Late Birthday Update

My older son just left me speechless with his birthday gift.

In one of those strange coincidences that serve to remind us how small the world truly is, one of Thing One's best friends happens to be the grandson of a nationally-recognized author whose work I've admired for years.  I'd read most of his books long before I figured out that he was related to somebody I knew...if the friend's mother hadn't retained her (unusual) maiden name, I might never have connected the dots.

At any rate, the friend's birthday party was tonight, and Thing One attended.  The grandfather was also there: we've been introduced before, but have never had any extended conversation.  I waved hello to him when I dropped Thing One off, and that was it.

When Thing One came home tonight, he was tightly clutching a white plastic bag, which he excitedly thrust at me.  I opened it to find a copy of one of this author's books, autographed to me with birthday wishes!  The kid came up with this idea all on his own, and since he was a little nervous about asking for the autograph, he made his friend the grandson come with him when he did it.  But he pulled it off, and I couldn't be happier if the kid had bought me diamonds.

That was a lot of thoughtfulness and guts wrapped in a ten year-old package, very much a "long walk part of gift" kind of thing for a little boy to do.  Dear God, I love that child.  He's going to be a fine man someday.

Lordy, Lordy...

Look who's 40!!

It's John Glenn's birthday today.  Mine, too--I always thought it was cool to share my birthday with him.  He's a hair over 40, though.

Started out the day feeling old and creaky, but I wasn't allowed to get away with that while talking to my parents, who pointed out that they are 28 years older than I am and don't want to hear any griping out of any young whippersnapper, thank you VERY much.

It's a take-stock sort of birthday, but thankfully, there aren't too many things in my life I'd change if I could.  Loving family, good friends, good kids, good husband, and fairly decent physical shape: earned this in taekwondo class today.

  
First stripe on my Blue belt!  The march toward Senior Blue has begun.  I was 38 when I started studying taekwondo, and I wondered if I was too old...I remember distinctly telling somebody that I'd be 40 in two years and had to be nuts to be starting at my age.  They asked me how old I'd be in two years if I didn't take up martial arts.  Fair enough.  Two years and five belts later, I've made some good progress.  The instructor brought a cupcake with a candle in it to class today and everyone sang "Happy Birthday," which was pretty cool.  

Himself wanted to throw me a big party, but the thought of the hassle and attention just wasn't appealing.  I'm getting grumpy in my old age!  We compromised on a 'nice' family dinner out tomorrow instead.  This afternoon, I picked 15 cucumbers from one plant in my garden, went swimming with the kids, found one more cache, and made a simple dinner.  No fuss, no frills.  But I did celebrate with a ceremonial cupcake after dinner.

Couldn't resist the candle.

Happy birthday to me!!


 

Stubborn

Found that cache today, the one with the waypoint 223 feet away at a bearing of 171 degrees magnetic.  It was out of sight on a high ledge, an old film canister stuck magnetically to the underside of a historic bridge by the river.  That was an undertaking, but I am sadly unable to give up on a challenge even when I probably should.  For good measure, I then went looking for the only other cache I hadn't been able to find, and eventually located it masquerading as a screw under a park bench.  I must be insane.

More Fun With Languages

I was laughing when I told the guy I dated during my senior year of college that I would need to learn three languages for our relationship to work out long-term, but I really wasn't kidding.

His undergrad major was Computer Science Engineering: my eyes glazed over every time he started talking about his classwork because I didn't understand a word he was saying.  Especially with all the acronyms.  And speaking of acronym hell, he was also in Air Force ROTC--anything relating to the military is incomprehensible to non-military folk as well.  And, to serve as the icing on the cake, he was (and is) half-Mexican: his immediate family all spoke English, but many of the extended relatives spoke only Spanish.

I remember thinking back to this when I first started blogging and everything was a mystery.  How to set up a blog at all, first.  Then, eventually, as I got more ambitious, how to link text, embed images, and add HTML code to my site.  Blogger made most of that easy enough to figure out, but it was an exercise in unfamiliar terminology nonetheless.

I was reminded of it yet again today.  Courtesy of NOLA (whom I still consider a friend even though she added to my obsession list!) I am now trying to figure out geocaching, which has a very steep initial learning curve.  For example, if you see a listing for a "bison in a pine" (or anywhere else), you are looking for a small metal cylinder, often on a keyring.  Figured that one out pretty quickly, but I saw the following sentence in a listing this morning and had absolutely NO idea what it meant.

"To locate the cache you'll need to project a waypoint 223 feet at a bearing of 171 degrees magnetic from the above waypoint."

Somewhat depressing since this one is marked as a relatively easy find, too.  Yet another foreign language...




          

Thinking About Mike

A couple of days ago, a Facebook friend posted a old picture of himself on a football team from (my best guess) either middle school or sometime early in high school.  It really surprised me that one of his sisters asked which number he was in a comment, only because it was so obvious to me and I haven't seen him in person since 1988.  Some people you just don't forget, and he's one of those for me...I'll call him Mike.

He was my first boyfriend, the one from my freshman year of high school.  That was his only year there, unfortunately--like every other guy I dated in high school, he moved at the end of the year.  His situation was a little different from the others', though.

We met at a party held by a mutual friend.  Mike was 17, a junior, a big guy with dark hair and blue eyes.  He'd just moved to town from New Jersey, and had the kind of tan and muscles that you get when you've worked a lot as a lifeguard--in his case, at the beach in a town somewhere near Atlantic City.  I was only 14 at the time, and my mother was not at all happy about the age difference until she met him and realized that he was one of the good guys.  I still remember that our first 'date' was a walk to the McDonald's that was near our school campus, and how nervous I was!

Mike was dealing with some tough stuff that year.  He's the youngest in a big family, and his mother had died a few years before I met him.  Both of his parents were alcoholics, and his dad left the family after his mom died.  Shortly after that, their house burned down (I never got the full story on that, or wanted to) and the older kids took care of the younger kids from then on.  As the youngest, Mike was shuffled from sibling to sibling a lot--the year he attended my school, he was living with one of his brothers.  He had a lot of venting he needed to do, and I'd often end up crying as I listened--I was way too sheltered and naive to even begin to process that kind of pain, let alone find words to help him.  There wasn't anything I could do but listen.

He went back to the States at the end of the year, finished high school, and got a scholarship to Rutgers.  We'd lose touch for extended periods, but then one of us would pick up the phone and find the other to catch up, and it would be like there'd been no intervening time at all. I talked to him most recently a couple of years ago, and am hoping to be able to catch up with him again in person over a cup of coffee one of these summers.

He's happily married to a lovely woman and has good relationships with his remaining siblings (two have died of cancer.)  He has three beautiful children and a good job.  And I am happier for him than I can even begin to express.  Thinking about where he came from and how far from there he ended up, and what that says about him.

I'm proud to know you, my friend.  And I think the kid in the football picture would be, too.

           

Peace and Quiet

Blessed peace and quiet.  For three full hours of each day this upcoming week and the next.  All three kids will be in a camp together, and I cannot wait!!

There is such a thing as too much togetherness in my world, and I am there.  Even where my most beloved ones are concerned, I sometimes need space and alone time.  Always have.  And for the past few weeks there's been none.  As sociable and outgoing as I am, I'm way past ready to be off in a corner by myself with a book.  Or my iPad, these days.  And that corner needs to be out of earshot of the cries of "He punched me!" Or "I'm hungry!"  Or "I can't find any clean underwear!"  And preferably also very far away from my kitchen, which is perpetually full of dirty dishes, the family room, which looks like a bomb hit it, and the laundry room, which taunts me with bottomless baskets of laundry that needs folding and putting away.  That leaves my bedroom and the garden...these kids are making weeding look good right now.

Not that they are even particularly bad.  They're just little kids, and they act like it. (Fair enough.). Bottom line, I need a vacation, but unfortunately, everyone else's vacation time is my busy season by default!  The nerve of these kids, expecting to be fed three times a day, clothed in clean clothes, and not left to their own Lord of the Flies-like devices 24/7.  ;)

At least all three can wipe their own bottoms, tie their own shoes, and choose their own clothes now.  I know that in a few short years I will want this time back, and I am trying to be mindful of that.  I would love to be able to hit 'pause' on the roller coaster for a day or two, though!

Cross-Cultural Explanations Needed Here

Himself has a number of relatives in the Philadelphia area.  Knowing that Thing One is a soccer nut, one of these extended family members sent him a Philadelphia Union (the Philly MLS team) jersey for his recent birthday.  He immediately put it on and came to show it to me: unfortunately, my immediate reaction was to comment: "Good thing you're a boy."

Not one of my better parenting moments, to be sure.  But in my own defense, this is the jersey:

For anyone who may be confused, Bimbo Bakeries is currently the biggest bakery company in the US, a division of Mexico's Grupo Bimbo.  Their corporate headquarters are in the Philly area (just looked this up), so I understand why they are the jersey sponsor for Philly's MLS team.  All perfectly logical.

I still felt compelled to explain the meaning of the American slang term "bimbo" to Thing One, though.  Not that I don't want him to wear the jersey, and I sure as heck don't want him to start using the term himself; I just don't want him to be confused if somebody makes a comment about his jersey.    

Must be tough to be a multinational company...no matter what you call your company or your product, it's not going to translate well into some languages!