Whidbey Whining

Mollie writes:

Living on an island has its ups and downs. I've mentioned it in the past - I like the slower pace, quieter lifestyle, low crime, the sighting of bald eagles over my pond and great blue heron in my pond. If I had to do it over again, I would in a heartbeat.

One of the things I'm on the fence about is the weather. We chose Whidbey Island because of the mild temperature and the fact that we are in a rain shadow provided by the Olympic Range. We still get rain, and if I use a greenhouse, I even get ripe tomatoes in August! Not too shabby. Some rain, but no flooding. Some sun, but no heat waves.

Except that since we moved here in 2005, the weather took a turn for the weird. I've learned to cope with it (mostly because I have no other choice!) and have taken steps to make things easier.

When we moved here, we'd heard that it occasionally snowed. In my book, that's once every three or four years. On Whidbey Island, it snows whenever it wants. There's no real rhyme or reason, some mornings we wake up with a few inches. In our case, it's ok - our kids are grown and we're retired. No worries. When we had kids and school schedules and car pools, not so easy!

But living on an island has its drawbacks. When the power goes out on an island, it goes out. And with a small population and little industry (there is Nichols Brothers Boatyard) we are not exactly on the high-priority list for major repairs. So we've acquired a generator and a few other conviences so that we aren't out of power completely when the lines gow down.

In addition to losing power, we don't have a lot of snow plows, de-icers, etc. It just isn't cost effective. And the usual person here doesn't have a lot of experience driving in snow zones. So the wise resident stays in until things improve which is good since our fir trees are shedding limbs and our hills are completely iced over.

So every year, come heck or high water (and we do have water here), we practice a little prudence. We trim our trees, stock our pantry, and double check that we have enough propane to keep our fireplace running if need be. We tie things down or up, depending on the wind and the grammar (did you tie down the yard furniture? Did you tie up the vines? Did you secure the greenhouse?). We charge our Kindle, I-pad, cell phones, flashlights, personal DVD players and other modern necessities. We even have candles!

And we just wait things out.

So, here's hoping that things are safe and tied down where you live. We are enjoying our feather bed, sipping cocoa and watching the pond freeze over. Those great blue herons will have to wait for a thaw before they can eat my goldfish again, and those eagles (???), well the bunnies will be back come spring.

Those Darn Kids!

Mollie writes:

I'm finding that having adult children comes with its own set of complications. Our oldest turns 29 in a few days, and I've been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a few ideas for presents for him.

Part of my problem is that it used to be so easy. Having a child with a birthday right after Christmas is a good thing for a parent. The after-Christmas sales are to die for, and you figure out what your kid really wanted by Christmas Day afternoon. Once your eyes are opened to what wasn't under the tree, a mom can race right out, and for 80% off, and buy the coveted object. Easy squeezy.

But these darn kids just grow up and everything changes. My oldest is now grown and can pretty much buy for himself the things he wants that are within our price range. So buying him a thingamajig is pretty much off the list, as he already has a thingamajig, and in three colors.

Also, he lives hundreds of miles away, so I just can't run over and figure out that he needs towels, kitchen utensils, etc. This works out well for the adult child, but is a real obstacle for a parent. How do we tell our kids that his linens are faded when we don't know what state they're in? How do we know our kid needs a new vacuum when we rarely see his condo, and when we do, it's spotless, not because he's a perfect housekeeper, but he had the sense to throw out all the empties before we came.

The dilemmas for us empty-nesters!

My husband and I came up with a reasonable solution. In the past, we've invited him to send us links to websites that have something he wants. We then buy it for him and have it sent directly to him. It takes all the stress out of whether or not he needs or wants it, but also handles the problems of shipping, etc. This year, we are sending him a new corkscrew and some gadgets for his computer. But it just doesn't seem like enough.

So we assembled a "Make Your Own Birthday Party" box and filled it with streamers, candles, horns, silly hats and decorations. Hopefully, when he opens it, he'll know that we are partying in spirit if not in person. Add a silly card, and we've got it made.

It's been almost 30 years since we had the little mite. It's hard not having him around for cake and silliness but this may be as close as it gets.

After-School Snack: A Feast for the Soul

Millie writes:

I'm a lifelong Anglophile, and it's always saddened me a little bit that we Yankees have never caught the British habit of Taking Tea. Today I realized that those of us who are lucky enough to have children do have an identical ceremony, we just call it something else: The After-School Snack.

Many societies have a tradition of taking a small period of refreshment in mid-afternoon. The Japanese raised tea to an art form, with special buildings and dishes and ceremonies to make just the right background for their daily sip. Perhaps it is one of Mankind's earliest needs, right after Find Dry Cave and Avoid Being Eaten by Mammoth; the yearning to stop what we're doing at about 4 o'clock, sit and eat a bit of something tempting, have a refreshing drink and chat with our companions for a little while.

On the other hand, perhaps the introduction of Tea Time is what marked the evolution of Primitive Man to Civilized Man.

Whatever its origins, the after-school snack is sacred at our house. This ritual gives parents and children time to reconnect, a chance to “download” the highlights of the day so far before the homework/chores/dinner prep rush begins. I am of the firm belief that no one should ever enter our home without a warm greeting, just as no one should ever leave without a "goodbye," and a hug and kiss if appropriate. The reality of this is obvious when the kids come through the door: they drop their coats and heavy backpacks, perch on a kitchen stool and heave sighs of relief.

Don't get me wrong, my kitchen is not the scene of a 1950's sitcom every single weekday after school. Sometimes the kids have “activities,” and sometimes I do; sometimes a friend will come home with them or they might go visiting. More often than not, though, I'll be there waiting for them with something to drink and something to nibble. They know they can count on that.

What you serve doesn't really matter. I often make cookies (today it's coconut macaroons, which could not be easier or more delicious), but we also have fruit, or nuts, or popcorn, or veggies and dip. Usually on April Fool's Day I make some elaborate type of “hoax” food that looks like something else. We may drink milk, or cider, or juice, or hot chocolate or even (believe it or not!) tea.

If you're at work when your kids get home from school, leave a snack ready for them. Add a note, or make a point of calling at that time every day to check in. If the hour after school is a rush of soccer practice and violin lessons, put a box of raisins and a bottle of orange juice on your kid's car seat. If you'll be gone on business, leave a few brown bags behind you; slip a box of crackers, a package of cookies, or some dried fruit into each bag along with the appropriate number of juice boxes, staple each bag shut and number the bags – a snack for each day you'll be gone.

After-School Snack Time has changed subtly since Joy's first day of preschool. When the kids were little, it was a chance for them to have my undivided attention for a bit; a chance for them to tell me all their news before they burst. Now that Sassy and Jack are high school upperclassmen, these few minutes a day may be the only ones during which I get to have their undivided attention. It's a cherished moment in our hectic day, a dependable oasis of time to concentrate on each other.

As Henry James said, “There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.” Clever people, the English.

Who's Your Daddy?

Mollie writes:

I had to laugh out loud when I read a comment made by Maggie on Facebook this morning. She made the observation that, one, her husband was a guy, and, two, that guy wasn't her father!

I'm constantly apologizing to my hubby that HE didn't marry another man, he married a chick, and a very girly one at that. I think all spouses make that same mistake, even in same sex marriages. No matter WHO we marry, we are going to wake up one morning and not recognize who we've been sleeping with all these years. Case in point, John still doesn't get why I care so much about clothes and grooming. But it's a girl thing, and John doesn't speak girl.

While we chicks all know we didn't marry our fathers, it still comes as a complete shock to me when my husband manages to veer from the well chosen paths my father chose. My dad golfed with a passion, my husband doesn't know a nine iron from a wood. My dad had a people-oriented profession (sales), my husband is more object-oriented in engineering. None of this should surprise me, but I still react to my male relationships based on my first male relationship, my dad. So I thought I was walking on the wild side when I married a non-golfing engineer.

My dad made a point of golfing on Saturdays. John, when he wasn't serving in the Naval Reserves, did projects around the house, wrote his doctoral dissertation, hung out with his kids and occasionally delivered furniture for his dad who had a furniture store. My dad liked things tidy and nice, John pursues a more relaxed style. My dad bought new cars every year, my husband gets a new car when maintaining the old one is more expensive than buying a new one.

And the list goes on.

Things they had in common were their personal ethics, from honesty to work, and a sense of duty. I can't remember a time when my dad wasn't selling something, but I also can't remember a time when my husband wasn't serving in the military, delivering furniture for his dad, instructing at a university and all while working as an engineer for our regional power distributor. Neither man was ever idle, even my husband in his so-called retirement. Both men served in the Navy during war time, and both men put their children and spouses first.

And neither man lied. I can't remember once when my dad lied to me, and, although my husband is a dooms-day predictor, he will admit when things work out better than he expected.

So it is no surprise to me when I wake up in the morning and find that I'm married to someone who is just like my father AND nothing like my father. But that's not all.

It seems to me that although I didn't marry my father, my husband did. In many ways, I'm much more like my dad than my husband is. I'm more people oriented and couldn't build a mousetrap if my life depended on it. I'm obsessed with keeping things tidy and nice, and poor John has the callouses to prove it. I like a nice car more often than every ten years, although I'm happy with a new car every five years.

And so it goes. So maybe the question isn't if we married our fathers, it's did our husbands?

A New Leaf

Millie writes:

I'm a big believer in traditions, so it's no surprise to anyone that our family has a double-handful of customs for New Year's Eve. One of the kids' all-time favorites is the one involving fire.

The ancients believed that fire purified, and purification is just what this mama and her brood need after 365 days of bunglin' along. Before we begin discussing what we want to change in the new year, we go about putting the old year behind us for good.

We each take a piece of paper and write down every single thing we can think of that we regret about our behavior during the previous 12 months. Whining, selfishness, overeating, impatience, short temper, bad grades, dirty tricks, reading under the covers after lights-out – if we have spent any time mentally beating ourselves up for it, we write it down. (Or draw it, if our spelling's still shaky; or we may just make aggressive crayon marks, if we happen to be a baby wanting to do what everyone else is doing.)

We don't talk about what we're writing or show it to anyone. When we've gotten it all down, we look over the list one last time, then crumple the paper into a ball. When everyone's done, we go outside and we burn the lists.

While they're burning, we forgive ourselves for whatever was written on those pieces of paper. We come back inside feeling virtuous (and usually frozen), purged of all those sticky little petty things we're not too proud of, and ready to begin again with clean slates. The rule is this: Once you've owned it, written it and burned it, it's over. You are not allowed to torture yourself with it any more.

Through the years – and 6 teenage kids – this tradition has morphed into a semi-elaborate affair involving fire pits and flame throwers. (A flame thrower is an extremely cathartic tool, and I heartily recommend that each household have at least one. Don't store them with the Nerf guns, though.) No matter how much fun the kids have with the pyrotechnics, though, the solemn reason behind the bonfire is never lost on them. By forgiving ourselves for a year's worth of shortcomings, we can look into the coming year with hope – and the belief that we have what it takes to reach the goals we set for ourselves.

This teaches our kids – and us – to deal with disappointment and guilt. It encourages us to leave the past in the past and look towards the future. It's not a “Get Out of Jail Free” card, nor is it absolution; rather, it's a chance to begin again with a clear conscience, to truly turn over a new leaf.

And so far – on Day 3 of the New Year – everyone's still cheerfully forging ahead.

New Year's Revolutions!

Mollie writes:

It's so hard to make resolutions for the New Year.  This year, I've resolved to not make any resolutions that are unreasonable.  I'm thinking that losing 15 pounds this year is a reasonable goal.  I'll always be "padded" but 15 pounds of padding won't be missed and won't be difficult.

When our kids were little, I'd make resolutions like "clean the boys' rooms" and "master the piano."  These were good resolutions because I was gonna clean those rooms anyway, and that darn piano . . . well it was time I learned to play by more than just ear.  But learning to read music was a real eye-opener.  I learned what a mathematical exercise music really is, but also how difficult it was to express my self on a keyboard (I seem to do better verbally than musically!).  But reality does slip in, and I found that just as soon as I cleaned the boys' rooms, they were filthy again (no kidding) and for me, mastering the piano meant practicing every day, and that was unreasonable.

One year, just after learning that I had MS, I resolved to deal with it quietly and not let it impact our kids' lives.  Silly me!  A couple of real exacerbations and I was at ground zero again, reevaluating what realistic resolutions really are.  Over time, I've learned that minimizing MS isn't going anywhere, so I might as well face it and get over it.  It's a lot easier to deal with MS when you aren't dealing with disappointment with yourself on a personal level.

This would be a good time to talk with your kids (maybe age 8 and over?) about New Year's Resolutions.  It would be nice to think that nirvana was just a resolution away, but it never is.  Raising kids with realistic expectations is a fine art.  We don't want our kids to stop dreaming, but we also want to have them have a firm grip on reality.

What's a Mollie to do?

Talk to your kids about their next twelve months.  Do they want to take part in extra-curricular activities, or is school enough?  How do they feel about their friendships, bedroom decor, clothes and hobbies? Would they like to coast, or surf the high waves.   And if surfing is their goal, how does a parent help a child achieve a reasonable set of expectations?  And if coasting is a viable option, maybe helping your child find inner satisfaction is a worthy endeavor.

So, here I am at age 58.  I'm experiencing lots of changes on the medical end of things; I'm using two new medications, ampyra to help with stamina and walking, and gilenya to reduce the number of exacerbations I experience with MS.  While I can't resolve to recover from MS, I can resolve to responsibly maintain myself within my limitations.

So, sit down with your young 'uns and discuss reasonable expectations for the next year.  You'll be surprised at what they want and don't want.  So go with the flow and keep it reasonable!

Happy New Year!

May the coming year bring happiness, health and prosperity to you and yours!

Happy New Year from Millie, Mollie, Maggie and May.