Tightening the purse strings.

This has been a big year for me and the Smith family, I'll expound on that in a later post, but one of the biggest occasions has been booking the Smith's 2017 trip to Europe. I was born in Heidelberg, Germany (my parents were stationed there at the time), in 1978, and I have never had the chance to return to my birthplace but that is going to change. We head abroad at the end of May, for a "quick" trip and I am beyond thrilled.

As you can imagine, the trip has been a very frequent topic of discourse in our household. For months now we've been discussing itineraries, flight schedules, passports, & rental cars. I have selected all the cities and sites (Disneyland Paris & the Neuschwanstein Castle made the list, of course) that are mandatory stops on my thirty-eight year old, Trip of a Lifetime; Tarzan is just happy to come along, he makes planning a trip such a breeze. Cheetah has added Rome, Italy, as his must see city on our European trek, and continuously adds new venues to our expedition through Europe.

Due to the hefty price tag that comes along with a trip overseas, we've been tightening the purse strings at the Treehouse. We've instituted meatless meals, elemenated eating out, greatly reduced our outside entertainment budget, and have begun keeping each other in check on our frivolous spending.

I began asking myself, "Do I need/want this? Would I rather _____ while in Germany or France?" - each time I consider purchasing new clothes or shoes. I have also been prompting Tarzan when he is contemplating a purchase and Cheetah when he is requesting a new toy or game, with the same round of questions and have found this practice to be the most helpful; until recently. I believe that I may need to create a different method to remind the family, The Boy especially, as to why we're currently sacrificing our wants for a future time and location:

One day as I reviewed the weekly grocery run with The Boy, we were both adding our lunch & dinner items when I mentioned needing to add tampons to the list. Without skipping a beat, Cheetah demanded, "Do you really need tampons, or can you wait to get tampons in France?"


It took several minutes for me to reign in the snorting and tear shedding laughter but I was able to smile lovingly at him and counter, "Yes my dear, I am sure that I need the tampons now. I may even need tampons while in France, too."

It can be tough on a frugal mom, check out this link for a little comedy relief.

They left a legacy.

Yesterday she would have been 95; to say she was the best grandmother I could have asked for would be an injustice. She was half my heart, the snort in my laugh and the light in my eyes. Her blood runs through my veins and continues to pump life through my scarred and lonesome heart. Sure the pain is somewhat dulled but my eyes still well up, easily spilling over with the mere thought of my life without her.

The loss of her sometimes seems to overshadow the loss of O'pa but I think that's just because we helped each other through loosing him. I stayed with her for over a week after he died because I wasn't sure I would be able to breathe again, if I left their house. We spent days without talking, going through the motions. I would fix her meals and we would both pretend to eat; at night I would lie beside her and we would cry until our bodies ran out of steam. On the night before I left she admitted to staying up late the weeks he was sick, and spending hours sitting in his chair just to feel close to him and smell him; her honesty was so comforting that I admitted to sneaking into his room when my shift was over and it was someone else's turn with him, because I was afraid I would regret not being with him for every second he had remaining. That night was the first night I hadn't cried my self to sleep since the beginning of August (he died on August 18th). I still didn't want to leave the safety of their home but at least I wasn't leaving scared, she had given me hope because I still had her.






You see, my relationship with my O'ma and O'pa was anything but typical. I was blessed with a wonderful set of parents who have always done above and beyond what parents (and people) should do for me, but O'ma and O'pa were like Parents+. I spent my Summer, Winter and Spring breaks happily by their sides. In large part, I have them to thank for being able to see all 48 Continetial United States; our times in the camper, seeing America will never be forgotten. We stayed up late playing games, teasing each other, and mapping out the next day's route. We spent countless hours discussing life, love, and trials. I was given unriveled access to their stories, lives and histories; nothing was off the table, I could ask them anything. There were times when I could tell that it was a tough topic, there were many pregnant pauses and answers that began with, "It was a different time..." They told me the truth.

There were times in their past where they disappointed themselves; but as they recounted these moments, they made sure to inform me that Parents and Grandparents are people and that they make mistakes. This was probably the best information they ever game me; sure it lowered the pedestal I had placed them on, but it was vital. I was able to go back to this lesson as time marched on. I used it as a point of reference with my parents and once I became a parent; it puts things in perspective and lowers anxiety levels when considering some of the tough choices that parents have to make.

These two were good people. They showed me how to be a person, how to live my life, and how to die with dignity. The world was a better place because of them and I am a better person for having known them. This legacy that they left me, must be handled with care and put into place. I will leave this earth much better than how I found it.

Patience is the answer.

Tarzan and I often get the question, "Why did you choose to have only 1 child?" While I strongly believe it is no one's business, I can say that after a very short week home, I have been reminded of the main reason: Patience.

Currently, Cheetah is lamenting my entire existence because I am insisting that his percussion practice be deliberate & focused, the moments of insanity are increasing vastly. It's like his heartbeat is some how linked with the amount of muttering & eye rolling he can produce. Heaven forbid I have a correction to make on his homework or an idea on how he can better edit his shorty story - his face reddens and his sighs become laborious. Those are the moments that I try to count to a hundred and remind myself of the food quality & accommodations of prison - must stay strong!

He tends to react better reason. So breathing deeply, I try to explain that my duty is to instruct him on how to be a contributing member of society; I have to instruct him on how the real word works, how to make & keep friends, how to get & keep a job, and how to stay on the right side of the law. Of course this conversation is met with more sighs & frustration from The Boy and as I begin counting  from 1 to 100, I can feel my imagination slipping down a rabbit hole...go with me here:

We happen upon a coliseum filled with crazed, screaming fans as Cheetah is marched into the center by a scantly clad Adam Levine. A hush falls, as I stand to greet the Challenger. I list the Challengers crimes: not fulfilling promises, blatant disrespect of authority, addiction to gaming devices, & a complete unwillingness to complete menial tasks - the crowd hits their feet and begin jeering at the Challenger. As the Challenger turns to select his weapon of choice, I usher in Dwayne Johnson who is carrying a house cat who is suited for battle. As he lovingly scratches the cat's chin and smiles in my direction....

"Mom, I'm sorry I get so ugly with you. I know you're right and that I am letting my desire for television and video games rule my life and my actions...(he continues to talk as he leans in for a hug)."

I mutter some version of forgiveness as I try desperately to return to my studly daydream...darn kids.

Gather Your Gatekeepers

I feel better than I have in months, my smile is radiating from deep within me, this past weekend was cathartic. Many of my college friends & I gathered in Memphis to celebrate the nuptials of a very dear friend. We danced and laughed the nights away, we strolled down memory lane regaling all who would listen with stories far too colorful for the light of day. Monday, as I journeyed home with sounds of Brandi Carlile, Prince, Janis Joplin & Johnny Cash wafting through the air, it all came together. I was home.

In these smiling-tear stained faces were the women I grew up with, over time we had let life steal us away from each other. We had become disconnected and unfamiliar with what we love about ourselves, because we couldn't see it reflected back to us, the way we can we are with them. Our memories are part of us and without their reminders, it is difficult to remain whole. We must tether ourselves to one another and make our time together a priority. Our hearts and souls crave it, we long for each other because in each other, we can find the pieces of ourselves.

There are those in our lives who hold sacred our trust, friendship, and memories; they are the gatekeepers of our existence. We need each other. Life is not meant to be lived alone, it is meant to be savored together. Gather up your loved ones, near and far...don't wait too long.

578,424 lives to change.

Throughout our visit to The Big Easy Cheetah noticed the people on the streets who were sleeping, crying, or asking for help (food, money, jobs, or shelter).  He asked, “Why does it seem that so many of these people live on the street?”  Thoughtfully, I answered, “Because many of them do live on the streets.”  I let that sentence sink in as we walked in silence, for a few blocks. 

“How does that happen?  How do you not have a place to live?” he asked.

  

I began, “There are a lot of situations that can lead to homelessness, son; it is something that effects all races, genders, and economic statuses.  That means it is something that can happen to anyone.”  I am no expert on the topic but I tried my best to cover all the situations I could imagine. I tried to cover financial loss & unemployment, drug & alcohol addiction, and mental & physical disabilities. 

I reminded him of our conversations on debt and how easy it can be for a person to get behind financially, I also explained how unemployment and lack of skills can leave a person without a way to make a living.  Then I tried to describe addiction and disabilities and how alienating they can be, how they build up walls in your life that make it difficult for you to continue fruitful relationships with the ones you love.  I attempted to clarify why some drugs are illegal, what they can do to you, why people take them and how deadly and addicting they can be.  We googled pictures of some of the drugs he had heard of and I took the opportunity to educate him on some of the synthetics that are sweeping the nation and ways to say “no” to people.  He seemed to grasp how feelings of despair and depression can lead people to a life of solitude; how inviting being on your own can be when you feel unworthy or if you're frightened you may be hurt or hurt someone else.  Then I covered medical care and how the inability to afford proper medical care can leave people in mental and physical states where they cannot be taken care of properly or cannot afford to take care of themselves, properly. 

 
By this time I was zapped, but I could see our hotel and knew we would be in a dark cool hotel room in under five minutes.  That's when I was thrown a curve-ball.  We crossed the last street there sat a disabled man wearing a hat similar to my father’s, it read “Vietnam Veteran.”  I could barely breathe.  The Boy squeezed my hand so tight.  He reached into his pocket and gave the man his dollar.  He then said, “Thank you for your service.”  Silently we walked through the hotel and boarded the elevator, still holding hands.  Once we reached our room he asked me how I thought that man ended up on the streets.  I then tried to explain war and how it can leave a solider broken, to a nine year old.

Thankfully Tarzan called and asked if we would be willing to pick him up.  Cheetah and I jumped in the car and headed out of the city.  As I piloted the car through the rain his eyes fell upon the underpass where a large number of (what he/we assumed to be) homeless people; his voice shook as he uttered, "Mom there are just too many of them.  We have to help."  He was right.  (Please check out The National Alliance to End Homelessness in America, they have viable solutions for all areas.)

We picked up Tarzan and he rounded up the final questions Cheetah had for the day and filled in anygaps in the explanations we had discussed earlier in the day.  Our tired minds and heavy hearts needed some lifting, so we headed out for frozen yogurt before bed.  I was so glad he opted to take a shower and call it a night, after binging on frozen goodies.  I turned off all the lights and sat on the floor by the bathroom listening as my sweet son drifted off to dreamland swimming in the sounds of my Bread station on Pandora.  He might not have been aware of it but I saw pieces of his innocence dying that day and it was so unsettling to see the harshness of the world through his eyes.

Everybody loves Muhammad Ali.

This past weekend Tarzan, Cheetah, and I headed to The Big Easy, or Our City - per Cheetah.  Tarzan had a competition to attend and we decided to make the most of his built up Hilton points and get out of Cajun Country for a couple of days.  After spending Friday as a family and doing the zoo, Cheetah and I spent Saturday hitting the high notes.  We walked nearly 17 miles in those 2 days, exploring Our City and getting to know each other.  We asked each other hard questions and talked about subjects that make parents uneasy.  We talked about drugs, homelessness, love, statues, and violence.  It seemed that around every corner was another verbal mile marker:  a moment to teach him how the world works; a moment to stop and hug; a moment to reflect in a parent's loss for words.

After lunch and a power nap we rode the riverside trolley to the end of the line with the intention of walking back to the hotel, after grabbing a bite to eat.  We were discussing all the statues we had seen that day and what made each person worthy of becoming a permanent part of the New Orleans scenery.  We discussed Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay, and Joan of Arc.  At this point in the conversation I noticed that a large rambunctious group of young men, that were celebrating, had been walking ahead of us for more than 5 blocks.  I discerned that though they were partying and their conversation was being carried well beyond our ears, their language was noticeably censored.  I was impressed that such spirited men could be aware of young, impressionable ears.

As we got closer to Café Du Monde, Cheetah began discussing the statues of Louis Armstrong and Antione “Fats” Domino, "Mom I have a question that is hard and I don't think you will have an answer.  Why are there not more statues of black people, why are there only statues of musicians?  Lots of black people have done great things."  A bit leery of how to answer his inquiry I carefully began constructing my answer.  "Dude that is a really good question and you're right, I don't really have an answer.  It doesn't make sense."  I realized that while I was answering Cheetah, the young men had grown silent and were mouthing things to each other and began glancing back towards us.  “I mean what about Martin Luther King, Jr or Muhammad Ali?”  He added, “Everyone loves Muhammad Ali.”

Before I knew it, we had physically collided with the group of young men.  They had all turned around to face us and were smiling.  One guy grabbed The Boy's arm and asked if he could shake his hand, confused he obliged and took his hand.  Another young man then hugged me and said he was really touched by my honest answers and frank conversation that I was having with my son.  With watery eyes he turned to his friends and said, "I am speechless."  They all nodded and added their pieces of praise to my loving son, gave him high fives, and we all voiced our good wishes.  They headed towards Bourbon Street while we kept moving towards our hotel.

Cheetah smiled and said, “See Mom, everyone loves Muhammad Ali.”


Laughing, I hugged him tightly.  “I believe you’re right,” I said.








 

A journey interrupted.

I have been on a journey.  Like every other journey it proved to be enlightening, painful, and a bit disappointing.  In just over 2 years I have lost 60lbs, learned how to defend myself, and reclaimed my estranged self confidence.  Sadly my body couldn't keep up with my spirit.  So with a trick knee and a few bulging discs, I have had to hang up my gi and resign my goals of wearing a black belt.

For several months I have been mourning the loss of my four year plan.  It was so exciting to have a goal again, a reason to work hard and strive for more.  I have been lost and depressed.  However, I am determined that this will be a mere hurdle and not a set back.  With some lifestyle changes, I have been able to keep the weight off but I am still in search for the next step.

Tarzan and I have a goal for 2025, but what will 2015-2025 have in store?  For now I will work on living life and possibly cultivating my writing.  It is possible that dust and cat hair aren't the only things residing in my laptop, may be inspiration lives there too.  Checking Google will be the obvious next step, there is bound to be an app for that...