Another use for Lysol?

This old ad had me in stitches. I promise to post a ‘real’ post soon. But meantime, as I work through some major deadlines, here is something for your entertainment. Click on the image to enlarge it!

Helicopters.

When the term Helicopter Mom came out, it was considered a pejorative. Insulting. Who would admit they were one of those moms who is so involved in their children’s lives – to the point of managing every detail of their lives? To read some of the articles and hear some of the accounts can be hair-raising.

But lately? I hear women referring to themselves as Helicopters. With a sense of pride.

What an interesting shift.

All parents want to see their children succeed. Or at least I think they do. But I suppose there are definitial differences between what we all consider success.

Is success having the best grades and the best projects (sometimes with lots of help and support)?

Or is success learning to become independent and self-sufficient? Along with the consequences…

Judgements aside, it’s interesting to hear moms calling themselves Helicopters with a smile and a nudge.

I know what my parenting goals are.

But, just as many other parents I know, I worry that what I think and do isn’t always the best way. I suppose we all do the best we can…

Howard Johnsons.

The world is small. I met a woman who is the sister of an old friend of mine from high school. And seeing her brought back such a fun memory!

Amy and I were great friends. She was quirky and adorable and fun. Smart, too. She, like me, didn’t really fit any particular mold. We were 15 years old.

She was a lifeguard in the summer. I’d hang out with her at the pool. We talked about boys (what else?) and everything else. Good times.

And then one day.

My brother (or Amy or me – I can’t remember!) suggested that we all go out for a bite to eat.

We decided to dress a little weird. And to go to the Howard Johnson’s on York Road in Towson. No one in Towson knew us. It was only 10 miles away, but it was another world.

But here’s the rest of the story. We decided to pretend we didn’t speak English.

We had the best time. We laughed and had a blast.

Now, looking back. I’m absolutely sure that we were totally transparent. That we looked like silly kids acting out.

But it was a blast and the memory lives on….

History, science, and an Irish pub.

We saw a huge pendulum. And even learned how it works.

We saw the Liberty Bell and learned its entire history.

We toured Independence Hall, learned about the Continental Congress, the Declaration of Independence, and more.

But best of all, I had my first Black Velvet.

That was heavenly.

I love Phildelphia.

Random photos and silly thoughts.

On the metro today, I was bored to tears. I brought a book – only to realize I’d read it before. So perhaps it wasn’t an emergency, but I sure would have loved to talk.

Chinatown in D.C. You might need to click on the photo to see the name of the restaurant on the right. But it cracked me up. Guess they have bad food or small portions. You’d better eat before going there….

The odometer on my van the other day hit 66,666. I certainly hope it’s not a bad omen.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

A cowboy.

Duke Football Player.

Firefighter.

Musician.

King.

Professor.

Snow Removal / Landscaper

Doctor.

Movie Star.

I know he’ll figure it out. And that whatever he decides he wants to do, I hope he’ll be happy. I know I’ll be proud.

Just wondering.

Here I am at my first formal event, my aunt’s wedding. Isn’t the dress great? I love the headband. I even remember loving the headband then! My mom made the dress; I think it was the prettiest dress in the entire world. Even prettier than my wedding dress, but that’s a story for another day.

I was never a girlie girl. I’m still not. I’ve heard stories of putting on new Danskin pants, going outside and coming back minutes later with ripped knees. I remember sitting up high in the weeping willow tree behind our house. Actually, there were three trees and my brother, sister and I each claimed one as our own. Mine was the best one. Of course.

I don’t climb trees anymore. But I do lift weights and drive stick-shift and I have my motorcycle license. I took flying lessons. (I didn’t finish – passed the written test but was way to pregnant to finish my airtime at the time. And now, boy is it pricey! One day, maybe!?)

Much of my life, more of my friends were boys than girls. Boys were less cryptic. More direct. I always understood what they meant. Does that make sense?

I’m lucky to be the mother of boys. I get them. I don’t have to deal with Polly Pockets and Barbies or barrettes and tights. And I can smile quietly to myself when I hear friends talk about their daughters becoming tweens.

But occasionally, like when I uncovered this photo, I wonder. Am I missing something really special? Would it be (horrors) actually fun to go into Claire’s? To go to ballet recitals? To paint a room pink?

I’ll never know.

Somewhere.

Driving the other day with the kids and the teenage daughter of friend of mine. I drove quickly to her house so she could get her camera. She took some shots – This is one of the photos she sent me. It is lovely, but nothing could do that gorgeous rainbow justice.

Today is my Dad’s 75th birthday. Last year, I posted about him also. He liked it. But he thought it read like a eulogy. Well, I’ve set it aside for when I might need it for that. I hope it’s not for a long time. But, I digress.

Here we are. His birthday again. My dad doesn’t read my blog. He doesn’t have email. He doesn’t even touch computers. I know there are things that would totally rock his world online but he’s not interested. And that’s okay.

I decided to find a couple pictures of him to post here. Turns out, I have quite a few laying around. Of course, his expression is always the same. His weight, however varies greatly. I didn’t post the photos from when he was sick. He wouldn’t have liked those so much, I don’t think. But I bet he’ll like the one where he’s packing heat. And the one with Andrew and me where I’m wearing the Pretty Woman dress. And the one where he’s sporting the biggest sideburns I’ve ever seen.

Some of the things I like best about myself, I got from my dad. Like the ability to relate to people from all walks of life. And the love of words and writing. I also inherited a very odd sense of humor and a positive outlook. I think that my business acumen comes from him, too. Not to mention that I love to take road trips because of how fun he always made them. Come to think of it, I think I got my entire fun-loving gene from him. (Sorry, Mom. But Mom, I assure you that my sense of style, compassion and patience come from you.)

Growing up, my father always said he wouldn’t live past 50. Then it was 60. Then 70. Now? He might just live forever.

That would be just fine with me. But I have the eulogy written just in case.

What a find.

This desk came into my life with Andrew. It was given to him by his grandmother years back. The story goes that she was in a department store when they were newly married and saw a lamp she loved. Turns out it was part of a set and this desk came with it.

Andrew remembers the desk being in his grandparents’ house his whole life. He always liked it. I admit, I never did. When it’s closed, you can see an inlay design of a race car. Not my taste.

But when I decorated Max’s room recently, he wanted the desk in there. So I opened it up and it looks really nice. And he loves it.

There are some interesting nooks and crannies in this desk. Notice this vertical drawer.

Today, Max pulled the drawer out and noticed that there was writing on the back of it. Neatly. In capital letters. In pencil. Each word on a line that was drawn carefully with a ruler. By a little girl.

JOAN SCHERER
251 WEST
WALNUT
STREET
LONG
BEACH
NEW YORK
DECEMBER
19, 1941
JAPAN
ATTACKED
US, THE
UNITED
STATES
OF
AMERCIA
ON DEC.
7th, 1941
I AM
11 YEARS
OLD.

Andrew’s Aunt Joan. I can’t help but wonder who she thought would find it. And when. It’s like a time capsule; a precious discovery.

It gives me chills. Imagining how scary it was for her back then. And relating it to the fear of more recent events.

This prompted some wonderful discussions in our house. It’s particularly interesting that my sister and her family will visit Pearl Harbor tomorrow. I want my kids to know about our history. And what better way than a mysterious discovery to start the conversation….