Or in other words; The Curse of February Is Upon Us.

I woke up today feeling angry and annoyed about something at work, feeling a little bit frustrated with those emotions because I also knew I couldn’t vent at the guy who was the source of my consternation because he’s a subordinate. Before I left for work, 3T and I said a prayer. Then, as I drove to work, I was extra careful as I cursed how unseasonably cold it was out here in the desert.

Yes, it’s February, the really cruelest month.  Forget what the poet T.S. Ellliott said about April being the cruelest; February has it beat hands down.

If you’re a longtime reader of my bride’s blog, you know she’s written extensively in the past about this cursed month.

When we first married, I used to smile at her hyper-superstitious attitude toward February, especially, but not exclusively, Valentine’s Day. Yes, she told me how her ex, when they were married, wrecked his car in a head-on collision running to get flowers because he forgot Valentine’s Day. I said yes, that was bad luck. But I also thought that was typical of his near legendary absent-mindedness and refusal to plan even an hour ahead.

But over time, I have learned first-hand the February curse.

Lets see, just two years ago, the love of my life was wracked with pain from a bulging disc, and it took us weeks to find a cure. Though that started in January, it continued well into February, and was compounded by our former family physician’s initial refusal to even believe that she was suffering. The x-rays convinced him, but I still can’t understand why that hack wasn’t moved by her anguish.

Then, of course, came February 2006, the month I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I won’t go into all the gory details, all the grueling tests I underwent, to say nothing of the hack job my surgeon did that almost put me at death’s door. Yes, all that occurred over the course of four months, but it started in February.

And I am now a believer in the February Curse.

Yes, there have been some memorable moments 3T and I have shared in February. One that comes to mind was our trip last year to Blush, a fundraising effort put on by some groups that assist AIDS victims. It was a hoot, and a lovely time. And we’ve had our own special, private moments. Not even February can rob us of them.

Still, nothing like seeing one’s spouse writhing in pain without end or being told you have cancer that affects your manhood to dim one’s view of the month these things occur.

In some ways, I should have known better about this month from the start. When I lived back in the northeast, February pretty much marked the beginning of a dark depression that enveloped me until April. That was completely attributable to the miserable winters that are an annual event back there. Winters I never ever miss since I moved to the desert in 1999. Winters that bit your skin like a hundred mosquitoes. Winters that posed a danger just about anytime you were driving. Winters that enveloped everyone with so much darkness that you felt a kinship with Eskimos. Winters I will never ever be near again.

Unfortunately, the only way we cannot be near February again is a bit too stark of an alternative to suffering through it. I don’t want to be dead, in other words. So I and my bride will just endure, fists and teeth clenched, hoping for the best and expecting something less than. We’ll keep one eye on the calendar as February draws closer and closer to an end. And most of all, we’ll do our damndest to make love and laughter an antidote to this most wretched of all months.

Yes Dad, I’ve made another believer in The Curse of February. So much so, that we do not, nor shall we ever acknowledge Valentines Day, in any way, shape or form. Take THAT! Hallmark!

Our Best to Everyone, this most cursed of all months.

Kevin & Teri

Part of me has for quite some time lamented the passing of time. Or more to the point, lamenting the loss of my youth. Having the natural blush in one’s cheeks being replaced with make-up, knowing that not going to the hair dressers will show my age in a matter of weeks, due to the ever-increasing amount of grey growing in. Seeing fine lines starting to form from years of pouting the lips together to inhale on a cancer stick. Those “laugh lines?” Look more like wrinkles each passing year.  Knowing you are in your desired dress size, but still, they don’t quite fit like when you were 21. On occasion I may allow myself to dwell on the downside, more to get my butt in gear to minimize the downside of forty-something.

BUT, the unexpected surprise that comes with forty-something? I have passed the age where I matter. At least in society’s love affair with youth. I’m free to wear whatever I like, whenever I like. I’m not tied to the latest trends, which go out as often as one changes their underwear.

I can be as flamboyant, as eccentric or eclectic in dress as I chose to be, and it doesn’t matter. Freedom of age. I aspire to one day head up one of my own Red Hat Society ladies groups who wander the town in the purple outfiits with red hats, lunching here and lunching there. And not caring who is staring or wondering why all those “old ladies” are wandering around in public with overly ornate and bright red hats.

With forty-something comes the freedom to just be. To enjoy the simpler aspects in life that in the earlier years I was running and moving too fast to notice. The blue skies, a perfect rose and a sunset that can take your breath away. Standing as an observer of youth, watching as a Jr. High boy, with love in his face gives his “girlfriend” a peck on the cheek as she rides away in her mother’s car.

There are times I go to pick my daughter Tayler up, where I have to wait for her to get things together and get herself out to the van. I use this time to really look into the faces of youth and see all their possiblities, sometimes their hopes written all over their faces. And at times, see the distinctly famalier look of depression that comes with puberty. I take those moments to pray for that particular young person.

Reminding my daughter and her girlfriend Heather that a smile and a sincere “Hi” to one of their “outcast” labeled classmates may do more for this person that they will ever know. I remind them that once school is over for them, all the social norms and labels that are in play in school become nothing in the real world. It may very well fall on deaf ears, but maybe, just maybe, they will run into a classmate who desperately needs a contact, or connection, and they will provide it.

Forty-something provides me with some confidence to try and reach out in love, with a simple smile and hello. A polite “Thank you” to the frazzled cashier who may have the world on her shoulders trying to bring a working living in to her family.

Forty-something is stopping to smell the roses. My opportunity to connect with various individuals, simply by making eye contact and smiling. With age comes the realization that connecting with individuals, instead of indifferently walking by, provides me with more blessings and a sense of well being, than any amont of parties or uppity social clubs ever could.

God’s commandment to all of us was to “love one another.” Forty something is realizing that loving one another means more than what may be safely tucked away in our hearts. It means bringing it out and proudly parading it. Putting actions to our feelings, compassion and words.

It doesn’t always work. There are times your warm and sincere “hello” will be met with indifference if not downright rude dismissal. Forty-something says it doesn’t matter. For every five rude and indifferent individuals, that one, whose face will light up, just by being acknowledged makes it worth it.

Our city of Mesa is seeing a shocking spike in teenage suicides. Standing by indifferently, and doing nothing is not a solution. All of us need to reach out to these kids, whatever form it may take. We start one at a time. With ourselves, and our children. Teaching them manners, politeness and how to treat their fellow students in the face of a growing epidemic of indifference. We’re losing precious lives to the epidemic of indifference and rude behavior.

The symptoms are all around us. On the roads where “road-rage” is the rule and not the exception. People running around stores at a rat-race pace, bumping into one another like mice in a maze, with not so much as an “excuse me.”

Changing our times can start with us. The forty-somethings raising teenagers. Involving ourselves in their lives and the lives of their friends. Reaching out with unconditional love, and learning how to really listen to what they are saying.

Forty something for me is learning to slow down and make a difference, one person at a time. Changing the signs of the times cannot be done through government legislation, it cannot be done alone by our overworked and under-staffed school systems. It takes all of us, one un-noticed kind act or connection at a time.

The freedom of forty-something is realizing the power of a smile and human connection. I’m learning that true inner peace and happiness comes from these acts of kindness and love. Taking (what used to be perceived as risk) steps to reach out to one another.

The vanity lost to age, being replaced with loving one another, far outweighs any perceived loss of youth. I’m learning to love the freedom of forty-something!

Love,

3T

Bob the Busdriver modeled for the Intercity Transit 2004 Guide. This copy autographed for my daughter Tayler.

Meet Bob the Busdriver ( aka my Dad ), who, after retiring from Teamsters after 20-some-odd years and taking a brief break from the work world, returned reincarnated as an Intercity Transit busdriver. After working 12 to 15 hours a day driving and delivering different goods, (based on his employer at the time) driving a bus was something he enjoyed. He didn’t quite view it as “work” as far as what he was used to in the past.

Meeting the many and varied personalities riding the bus is another aspect of his job that he has grown to love. Many of his “regulars” will greet him with a hug and/or a friendly smile and small talk.

On his bus with Tayler & Riley, a couple of years ago.

Having ridden an Intercity Transit bus during my teenage years, let me say there are a wide variety of personalities who drop their coins in the slot. From teenagers and suits heading to work, to the disabled and others living on a fixed income, they come from all walks of life. A point and contrast Bob the Busdriver enjoys and has grown to love in his job.


Let me introduce you to Beverly and Barbara, two of Bob’s favorite patrons. Beverly and Barbara were twins separated at birth, both with mild Downs Syndrome. Later in life, they were reunited and now live together with the aid of a social worker and assisted living personnel.

Beverly and Barbara LOVE to ride the bus! To the Salvation Army, or Goodwill, for a shopping trip, and then on to one of their favorite churches that serve meals to the poor for dining out. (They especially like the church if the meal of the day is FISH.)

Beverly and Barbara have none of the social etiquette and/or hang-ups that most of us live with on a daily basis. Much like any 10-year-old (although they are in their 50’s), they are happy in the simple things that life brings their way.

Each day brings them a new conversation with Bob the Bus Driver, and any other patrons willing to chat. One day it was, “Hey BOB, look at my new shirt! It has kitties on it!’ Bob, being the good natured and loving soul he is, remarked at how pretty both ladies looked today, and asked where they found such nice shirts. The reply was happy and good-natured as she said what a great deal she got at the Salvation Army!

“It was FREE, can you believe that?!”
Bob replied, “What a heck of a good deal that was!” Causing all around them to smile at the complete and happy innocence that Barbara and Beverly possessed.

Barbara and Beverly have that affect on a good many of Bob’s patrons. They always manage to bring fond smiles to the faces of their fellow riders.

One particular gloomy, dreary overcast morning in Olympia (Olympia is mainly made up of dreary, overcast clouds and rain), Beverly entered the bus sans Barbara. She immediately began the happy chatter that is part of Beverly and Barbara’s bus drive routine. Big smiles and a loud and happy, “Good morning BOB!” Ya think its gonna rain today?” One look out the window showed dark forboding clouds ready to burst at any moment. Bob replied, “I dunno Beverly, it sure is lookin’ that way!”

This particular morning had a suited up gentleman sitting nearby, listening to the conversation between Bob the busdriver and Beverly happily chattering on. With the mention of rain, the suit decided to teach Beverly about barometric pressure and build-up and how rain clouds form and release condensation. On and on this gentleman pontificated about the weather and cloud formation.

Beverly, with a curious look on her face, stared at the gentleman without blinking an eye or uttering a sound. Waiting patiently, admittedly with a little fidgeting one might see in a grade school child listening to a particularly boring morning lesson. But Beverly was polite and waited for her teaching benefactor to end his dissertation on weather. At long last (and with a satisfied charitable grin), he finished with, “Yes Beverly, I think we will definitely see rain and very soon! As the gentleman settled back, with a happy smile, Beverly gave him one more blank stare, and turned to Bob.

Without missing a beat, and with an excited grin, she said, “BOB! Did you know I have butterflies on MY socks?!” With that, Bob the Busdriver, smothering his laughter, asked where she found socks that actually had butterflies on them! Her excited and satisfied reply, “I had to hunt, but I found them at Goodwill!”
Bob the Busdriver did his best to not look in the direction of the suit, as each time he did, he couldn’t stifle the laughter.

Another time, Bob the Busdriver asked Beverly and Barbara an eye-opening question. He commented on how happy the twins were each and every day, and how much he admired and enjoyed seeing them. He then asked them if they ever had arguments or fights. Both women responded with shocked dismay, asking Bob the busdriver, “Why would we fight? We LOVE each other!”

I’m not sure completely WHY, but I have this strong urge to go hunting for socks with butterflies on them.

Rachel - aka; Bad Santa at our Christmas Blogger Brunch
And a Monday no less! Rachel is coming over to have lunch with me, and hopefully to teach me how to upload music to a blog post. Since my computer skills are what they are-- this could go either way.

So if you see a blog post with just a music strip in it, it means we are hard at work with my teaching tutorial. If it doesn’t work, let me know. Nicely, please. Otherwise, I may very well cry.

Everyone should have the opportunity to enjoy a special friend like Rachel! She is one in a million, and I love her!

Fingers crossed my brain cells are in working order!

Love,

3T

I fondly remember the days of sleep deprivation from crying babies. Of cleaning up vomit. Of gagging through diaper after diaper of stinky baby shit. First, let me say, I have never been one of those mothers who thought their baby’s shit didn’t stink. Changing diapers was more than a chore, it was a lesson in breathing through the mouth so I wouldn’t puke right into that shitty diaper.

I look back with trepidation at the fact that I longed for my babies to be older, more independent, able to dress themselves and make their own breakfast. What a fool I was, wishing away the simplest time in my chidlren’s lives. When their every comfort was dependent upon me.

I contemplate the angst I have put myself through worrying over a rugrat’s struggling academics. Enforcing rules, and establishing routine. All of this seems like a cake walk now.

The hardest lesson I’m learning is standing by and watching my adult child make some of the same mistakes I’ve made. Of seeing my adult child go through the consequences of his actions, that reach years into his future.

Baby shit can’t hold a candle to seeing your adult child heading for various disasters, trying to intervene and having your advice thrown back in your face. Looking into your once baby’s face to see indifference and a smug know-it-all gleam in their eyes. Being accused of trying to interfere in his life and fun, knowing he is headed for a day of reckoning.

It goes against the Mommy mentality to stand by and watch as the shit hits the proverbial fan. It goes against the Mommy mentality to not rush in and try and save the day. To stand by and watch as consequences make your once-baby’s life more difficult. To see the uphill battle of life get steeper for him. Honestly it rips your heart to peices.

I know a young adult has to learn the lessons that come with irresponsible behavior. They have to feel the consequences of their actions, in order to learn from them and pull themselves out of the self-made mess they created.

The lessons in life can be hard and made harder by our own bad choices. The lesson I’m only now learning, that maybe I should have learned earlier in my children’s lives, is to not hop in and make it all better. To not hand a twenty dollar bill to an adult child to try and make things a little nicer.

I know I have made my share of mistakes as a parent. And as a parent you can’t help but worry the mistakes they make are not directly tied to your parenting. Feeling guilty doesn’t change the facts. Trying to bury that guilt with money and gifts, may lead to hurting them more.

Standing by and not bailing your kids out, but allowing them to do it for themselves, is the hardest lesson I’m only now working on. Seeng your predictions and warnings come home to roost, is not a good feeling. 

Tough Love. I’ve heard that expression thrown around for decades now. I started reading the book by that title years ago, although I can’t remember much about it now. I am coming to the conclusion, though, that tough love is by far harder on the parent than the adult child.

Tough love may be the only way to get through to some kids. Coming to the realization that your adult child in some ways is more like you than you would want for them. That they may very well be the type of person who will only learn from their own mistakes, and the consequences they endure.

Watching them make mistakes, remembering not to throw the proverbail baby out with the bath water, is another lesson I struggle with. Trying to remember all the wonderful qualities in your child that make you proud of him or her. Balance.

Remembering that he is, or can be, compassionate and kind hearted. That he doesn’t do drugs and drink. That he isn’t out prowling around for various women to use. His sense of humor that delights you when you least expect it. Balance.

Remembering that not bailing them out may be the most loving thing you can do for them. And that bailing them out may very well hurt their future indefinitely.

Being a parent means letting them struggle up that steep hill they created. If for no other reason than to allow them the opportunity to feel pride in overcoming those obstacles. To know they dug themselves out, and that they are indeed much stronger and capable than not only you, but than they thought themselves to be.

My once-baby is an adult. Adult enough to push me away, and block my advice or concerns. This makes him adult enough to take it all on. Not just the good but the bad as well. And gives him the opportunity to prove himself.

But it’s still the hardest lesson I’m learning.

Son-of-a-blankety-blank-blank-blank! Where did this last week go? This wasn’t a week with any significant events or activities, just the daily routine, a head cold, and catching up on....what? I’m going to chalk it up to adjusting post-Holidays.

This weekend will be all about working on and finishing up the thank-you notes to those who thought of us this holiday Season. Well, this is what we’ll be doing in between football games. It seems my devoted husband has taken my written blessing (an old post) on him watching his favorite sport seriously.  So be it. I think I can find ways to occupy myself that don’t include watching back-to-back football games. (This is NOT whining, just my attempt at a little lighthearted ribbing and humor directed at the hubby)

We will be going to the Phoenix Home Show, to get ideas on redoing our desert landscape in the front yard. Kevin has found a place to fit this in prior to the start of one of the many games he’ll be watching. As well as taking 3TSTAXI (aka; Teri’s Taupe Toyota) in for its very first tune-up.

I resent these yearly tune-ups. Seriously. You buy a brand new vehicle, that comes with a decent size monthly payment. One does this, knowing that car repairs are practically nil, and that dependability is at its best. BUT, annually, in order to maintain your parts and repairs insurance, you must take your relatively new vehicle in and spend an average of $300 to $500 to “tune-it-up?” This reeks of a scam if you ask me. And a waste of perfectly good rat-holed money taken from you against your will. 3TSTAXI has less than 8,000 miles on it, (I’ve had this vehicle since October 2005, although it’s a 2006 model. That’s VERY low miles people!) and has had her oil changed religiously on schedule. She does NOT need a so-called tune-up. Rat-bastard car lot thieves dealers!

But overall, I’m looking forward to a weekend sans kids, but with the hubby. Kidless weekends always go by far too fast. Since I don’t know where the week went, I’ve no doubt the weekend will fly by as well.

And that you’ll be seeing another post over the weekend, since I’ll be the proverbial football widow with plenty of time on my hands. (I secretly love this on occasion, though I won’t tell the husband that)

I hope that you have an enjoyable weekend, whatever is on the agenda.

Love,

3T

Today marks the second anniversary of the day I started blogging. Two years marked by ups and downs, good times and bad. And all of the above I can find right here in my archives.

I love this hobby, and find writing in my blog to be cathartic.  A focused outlet for all of my melodramatic feelings, emotions and thoughts, it has given me a form of therapy. As well as an accounting of what we have accomplished and gone through each year.

The hidden benefits, or the ones I didn’t anticipate, were the rewarding and close friendships I have developed with more than a few of my fellow bloggers. So I mark the day with a special post. I would also like to thank all of you who have read this blog throughout the two years. A special thank you to those who have taken the time out of their days to leave a comment or two; giving me both validation for my feelings and practical advice when I asked for it. You have been a blessing in my life, in one form or another, over the last two years.

Here’s to many more years of blogging!

Cheers!

3T