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Sorry, My Future Teenage Sons

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This gem was from May. Blame Sophie.

But gosh that was a fun afternoon. A really, really, really fun afternoon.

And it’s sometimes nice to remember those fun afternoons after evenings like tonight. Evenings in which my dear, hardworking husband didn’t come home until 6:40pm and instead of finding dinner on the table found me, in bed, hiding under the duvet.

I’m sorry.

“Fashion is instant language.” —Miuccia Prada

Related posts:

  1. Go. To. Sleep.
  2. Tonight.
  3. Mother/Daughter Day
This entry was written by kara, posted on June 26, 2014 at 11:06 pm, filed under All and tagged dress-up, James, love, Owen, parenting, Sophie. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.
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    So apparently our children have learned how to access our Google calendars. Also, the orange? That’s the nightly toothbrush order bc we can’t handle the I-went-first-last-nights anymore. I was going through old photos and noted that James borrowed one of Pop Pop’s (many) baseball hats twice. (Summer 2012 and Summer 2019) These two came into our bedroom the other night, laughing hysterically. “Show them,” O said. J then started counting the pairs of underwear he was wearing. 8. At 11:15 pm. #summer My grandma, my dad's mom, Myra Gebhart, died July 4. She was 94, and still living alone (with care) on the family farm, but she was ready. There is peace in that, but we all know the price of love is sorrow, and we loved her. She was born February 11, 1925, to Zoe and C.H. Detling. Zoe died when my grandma was only 16 and that love/grief stayed with her always. She attended Miami University during WWII, wore heels to class and studied business. She married my grandpa, Karl, and they had four children – Ellen, Mark, Gary and Roger. They raised crops and hogs in rural Ohio, and my grandma spent hours in the kitchen cooking large lunches and dinners daily for her family and farmhands. She was a feminist who refused to be called "dear" or "sweetie," a registered independent with strong democratic beliefs, a great letter-to-the-editor writer in a red county and, before arthritis made it too difficult, a talented knitter (who gifted hundreds of mittens to children in need) and exceptional pianist (who preferred playing privately). She was a voracious reader and for years she only believed in reading nonfiction. With time, she opened her heart to fiction and I loved talking about books with her - my heart broke a bit when her failing vision made the words on the page too difficult to read. My grandma was so smart (I often wondered where life would have taken her had she been born decades later) private and stoic – things in her life weren't always easy. But she loved profoundly, even if quietly. With money, she did not believe in frivolity, but she gave generously. She taught me "knit one purl two;" how to take the blackberries my uncle grew on the farm and preserve jam; how lovely it is to always have classical music playing in the background; the importance of public radio, public libraries and people who believe in bettering this world for all; the value of hard work, healthy eating, dressing nicely and doing what's right – despite pain and fatigue. She was a lover of ice cream and a keeper of secrets, and her wit and sense of humor stayed with her until the end. She spent two nights in the hospital before she died, and while there, she was cold. (cont. in comments) Reds game with the boys’ baseball team tonight! Owen kept score alongside Pop Pop, Sophie made a friendship bracelet for me (I love it), both boys flossed until they made it on the Jumbotron, saw Team Klems, and the boys wore (almost) all their Reds gear to the game. (James also tried to bring all his Bobbleheads in his Reds Heads backpack which, thankfully, we noticed before we left and removed before they would have been inevitably broken.) To adequately illustrate the work that it takes to deep clean my daughter’s bedroom, here is her collection of pine needles, saved from each of our Christmas trees. Last week. I’m quite fond of the antiquated rides and character at Coney Island but I also always have questions while literally holding James down while riding the python or flying bobs. Also, a ride operator while we sat in the tilt-a-whirl waiting for the ride to begin: “If you feel sick, flag me down. Do not stand up while the ride is moving. If you do you will never be allowed to ride the tilt-a-whirl again.” (Why is it even possible to stand up while you’re tilting and whirling? ) But, Coney, my kids love you. And if I’m honest, I love your quirkiness, too. Even when I fear I’m about to die. If you’re looking for some sweet summertime magic, sign up for the firefly walk at the Cincinnati Nature Center. The trails, the woods, the meadow, the trees were all absolutely filled with them. And we learned so much, about different species, light patterns, colors and ... much to everyone’s fascination ... we found a predatory female EATING a male (those mamas just getting the much-needed lucibufagins, pronounced lucy-boof-a-gans for their babes!). The light show was just beautiful, though, and worth even the 10 o’clock kid comments. Me: “Isn’t it just magical?” S: “You’ve said that 8 times now, Mom.” J: “You know what sounds magical to me right now? My bed.” (Trust me. They loved it.) 🧚‍♂️ https://calendar.cincynature.org/event/firefly-walk/ yesterday Oh sweet sunshine I love you even when you burn me. The kiddos at First Unitarian Church are collecting books for students at South Avondale School to help fill the free bookstore our church sets up at the school regularly. If you have gently used or new books you'd like to donate, please let me know and I’ll come by and pick them up! We mostly need Pre-K/K (board books, concept books [ABCs, shapes], not lots of large hardcover picture books), early readers, early chapter books and blank journals. Because of the importance of children seeing mirrors of themselves in these books, diversity is key. Thanks!! Despite eating all my makeup brushes, we got pretty lucky with this pup. We couldn’t find Canada Mints. We sure tried. Parenthood: Your kid hitting a Wiffle ball into the second-story box gutters a week after you had the gutters professionally cleaned and during a week of torrential downpours, causing interior water damage. Marriage: Your partner insisting on not re-hiring the gutter cleaners and instead buying a ladder level so he can fix it himself and then insisting the ladder level is too expensive and he should build one on his own. (Which he does. And which he used. While I had my thumb on the last “1” in 911 and the boys continued hitting Wiffle balls in the front yard as another storm brewed.) These are photos from last Father’s Day to today, of all the times @mungk79 showed up, despite this year’s grief. He doesn’t like social media mush but let me just say he loves these kids so well, and I’m grateful. This is my dad’s garden. He grows everything from seed, often seeds he’s saved from last year’s harvest. Everything’s organic. Those weed-free rows are from tilling and hand pulling. Two years ago my father-in-law told him he had to grow Bradford watermelons. And so, my dad did. He saved the seeds from last year and those seeds are this year’s crop. Marty, who liked to say to my dad, “You don’t garden! You farm!” would have loved those watermelons. Maybe Marty’s a bird. Maybe he flies over those watermelons. Maybe he knows. (We miss him.) My dad instilled in me many things, so much of which is exemplified in his garden. The importance of daily hard work, recycling, removing the bad so the good can grow, following directions (except when you truly know better), making space for beauty (he planted rows and rows of zinnias using seeds from mom’s last-year flowers), harvesting (despite your busy calendar), preserving in Mason jars for the future, eating all the zucchini (even when tired of zucchini), giving your over abundance away (he’s donated so much to the Freestore Foodbank). As I pulled radishes with him I was thankful and grateful for it all. After discovering the joy of mud at Rossford Park, Io had his first bath. ❤️ One of Andy’s birthday gifts. @karart_01, a recent HHS grad and accomplished artist, painted Tucker for us. ❤️ And @framednky did a beautiful job framing it. (Kara is working part-time at Framed NKY now and she does all sorts of commissions!) This kid turned 40 yesterday. We sure do love him.
    TAP

  • Favorite Essays

    Choosing Compassion in a Culture of Fear

    Seeking the Bigness in the Everyday

    The Love in Trying

    The View from Up High

    Season of Innocence

    The Huffington Post guest post: Apologies to the Parents I Judged Four Years Ago, a TIME's top 10 opinion piece in 2012

    Simple

    Changing Love

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