Tales of the Ordinary Days

  A few weeks ago my previously favorite blog subject (otherwise known as my middle son, Ben) called me for advice. The reason isn't significant now, but his approach to the conversation carried weight with me. "Mom, I need your advice on something. And before we even go there, what I am going to tell you is completely my fault. I get all the life lessons around it. What I want is just advice. So can we just put that all aside and stick to advice on my situation?" I respected Ben's ask and we had a productive conversation. He sought out advice from others and ultimately came to a good conclusion. Owning his shit and life lessons acknowledged early on,  I am pretty confident Ben won't be in the same situation again. I have always felt that a top responsibility in parenting is to teach our kids to think critically on their own. A specific skill that falls squarely in this category and high on my list is the ability to own your shit. To accept blame when due. To know...

Fam picture - Christmas 2018 (Garrett gets photo cred) I chatted with Kat on Christmas Eve. She’s my kids’ stepmom and my ex-husband’s wife. By my estimation it’s been at least five months since we’ve spoken. Like a couple of old college friends, She and I quickly caught up in the five minutes before I had to take off. Recently I commented to a friend on how weird it was to not have routine interactions with my ex, Scott, and his wife, Kat. With no school activities, sports, or the coordinating of kids, the frequent phone calls and texts have stopped. No more sitting in the bleachers together at football games or coordinating holiday breaks. As weird as it sounds, I miss this. But then I remind myself that the lack of having a reason to talk to each other is a good thing. It is a sign that our sons are doing just fine. We have no worries or issues that warrant discussion as co-parents of adult children. The boys are all doing their thing, happily flowing in their individ...

A sampling of the Skutt 'blond bombs' of 2015 'Change of seasons' is the phrase that is lingering with me this morning. One would think this is obvious with the recent 'storm watching and waiting'. The Christmas music on the Sirius radio line up and blast of ads for the upcoming Black Friday are constant visual and audio contributors. But it's even more than that for me. No doubt the weather app was the most accessed iPhone button yesterday. And although Omaha avoided a rush of white powder, my welcome mat last night to Denver was a blanket of winter wonderment. Bundled up for the Hawkeye Express My brother, the forever Hawkeye fan, is with his daughter among the masses at Kinnick Stadium. It is cold and full of snow. With the ongoing text updates I am receiving from him, it is apparent that Iowa was well represented in the recent snow fall. Nebraska got a bye. This change of seasons has also led to practical thoughts. Like moving the guinea ...

My kids are so different. By now my oldest son has viewed the above picture and is rolling his eyes. Although Zach is a man of few words, I know what he is thinking. "Time to close the yearbook." Ben holds on. Zach moves on. And Grant is now smack dab in the moment. As I drove home from work yesterday, I watched the sun set on a cool fall night and remembered the same drive a year ago. Instead I was driving to my son's state championship football game in Lincoln. Fast forward a year, Ben is now graduated and in college. And Skutt is back in Lincoln, playing for a back-to-back state championship. I teared up as I drove. Great memories poured into my mind and into my heart. No doubt it was a memorable night. Now that I can reflect on a win and a great night, I can also share a personal confession. I was not the good mother cheering from the stands. Instead I sat in the bathroom and paced the interior halls by the concession stands during the...

Who says my house is quiet??? I ran into a friend and fellow Skutt mom at parent-teachers conferences about a month back. Her question to me centered around the perceived quietness in my life. "You haven't been blogging lately. I bet life is quiet without Ben around." I went on to answer with positivism on Grant and my new routine. Yes, it was more quiet. And, yes, we did miss Ben a little bit. But quiet was good with blog subjects less abound with my purported favorite subject out of the house. Life has continued at a hectic, but predictable pace. It actually took some time for Grant and I to get used to two days a week with just the two of us. With a husband in Denver on Mondays and Tuesdays, I hadn't a clue what these days would feel like less Ben. Three kids to two was a much easier transition than two to one. Our new two-person existence actually felt awkward for a while. Neither Grant nor I knew what it felt like less his older brothers. A feeling ne...

Garrett, Ben and I assembling the dorm room Yesterday was moving day to UNL for Big Bad Ben. It was a good day. No tears. No angst. Just time for change and a rite of passage. Good for Ben and good for Mom. Earlier in the week, I worried of the pending fire drill that seemed imminent. As is typical for my middle child, little planning or packing had occurred in advance. Although Ben assured me he had it handled, I projected chaos on our scheduled 4:00 p.m. Friday move into Harper Hall. My organized self decided to follow Ben's blind lead and kick in Plan B, if necessary; make sure he took clean underwear and his backpack and then make a second trip to Lincoln later with all the things he forgot. I'm officially thankful for the short 40 mile commute. But Ben surprised me. With his dad's lead on Thursday night, he cleaned out his room and packed Home #1 for school. Based on Ben's hoarding ways, this was an unbelievable achievement to complete in just a night. Pick...

Morning drive for school drop-off I love dropping Grant off for school each morning. There were days in years past when we were always rushed on this morning drive. I considered this activity a "check the box" of starting our morning. Finding Grant a ride was merely a necessary accommodation. But not this year. I clear my calendar and enjoy the ride. Grant is an eighth grader. The big Kahuna. The last year for the legacy of Lane boys. We started at St. Wenceslaus the fall of 1998. This puts us into our 15th consecutive year at our grade school. That's a lot of years. Most parents in my position are burnt out by now. I have seen it many times over the years. As the parent of a young Zachary, I never understood the mothers of 8th grade trail-enders; praying for the day of 8th grade graduation to arrive. Coincidentally, the mothers of the boys were even more enthusiastic. I would observe from afar, wondering if this day of wanting grade school to be over would come...

The Blonde Bomb (a.k.a. Ben Lane) Although my hope is for Ben's blondish-orange mop to be short lived, I've grown used to this look. I would go as far as to say, I'm fond of his shock top. When he first arrived home with his newly dyed do, I didn't feel this same sentiment. It was a bit of a shock to look at each day, but warm a reminder of the unity of the Skutt football team. Silly was the thought of the adults. Good karma was the thought of the boys. Obviously the boys won out. The hair followed them to the championship game. The title win is now becoming a distant memory, but the hair remains. I have noticed other players with new buzz cuts or hair dyed back to their normal color. Not Ben. He is going to enjoy every inch of blonde until it grows out. He foresees no buzz in his future. The nickname sticks. Ben's Muppet-like hair is fitting to his over-the-top personality. Although a football decision, I could easily see a changed hair color in Ben...

Lane boys enjoying the Broncos/Chiefs game When Grant was eight, he missed a football practice because Nebraska Football Fan Day conflicted. I called the coach to tell him about Grant's pending absence. His response wasn't one of annoyance, but instead admiration. "Wow, that's so cool that you're taking Grant to Lincoln to meet the football team. My mom would have never done that for me growing up. I hope Grant appreciates it." His response actually took me aback. Didn't all moms take their kids to Lincoln for all things Husker football? I marked my calendar religiously for theses events; the spring game, fan day, and the regular season games. And we almost always hit an away game each year as well. What I have learned, although not previously suspected, is that these are typically dad/son trips. Moms and sons spending time together at sporting events appear to be an anomaly. But not at my house. God gave me boys. My life has been free of Ameri...

On this very windy November Sunday, I remembered this old blog post and thought it worthy of a repeat... As I walked into work this morning and shared "good morning" pleasantries with a co-worker, the comment came out of my mouth, "What a blustery Pooh Bear day".  Anyone who lives in Omaha can relate to my blustery comment as the wind shook all of our houses in the wee hours as we lay in bed.  And anyone who has raised children can relate to the Pooh Bear comment as most, like me, spent many hours during our kids' toddler years reading Winnie the Pooh books, watching countless videos, and tucking in our babes with the Pooh and Friends variety of stuffed animals.  I hadn't thought about my poor forgotten friend, Pooh, in years.  Yet this blustery Omaha morning, the visions of Pooh holding the hand of his dear friend, Piglet, quickly invaded my memory. Now the Pooh days are a distant memory with the only memento left in my house; a Pooh picture fr...

The story below was sent out as an attachment to this week's St. Wenceslaus school newsletter. I thought it was a great reminder and worth sharing. As a student, I always knew where I stood with my parents when it came to accusations made sbout teachers: They (the teachers) were right and I was wrong until proven otherwise. And proof wasn't solely my first hand account. My parents wise approach, like Mr. Rosemond's, was a good lesson for me in independently working through conflict and not making excuses. ______________________________________________________________________ Published Tuesday September 10, 2013 Omaha World Herald JOHN ROSEMOND: Give a teacher’s report the benefit of doubt The statute of limitations has expired concerning the following tale, so I can finally tell it. In October of my now 40-something-year-old son Eric’s seventh-grade year, he informed me that he was probably going to get a D, maybe even an F, in English on his upcoming report ...

Ready for a walk to the park On a recent bike ride, I noticed something that has gone unnoticed by me for a long time; my neighborhood park. Funny how I have ridden by it countless times accessing my favorite trail without a second thought or glance. This would have been an impossibility in my world ten years ago. The radius of our world in those days very much included the park. After dinner or nap time, our favorite trip was this two block walk. When not using our legs, we favored scooters, bikes, and a little green wagon. The Little Tikes wagon was the main mode of transportation for Baby Grant. With a dog leash one hand and my other, pulling the wagon along; we would meander around the neighborhood. If Harry get tired, he would hop in with his pal, Grant. The many boy populated sleep-overs and end-of-year baseball parties would include a trip to the park. And we would use every corner of land available to us. From home run derby's at the ball field to playing in the s...

Pix I took on a recent trip to the Suzanne and Walter Scott Aquarium Suzanne Scott passed away this morning. A wonderfully written newspaper story honoring her legacy got my attention. It brought back an old memory and reminded me of the goodness of a garden patch. I briefly met Mrs. Scott in 1989. Our chance meeting was on an elevator in the downtown Kiewit Plaza. I had begun my accounting career at Peter Kiewit Sons at the ripe age of 21. Walter Scott was CEO. In my year and a half tenure at Kiewit, Mr. Scott and I had never met. But I did meet his lovely wife. As a young hire for the big construction power house, I heard many stories of the company leadership. Mr Scott was well liked and widely talked about. Rumor had it that he and his wife occupied the top floor of the corporate headquarters. To me this was all just talk. I was a mere junior accountant trying to properly learn her debits and credits. One day I firsthand discovered the folklore to be true. I walk...

There are so many throwbacks in this picture...not sure where to start Throwback Thursday Entry: Taken Easter of 1995. Definitely a throwback. Zach was almost two and I was twenty-seven. Let's start with me... off-white hose - I had an entire drawer filled with these nylon leggings. My favored shades were tan (looked like the real thing...not), off white, and light black. A common unplanned store run, along with milk and diapers, was replacement pantyhose. The legwear I am sporting in this picture appear to be a special shiny silky line. I think I began my bare-legged run in about 2002. I have shown my true legs with confidence since and have never looked back. big hair - I used hot rollers, would "pick" out, and then tip my head for volume while generously spraying smelly hair spray. My favored mini-bangs were curled under with a conventional curling iron. It took a lot of shampoo and time to start fresh the next morning. jewelry - go bold or go home. Descr...

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...

Zach and Benny after the rodeo Watching Ben playing football last night under the Friday night lights made me weepy. Skutt didn't get a win, but I was so proud to watch my son play with passion and love for the game. That's Ben Lane; loving life and playing the game of life with heart. Since Ben was a toddler, that has always been his approach to life. He takes on the people and things he loves with a smile and with determination to please and achieve the goals he sets for himself. Ben confuses me at times with the focus of his determination. My parental confusion is subsided only by me reminding myself that I don't set Ben's goals. Ben sets Ben's goals. With Zach behind me, cheering on his younger brother and watching a determined Ben on the field, I was reminded of a younger Benny with younger passions. Ben wanted to be a cowboy. At age three, Ben was a cowboy and you couldn't tell him anything different. The goals I had for Ben consisted of counting...

Me- attempting locker art I got an e-mail yesterday with logistics on football moms decorating their son's school lockers. It came as a surprise to me. In all my years as a football mom, I hadn't a clue that it was my job to decorate their locker for game day. Reading the e-mail, I wondered if Ben and Zach were greeted by blank locker doors all those past game days. <fail>. With my quest to be a fully engaged 8th grade and senior mom, I took in the e-mail details. An event was added to my Outlook calendar. Good to go. Or so I thought. Not understanding the potential planning involved, I assumed a quick run through my art room five minutes prior would suffice. Grabbing scissors, colored paper, and markers; I was set. Most moms didn't even have an art room, I surmised. So I brought extras to share with the less fortunate. Zach made the unfortunate decision to stop home an hour before my designated locker decoration time. With a little coaxing, he agreed to hel...

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...