Category Archives: musing

May 12, 2014 · 11:19 am

Maude.

This is my mom.
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Actually, growing up I called her “Maude.” Now I call her “Mommy” a lot too.

I am ridiculously lucky to have her in my life, and around the corner, and so much a part of my day-to-day life.

But really, everyone in her life is lucky to have her. She is THE person you want on your team, in your corner, on your side.

She is a cheerleader, a confidante, an advisor, a shoulder, an advocate, and a fierce warrior for those she loves – in ways and at levels that I pray I will someday come anywhere near to achieving.

Teenage Keri was borderline awful to her – I reveled in finding ways to piss her off and defy her at times in my younger years. To this day (many MANY moons beyond being “teenage Keri,”) I will wake up out of a dead sleep remembering something crappy I did and fight the urge to call her and apologize for the jerk that girl was. (Sorry Mommy, seriously.) Time and time again she chose to see the best in me even when I was showing her only my worst. She chose to lift me up and support and empower me. (I might have chosen to lock me in my room if I was her.)

As her life-long best friend, Karen slowly lost her painful battle with cancer, my mom helped her family coordinate care. She spent days with Karen, helping her and listening to her and being next to her. I know it made her sad. I know it broke her heart.   Standing with someone in the final moments of a life, is impossibly difficult. I believe it is also an honor and a God given opportunity to call upon the strength of your humanity to be a gift for someone you love as their life comes to a close. I know that belief comes solely from my observations of my Mom as she cared for Karen; and for my Grandpa, her “Daddy,” as he slipped away as well. So much of how I view life, and my role in the world, has been shaped by the way I view her in it.

There have been times of profound loss and trial in her life, some at ages younger than I can comprehend experiencing such difficulty. I know they have shaped her, creating in her heart a combination of deep, genuine empathy, and a passion to fight for those she cares for with all she can give.

It leaves me in awe.

She is warm and welcoming, funny, smart, reasonable, supportive, fiery, compassionate, no-nonsense, generous, strong, beautiful, selfless, and so loving.

And so loved.

She is the mom I pray I can be to Jr. She is the person I pray I can become.

Happy Mother’s Day, Maude. Words don’t exist for how blessed I know we are to have you.

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April 28, 2014 · 5:44 pm

“Clean”

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This is what “completely clean” looks like in our back living space, looking out from the kitchen over the island.
It involves toy storage, and a booster sticking out of the dining area, and Cozy Coupe parking.
And Elmo. Always Elmo.

Birthday cards and baby monitor and Little People buildings tucked in every corner.

In my kitchen there are sippy cup valves and snack trap lids drying in the rack along side my crystal wine glasses. Finger painted masterpieces and preschool info adorn the front of our refrigerator.

It’s not what “clean” used to be.

Gone are the days of perfectly arranged vignettes of breakable, ripable, pretty little such-and-sos on low tables.

Artfully “chopped” pillows carefully placed on completely straight sofas and chairs are fairly well a thing of the past at this point.

There are families in our life who confine the toys to playrooms and snacking to highchairs. Those who have perfectly coordinated family command centers to tastefully display artwork and schedules and information.
I kind of thought that would be us. The Mr is such a clean freak that for the first year or so of marriage, I took my glass if I left a room, because he would put it in the dishwasher if I left it sitting while I went to the loo. (Not. Kidding.) We have space for a playroom, and I do have frames in my office where I swap Jr’s art projects in and out to show them off.

Here’s the kicker.

I love seeing that “stuff. ” I like the toy cubbies and extra dish drying rack (hello- ours looks like fake grass! Cute!) and the Cozy Coupe parked by my dining table.

I like knowing that the things of our family surround us day-to-day; a place for everything, but it’s ok if things show while in their place.

Soon enough Elmo and plastic Easter eggs and tiny tricycles won’t be needed or wanted anymore.

Soon enough vases and plants can find homes on lower shelves, and protective blankets won’t be needed for sofa snack times.

Soon enough our family things will be very different, indeed.

I hope those things will find their places in our day-to-day decor as well, and reflect each of us to those we welcome into our home. Not gratuitous, but always gracious.

That’s the perfect kind of “clean” in this house.

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April 21, 2014 · 11:21 am

Naming names.

I have a crippling habit of tendency to give names to inanimate objects.

I should probably stop, but Keri gets attached to things, m’kay?

So a little over a week ago when GiGi, my beloved Samsung Galaxy S3 started having serious issues functioning, I couldn’t contain my concern. (I’m not pointing any fingers at what caused her illness, but I’m pretty sure it rhymes with “smelly jean sore point tree.” If that means nothing to you, it’s ok… not the point anyway.)

She was fading fast, and no amount of the phone version of using Doctor Google was really helping.

I had to stop the powercycling madness.

So, after one last night with her sleeping on my chest, I took her down to the Sprint store and had her put down. There were tears, I can’t lie. (Mostly because there were also witnesses. Lots of witnesses.)

I suppose it is best not to acknowledge the depth of my phone obsession by giving the device a name. Lesson learned?

HELL NO.

I emerged from the Sprint store with Samy the S4 all activated and full of GiGi’s information essence, beginning the story anew. (Mommy loves you Samy. )
THE QUEEN IS DEAD! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!

It isn’t a new story. Not even close. In 1981 my family got a brand spanking new Ford Courier pick up truck which we promptly dubbed “Freddie Ford.” Freddie was a good little truck and when I got my license over 10 years later, he was my first car.

But teenage Keri was wildly mildly unprepared for the responsibility of driving, and so both Freddie and I ended up rolling into a cow pasture outside of Boulder just a few weeks before the start of my sophomore year of high school.   He wasn’t really totaled, but he wasn’t drivable either. So he sat on one side of the family garage for months, his various engine liquids leaked out from around his headlamps and made it look like he was crying.  I would pass him each day, and the guilt regarding his condition would be refreshed.  Oh Freddie, I am so sorry for what I did to you. You were a good family member and I took you down.

:::pausing to look for tissue:::

Years later I got my first Ford Escape, and in honor of Freddie, I named him (or rather my cousin did, I believe, because freak runs in the family,) “Frederico Escapé. ”

Now, after years of driving Escapes, my time with Frederico Escapé III grows short. Alas, Ford went and jacked up the body style of the Escape so much that Frederico Three’s name will retire with him as I move into a new era of vehicle choice.

Which makes me feel guilty about this Frederico, and those that came before, and even for the incident in the cow pasture all those years ago with Freddie the Family Ford.

I am forsaking them. I just know it.

It is this thought process that confirms that I probably shouldn’t name inanimate objects. Things aren’t people. That car does not feel bad because you are heartlessly throwing it over trading it in, Keri.

Really.

Hmmm….

What’s a good name for a Jeep?

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April 14, 2014 · 12:47 pm

Last Week I Lost My Notebook.

Last week I lost my notebook.

Just a cheapy, typical , one-subject, wide-ruled situation – totally unassuming and nondescript.

“BFD, Keri – hit up the Walgreens for another. Problem solved for 50 cents. Talk about something interesting, m’kay?”

Yeah…

No.

(To the replacement part, not the interesting topic part – I am consumed by the loss, so it MUST be important, get on board with me here, people.)

What I should really say is “I lost my ability to navigate though life, in written form, and now I am completely hosed and lost and not sure where to start to pick up the pieces. Excuse my while I cower under my desk.”

I write shit down.

If I don’t write shit down, I don’t remember it.  Like AT. ALL.

If our house was the United States of America, that notebook would be the Nuclear Football.  (I also like this analogy because that makes me “The President”.  Hell yes.)

In the days since it disappeared into thin air, I keep stumbling into the many ways I am dependent on the information it contains.

Last Thursday when I got home and couldn’t find it, I convinced myself it must’ve been left at the office. (It wasn’t, it isn’t, it is just gone. GONE!)

“What’s for dinner?” inquired The Mr.

“Oh I…..”   (DEAR GOD) “I. Don’t. Know.”

Because my menu plan is in the notebook.

Now I realize that sounds crazy.   It is dinner, right? Open fridge, take out ingredients, make food, feed family. Done.

Oh, ho ho – not even close.

Ingredients for dinners get pulled from the freezer, having undergone various stages of prep prior to storage, days before their appointed meal.  Use the right protein in the wrong way, and the ripple effect for other planned meals could mean chaos!

Reaching in and randomly grabbing things to cook with no plan? We’re not animals, folks, come on!

Also, I have found that this kind of haphazard culinary roulette frequently results in a situation where the cook is standing in a kitchen FULL of ingredients and thinking “there is NOTHING for dinner!”   You just can’t see the forest through the trees sometimes.

This ties into another major hole the notebook’s disappearance has ripped open in my world: that of the grocery price list/kitchen inventory.

A running tally of what I currently have in my very full freezer and pantry; along with a grid of all of the staple items I have to buy on a regular basis to keep Jr, The Mr, and yours truly all chug-chugging along every day, and how much those items cost at 4 different stores.

All of that information gets used along with the weekly circulars from the stores to create the shopping list and menu for the next week (also all “safely” contained in the notebook.)

Yep – I am THAT crazy. That kind of crazy works really well for me.

Here’s the thing – I also have to write down things like “start laundry before conference call,” and “extra snack to school for Jr,” and ANYTHING else I actually want to accomplish, because Keri forgets.

Keri forgets EVERYTHING.

The notebook never forgets.

The notebook is gone. The EVERYTHING is forgotten.

I am reborn a notebookless, clueless, forgetful mess. One who has NO idea what is in her freezer and no hope of remembering to buy a new notebook.

Because really – where the hell am I supposed to write that down?

 

 

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April 8, 2014 · 11:25 am

Balance vs Bigger Pants.

MMMMMMMM.

MORE!

 

Someone who revolves life around eating and drinking the way I do has two choices, the way I see it:

  1. Do some exercise to keep things burning and keep plowing through the calories
  2. Keep having to buy bigger pants

Each of these options has treated me well at various stages in the life of Keri.

Each of them has also done me mega-wrong at some point as well.

Since I have really cute pants in the line-up just now, and since (in spite of my constant allusions to it being so suburbany-stupid-big,) I could conceivably run out of room in my closet if I keep going the new pants route, incorporating some purposeful movement into things tends to win out lately.

Prior to the arrival of Jr., I was the “go to the gym to work out” type. Spinning and Deep Water Aerobics were favorite classes, and it all happened at 5:30 am at the fitness center attached to the university where I worked, leaving me plenty of time to put myself together in the cushy locker area and trot across the street to start my work day.

Maybe it is the three years of intermittent sleep-deprivation that came as a free-gift-with-purchase with Jr., but I look back now and think “How the HELL did I ever get anywhere by 5:30 am? How did I not fall off that bike more? (Side note, I actually did fall of that bike once. It was spectacularly embarrassing and to this day I blame faulty padding in my cushy-assed bike shorts, but whatever. )

There is no working the family schedule with that kind of sitch at this point anyway, so I don’t have to pretend that sounds even remotely appealing anymore.

Last year I did a membership to the rec center located close to us, and worked my visits into midday hours when Jr is ensconced at day care or hanging with NeNe-the-wonder-grandma.

Fitting in was not something that really happened for me there. I opted out of another year of that.

When it isn’t snot-freezing cold or swass-inducing hot, (Google it,)  it is nice to take it outside into the Colorado sunshine (although my outdoor activity reputation does lean more toward the “happy hour on the patio” variety, I confess.)

HOWEVER, at this point, the option that sees the most action in my suburban existence is the vast selection of OnDemand workouts courtesy of cable TV. With baby monitor in hand, dressed in jammies, in the semi-dark of the 6a.m. living room, and with nobody to judge me but the dog. (Which he does harshly, if the volume of his sighs is any indication. I swear I’ve seen him roll his eyes a few times.)

The unintended bastardisation of the demonstrated movements that takes place during these early morning displays is nothing shy of mortifying, I am sure.

If The Mr. ever wants to win big on America’s Funniest Home Videos or achieve viral YouTube success, capturing one of those sessions would get him quickly to his goal. :::making mental note to check for cameras in living room:::

BE THAT AS IT MAY – I have found some selections that have kicked my ass, leaving me dripping and panting and finding ways to use muscles I didn’t know I even had.

My ridiculously uncoordinated exhibitions are over-and-done-with before the rest of the fam is even starting to stir, and I am on my way to planning my day based heavily on what to eat (and what to wash it down with.)

No muss, no fuss.

No witnesses.

 

Now, let’s get nachos, yes?

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