mulligan

Let’s just call it a leave of absence.  I haven’t written in over a month.  I’m pretty sure that the three of you who regularly read my blog haven’t noticed. 

My 12 month plan has been hijacked by my crew team mom responsibilities, and they are soon to be over.  For the last month my free time has been consumed with planning, shopping, prepping food for almost 50 rowers and coaches for out of town regattas.  Gotta feed those kids so they have the strength to row!  Whew. 

So now I’m really coming to a lot of ‘lasts’.  Last crew regatta will be Memorial Day weekend at the SRAA National Championships.  Last weekend at the Midwest Championship Regatta she came home with silver and bronze medals.  I get so nervous for her that I have to separate myself from the crowd of Tiger Navy fans and watch the race by myself.  While I cry under my sunglasses.  Sunday – as she rowed in the finals – it was a constant stream of rain – so no need for sunglasses and my tears were exposed.  Not that the other parents and kids didn’t already know I was crying.

Memorial Day weekend my oldest will fly into Philadelphia instead of Columbus so that we all can be together to be Annie’s cheering squad as she races in the National Championship.  (Caroline thinks we should have t-shirts made.) And then we’ll rush home for her high school graduation, where we’ll be joined by what we’ve been told previously is the loudest family cheering section at a Marietta High School graduation.

I’m relishing these last two weeks of being the parent of a high school student. 

Ok.  That was completely a lie.  I’m tearing up as I write this. 

Three kids accepted to the college of their choice.

Smart, kind, independent and well-adjusted under even the worst of circumstances.

How could I already be at the end? 

Can’t I have a do-over?

on pins and needles

I come from a long line of seamstresses.  Grandmothers, my mom, and my sister Laura.  Grandma Lazzaro used to hem my dad’s suit pants when she was staying with us.  I remember that it took her a really long time. (Selective memory?) She pinned & completely basted before hand sewing a beautiful invisible hem. She made my dad’s christening gown – including the lace – and it still looks stunning 81 years later.

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love to sew.  When you’re done there is something beautiful.  That you’ve made. (Well, not always beautiful.  I’ve had my share of unsuccessful projects). I grew up in a little town in Indiana that has a remarkable fabric store with Pendleton wool, raw silk, and beautiful satins and organza.  We lived a block away, and I would spend hours looking at all the fabric before choosing a pattern.  Still now, years later, when I go to that store the women who work there know to leave me alone.  And let me wander for hours. Before I buy a lot of fabric.

This week I’m spending every waking minute (except for the minutes spent writing this post, and of course the hours spent working) hemming the satin underskirt and 2 organza overlays on my daughter’s prom dress.  And taking Grandma Lazzaro’s lead, I am pinning, fitting, pinning, and basting, before hand sewing a hopefully invisible hem. 

It’s a stunning age-appropriate dress that doesn’t have cut outs or a slit up the leg or a back that goes all the way down to where a tramp stamp would be.  And I better get back to it, or she’ll be the most beautiful girl at the prom in a dress with a basted hem.

tiger navy

It starts even before they are potty trained.  Play dates. Mommy and Me. Toddler ballet class. T-ball. Cub scouts. Brownies. Future problem solvers. Math Counts. Cross Country. Mens golf. Womens golf. Crew.  A parent’s life is consumed with managing the family schedule and getting kids where they need to go.   Often I spent Monday thru Friday from 4:00 – 6:30  in the car taking them to and picking them up from practices.  It’s a wonder we ever ate dinner. 

It’s a little easier once they start to drive – there is a little less of taxi mom and a little more of frantically worrying mom. But at least they can get to and from practice without my assistance.

Is the uniform clean?

Do you have money to eat?

Did you pack a water bottle?

What time does the bus leave?

Are we responsible for snacks?

Team pictures are today?

So here we are. The last sports season of my parenting career.

Crew.  The most elegant and graceful of sports, and my daughter who loves it fiercely.  She started rowing as a freshman.  The first time I picked her up from practice after they got on the water she was radiating happiness.  She had found one of her biggest passions.  

Most regattas they row the entire length of the race (1500 or 2000 meters) to the start line before they turn around and race til their arms and legs are weak. And then they have to hoist the boat over their heads and carry it to the boat trailers.  It is not a sport for the weak. 

I’m on a team responsible for feeding the rowers at the regattas (It’s called the ‘chuck wagon’), and last week one of the moms asked if I minded doing so much work.  I got a little teary when I responded that no, I didn’t mind.  It’s my last time to do the mom thing and support any of their activities.  My 21 years of parent volunteering is almost over. 

Don’t get me wrong – the parent volunteering also makes me weary.  But I will miss the weekends sharing a hotel room with my dear friend Anne, getting up at the crack of dawn, to go to a muddy river bank in the cold, rain, and wind.  Watching for those beautiful boats with the orange M on the oars.  

Here’s to a hugely successful season for my Annie and the Tiger Navy. 

And I’ll try my hardest not to cry every time I see her smile when she carries that boat out of the water.

Oar photo courtesy of the Tiger Navy website

chalk it up to nostalgia

I found my childhood chalkboard when cleaning out the attic storage room.  Can I tell you how much I love it? The chalkboard was a gift for my 4^th birthday.  (It says “Falcon – toys that last” – 45 years later I believe they’ve proven that it’s not just a slogan) Maybe I only remember that particular birthday because of this photo - but it is a crazy happy memory.  We were living in South Bend Indiana.  The beautiful brunette with her back to the camera on the right is my older sister Laura.

The stuff we cherish often has no monetary value at all. I doubt if I’d get 50 cents if I tried to sell this at a yard sale.  But it’s a silly reminder of my happy childhood, and my parents’ encouragement of my need to be creative.

It’s not going back in the attic. 

Gonna hang in a prominent place in my home. 

And every time I see it I will smile.

on my honor

It's crazy that I'm coming close to the end of the house organizing portion of my plan.  After this past weekend, the only space left to do is the basement - and I thought I would wait until the weather got warmer so I could open the cellar door to the outside - but who knew it would be 80 degrees in March?  Lost my excuse to put that one off.

I know everyone says that ‘things’ aren’t important – and I most generally agree, but I spent the weekend organizing the attic storage room.  (Before photo above) And truthfully – there are some ‘things’ that mean a lot to me. The things that have absolutely no monetary value at all - but are priceless to me.

It’s the room where we store keepsakes, and I only go in this room a few times a year – to try to put more things away, or to change the furnace filter. It's unfinished and dirty, and generally a mess.  It's freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer, and I have dreams about bringing a contractor in to put in a proper ceiling and floor.

(A quick aside – while working in the attic storage room I smelled gas – and called the furnace company.  There were here within a half an hour – and I DID have a gas leak! )

The thing is, most of the stuff in that room I ended up keeping because I do want to save the important stuff. 

The outfits the kids each wore home from the hospital, and their first pair of shoes. 

The guest book from my wedding, and my wedding dress. 

My dad’s sailor hat from when he was in the Navy. 

Photos of me with the most horrendous and embarassing hairdos

Some of my favorite childhood toys, and my Girl Scout sash.

So there wasn’t a lot of trash.  But now everything that’s important to us is in a plastic storage bin, sorted and labeled.  Now when I come across something else that’s important to me I will store it in a way that I will know where to find it.

And I have many new stories to tell in the next few weeks.

Stay tuned