Tales of the Ordinary Days

I was around 13 years old in this picture. Aunt Kathy was a Creighton college student, home on a visit. I found great happiness in spending time with my family. (Special shout out to my mom for her seamstress skills in making my edgy terry cloth outfit) Talking with a friend, he lamented to me on his frustrations with his child's lack of showing selflessness in decision-making. The story he told definitely had the tone of a spoiled child thinking only of himself. As we talked through how to best parent through this situation, I asked the question that instantly came to my mind. "Does he find joy in bringing happiness to others? Can you think of an example that he can relate to?" Parenting on selfishness most times comes across as a lecture. Using specific examples of past acts of selflessness can get the point across better. We all have episodes of selfishness, whether we are older or under the age of 13. Being reminded of those moments of finding joy in the ...

A week ago I met with an attorney friend of mine. We were discussing a recent case he was working on involving a divorce. As he talked about the family, it was clear that the mother had no respect for the father or the father's role as one of the children's parents. She saw herself as the savior. The only. No plural in parenting in their case. It was an 'either - or'. As we conversed, the attorney who was both married and a father, looked at me and asked me a very pointed question. "Sandy, what do you think about this as a mom? Did you feel like you were the better parent and that your kids only needed you?" Taken off guard by his candidness, I initially wanted to spotlight my ways of being a great co-parent and my ex and I being outside the norm of divorced parents. A pat on the back lingered in my mind. But instead I spoke the truth. "Initially I definitely thought I was the better parent. That my kids couldn't survive without me. And then...

(Grant, Ryan, Nick, Sean) First Sunday of summer break Summer break is official now for both of my kids still in school. With this annual reprieve comes the balancing act around fun vs. responsibility. As you can surmise, I lean on the side of responsibility while the kids lean on the side of fun. A battle at times, but usually with some resulting balance. At age twenty, Ben is becoming an old pro at this feat. He started his forty-hour-a-week labor job last week. Up at seven, he knows that improper balancing of fun and responsibility lead to long work days. Needless to say, he is taking full advantage of this long Memorial Day weekend, knowing his Tuesday 6:30 a.m. wake up call will be here soon enough. But it does typically take about a week for Ben to make the full adjustment. Grant is in that one week zone right now. With finals completed last Thursday at noon and a week off before summer football begins, I can hardly hold him down. "But, Mom, it's my first day ...

Boys playing a charade game in the back seat in route to Vegas I went to bed last night planning on writing a blog about my three sons. The story in my mind centered around my observations of their spending time together again. Brotherly bonding for them. Heart warming for me. And then I awoke to terrible news. Our friends' son died tragically last night. My parenting perspective quickly changed from one of warm fuzzies to a feeling of complete disbelief and heartache. Life can be so cruel. God has a plan and although that plan inevitably includes death, it is so difficult to grasp the death of the someone so young and so full of good. Perspective. Life changing overnight is a wake up call to embrace the fullness of life. We do this by centering ourselves around the people in our lives who really matter, while walking away from the noise that holds us back. So often we get caught up in our daily routines without perspective in our focus. We need to be more like the you...

"sick bro" (Ben's caption) "wisdom teeth debacles" (My caption) Last week I ran into Skutt High School in answer to a desperate plea from Ben. The nice ladies at the front desk know me well. Too well. This is my second son to go through Skutt and this last minute run into school was not my first rodeo. In running tights and a stocking cap at 8:00 a.m., I presented myself and the goods requested by Ben to these fine ladies of Skutt. "Well, hello, Mrs. Lane. What brings you in this morning?" was their greeting to me. Obvious in their tone was that my parental presence was not a surprise. I handed over a signed permission slip for a Senior Studies jail visit that day. I went on to explain how Ben asked me at 7:30 a.m. to write on the back of an old envelope that he had my permission to go to the jail. I suspected this wouldn't cut it. It didn't. The second part of the request was cash required for lunch on the field trip and a granola...

Zach carpooled to the tailgate and game with another Skutt alum, sister to the QB  It probably is sounding like I am turning into an obsessed high school football mom. Wondering this myself, I've given it some thought. My conclusion is that I'm not. Definitely excited and having fun, but not obsessed. It's so much more than a football game. I think of it like a whole ball of happy events, relationships, and circumstances; all thrown together on a Friday night. I'm actually a pretty simple gal. Those who know me, know this. Those who don't, are looking for something more complicated. They're not going to find it. Vanilla. Maybe vanilla bean with sprinkles on a good day, but I'm definitely a simple vanilla at the core. Everything about our Friday night football nights encompasses the simple pleasures in life. The people. I have a huge affinity for my fellow senior parents. We are an eclectic, but tight group. And our circle is not closed. It is ver...

Pre-game senior-athlete introductions Friday night was one of a first and the beginning of a lot of lasts. Since our oldest didn't play sports his senior year, we have never been involved in senior night festivities. This special night under the lights was new to us; a first. There were introductions in front of the crowd and handshakes from the coach. It was very nice. I'm glad we were able to participate. With a great game and a win, it was a nice night for our senior, Ben. On the way to the game, I read my e-mail giving the parent instructions on where and when to line up. Then it hit me. This was Ben's last home game. I hadn't thought about this until that moment in time. Ben really was a senior and this was just the start of a lot of lasts. Reality officially set in. We have been so consumed in the hoopla of fall football, senior pictures, and senior privileges that I haven't had time to think about all the lasts. It is just starting. Next will be the l...

Today is 9/11. The 12th anniversary of a horrible day in US history. Like every other American, I remember the details of that date. From where I was at when I heard the news to the raw fear that I felt, I remember as though it was yesterday. 9/11/01 started as an ordinary day. Blue skies brightened my non-eventful drive to work. Grant was dropped off at daycare and Zach and Grant; at school. The boys were eight, five and one year old. My first agenda item of the morning was a conference call with a client from Onawa, Iowa. As I was concentrating on listening to the two physicians on the corresponding speaker phone, a young Lutz manager kept popping her head into my office. I tried to ignore the interruptions out of courtesy to my clients. As her persistence became annoying, she finally gave me a vocal interruption. "Sandy, you need to get off the phone and come watch the TV. Planes are flying into buildings in New York." I repeated her statement to my clients and ...

Brendon and Grant at school pick up Today I was reminded of a comment made by Katie Couric many moons ago. Katie and I have children the same age. We were both busy working women in the mid-nineties when our first two were born. As an avid fan of the Today show, I watched each morning as I got my boys ready for daycare and school. I will always remember one particular interview Katie had, debating the merits of a working mom vs. a stay-at-home mom. As Katie argued the virtues of working outside the home, she made the comment "I don't think my kids will be psychologically scarred because I'm not home pouring their ginger ale." This statement always stuck with me. As my kids grew and I wasn't always there, I often wondered about the effect of my absentee role as ginger ale pourer. Over the years, I have done my best to accommodate and be physically there. Working around the many schedules that consumed my life, I became very efficient in trying to put my f...

Last week I was flying high and feeling cool. Like a superhero taking on the world, I soared to new heights while increasing the depth of my extraordinary to-do list. And then I went home. To my teenagers, I am so incredibly uncool. Like a cold bucket of reality, my uncoolness was dumped on my head. If you have ever watched the movie, The Incrediables, my role is Elastigirl...the mom. Superhero (or so she thinks) by day and humble (or humbled) mom by night. Me: "I closed on a big deal today!" Teen: "Cool. What's for dinner? Did you really wear that all day? You're a little old for that." Hmmm. Attempt to be cooler.... Me: "I met some really important people today. You'd find them interesting!" Teen: "Oh. Like business people? Or people who are actually interesting?" Done. On to dinner and talk about the cool people they hang with and the interesting things they did all day. Grant is typically my wing-man. The youn...

Robbie We left for the mountains after work. After an hour and a half ascent with Starbucks in hand, we were greeted by our host, Robbie. This handsome guy is two years old. He is graciously letting us stay at his mountain condo for the next couple of days. We were greeted at the door by this smiling guy and all his great toys. He showed us his musical cell phone and demonstrated the power of his plastic riding dump truck. It's been a long time since I played with a little boy. A really long time. For a short period, I was left alone with sweet Robbie. His dad, Rob, helped Garrett bring our bags up. With the close of the door, Robbie realized his dad was gone and gave me a brief look of panic. My maternal instinct innately kicked in. All my tricks on occupying young boys came back. Within minutes, our knocking balloons and crashing toy planes brought back smiles and boy giggles. It's hard to believe it's been ten years since I've enjoyed these toddler shena...

1989 picture with my future brothers and sisters-in-law I just spent the last few hours enjoying Blue Sushi happy hour with my previous sisters-in-laws (not sure of the appropriate title) and their husbands. When I try to introduce them to outsiders, it feels awkward. But to us, our relationship feels natural. What to call them...ex-sister-in-laws? sisters to my ex-husband? aunts to my kids? Whatever I say, the party on the other side is confused. It took me these four years past-divorce to figure out that the other side doesn't matter. Our relationship is our relationship. And it has nothing to do with choosing sides. When I filed for divorce that painful day in December 2008, I remember the shock and fallout. But I will also always remember the loving text I received from Scott's youngest sister, Jennifer. "You have been my sister for more of the years in my lifetime than when you weren't in my life." I choke up each time I think of this comment. Div...

Ben was appalled by vision to the right (but don't my plants to the left look awesome???) I think I am going to work backwards on my day. Seems appropriate. Bieber Fever. Yeah...it's here. In Omaha; full force. Every female under the age of 18 seems to be in attendance. My girlfriends and their daughters, my nieces, neighbors, and my boys' female friends. They are there. Not a relevant issue at our house. Three boys means no Bieber Fever. In fact, it's a bit of "girls are from Jupiter". I kept asking about the concert throughout the day. They bit every time with comments like "seriously, Mom!" and "no JB for me". So instead, I spent the night sitting on my Lazy Boy patio rocker, sipping a glass of wine and catching up on reading. Ben is out with friends and Grant, frantically getting in X-Box time before a week-long overnight camp. Other than occasional interaction with Grant on the other side of the patio screen door, my backgro...

Mark (left), Matt (right), and me (middle) My mom recently sent me this photo. I was the baby with my brothers holding my hands. A picture tells a thousand words. Notice how Mark is hesitant, carefully looking down at his fingers through his long eyelashes. Matt, in contrast, is weighing whether to smash my baby fist in his hand. We all know that this was staged with our mother behind the camera asking her toddler boys to hold their sister's hand. I don't look very happy. My precocious brothers weren't all that thrilled about having a sister either. Looking at the picture reminded me of the story told on my initial introduction to my brothers. When I was brought home from the hospital, my parents placed me on the bed to show Matt and Mark. Lying on a blanket, they took one look and threw the blanket over my face. Then promptly ran away and continued playing. From day one there was no coddling of their baby sister. It is interesting how a picture can elicit varying...

(The following is a guest post by Patty Johnson. In her preface she is referring to my June 23th blog post entitled "Fear") I saw your blog today and wanted to share one of the poems/prayer I wrote yesterday when Julian was sleeping in my arms. Written for all mothers: _______________________________________________________________________ God's Grace By the grace of this sleeping baby,  I know God's love, Who is this little miracle that lights up my world from morning to night? Who does the cherub cheeks and silky skin, beautiful baby come from? His eyes so pure and smile so warm... His love apparent... My heart is saturated by the idea  that I am needed by him Why am I so blessed to mold a little person into a young man some day? Who is this creation of God?  He touches me so deep within that my nightly fears  of any possible harm brings pain so deep, I can barely breathe. His breath is my breath.  His cry is my w...

The boys enjoying a "loving moment" My youngest sons have a love/hate relationship. They remind of the couple we all know who date, but we wish didn't. They fight when together, but can't stand being apart. And they make most everyone else around them crazy in process. With four years between Son #2 and Son #3, I always thought this too big of a buffer for them to enjoy a relationship together. I was wrong. They have been fast and true playmates in all sense of the word. But it truly is love/hate. They bicker over the most meaningless things when together, but are lost when left without the other. Our home life is filled with these two brothers constantly playing games and battling on the trampoline. They go from the tramp to the basketball hoop to the video games. Always together like a couple of carefree children. But while they play, they fight like a couple of wild cats. Recently I decided to follow my mom's influence. As children, my brothers and I ...

The unused swing set I can't part with I spent the last couple of hours in my yard. The high winds and heat required an extra drink for all of my flowers, plants, and bushes. I love my garden haven, but it does require some tender loving care. Tonight I found myself taking several trips across the backyard to accomplish my task at hand. I was in every corner of sacred space tending to all things green. My watering journey caused me to pause and reflect on the life journeys that have run their happy feet through this grassy backyard retreat. The swing-set stared at me as a lonely reminder of days past. I have been asked on numerous occasions to part with it, but I can't. It's a piece of my backyard and our life. The Little Tikes airplane is now gone and disk swing; long thrown away. The hours spent on this playground which spanned two homes and fifteen years seems insurmountable. Ben loved to swing. With a permanent smile on his face, he would swing for hours with ...

Zach and his new car I spent the night grocery shopping with Zach. My twenty year-old son is a man on his own. He rents a house with buddies, has a full-time job and a car payment. Between my explaining how to prepare baked potatoes and the shelf life of lettuce, we discussed the liabilities associated with car ownership. Gas is expensive; especially when your house is halfway across town from work. The cost of licensing a car? He hadn't a clue on this extraordinary expense. No complaints from my eldest, just a lot of questions and life lessons during his journey. And it's only beginning. A challenging role as a parent is explaining that we too have been down these same roads. There actually was a day when I was twenty; trying to figure out who FICA was and why he was taking money out of my paycheck. As we scrounged the dollar aisle for bargains, we talked about the current state of his life. He loves his independence, but expenses and obligations make him nervous. Frug...

The first pair...completely wet. The second pair...half wet from a neighboring towel. Zach had a wardrobe malfunction this morning. He forgot to put his work jeans in the dryer last night. His spare pair were left on the laundry floor next to a wet towel. Ten minutes prior to departure for work, he found himself with wet jeans. As he tried to wear them wet, I knew from experience that this was a bad idea. Wet  pants are miserable. A life lesson for Zach: Put your clothes in the dryer before bed. My life lesson on this matter was when I was six or seven years old. In my instance, the culprit was a wet pair of corduroys. And I wet them. I had to go to the bathroom so badly and we were far from home; playing at the Remsen cemetery. I guess I should explain the cemetery issue first. We really did play at the cemetery. It served as an outdoor history lesson of sorts to us. We would often go to the rectory and Fr. Birdsall would pull out the plot records and tell us names an...

In the Midwest, we all know that our ordinary summer days can quickly turn into tornado scares with greenish colored skies, blowing winds, and screaming sirens. When I was growing up, our shelter was a cellar with access only from an outside door. For me, storm sirens bring back flashbacks of my dad carrying me through ripping winds as I held on for dear life. We were greeted with darkness and the smell of moist dirt. The sounds of whipping branches filled our ears while Mom attempted to mute out the frightening noises by turning up the volume on our small portable radio; our only outlet of communication from the outside world. We sat in the dark, staring at jars of canned vegetables lining the dirt walls until hearing the "all clear" signal. Although the threat of tornadoes are just as scary in today's times, I believe I minimize it a bit more with the convenient access of my comfy basement and the various real time...