wasn't a celebrated holiday, it made me feel more like I fit in.

As an adult I can appreciate the expense and trouble she went through each year without complaint or thanks.


The Last Day You'll Ever Be...

Another celebration we particiapted in was celebrating the last day we'd ever be an age. Mom hated not being able to celebrate our birth, so she celebrated the day before. It started out with just a small present. A few years later, cake was added. To this day I feel the last day someone is an age is as important as the first day of their new year.


Dance Lessons

Mom loved music and dancing when she was young. Having given birth to me just a week after her eighteenth birthday, she was still quite young and into music. I can distinctly recall her teaching me how to do the locomotion, the twist, and many other dances that age me. This type of music always brings back feelings of happiness and continentment.

Thanks mom.