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Not My Kid…

Let’s face it, all kids get into mischief no matter how hard we as parents try to prevent it. It seems commonplace today that the majority of parents proclaim their child’s innocence and defend them, no matter what the extent of their child’s transgression.

Just for the record, I am not that parent.

When the middle school called and began to explain in great detail, how my son, Marc took the opportunity to climb the stage, grab a microphone (that was inadvertently left plugged in) and address the entire fifth grade student body during his lunch wave, I wasn’t at all surprised. I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend. I know my son, I live with him.  Apparently Marc felt the need to publicly confront an issue regarding the teachers inability to really listen to the students. I took a deep breath and rolled my eyes. Of course the school did comment that Marc was very articulate in expressing his views and he did get a standing ovation.

“Marc!!!” I yelled, as I hung up the phone…that kid I’m going to kill him!

I have certainly been there before…When we lived in a community with a home owners association that maintained the grounds, the community pools and the rules, my children certainly found a way to butt heads with them. The association complained about my boys playing roller hockey in the street. They also complained about Kevin playing the drums in our garage during the day, on a Saturday. Neither sat well with Kevin or any of my boys for that matter.

Returning from work late one night, I drove by the pool at the entrance of our complex. As my headlights hit the welcome sign (Encased in plastic with snap in letters), it no longer read “The Annual Meeting of the Home Owners Association will be held May 4th at 7:00 PM.” as it had when I left for work.

I stopped and sat in my car as I reread the sign again.

“The Anal Meeting of the Home Owners Association will be held May 4th at 7:00 PM”

I had to laugh out loud before my anger started to rise.

Kevin. That kid, I’m going to kill him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Your Lack of Planning is NOT My Emergency…Or Is It?

What is it about kids that makes everything from, “Mom I need socks!” to “Can you drive me to my game?…it starts in fifteen minutes…” a total emergency? If life isn’t stressful enough, add lack of planning and extreme urgency to equal one frazzled mom always chasing her tail. If you’re not quite sure what I’m saying then let me make it crystal clear…

On a Sunday night, I’m sporting some comfy pj’s while boiling water for a cup of tea when my son Rocky enters the kitchen.

“Mom, we have to go to Home Depot!” he announces.

I reply, “Home Depot? It’s twenty after eight and they close at nine. I’m in my pajamas. What could you possibly need at Home Depot at this time of night?”

“Some chicken fencing and wire cutters.” Rocky replies, matter-of-factly.

“For what?” I ask, not hiding my annoyance.

“The science fair. It’s tomorrow,” Rocky says.”Come on mom, we have to go before they close.”

“Why do you kids ALWAYS wait until the last-minute?” I begin to complain, “We had ALL day to do this!”

Now, if you’re a parent you know exactly how this story ends. Yes, I drove Rocky to Home Depot. Yes, chicken fencing and a decent pair of wire cutters are expensive. Yes, I stayed up half the night helping to construct a science fair project. Yes, Rocky did well in the science fair and got rave reviews. Yes, my tea was ice-cold. And yes, I was dead tired the next day at work.

I have had many last-minute trips to stores just before closing, to purchase poster boards to diagram the skeletal system and others to purchase foam balls to recreate the solar system. I am well aware that I have many more in my future, as well as many more sleepless nights ahead. At this point, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it’s all part of being a parent.

All of that being said, I’m pretty sure that the cosmetic industry will never invent an anti-aging cream that will counter the fatigue my appearance has suffered living under this amount of pressure and daily stress…but if they do, I’m buying myself a case.

 

 

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Taking It To The Top

It’s too nice of a day to play inside, I thought, as Marc and his friend Angel returned from school and ran up the stairs to Marc’s bedroom. They were both quiet so I figured that I would give them a little time inside before I suggested they make the best of the nice weather and find an outdoor activity.

I was busy cleaning up the kitchen when Marc entered the room with Angel in tow.

“Mom,” Marc called as he extended his right arm and motioned to hand me what appeared to be Angel’s cell phone. “Can you talk to this lady?”

I was a bit caught off guard, not knowing who was on the phone or what I needed to speak to them about.

“Hurry up mom, she’s waiting.” Marc said urgently while moving the phone closer to my ear.

Perplexed, I managed a brief “Hello.”

“Ma’am, was that your son I was just speaking with?” the woman on the phone inquired.

“Yes.” I replied, as I glanced around noticing that both Marc and his friend had left the room. Just great, I thought. I still had no idea about the nature of the phone call.

The woman continued, “Your son, I have to say, is very intelligent and very well spoken…and I do realize that assigned seating on the bus is a very big deal to a fifth grader…but here at the State of Connecticut Legal Department, well, we don’t handle those issues.”

Shocked, I managed a brief, “I understand.” in response.

“Now, you can certainly take the bus seating issue to the principal or to the superintendent, or the board of education if you are unable to get any satisfaction otherwise…” I heard her say, while I contemplated how I even ended up taking part in this conversation.

“Yes, I understand. ” I mumbled.

Before hanging up, the woman added with a laugh, “You have quite a little boy.”

“I know, thank you.” I said before saying goodbye.

I walked to the foot of that stairs and yelled Marc’s name. Before Marc even reached the bottom he had a flurry of questions…

“So, what did she say? Do we still have to have assigned seats on the bus? Can I sit next to Angel now?”

While Marc was excitedly awaiting my reply I said, ” Marc,  I have one question…why in the world would you call the Connecticut State Legal Department, on Capitol Hill in Hartford, to complain about seating on your school bus?”

“Well mom, it’s not fair for them to tell us where we have to sit on the bus,” Marc began, “And I just want to sit next to Angel…so I figured I’d start at the TOP.”

“Marc, the lady said we have to call the school,”  I stated,  “And don’t ever hand me a phone again without telling me who I’m speaking to.”

“Okay, Mom.” Marc said, “I’m sorry.”

The door slammed as they went outside to play and I had to laugh out loud.

That’s my boy.

 

 

 

 

 

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Sleep’s Overrated, Anyway…

When Marc was a toddler his older brothers used to call him the “Night Crawler.” I knew I was in for it from that point on. Marc always had trouble falling and even staying asleep. Having three boys, I innately understood that if I had enough children, I would experience one of everything, the picky eater, the biter, the crier, the spitter and yes, even the night crawler. I never imagined that Marc’s sleeping problems would continue throughout his life and worsen in his teenage years, ultimately contributing to my lifelong exhaustion.

One Sunday night, before I had the opportunity to begin my usual “because it’s a school night” lecture, Marc came into my bedroom at 9 PM announcing that he was going to bed. As he walked out of my bedroom door and into his own room I was elated. Should I read or go to sleep, I thought…this was too good to be true.

The house was finally quiet, for once. I decided to slide under the covers and spend some much-needed “me time” engrossed in a good book. I was joyous!  It was hard to believe that two hours had passed when I heard Marc’s bedroom door open.

“Mom, I’m uncomfortable in my bed. I’m going to sleep on the couch.” Marc stated.

I replied, “Okay, but get to sleep. You have school tomorrow.”

I went back to reading my book but my mother’s intuition kept nudging me. It was then I realized that I hadn’t told Marc good night. Maybe I’ll just go downstairs and give him a kiss on the head. I quietly walked down the dark staircase from my bedroom to the living room. I approached the couch and leaned over to kiss Marc on the head…wait where was his head…it was covered in blankets.I felt for Marc’s shoulders then down his back. I yelled for my fiance’ John.

“John, come down here!”

John made his way down the stairs and into the dark living room.

“Where is Marc?” I asked.

“Right here.” John replied as he reached for Marc’s body on the couch “I can feel his legs.”

“Can you?” I asked John as I turned on the living room light and pulled back the covers.

Image may contain: indoor

There on the couch were Marc’s joggers stuffed with clean folded and rolled bathroom towels.

“He isn’t even home!” I shouted as I ran back upstairs to grab my cell phone.

I was both upset and concerned as I dialed Marc’s cell phone number. No answer. What parent doesn’t love to call their teenager’s cell phone (which they pay for) and get sent straight to voicemail, especially at a time like this and on a school night.

Time to go to plan B, I thought. I sent Marc a text stating that the cops were looking for him. Now I just had to wait.

Five minutes later Marc flew into the house.

“Mom, mom, mom, I’m sorry. You didn’t call the cops did you? I couldn’t sleep. I was only at my friend’s house across the street.” Marc stated with fear in his eyes.

“You are lucky that I didn’t…this time. Don’t you ever do that again! Now go to your room and go to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I replied.

I had to chuckle to myself a bit as Marc walked up the staircase to his bedroom. I always thought that as a parent, I would be one step ahead of my kids at all times. I guess I was wrong.  Maybe I could be…if I could just get some more sleep.

 

 

 

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Why You Should Care About Historic Homes

I spent twenty years in an abusive marriage before finally leaving in January 2010. My three sons and I have endured a great amount of trauma and pain which has had long-lasting effects on all of us. I’ve come to realize that unfortunately, what you leave is also what you take with you. It hasn’t been an easy road. My youngest son, Marc, has had the most difficult time dealing not only with what transpired in my marriage, but with my divorce from his father. Marc struggles with anxiety and depression and he also has ADHD. Everyday presents a new set of challenges that most parents couldn’t even fathom.

On a beautiful spring day when Marc was eleven years old, he returned from school clutching a handful of paperwork while impatiently yelling my name.

“Mom, mom, mom!” Marc bellowed.

“Hold on, honey. I’m on the phone.” I replied.

I was on the phone with a friend of my father’s, Melanie Marks, founder of Connecticut House Histories. At the time, my father, Edward Collins, was devoting a great amount of his time, passion and effort into trying to save Gustave Whitehead’s historic home in Fairfield, Connecticut, from demolition. For those of you who don’t know, Gustave Whitehead was an aviation pioneer who made history’s first manned, powered, controlled, sustained flight in a heavier-than-air aircraft in Bridgeport, Connecticut, two years before the Wright Brothers flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. My mother’s grandmother, Mary Savage (Jusewicz) was one of eighteen witness’s to Whitehead’s flight, so my family has an interest in preserving Whitehead’s historical home and legacy.

I had to end my conversation with Melanie more abruptly than I would have preferred, but Marc’s urgent pleas could not be put off any longer. Ironically, Marc had just returned from a school trip to visit the Osborne Homestead Museum, a historic house located in Derby, Connecticut. (pictured above)

“What’s up, Marc?” I asked.

Marc asked, “Mom do we have carrots, corn, celery, potatoes and chicken broth?”

Confused, I opened the refrigerator and took a quick inventory.

“Yes, Marc, we actually do,” I said, while I checked the kitchen cabinet for chicken broth. “Why are you asking?”

Marc unrolled the papers that were clenched in his sweaty fist and handed them to me. I stared at a wrinkled recipe that boasted it would make, “Enough to feed a large colonial family.”

“Where did you get this?” I inquired.

Marc replied, “Mom, I had the best day! We went on a school trip, visited this old house and I learned how people lived in colonial times. This is what they ate. I even saw the kitchen that they cooked in. It was awesome! I’m making dinner tonight…and dessert,” he added, handing me another recipe for an apple cobbler dessert.

“Do we have the stuff to make this too?” he asked, “Do we?”

Glancing over the second recipe, I surmised that we also had all of the ingredients to make the dessert.

I nodded my head, yes. Marc had never shown an interest, and had no experience in cooking for that matter either, especially not dinner and dessert, I thought.

“Okay, get everything out that I need,” Marc stated, “but I’m doing it all by myself.”

“Marc, these recipes are entirely from scratch,” I explained, as I started grabbing all of the ingredients, pots, pans, measuring cups and utensils that he would need.

Marc replied, “I know mom, I can do it. Tell everyone that I’m making dinner.”

“Okay, Marc,” I replied, “but I’m going to stay and watch you,  just in case there are any questions. And to make sure that you don’t cut yourself. In fact, if you cook, I’ll clean the kitchen!”

Marc gave me a quick smile as he carefully read the first recipe so he could perform each step. Marc began chopping the carrots, then the celery and moved onto the daunting task of peeling the potatoes while his large pot of broth began boiling on the stove. My eldest son, Kevin, walked in the room, took one look around and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Marc is making dinner for the family tonight.”

“And dessert.” Marc added.

Kevin yelled for my middle son, Eric (Whose nickname is Rocky). “Rocky, come here, you have got to see this!” Kevin laughed.

Seconds later Rocky flew into the room. “What’s going on?” he asked Kevin.

Kevin replied with a chuckle, “Marc is making dinner tonight.”

“And dessert.” Marc added.

“Well, I’m not eating it.” Rocky stated with a snicker.

As they left the kitchen, I heard Kevin yell, “Good luck, Marc.”

Two and a half hours (and one destroyed kitchen) later, with flour, dirty dishes and scattered remnants of vegetables everywhere…both dinner and dessert were finally prepared. The soup was ready and the cobbler was in the oven. Marc looked as disheveled as the kitchen when he exhaustedly stated, “That was a lot of work.”

“Not as easy as throwing a Hot Pocket in the microwave, is it?” I asked, as Marc and I set the table together.

“No way!” Marc replied, before becoming a bit nervous about his dinner tonight. “Mom, do you think it’s going to be any good?”

I have to admit, although messy, the kitchen smelled wonderful. “Marc, your soup looks delicious and it smells even better,” I replied, “Don’t worry, everyone is going to love it.”

Excitedly, Marc called his brothers for dinner. Reluctantly they came. We sat at the table while Marc filled each of our bowls and served us the first meal that he had ever made entirely on his own. The soup was delicious! Both Kevin and Rocky praised Marc endlessly as they asked for second helpings. Marc beamed as he served each of his brothers more of his colonial soup.

Over dinner Marc told us all about his day and what he had learned about the Osborne family. He mentioned that the lady at the Osborne Homestead said the Osborne family was buried close by, then Marc asked if I would take him to the cemetery to visit their grave-sites.

As dinner was winding down, the timer on the oven went off signaling that Marc’s apple cobbler was done.

“What was that?” Rocky asked.

“That’s my dessert!” Marc replied.

“You made dessert too?” Rocky smiled, “This kid is amazing!”

Kevin added, “I have to hand it to you Marc, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you could do all of this by yourself!”

The smell of baked apples and brown sugar filled the air as Marc served his homemade apple cobbler with a side of whipped cream. Everyone was in heaven as we talked, laughed and devoured our dessert.

“Marc, you did it!” I said, giving him a big hug.

“Thanks, Mom. Are you still going to clean the kitchen?” Marc asked, as he glanced over at the disaster that awaited me.

“Yes Marc, I am. Thank you for making a wonderful meal.” I said.

“I love you Mom.” Marc replied.

“I love you too, Marc. And I’m really proud of you!” I said.

I am so grateful to the Shelton School system for giving my child the opportunity to visit the Osborne Homestead. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the Osborne Homestead for the wonderful learning experience and subsequent inspiration that they provided for my son. It is truly priceless.

I am deeply saddened that Gustave Whitehead’s self-built home in Fairfield was not preserved and saved from demolition, nor were P.T. Barnum’s Home, Tom Thumb’s Home or the Wheeler Mansion, to name just a few.

In a world of YouTube, Netflix and video games, are we as parents offering our children the best learning experiences available to them?

I say my son’s experience at the Osborne Homestead answers the above question with a definitive “No.”  It is important to value, preserve, visit and donate to ensure the continued care of the historical homes in our state for ourselves and future generations. I know I will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Valentine’s Day Twist (As Told From the Perspective of Your Waitress)

I’ve worked in a restaurant most of my life. I enjoy people and serving the public. Doing so has helped me to develop amazing interpersonal skills and also an array of great stories. Through the years, Valentine’s Day has been a busy holiday and a standard couples night out.

Walking into any restaurant on Valentine’s Day, you’ll be sure to see tables filled with adorable couples, blissfully in love, sharing a bottle of wine. How romantic, right? Wait, maybe you’re not seeing the entire picture, like I am…your local waitress.

Allow me to give you the inside scoop…

Filet mignon, lobster tails, baked stuffed shrimp, rack of lamb, flowing drinks, roses and intimate conversation like this…

Table 2:

Me: “Here’s your appetizer,” as I set down the plate. “Jumbo shrimp cocktail.”

Wife to me: “Thank you.”

Wife to husband: “MY mother gave ME the money and if I want to buy a new ottoman, I’ll buy a new ottoman!”

Husband: Frowning, “Whatever you want dear.”

Oh boy, I think.

Table 3: 

Me: “Hi. Excuse me.”

Couple: No response

Nevermind, these two need to go and get a room, I think.

Table 1:

Husband: “Excuse me. Can I get another drink?”

Me: “Yes.” I reply, thinking that’s his third one.

Table 4:

Me: “Hi! Can I get you something to drink?”

Female guest: “Yes, a…glass of pinot grigio.”

Oh God. She’s crying, I say to myself.

It’s peak dinner time and the house is packed. I bring table 2 their entrees and they’re arguing. I return to table 4 and realize that his date has left as he places an order for himself, while looking embarrassed.

This night is a mess, I think. Well, it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

As I’m at the computer entering an order, the wife at table 1 gets up to use the lady’s room. Moments later I feel someone pulling at my apron near the side of my  waist.

Drunk guy from table 1: “Hey, beautiful! What are you doing later?”

This guy’s wife is in the lady’s room. You have got to be kidding me.

Valentine’s Day is full of hope and expectation of the perfect romantic evening, the perfect connection. In my perspective, you can’t conjure up that romance or that connection. Valentine’s Day isn’t about doing what’s expected or trying to show your love one night out of the year, it’s about celebrating your love every day of the year.

Whether you spend Valentine’s Day out at a fancy restaurant, or home in your pj’s eating chinese food and watching Netflix, give the one you love the best you have to offer…every single day.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Love,

Your local waitress

 

What is your favorite Valentine’s Day story? Share it here.

 

 

 

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Rise to Criticize

Rise to Criticize

via Daily Prompt: Criticize

Never in my life did I fathom that the three adorable little babies that I brought into this world would grow into three handsome teenagers that now, apparently, know more than I do.

Okay, so I was a teenager once too and I do remember snickering when my dad imparted his unwarranted, fatherly advice which usually started with sentences like…”You know, life isn’t a bowl of cherries…” and “This isn’t a place just to hang your hat…” Each sentence was followed by what I took as criticism.

Fast forward to 2017 and from the moment my sons rise in the morning it’s an ongoing life lesson orchestrated by the sound of my own voice. I stare at their blank faces while I try to explain the reason they should see, or act on situations in life a certain way. (Cue deep sighs and eyerolls)

My points, no matter how eloquently expressed, are met with statements like, “Maybe that worked back in the olden days.”(Note: Which was the 80’s, by the way) or “Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” (Note: Of course I do.)

Yet we all know that the age-old struggle between parents and teenagers will never cease to exist.

I was well into my adulthood the day that I called my dad and said, “Hi dad. I get it now… Life isn’t easy and when I think about all the advice you gave me growing up, I wish I had listened. You were right about everything.”

I could hear the smile in my dad’s voice as he replied.

“That’s nice to hear! I love you honey.”

I replied, ” I Love you too dad.”

I’m not fortunate enough to have my dad anymore…but I hope one day my sons will each wake up to the same realization that I came to and that I will receive the same beautiful phone call, three times over.

The other thing that will never cease to exist is the realization that what teenagers see as constant harping and criticism, is actually the deepest form of love.

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Top 10 Ridiculously Relatable Real Motherhood Moments

I’ve caved and succumbed to the latest popular blog craze…the top ten list. Apparently life is so busy, and the majority of people have so little time, that any kind of numerical list is preferable to having to read an entire article. I can certainly deliver…just expect that even my list will carry the same humor and perspective that makes my blogs worth reading.

Ready?

Top 10 Ridiculously Relatable Real Motherhood Moments:

  1. The Diapering Challenge – Any mom worth her weight will tell you that she has managed to diaper her child in a gas station bathroom, on a trip, while balancing her baby on the top of her thigh. This takes skill. Not to mention, an experienced mom could fasten a diaper on a standing, moving child any day of the week.
  2. Inappropriate Baby Talk – Your first night out postpartum may entail you’re telling the waitress that your drink tastes “Yucky.”  As soon as the words leave your mouth you no longer feel like an adult that should be out in the real world…no worries, it’s par for the course.
  3. Safety First – Eight years of car seats lined up across the back seat of a mini van. Finally your youngest is ready for a booster seat and you are almost home free. Then your youngest receives a Toys r Us  gift card for his birthday and he can buy whatever he wants. Unfortunately, what he wants is a baby doll that he names George. George comes well equipped with a mini stroller and a car seat. Is there no end to this madness?
  4. Where Did This Come From? Three kids running around the grocery store while you’re checking your list and shuffling through your coupons can only lead to disaster. Keep the faith while you hold up the checkout line removing all of the items that your kids threw in the carriage while you weren’t looking. Who knew a three-year old could lift a metal gallon of extra virgin olive oil into a cart?
  5. For the Love of Independence! So sweet to let your child save all of his change in a zip lock bag and learn how to purchase a toy on his own. Such a proud consumer moment, except for the annoyed cashier and the woman behind you that’s on her lunch hour.  Cringe. Sorry…but not really.
  6. Oh My God! He was Just Right Here! – Most mom’s hate to admit it but we have all lost our children in a store, a mall or at an amusement park. You can taste the fear in your throat while you argue with your significant other about whose fault it is, only to find your child happily playing a video game in the arcade.
  7. Did He Really Just Say That? – While in public, your child growls at a woman in a thick, black fur coat while curling his fingers into claws, or he decides to point and loudly refer to the feminine looking man next to you as “That Lady…” Either way you have to smile and suck it up.  Yeah, motherhood!
  8. It’s In Here Somewhere –  You’re at the bank when the teller asks for your ID. After removing four action figures, a few matchbox cars, two happy meal toys and a half eaten cookie, you’re still looking. Ignore the eye-roll. You’re a good mom.
  9. For the Love of Laundry –  Okay, admit it. You have washed everything. When I say everything, I mean everything…rocks, chewing gum, crayons, markers, action figures, cell phones and birth certificates. If you laughed and shook your head yes while reading this list, yet still have more to add, you are definitely a seasoned mom!
  10. Just Smile & Ignore Them –  Let’s face it, our kids come first. So what if your son is at the grocery store in full Santa attire ( Santa Suit, boots, gloves & Santa hat) in July when it’s 90 degrees. People may stare but at least they don’t have to wash costumes year round, like you do. Let them think what they want.

Being a mom isn’t for that faint of heart…in fact it’s for the women with the biggest hearts of all! Carry on. You’re doing GREAT!!

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Damn the Kardashians

So, here it is, my blog. Maybe my daily life deserves more of a platform, like say, a reality show. Maybe the Kardashians have more junk in their trunk, or more stack in their rack…but they have NOTHING on me. “My life, I swear….” I find myself repeating that as my mantra in the face of yet another ridiculous situation, after another ridiculous situation.

I am a single mom of three boys, Kevin (20), Eric aka “Rocky” (17) and  Marc (14). I live with my boys and my fiancé , John, a man I dated 27 years ago (that’s a story in itself). John also has a son, Matthew (20) who lives with John’s ex-wife but comes to visit us. Sounds like the normal 21st century blended family, right?  Right. Unbeknownst to us, my ex-husband spent three days living in our basement this past winter. Did I mention that Kevin is an aspiring film maker and a graduate of the Connecticut School of Broadcasting? This kid has been carrying around a camcorder since he was three and nothing is off-limits, in fact EVERYTHING is material. Kevin is also a rapper, as is Marc. They have rapped on the stage of Toad’s Place, New Haven, as well as other venues. Eric, also known as “Rocky” is my sports star, a seasoned hockey player. John’s son , Matthew, is a talented,  competitive ballroom dancer. John is currently unemployed, which leaves plenty of time for friction with my unruly teenage boys. I am a writer, public speaker and most importantly, a midlife waitress.

There’s the cast of characters.. Ready to see what could possibly happen to make my life put the Kardashians to shame? I promise not to disappoint.