A Starbucks Story

Parker, Hubby, and I happened to be in the city this week.  

And no trip to civilization is complete without a Starbucks stop.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Hubby made some comment about me being a "strange little woman," which automatically made me think of the line from Toy Story... "You're a sad, strange little man..." 

So I quoted it to Hubby.

He just looked blankly at me through his sunglasses.

"Do you remember what movie that's off of?  Huh? Do you?" I pestered.

Parker piped up from the backseat, "Ooh I know this!  Come on Dad, you know this."

Hubby  refused to play.

He ordered me a tall mocha and inched the car toward the window.

I thought I'd be helpful by finding a clip of the line on youtube.  I was sure if he heard it, he would remember.  

(Because this was was MUCH more fun than just TELLING him the name of the movie)

We came to a stop in front of the drive-thru window, and just as the pierced and tattooed barrista said, "hi, how are you today?" Tim Allen's voice said, "YOU ARE A SAD, STRANGE, LITTLE MAN.."

Only the guy couldn't see me holding up my phone, so he just gave Hubby a startled look.

I was crying laughing and I wished I had thought of this before.  Just think how much fun I could have making my husband say weird things to drive-thru workers.

"Say Hello to my Leetle Friend!"

"Go ahead...Make my day.."

Fortunately, the lid was already on my coffee, so the drive-thru guy couldn't spit in it like I'm sure he wanted to.  

And Hubby is good natured enough to roll his eyes at my attempts to amuse myself at his expense.  Lucky for me he loves me...to infinity and BEYOND!

No "Wires" Attached

I often hear people complain about the evils of technology.  (When I say "people" I mean "old people" because I'm pretty sure I've never heard anyone under the age of 30 complain..)  Anyway, "people" see teenagers sitting side by side in some public place, each with their fingers flying over smartphones, and lament the death of real, face-to-face interaction.  The rise of video games, facebook, and texting gets blamed for everything from the failing education system to global warming.
But I'm kind of thankful for technology.
I have a quiet son.  He can talk when he's in the mood.  But he's usually not in the mood!  If it weren't for texting, I would never know what he's thinking. Especially when it comes to emotional conversations.  Face to face is too intense for him.  If he's angry, or frustrated, or sad...we text about it.  If I have to ask him uncomfortable "mom" questions...we text about it.  And if he wants to convince me to let him do something...he texts me about it.
Just this weekend, we were at a celebration full of people.  Both of my kids were there with us, mingling with people Hubby and I went to high school with.  Hillary chatted and laughed and (of course) took lots of pictures.  Parker sat quietly at the edges, face impassive, not giving away any clues about whether or not he was having a good time.
Then I checked his Instagram.  He had posted several pictures with descriptive captions, detailing what a good time he was having and how cool his dad's old friends (basketball players) were.  And I thought about how nice it was to have this window into his brain.  Far from isolating us, this technology gives us a sort of secret connection.
When I check facebook or twitter and Hillary has posted some silly thing she's done or friend she's seen or food she's eaten, I feel like I'm there with her.
When I pull up Netflix and see tv shows that I know she just watched, it's like she's not far away.
And when my kids text me their thoughts, it's like our hearts and minds touch for a minute.
And it goes both ways.  Each of them have said to me that they are glad I blog about them because it lets them see themselves through my eyes for a bit.
So I will embrace technology.  (Even if my kids DO have to help me figure out how to use it ;)
Our heartstrings firmly connected as we go wireless-ly into the future.

What we leave behind...and what we don't

Lately people have been asking me if I'm doing alright.  They are referring to my oldest child leaving home.  She's been in college for a couple of years, but it was a junior college and she still lived with us.  A few weeks ago she transferred to a major university to live in the dorms.
I started to have a moment when she and I went down to her room to pack her stuff.  It felt overwhelming, and sad.  I didn't even know where to start.
And then I started to notice what kind of things she was taking and leaving behind.  I made sure she had her clothes and computer and school supplies.  She made sure she took her 4 inch heels and the Bobba Fett bobble head her boyfriend gave her.  Who needs an umbrella or gloves?  We had to make room for the picture of her on her bike when she was 5.  And the poster she stole from the storage room of the art department at her old school.
I couldn't help but chuckle inside.
And when it was all said and done, she left so much in her room that I knew she would be coming back!
We settled her into her dorm room and drove the 3 hours back home without Chatty Cathy in the backseat.
And for the first couple of days I thought about her SO many times... I was curious how her classes were going and if the meal plan was working and if she was happy.  But I made myself give her space to spread her wings.
And then she texted me.  And called.  Every day I heard from her about the details of her new and exciting life.  Instead of losing a part of me, I was gaining new experiences vicariously.  I never lived in a dorm or had an all night "jam" session with my musician friends.  But now I felt like I was there.
She was home last weekend to visit and I asked her, now that she had been there several weeks, what was one thing that was better than expected.  The showers, she said.  The water was always hot and there was always one open even though the whole floor shares the shower room.  Then I asked her what she missed about home.  I thought she might say cable tv and dvr, or her privacy, or homecooked meals.  But her answer was "mostly you and dad".
So I am not afraid.  Even though she is moving on, our connection remains strong.
We are the thing she can't take with her.  But we have not been left behind.

Comfort - able

I'm doing a study on Attachment Theories and Love Styles.  And yes, I totally embrace the nerdiness of that.
Anyway, part of the study was to think about a time you were comforted as a child...who comforted you and how they did it.
And like I always do, I applied this to my children as well.
I asked each of them to think of a time they had been comforted.
Both of them easily came up with times...that involved their Dad.  Granted, he is large and comforting and makes people feel safe when he's got those big guns wrapped around you.  But what was I?? Chopped liver?  Oh they eventually got around to saying that I always seemed to understand their feelings and allowed them to be sad, mad, or whatever they were feeling.  That's a good thing, right?  I comforted myself by saying that maybe my "comforting" was just so EVER-PRESENT that they didn't realize what it was. You know, like taking the air for granted as you breathe.  It's a theory.
But then, Parker got the stomach flu.
He spent lots of time in the bathroom between bouts of restless sleep.
I went to town for medicine.
And then I got this text from him.
"Will you come lay with me when you get back?"
And of course I did.  I lay on top of his blankets and tried not to breathe his infected air.  I followed him to the bathroom and patted his back and gave him a fresh cold washcloth to wipe his face.  I prayed.
After a while, I started to rub his head.  But I wasn't sure if this would help or make it worse.  I don't like to be touched when I'm sick.  So I asked him if that's what he wanted.  He mumbled, "Yes.  It helps."
And then he added, "These are the times I feel comforted by you."
I smiled in the dark.
And I was the one who was comforted.

A Dance, A Thread, and a Robin(son)

Every year, at Homecoming, the dance team girls get some guys to perform a swing dance with them at halftime.
And that's how I came to be sitting on the bleachers, watching my son do the jitterbug...
I was impressed!  They only practiced a few times, and he is normally pretty quiet and reserved.  But there he was gliding across the floor with a smile on his face, effortlessly spinning and lifting his partner.  Parker and Alexa aka Fred and Ginger.
Of course, video was sent to all the grandparents!
Later, when I was talking to my dad about it, he said, "When I saw that video, I told your mom it was like watching Grandpa Robinson." I was intrigued.  My dad has told Old Family Stories my whole life, but I'd never heard this one.
He went on... "When I was a boy, Grandpa used to come stay with us for a week or so at a time. Me and my brothers would play old bluegrass music on our guitars and fiddles and Grandpa would get up and dance.  Boy, he could cut a rug!"
I smiled as I felt a warm thread of connection to this past person I never got to meet.  He was gone long before I was born and the only thing I knew of him was an intricate drawing given to me by my own Grandma (his daughter).  It was a doodle of the letters of his name intertwined with a bird...a robin.
And now my son dances and my daughter draws.
And the thread pulls gently, comfortingly, linking us all together.
Past dreams dance into the future on my children's feet.