Does that make your sperm hurt?

Posted by random olio

Last week I showed Charlie’s crazy giggle video to a few co-workers, and one of my colleagues said: “Do your ovaries hurt?” I laughed. A good joke for someone who is utterly addicted to her niece and someone thinking about starting a family. I have always loved children so it is not anything new to me that I would be addicted to babies. I worked in the day care on my college campus during all four years, and I worked specifically in the baby room, where they were allowed to start coming at 6 weeks. Babies were my favorite. No talking back. Ah…

A friend posted a great video on Facebook over the weekend it cracked me up. Since I do not have kids, at the moment I have absolutely NO interest in “Frozen.” What did peek my interest was this dad and his engagement with the song and his interest in getting his daughter to sing along. It made my day. After watching it Sunday morning (me at my desk and Chris in the other part of the office at his), I said to him: “Did that make your sperm hurt?” It goes both ways, right? I continued to pry and ask if he could see himself driving the car and trying (and egging) his daughter or son on to sing along, and he said: “Definitely.” Ah, I love that man.

My niece is da bomb.

Posted by random olio

I just spent the weekend with my niece, Charlie (nickname for Charlise). I am utterly addicted to her. She has not even been gone for 24 hours and I miss her so much. What is it about little munchkins that make our hearts yearn for them?

My sister and I had a conversation during our last visit over a month ago, about being connected to children in ways that our parents were not connected to us. Part of that is about paying attention to their wants, needs and being present. I know it is a different era, but I grew up in one (of which I have said often) where my father felt that children should be seen and not heard. Maybe I was grossly offended by this, tainted, what have you, but I am definitely not going to have my kid(s) nor my niece(s), nephew feel that they should not be heard. Their voice matters. I watch the deep love my sister has for Charlie. It is so clear that Charlie is so loved. My sister does not complain, you can see her yearn for her time with Charlie, it is as if she knows so deeply that this precious time will not last, and she is going to make sure Charlie has a different childhood than she had.

Our childhood story is bigger than just not being heard. My mom had an at home day care when I was very young, and yet I do not remember her ever being (that I can remember) the touchy, hugger, cuddler type. My dad became more of a hugger once I was in college. My grandma was even less of a hugger. So, maybe that was why my mom was not much for cuddles. Fast forward to my sister and me. Before Charlie we were not really that into hugging. Yet, with Chris I am a hard-core hugger. I need my daily…well multiple times a day hugs from him. I love hugs. I want to start my day with one, I want to end my day with one. I would take a deep intense hug over a kiss any day. I strongly believe that somehow Charlie has made my sister and me connect on a deeper level. Almost like Charlie has broken the years of non-hugging brought about by my childhood family. Thank you, Charlie!

I wonder, do we give our kids what we never had? Did my sister and I crave that kind of connection and family that she is now giving Charlie? I love Charlie with a depth and yet I have only seen her a total of three weekends. Where does that come from? Where does that love so deep and so extensive show up and we know we are never the same without this precious munchkin in our world? We want to make them laugh and giggle. We want to cuddle, snuggle, and never forget their smell.

Like I said. My niece is da bomb.

What Doug said.

Posted by random olio

“Do it right the first time.” My dad ingrained this into my thought. At times he was a bit of an asshole, and I hated him for it. Looking back I sort of understand what he was trying to teach us. He definitely left an impact on me (and most likely my sister and brother). Not always in a positive way. Yet, I find myself responding to issues and feel as though my dad is yelling through me. There are times with work projects that I think “do it right the first time.” I have words form in my brain, that feel like something he would say (I have just enough of a filter to not say it out loud).

He adamantly cared about looking at a task and thinking about your approach. His response to our sometimes half-ass focus to the task was often asinine. I can remember once when my sister and I were asked to clean our shared room. We did. Or so we thought. We came home to find that all of our dresser and desk drawers where dumped in the middle of the room, our closet contents were on top. When I saw the mess I freaked out a bit, and honestly so did he. His comment to us was: “If you cleaned it the first time you would not have to start from scratch.” His actions were definitely extreme, but his point was made. I have never forgotten what it felt like to see every one of my possessions and my sister’s spewed out all over our bedroom floor. I was also pissed. How could he?

That was his style. That was his way. He made memorable (not always positive) moments. He wanted you to have a reaction so that you would not do it again. Dan and Chip Heath potentially would have appreciated his style, if only it was a tad bit more on the positive side.

Sunday is Father’s Day, and I hope that as my dad watches over me he is seeing my life and thinking: “Tami is doing it right the first time.” I taught her well. Or, “one day she will learn.” Dad’s do their best to teach us what they know. Sometimes they are still learning and growing and we have to take their feedback, comments, and instructions with a grain of salt. Either way, they love us to pieces.

Happy Dad’s Day, Doug!

My mother was a…

Posted by random olio

Giver. She gave, and gave, and gave. I suppose that is why it is in my nature to help others, to problem solve, be a listening ear, and support to those around me. I saw my mom give her time to her children, her mother, her husband, the kids she took care of, the children she taught in school, her church, and when there was time left over the few friends she had.

I often look back and wonder why my mom did not spend much time socializing with friends or neighbors and I realize now that she did not have the time. Often she worked two jobs, helped us with our homework, made dinner for the family, at times packed our lunches, planned the grocery list and meals for the week, cleaned the house (separate from the jobs that were our chores), and took care of all those people in the above list. I often wonder how she did it all, and yet I am in some ways living her life, minus the kids and two jobs. Yet, how many of us work the hours of two jobs? Life will definitely change for me when little bambinos enter our home. Focus will change, priorities will change, life will change. Yet, will I do less?

Whatever happened in the world that made us (women especially) think that we had to do it all? Is there a time when the cord that keeps us going begins to fade — sort of like your laptop battery that eventually no longer holds the charge? Or are women of the “rechargeable” battery variety that after enough recharge we can continue like the Energizer bunny? Is there ever a breaking point? I love it and I hate it. I love the energy, the problems to solve, and that no day is ever the same, but is there ever a reset button? If you walk away for a day or a week, it becomes almost impossible to catch up on emails, voicemails, and pieces of projects that need to be adjusted. Do we do too much? Do we give too much?

My mom was a giver and she died at the age of 50. Was it her lifestyle, or just the journey of her role in the universe? I will never know if she loved or hated the roller coaster she was on. She did it all for everyone else, I can only imagine and hope that she was invigorated by those she helped, all she did, and that her life never had a dull moment — there was not time for that!

Are you a giver?

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.