Adventures In Decorating: Fall 2014 Window Boxes (First Day of School)

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Fall 2014 Window Box Details

Fall 2014 Window Box Details

Fall 2014 Front of House

Fall 2014 Front of House

It was a bit grey and fall like yesterday and the kids started school this morning. I am the proud mom of a 6th and 3rd Grader. They are becoming such little humans, wise and seasoned beyond their years but still innocent and hopeful, I hope they never lose their uniqueness.

3rd and 6th Grade 2014

3rd and 6th Grade 2014

Boo is not happy her kids are gone for the day.

Boo is not happy her kids are gone for the day.

It is no secret that Halloween is our major decorating time around here, and since I only have the kids half time I wanted to make it easier, but still special. So the Dept 56 Halloween Houses will go up as usual in the next week inside the house, and the outside of the house will be Fall only until no later than October 1. I decided I’m not going to totally redo from one season to the next. When it gets closer I will take out the flowers, throw in some spiders and ghosts and let all the leaves remain. The inside I will be able to pull the Halloween and I’ll do a cornucopia for Thanksgiving. Christmas will be red and white again but that is getting a little ahead of myself.
Meanwhile I hope you enjoy the window boxes this year and I’d love to see what you’ve done with your own spaces!
Best
Laura


Retro Selfies: The female gene pool

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Old school selfies. Head shots from the 70’s. My paternal grandmother, we share a first name. My Mother at younger than me, we share a middle name. My maternal grandmother, we share “you don’t look your age”.
I’ve been refreshing, we will call it tweaking a bit over winter Lovies. I miss you all dearly.

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The story of my first Mother’s Day; A primer for growing older than my Mother

When I was a baby,  my Mom died.  She didn’t make it to the age of 41 and she didn’t make it a year as my Mother.  She left behind my Father, my exactly 15.5 years older than me brother and me.  I’ve written the story of how she  chose to take some experimetnal drugs while carrying me and fighting breast cancer, how I was  expected to be born an absolute vegetative mess,  how I was considered the miracle baby in my family. I was given my paternal grandmother’s name for my first name and my mother middle name (and the name she went by)  as my middle name.  I grew up hearing story after story of how strong personality wise my grandmother was.  But I didn’t really get to hear all that much about my Mother.

I don’t know all that much about my Mom as a person. She, MiniMe and I share a middle name.   I know facts about her family life and history, a little bit about the things she loved to do.  I have some of her things.   But  no matter how many times I’d try to discuss her with my Dad, it must of been too painful or contain too much emotion because I never got very far.   I felt my whole childhood like I was some kind of emotionally driven stranger  in a house full of people  who didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t express or feel or talk about things.  I often felt shut down and frustrated. I’d get little bit of information about her, but she was my Mother and I hated my Step Mother and I was always desperate for more.  I never went to her grave until I called a family freind and begged him to tell me where she was buried so I could go see it.  I was a young adult.    I wanted to have some connection, some way to put my finger on something and say this was her, this is you, you are in fact bound together even in absence.   It wasn’t until I  was graduating from college and my  my Mom’s one living sister came and declared that I was “just” like my Mother  that I started to feel like there was a connection between us beyond my name and the fact I’d been made to take piano lessons for years because she was a great pianist and piano teacher.   I was put in piano lessons about age 6 because she was a well respected local Piano teacher when she was living.  There was a huge 8.5′ concert grand piano in my house growing up,  and later in my first house.  It was hers.   My piano teacher, Afffie  had known my Mom and taught with her in the state Piano Teachers Association.  My Mom had at one time been the president.     A typical kid,  I didn’t enjoy the practicing as much as I could of, but I played until I was in High School and won the recital contest at the High School level ( I always wondered if I was given preferential treatment at those because they were run and judged by ladies  and men who knew “who I was”.   High School was the highest division, if you won a division you had to compete the next year in the division above yours, and at the time I was a freshman.   There was no division above mine and I was a teenager who was done with lessons and practice so I quit.  I haven’t really played since and i can’t read music anymore either.   I sold the  grand old piano when MiniMe was a  toddler because it ate up an entire room in my home and even though it was a great statement piece and a perfect place to keep the wrapped Christmas presents,  I couldn’t justify an entire room housing a relic I never used and was unlikely to revisit.    The piano was probably metaphorically as big as the hole in my heart for her absence, but it was time to move on, as an adult and a mother, from hanging on to  impractical things just for the sake of sentimentality.   But I have always yearned for her, always missed her presence in my life and always wished she could of lived and  been thre to Mother me.  In my mind, anything would of been better than what I had.

Once I got pregnant with MiniMe I felt another connection to her.  I was 31 when MiniMe was born and I started paying very very close attention to  what I was sharing with my baby in those first six months while simultaneously trying not to lose my  shit over “was I going to somehow die in her first 6 months and  abandon her”.  I wrote monthly  email updates to all of our family and friends about how she and we were progressing.   As  we neared the 6 month mark I started to get specific.  I am a details girl, in case you haven’t already figured that out, and I wanted to know exactly how old I was when she died.   I wanted to mark and take note of the day.  So I did the math and the result  brought me to massive tears.  Here is the excerpt from that month’s writing.

As I was walking in the RFTC with my long list of “In Memory Of” names on my back, I began to reflect on being a Mother to my Daughter for the last 6 months.  My Mother died when I was six months old. And prior to having MiniMe I used to think what an incredibly short amount of time that was.  I also wondered exactly when in my life she died.  I checked and I was exactly 6 months and 10 days old when my mother died. Now that I am on the other side of the equation I can tell you that 6 months and 10 days is really quite a long time. I know how much my daughter loves me right now. I know my Mother must have felt the same love coming from me.  So even though I can’t remember what it felt like to be held or snuggled or kissed by her, I am certain we shared the same special moments that MiniMeand I share now. I feel blessed to be alive and able to mother my child for much longer. I will be celebrating this special event with my Daughter on Mothers Day, when Haley will be exactly 6 months and 10 days old.  

MiniMe was a c-section baby.  Her delivery date was chosen because I was carrying about 3 weeks bigger than I should of been and they were afraid she wasn’t going to make it out.   I went in for an appointment on my due date with zero dilation and zero effacing.   I think we should go ahead and take her they told me.  Do you want to do it tonight or Monday?  I chose later that night and gave up one last date night and a nice dinner we had reservations for. I often felt like that was a stupid move in those first few months of her life.  I wished for that one last dinner with The Husband.    As her Mother I was sacred, lost, often angry and frustrated on the inside.  I sat nursing her night after night wondering what it was like for my Mom.  Holding a baby she knows she isn’t going to see grow up.   Wondering why she never bothered to write me even one single letter or note or anything else that might help me know she loved me.

And then to have my first Mother’s Day land exactly on the mark in time when I was losing my Mom as a baby. It felt like the letter I’d been  searching for my whole life.

On next Tuesday October 18, 2011 I will be standing on the mark in time of my Mom’s  exact age at death. She lived 40 years, 7 months and 14 days.    More to come about that on Tuesday.


Dude Besties: Vin Diesel and Sunshine ” I love you man”

I think it is important for every girl to have friends of the  opposite gender.  I love the guys in my life just as much , though very differently, as my Bad Gurls and Besties.     At a core level everyone gets the same Lola as a friend.  Part of the reason I embrace the “fearlessly be yourself” mantra is because I’ve never been very good at being anything different.    All my life I’ve always felt comfortable in the company of guy friends.   I also prefer male bosses ( even ones that let the drunken customer call me), but that is another story.  In my school system they  started a Gifted and Talented class,  with my 4th Grade year.  There was a whole class of us that met and stayed together from 4th grade on through High School.   We spent 4-6th grades together with precious few new kids coming or people leaving. By the time the insults of 7th grade rolled around we SOLIDLY had each others back, boys and girls alike.   My very first best guy friend was also my very first kiss, and went on to marry one of my very best friends from that same class.

Always having at least one best guy friend was easy to do in  college and early adulthood before I got married.   Then in similar fashion to the way little boys and girls can be best friends until about the age of oh 6-8 before their gender gets in the way; life circumstances get in the way of  keeping those relationships close.   Significant others, jobs, kids etc…  Guys just don’t put as much stock in the whole keeping in touch thing.   With a dude you can pick up and put down a friendship without “I’m no longer feeding and watering that friendship if she’s isn’t going to”.  Close girl bonding takes time because girls can be vicious, best guy friend bonding can be started quickly and put down no hard feelings.  With a dude you can talk to someone that actually  has a penis about whatever penis you’re in need of discussing.   And they can give you the penis  POV, which you can in kind return with your womanly wisdom of vaginas and what his date/girlfriend/wife really means when she says he can do what he wants.   With a dude you can play Tonk and talk shit and make them play Rummy 500 until you win just so you can say you did.   With  my dude friends it’s  a treat to just be Lola at my core. I can leave the heavy  badass armor at the door with the guys and not feel vulnerable.   It’s hard to explain really so I’ll take it out of the dude vs. girl label and just tell you about two of  my besties that just happen to be  dudes, Sunshine and Vin D.

I  genuinely love both of these guys in a  very platonic way.  Sunshine and I met in college and shared a Business major. Mr. Smartypants apparently exited with 2 majors. I was one class away from a double major in not only Business, but also Finance.  The one  remaining finance class I needed to make that happen was the next Spring semester and I didn’t want to do 5 years.  So I exited with a B+ average toting a Business/ Marketing degree.  We graduated, went on with life, hooked up on FB and in the middle of my AD I noticed him posting something about being 1 year post Divorce and  starting to be happy again.   So Sunshine (my real nickname for him) and  I start talking.  I’m all about being me but you don’t just tell some dude you made out with in college but also have  mutual respect for that you’re getting your boobs out on the internet and having an emotional/you’d like to make it physical internet affair with a 25  year old Greek  God of sociopaths.   Sunshine had no idea what the hell was going on in my 2nd life.  He knew I was going through a divorce and what he saw on FB.  Sunshine and I were old  college acquaintances who happened to swap spit once in the bricked basement of the fraternity house.   By all accounts he should of been working the hell out of the can I fuck you angle, but he wasn’t.    Oh and Sunshine lives far away in another part of the country with a football team we don’t like here. (Stifling urge to break out my Matthew Inman of The Oatmeal’s version of “Piggers are going all the way this year”)   We started with emails and then moved to texts and phone.  We spent the summer catching up on our lives since college and settling into the friendship we have today.  I have given the why I love Sunshine speech to multiple people, including The Husband and Sunshine himself.

It goes something like this.  I love Sunshine because he, as a man, was treating me better and with more care and respect than any other man in my life.  I was talking to him and getting to know him again during  the time that The Husband had moved out; I was still hoping to be with PJ; I was talking to, meeting, and dating new guys.   Sunshine  wasn’t trying to get in my pants, and he was the man who was treating me best.    He  is a very overworked, over achieving business man with a team of direct reports.  He travels all the time and is rarely home. When he is home he has a gigantic social life, as you can imagine Sunshine does not struggle with the ladies fawning over him.    Sunshine, in spite of his busy schedule, would plan ahead to call me based on our scheduled that week,  call when he said he would and actually spend time listening and talking with me when he did.   Sunshine treats all women in his life this way, I am not special. But Sunshine reminded me what it’s like to have a real man in your life, and how that should make you feel.

Sunshine had post traumatic my ex wife was an evil shrew (my words) who had to be texted back immediately syndrome. I had most of the texts coming in are all about how someone wants me to smurf on his smurf for a smurfy long time.  Or smurf my smurfy smurfiness until smurfdome comes.   Or hi can I take you to dinner and then maybe smurf with you after.  ( oh the Match.com stories are so funny)  Why yes  I DID see The Smurfs last weekend and I must say it was a fabulous trip down memory lane.  Texting proved to be therapy for both of us.   I don’t know how you text with your friends but with my friends texting works as sort of a pick up and put down running conversation.  The next response could come in seconds or weeks after the last one.   But it didn’t become that all encompassing I’m doing it all day long BS like it was prone to with the new guys in rotation.  Cuff link and food porn was about as racy as it got. Sunshine now knows all of my secrets from that time,  is one of my loudest “I’m proud of you”  supporters and is going to be my yearly date for Carb Day.   Some day I hope to watch him get married again to a girl I can stand and who will understand that  he is a gift to his friends and let him keep us around.

Vin D  I’ve known for over ten years.   We met at a job through a mutual friend, spent  a while carpooling and eating lunch together every day, then drifted  apart as life took us in different directions.  Vin D was my safety call when I was interviewing the Craig’s List guys. I sure the heck couldn’t call any of my girl friends and say “Hey, I’m going to meet this random dude and I just need you to know where I am so if I end up in a pit you can find my body” ” Oh yeah, everything is fine I just thought it was a good idea if I start fucking guys from Craig’s list”  .  Vin D has the fortitude to handle that and enough intimate knowledge of my inner brain working to know we’ll talk about why the fuck I’m doing something that crazy and stupid when I’m ready to talk about.  I was ready to talk about roughly 5 months later standing outside some random abandoned gas station. Wait, that sounds bad, Vin D and I  used to work for the same place. We couldn’t exactly have these conversations at work so we would take drives, smoke and  vent about work or life or whatever.  On that particular day I decided it was time to share and seek his advice, so I dumped it all on him. Reddit, PJ, The  Husband, all of it.  From that day on Vin D became my sounding board on the subject of my sanity and life.  Vin D  and I are not literally exactly alike.  We have many personality and character differences.  Buy our minds works almost exactly the same.   And through hundreds of hours of  having intellectual adult conversations about all manner of topics and our often divergent opinions of them, we have the uncanny ability to  provide quality self awareness therapy/BGP/know when to shut up and just listen to each other.  He is like a male version of me and vice versa.  We do not always agree, but we always respect the others POV.    It was Vin D who kept  telling me that is was absolutely inexcusable for PJ to not be standing present physically in my life.  It was Vin D who listened every Tuesday after  I had my counseling  session to my revelations  of new insight and my next steps are far as taking my life and myself back.  It was Vin D who was  holding fast to  his line in the sand of this is NOT OK to be happening to you.   It was Vin D who came over, plugged his laptop in and  worked from my Kitchen to help me stay the hell off the internet.  It was Vin D who listened to many many tear filled rants of frustration. And it was Vin D who never treated me as weak, or crazy or unsettled or anything else but me.  I love that man like a brother.

I have a new potential best guy friend.  We are in the friend stage where we have just enough inside jokes ( we work at the same place)  to make us close but don’t know each other moods well enough to shut the hell up when we should yet.


I am the bee whisperer…

Hi my name is Lola and I talk to  other living things.  And  myself.   When I was little the joke about me grumbling about having to do some chore, or taking too long to do it was that I should “just talk to it” . So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I’ve always done these things.     If there is a small spider in the house I tell it “Don’t let The Husband see you there”.   The other day The Husband told The Destroyer to get off the rock and into the house. “I’m communicating with the ducks Daddy”. Yep. He’s mine.  The Husband says I spoil those ducks.   I just like to make sure the Mommies can easily feed their babies.   I like to spoil the ones I love.  And I have a soft spot for nature.  I have even been known to make certain spider haters leave webs up so the spiders could safely lay their eggs in the fall.

There was that one time I got a little overly attached to a little moth that landed on my finger and just kind of hung out turning his furry owl looking  moth head back and forth at me.  While he cocked his little moth front paws like a dog or a cat that would sit on you.   I might of worried about him not making it out of the spider infested garage for a day longer than I should of.  And that might of happened last month when it was so hot out…. I dunno.  I think I spent so much time as a kid in the garden or alone that I just got really good at feeling a connection with everything living around me.   I’ve had several praying mantis conversations in the garden this summer.

We are all beings and I am not nice to everyone. The last thing the Japanese  Beetles hear from me is “DIE DIE DIE”.   I didn’t have  any this year.   I am barely tolerant of whatever the hell it is the nasty ants are doing to my pumpkin vines.  But I try  to adopt a if you aren’t  hurting me I’m not hurting you and after all, outside IS your home not mine attitude.  The other morning, not long after I wrote in exasperation that I might have to sex my pumpkins myself, I saw a bee on one of my sunflower blossoms. I walked over and watched him work. And then I told him that he needed to go over THERE (I was pointing. Yes I WILL be the crazy old widow  lady in the garden across the street.  Lefty and One-Eye will make sure no one takes advantage of me. I will likely have a  garden boy named Raoul or Julio or Sanchez, or maybe they will rotate.)  by the peppers and pumpkins and do his part. And could you please send your friends as well I told him, I give you bees plenty of things to gather pollen from and I want a little love too.    God and Karmic Retribution man, get to it.  The next morning there was a giant furry bumble hanging out on a boy blossom.    Since that post I now have 4 pumpkin babies and 1-2 maybe babies.  And there are some little peppers starting to form on some of the pepper plants.  For now the message has gotten through. I’m communicating with the bees.