Tales of the Ordinary Days

"Made by Mary" tag proudly sewn on inside of pajama top (Brutus to my right. Photo cred Garrett) My mom made my jammies and I love them. I love them a lot. Enough that I packed them for our last out-of-town trip, and most trips for that matter. They are my cozy, go-to, favorite nightwear. Typically paired with a fluffy sweatshirt or furry slippers, this black flowered combo is starting to show some wear, but will likely be falling apart before I part with them. As a child, my mom sewed a majority of my clothing. Having store-bought clothes was rare and only for special occasions or items too difficult or expensive to sew (winter coats, socks, sweaters...). This was such a norm in my life that until junior high, I didn't know other kids bought a majority of their clothing. My mom would spend hours going through bolts of material, carefully planning our next season wardrobes and choosing patterns to complement our sizes and personalities. Wardrobe by mom My fon...

Day 12 | 30 Days of Writing In text exchanges with my father-in-law, Larry, I often get this response when I ask what he is doing... "Porch time!" I had never heard this phrase before, but totally get it. For him, it means sitting on the porch late afternoons with neighbors. Watching the cars go by, possibly enjoying a libation, and taking in the action of a small town. This was no different from my days growing up in my small town. Most homes in Remsen had porches, many with porch swings or rocking chairs, either the wood or iron models. And walking through the town meant waving to the occupants of these outdoor posts. The picture above that showed up on my FaceBook feed is a mirror to my childhood memory. When visiting my Grandma Gib, she had an enclosed porch where we often sat and talked about whatever struck our fancy. At the farm of my other grandparents, we skipped the fancy chairs and just sat on the cement step of the porch. We spent many summe...

Our daily early evening routine from 2004-2006 Well, it's happened. Baby is a senior. Months from graduation. Our last hoorah. My feeling is similar to the day I went to kindergarten round-up for him. As I sat in the crowd of parents, I couldn't believe my youngest was actually going to start school. He was just out of diapers. This couldn't be. Having a panic attack, overstressed with 3 young kids while juggling a demanding career, I was sure I had made a mistake. So I did what any good accountant would do. I recounted the years on my fingers. 2000....2001...2002...2003...2004... Yep. Despite my temporary confusion, Baby Grant really was old enough to go to kindergarten. And so it began. I have cried my way through many last-parenting moments starting with our drive home from the hospital following Grant's birth. With each flutter and kick with Baby #3, I enjoyed every minute of my last pregnancy. His birth was the planned last. Knowing it was the beginn...

Grant finishes the front yard Today Grant and I raked leaves. A yard full of nature's colorful palette. And a sign of the change of seasons. The changing seasons is one of my favorite things about living in the midwest, with summer-to-fall as my all-time favorite. Each year I delight in putting out my Halloween decorations. Football, hoodies, and bonfires fill our nights. Trading in the petunias for the peonies and mums, while preparing the autumn foliage for frost. An annual rite of passage. With a 70 degree Sunday, today was a perfect day to do yard work. It was also an excellent time to reflect. Sharing sweat labor with my 16-year-old was frosting on the cake. Physical labor in the great outdoors builds character. I was also reminded of the changes in the seasons of life. Fast forward two years and all Lane boys will be out of the house. I must now confess that I have never mowed my own lawn. There have always been plenty of able men around to perform ...

Grant at a Creighton game ~ Fall of 2007 Baby Grant got his school driving permit yesterday. My days of carting kids and playing taxi driver are almost behind me. A bitter sweet time. Although I will be gaining a new found freedom, I have actually enjoyed this car time with the kids. But instead I am reminded daily that my youngest is now a young man, not a child, and that he is no longer just the tag-along little brother. He played that role well for many, many years. From the toddler to junior high, Grant watched hundreds of baseball, basketball, and football games with his brothers on the field. Grant's vantage point was typically in the stands, under the stands, or behind the stands. With his dad as coach for many of the teams, Grant would also tag along to practices; learning great skills in keeping himself busy and finding fun in people and things on his own. Now almost 16, this training has served Grant well. He never lacks for something to do and is quite skilled,...

Love abound? Probably not... Cleaning up my e-mail archives, I stumbled on a story my mom shared with my nephew and then later shared with me. My first ordinary day as the little sister... Sandy Wagner: home from the hospital 9/16/67 Dear Josh, Aunt Sandy turned 46 years old last Friday, the 13th. After getting home from the hospital on the 16th, I laid Sandy on the sofa and called Matt & Mark to come in the house from the backyard. Babysitters Gma & Gpa Gib were going on and on about our new pink bundle of joy while both boys walked very carefully to investigate what warranted so much attention. They got real close to her face for a really good look. Who to blame? I don't remember, but someone flipped the top of the blanket over Sandy's face. No longer interested and impatient to play again, they left the room to go back outside. I wish I could describe Gma Gib's reaction and Gpa Gib's laugh. Gma Gib was a little less complementary a few minutes lat...

My brothers...Mark (far left) and Matt (far right) Their best friend from childhood, Rich, is appropriately in the middle Tonight was Date Night. A beautiful spring night in Omaha. Garrett and I enjoyed sushi and libations on the patio of Blue in Legacy. The conversation and stories were top notch. Date nights are sacred to us. With time as our most valuable asset, we are bucky about budging for superseding plans. From boyfriend and girlfriend to husband and wife, Thursday nights are always booked. Locked and loaded. This afternoon, prior to Date Night, I enjoyed some personal conversation with a business colleague. Somehow we got on the subject of dating. My friend commented on a man she had dated for a short period that seemed to have it all; looks, smarts, success. But he lacked something that my friend couldn't initially put her finger on. He was boring. On paper he looked divine, but on a date; a complete bore. She missed the banter. The playful dance. There was no ...

Contributed by Mary (Pick) Wagner Everyone loved the Clay County Fair and our kids were no exception. This photo helped capture the fond memories of that afternoon. Mark remembers Rich driving and Kathy taking the picture, and the fair being fun and thinking it was huge; Matt recalls Rich really liking the silver White tractors with CAT engines; Kathy bought incense and polished rocks for Sandy who was feeling special to have an aunt and uncle take them to the fair. But there’s more to this story.  Unknowingly, my mother scared the daylights out of me when she left a message at the Omaha NE motel where Jim & I were staying for the weekend, to call her.  Much to their liking, our kids were staying on the Pick grandparent’s farm on Sunday and in town with the Wagner grandparents on Monday.  Always in good hands with never a worry, I thought to myself “This can’t be good.” Mom, sensing anxiety in my voice, reassured me nothing was wrong; she only wanted ou...

Mom and her famous wreaths As I read people's Christmas posts and their words of fond holiday stories from years past, I'm reminded of the little things that rest in our happy memories. It really is the sights, sounds and smells of the season that linger. My own personal treasure chest of memories may seem incidental to most, but these little bits of Christmas fill my heart with emotion each time I reflect... The warmth of the stove on my three-year old back as I sat next to it, playing with my magnetic alphabet set. I was allowed to open one gift early on Christmas Eve. An act of charity as I was home bound with the Chicken Pox. We did not go to our grandparents that year. Mom cooked a turkey and our little family stayed home. The sight of a three-wick candle burning brightly in the formal living room. The lights were dimmed with Elvis singing Christmas carols from vinyls in the background. Our record player was a large piece of furniture used to display our favorit...

Family picture taken in 1984 My parents moved to Kingman, Arizona in 1986. This decision rocked my world. I had just chosen to go to college nine miles from my hometown. A year later they chose to move 1,517 miles away from my childhood home. I didn't see this coming and they certainly didn't ask for my pre-approval. They moved in the fall, shortly after I started my sophomore year. I had just started dating Scott and my brother, Matt, had finished a two year stint in the army and was attending college in Fort Dodge. As we faced our first Christmas outside of our comfortable existence in Remsen, Mom and Dad surprised us with plane tickets to Arizona. This was our first visit to their new home. Mark drove up to join us from Tempe. I had mixed emotions about this holiday trip. Every family tradition I loved was now history. I had just started dating Scott and couldn't fathom the prospect of being separated from my boyfriend. Matt and I were both enjoying our colleg...

I am pretty sure my brother, Matt, believed in Santa as he tore open his gift and my parents looked on (circa ~ 1966) I never believed in Santa. <sigh> My non-belief in Santa is a dark secret of my childhood. I have no memory of ever believing. My mom tells me that on my second Christmas, I crawled out of my crib before anyone was awake and opened the presents under the tree. My vague recollection of this event isn't about the magic of Santa, but only of the pretty wrapping paper. Our next door neighbor, Michael Wischnewski, told me there was no Santa Claus. I was three. He was thirteen. Mom was furious. The resulting impact to me: no memories of lying in bed on Christmas Eve, waiting in exhilaration for Santa as visions of sugar plums danced in my head. <another sigh>  That being said, I do remember trying really hard to believe. Growing up, I watched my friends experience the magic of Santa Claus as I tried to convince myself that ...

The year we were busted. Cousin, Adam, is nestled in the middle. I have always enjoyed the joy of a great surprise. Growing up, I would often asked to be surprised with gifts rather than having each present chosen to my specifications. Unwrapping a pink flowered robe on Christmas day, knowing my mom had picked out this retail treasure just for me, was bliss. My brothers, on the other hand, did not buy into my naive wonderment. Their Christmastime goal was to uncover every hidden treasure and unwrap in advance of Christmas Day. And no matter how hard I tried to resist their Grinch antics, I would ultimately cave. I was a willing participant in a trio of holiday hi-jinx. The year of note was during our pre-teen years. Old enough to babysit ourselves, our parents would leave us alone when they would go out. During the holiday season, they were gone most weekends socializing. The minute Mom and Dad would walk out the door to go out to dinner or to a holiday gala, we three kids wou...

I stopped at Barnes and Noble today. With a gift exchange tonight centering around books, I needed to grab a couple of specific titles. As I meandered around the store, searching for my desired purchases; I was quickly reminded of how times have changed. My immediate observation was that I hadn't been to B & N for ages. One year, to be exact. I was in the store last Christmas to buy a book on cars for a charity event. I haven't been back since. Although I wouldn't have believed this fate five years prior, it was reality. A trip to Barnes and Noble was a weekly outing as my boys grew up. We would wander the aisles, checking out the glorious volumes of bound paper. As the boys carefully examined everything from action comics to their favorite reading series, I would eventually be drawn to the "employee recommendations" section. All-time best sellers would catch my eye as well. Although I am realist in knowing this goal is likely unattainable, I do have ...

As I enjoy my Saturday at home; cooking and buzzing about the house, I am reminded of these carefree days as a teenager. With my teenage jobs in the food service and childcare fields, my days were typically open with only Saturday nights dedicated to work. The sweet memories of these early 80's afternoons off are filled with my working on creative projects and trying out new recipes in the kitchen. My mom was a home economics major and it showed on our daily lives. I got my creative genes from her. As I started a new adventure in the living room or kitchen, Mom could typically be found in either her sewing room or stripping furniture in the garage. With Mom occupied, Dad at work, and my brothers; anywhere but home, I had the house to myself. There was always the warm buzz of the TV in the background. My Saturday television favorite was Matinee at the Bijou. 80's Matinee at the Bijou YouTube clip . I fondly remember teaching myself how to make cream puffs in the kitchen w...

When my kids feign occasional boredom, I wonder how on earth they can be bored comparatively to my childhood. I grew up in a small town with few amenities to the comparative big city they live in. After visits to Remsen, the kids would ask what I did as a kid. Obviously they noticed there wasn't a mega-plex movie theater, outdoor shopping mall or Gamestop video store. "Well, we swam and played at the park." <silence> "We played with our friends in the streets and back yards." <more silence> "And when it was too hot or raining, we spent afternoons at the library." Now that got their attention. They couldn't imagine what we would do for hours at a library. Although they have participated in summer library reading programs, we bought most of our books at school book fairs and book stores. Going to the public library, let alone spending periods of time there, was not common in their days. But it sure was in mine. The Remsen Pu...