Stories, reading, and my mom.

Posted by random olio

I never remember my mom reading books, and yet I think she would if she had the time. Often she worked all day, had a second job, helped us with our homework, made our meals, cleaned the house. As many moms out there know, it is a thankless job, and yet I never remember my mom complaining. She stayed up all hours of the night for months to make our Christmas presents so that we would have something to unwrap under the tree. I did not know that at the time, and yet thinking back on the gifts she made for us I know the countless hours it took for her to pull it all off. If she was purchasing the gift she would put it on layaway months and months in advance and diligently go and pay a little more each week until it was finally paid off. This was before she had a credit card so it was the only way she was ever able to get gifts under the tree.

She was the epitome of stretching things to make ends meet. While I never saw her reading books, I always saw her studying the Bible, our church books, and praying. She read those periodicals voraciously. She was adamant that we all read well and, while I do not remember when I started to read, I rarely got in trouble for staying up to read with the flashlight. She must have known that one day I would figure out that I could either get sleep and feel rested or not and pay for it the next day.

While I do not remember my mom pushing me to read, I think she gently encouraged reading and knew I escaped into a book often as a kid. My home life was not the greatest place, and somehow I would jump into the plot of a book, and I could transport myself into a whole different realm. We were her guinea pigs while she was getting her Masters degree in Education. We would read excerpts and have to answer questions and I absolutely HATED the reading comprehension tests she made us take for her classwork. I hated it just as much on the SATs. I like reading, but I hated regurgitating it later with a list of questions.

As I think about storytelling, reading, and the passion I have for stories, I have a smile on my face. My brother-in-law makes up stories for my 2 month old niece and I know that she will have the adventure of story in her life. While I will not make her take practice reading comprehension tests, I know she will carry on the tradition of voraciously reading, like her mom and my mom. Stories let us live an entirely different life, if even for just a few moments.

My mom was a badass. I only wish she knew it. Maybe she did, I will never know.

I’m only speeding because I have to poop.

Posted by random olio

I was the kid on the road trip that constantly whined: “Dad, I have to go to the bathroom.” Sometimes there was an urgency that my father did not share with me. Maybe I have a small bladder, but I struggled to be able to hold it in for a long period of time. At times I think my dad was frustrated with me and the constant hourly announcement that I needed to bless a gas station or rest area with my presence. Maybe it is a girl thing, but when I have to go, I have to go. As a kid I know my father’s impatience with me occasionally meant I missed my window. Yes, I am going where you think I am going. I had a few “I pooped my pants” moments. You know you all had those moments as a kid. For those of you that are parents, if your kid tells you they have to go, just trust them.

On our way home from work the other day, I took a photo of this great bumper sticker that says: “I’m only speeding because I have to poop.” If I was a woman who cared to cover her car in bumper stickers (I am not one of those women), this would be on my bumper. I cannot tell you how many times I have headed to the airport in the wee hours of the morning only to think, “Crap, I gotta go. Where the hell am I going to stop?”

Apologies for the grainy photo. It was taken through the windshield.

As you read this, you might be thinking, wow, Tami will talk about anything, and yes, there are a lot of things I will talk about, but I have to say why is pooping and farting so taboo? We all do it, so why is it such a big deal? At the end of the day, I can imagine that all of us have sped because we had to poop. It is just that some of us will admit it and others will not.

So where do you stand on the subject?

Gnawing or biting?

Posted by random olio

I was a biter. I told you all about it in my blog post: “I Was a Biter” almost two years ago. Over the weekend I got to hang out with my almost 3 month old niece, Charlie. In the two days I got to spend with her, she liked to gnaw on my finger. She does not have teeth, so it was more a gummy gnaw. How could I resist the drooling, gnawing cuddle muffin?

My niece has the nickname of Charlie, and since I was a biter, we were talking this weekend about whether Charlie will be a biter. My sister then brought up this video from 2007, and we laughed, and yes we had tears in or eyes, because quite frankly, Charlie in the video has this sort of snarky laugh that we can all relate to. I had forgotten about this video but love it. If you have not seen it, it is of two English boys, Charlie and his brother, Harry. Well, I can relate to Charlie. I was the youngest of three and whenever I could get just a second ahead of my sister or brother I felt like I had caught up, only to then have to run fast again to catch up again. Somehow when I struggled with communicating, and when I got frustrated I would resort to biting.

This video, per Wikipedia: “As of March 24, 2014 it has had 682,138,599 views and remains the most viewed YouTube video that is not a professional music video.” I have added to the views since March, as it is now at: 707,959,985. Crazy. Go Charlie, keep holding your own. Bite away.

Farting, freezing, and hand sanitizer

Posted by random olio

My flight was uneventful last night while flying back from California. A good smooth flight, but you know when you fly in a puddle jumper life is just a bit different in the friendly skies. Over the course of the 1+ hour flight someone (whether they were aware of it or not) could not stop breaking wind. As stated in my post last summer, about Farting on an Airplane, I know it is not always something individuals can control, but this was out of hand. Here is the list of things that came to me while making my trip back to Portland:

Overhead bin is so small, it is like a glove compartment
Someone keeps farting
The guy next to me has a cell phone with a revving motorcycle ringtone going off throughout flight
It is freezing, not above me through the vents, but around my ankles and no blankets on board
The person behind me keeps kneeing my back
Someone farted again
The guy next to me across the aisle will not shut up
The bathroom is so small, there is no sink, and they just leave hand sanitizer out for you
When the person coming out of the bathroom grabs my headrest as they walk by and I think now I do not want to put my head of hair on the headrest, because all I can think is, “Did they use the hand sanitizer?”
Someone farted again
I wonder when they last wiped the tray table down and the seats themselves
We arrive at our destination a half hour early only to stand while they take 20 minutes to figure out how to get the ramp to connect to the door
Someone farted again

Have you had enough?

Happy Mother’s Day, Sis.

Posted by random olio

For many years after my mom was gone, my sister was like a mother to me. I loved and hated it about her. She is older, so it was natural for her to step in and be the older, wiser sister, and I often resisted it. We fought a lot, which often ended in tears. Yet we also laughed a lot, which also ended in tears. I did not want to be mothered, and yet we both in our own ways, wanted to be mothered. We wanted that connection of family. There were ebbs and flows of times when we yearned to have our own family. We always had different individuals in our lives that were an inspiration to us, maybe not mother types, but individuals (yes I did not say women, because mothering can come from a man too) who gave us the mothering that we needed.

Each year as Mother’s Day comes and goes I have to say it is a strange day for me. It has been 20 years since I saw my mom’s face, held her hand, or gave her a hug. I have lived more years of my life without her than I had with her. Some years are tougher than others. On years when my sister and I lived in the same city, we would often have a sister brunch on Mother’s Day. Other years, I just go about my day as though it is just any other Sunday in May.

This year, my sister became a mother. Sunday will be the first Mother’s Day for her as a mom. While Charlie is too young to dote on her mom, I hope my sister cherishes the day. I hope she remembers that while she has had extremely less sleep, and most likely not much of a life in the past few months, it has all been worth it. I know she will say it has been.

Love the hell out of that precious little baby. Enjoy every moment as a mom. I only wish our mom could be with you on your first Mother’s Day, she would love the crap out of, lil Charlie.

Happy Mother’s Day, Sis.