Motherhood by Marriage

Having been a step-mother for almost 25 years, I hope I don't yet merit a "wicked" in front of the word. It is a position that nothing can really prepare you for, and sometimes the best way to get better at it is by screwing up. Looking back over those years with Katrina, Cameo, and Heidi, I wish I had been smarter, more empathetic, more secure in myself--along with many other "mores." My idealistic picture that we would be the Von Trapps--minus the singing--wasn't exactly the way things always went.
Establishing a specific role in the girls' lives was difficult--not their mother, but more than a big sister or friend. Resentment and anger were felt on both sides, with Fred caught in the middle, drowning in estrogen. Living at a distance wasn't easy, but proximity had its issues, too. We all had to relearn the family dynamics after being apart for weeks or months. I cringe when I recall some incidents, knowing now how differently I'd have handled them at 40 than I did in my 20s.
In spite of our "growing pains", there were also good times--memories that I hope they haven't forgotten. Fred took all 5 of us, plus the cooler and tent, through the rapids of the Pike River in the canoe, and we didn't tip over! We spent time in the summer at his dad's, the girls playing with Brutus, the St. Bernard, and splashing around in the swimming hole. Trina became known as "Go-Bang, Go-Boom" for repeatedly tumbling down Grandpa Andrist's narrow staircase. During an Easter vacation, Cameo and Heidi accidentally started a Westboro field on fire while launching a rocket with a neighbor boy. I can still see the looks on their faces when they got home! We had family picnics and time at the cabin, holiday get-togethers and birthday celebrations. They were a big help when Erica and Katie were little, and the girls idolized their older sisters. I know that my experiences with them made me a better mother, having learned some things about the tween and teen years before Erica and Katie reached those stages.
Time heals many things, and I hope most of my mistakes have been forgiven. The girls have become wives and mothers themselves, having given us 11 beautiful grandkids. Fred and I only wish we all lived closer to each other and could get together more often.
I'm proud to be their step-mom, and lucky to be their friend.

Channeling Debbie

My daughters call me Debbie Downer. If you don't know, Debbie is a character from Saturday Night Live who finds the cloud in every silver lining. No matter what positive remark someone else makes, Debbie has a fact or statistic to curdle their happiness. Friend: "I just got a new kitten!" Debbie: "Feline AIDS is the number one killer of domestic cats." Her dire pronouncements are followed by a musical postscript: "WAH, WAH."
The girls think that I, like Debbie, want to suck all the joy from their carefree college existences. That's not true. I think of it as Mom-on-the-Job, the devil's advocate, pointing out hidden dangers that would never occur to them in their youthful and invincible outlooks. For example, after Erica's snake, Squirt, died a few months ago, she wanted to give away his aquarium and other paraphernalia. She found some guy on Craigslist who was interested in the stuff. As soon as she told me this, I super-speed-sifted through the gloom and doom files in my maternal gray matter, and warning bells started ringing. "I remember reading about a girl who answered an ad on Craigslist and was murdered when she went to buy the couch," I told her. As I said it, I realized that this was actually a Law and Order episode I'd seen--but still...it could happen. I told her not to let the guy into her apartment, to meet him at the outer door of her building with the items, and to leave his phone number and name in a conspicuous spot in case the police needed the info later. (WAH, WAH) Even though she ridiculed my concerns, she did follow through on meeting him at the outside door, and the exchange went without incident. Now that the "Craigslist Killer" has been arrested out East, doesn't my paranoia seem a little more reasonable??
Last weekend Katie wanted to drive to St. Cloud to visit her friends there from freshman year. I have 30 more years of driving experience than she does, and Twin Cities traffic makes me nervous--so I was extremely reluctant to let her drive. "Can't you take the bus? You'd be driving in rush hour traffic on a Friday night, into the sun, with no navigator." (WAH, WAH) She grumbled and argued, but bought a bus ticket anyway. The Greyhound was over an hour late leaving Eau Claire, and she was hit on by a weirdo before they were even past Menomonie. (I didn't even recount to her the story about the guy who cut off his seatmate's head on the bus a year or so ago!) She got there and back safely, and now she has another travel experience under her belt. I promise to let her drive herself next time.
I know I can't protect them from everything and that my worrying just annoys them. I went through it with my parents, too, when I was younger. But since they're still (mostly) just laughing at me and haven't told me to butt out, I'll continue to be their Debbie. After all, it's a fact that kids who don't listen to their mothers have a 100% chance of getting in trouble. (WAH, WAH)

Here's a link to a Debbie Downer skit, just to prove I'm not quite as pessimistic as she is. And, I have better hair. http://www.hulu.com/watch/19280/saturday-night-live-debbie-downer-birthday-party

Canine Angst

I have been sick all week with a lousy cold. My days have consisted of sleeping, drinking oj, tapping out my blog, and sleeping some more. The laundry is a mountain and the house is cluttered; I haven't cooked a meal since Sunday and the Easter decorations are still up. I can live with all of those things--what bothers me most is not being able to walk the dogs. It took all I had just to haul myself out to the kennel each day to feed them--no way could I have handled being dragged through the woods on their energetic romps. But knowing that in my head didn't make my heart feel any better when I looked into their questioning and hopeful blue eyes through my bleary ones. "Why isn't she walking us in all this new, wonderful snow?" "The sun is shining and it's warmer--are we going??!" Without being told, they sit and raise a paw to be shaken, saying "See? I'm being good! Can we walk?"
Fred thinks I empathize with them too much. I project my human emotions onto them and forget they are "just dogs." I give these furry Huskies warm blankets for the winter months so they won't be cold. (They urinate on each other's, then chew them up) I put them in the shed during storms becuse Bum is afraid of thunder and lightning. I feel bad that after years of living in separate kennels, the boys and Kaya don't recognize they are mother and sons. Maybe I do treat them more like kids than dogs, but it's because they look to me for everything: food, shelter, exercise, companionship, love. It hurts to let them down, even if the guilt is self-imposed.
Wednesday night, lying around in my congested misery, I watched the movie Eight Below for about the tenth time. Based on a true story, it's about a dogsled team of eight Huskies who are left on their own in Antarctica for 6 months due to uncontrollable circumstances. Every time I see it, I just want to go out and hug our dogs. Instead, I vowed that barring pneumonia, I would walk them yesterday. I woke up feeling the best I had all week, and we walked in the afternoon sunshine. I know I'm forgiven for the 6-day lay-off--they each gave me a kiss afterwards. I hope they don't catch my cold.
"God, give me the strength to be the person my dogs think I am."

Dear Diary...

From the ages of 11 to 24, I faithfully wrote in a diary every day. Not because I had such an interesting life. but because I liked putting down on paper the things that I thought, felt, and did. It was interesting to me, and wasn't for anyone else to read anyway.
Feb. 6, 1971 (6th grade) "Math was hard today. Doug is such a dreamboat!! My sisters are brats."
Not exactly the stuff that biographers care to immortalize, but what can I say? I recounted the highs and lows of growing up.
Jan. 8, 1976 (jr. year) "Wrote my whole crummy term paper tonight. My hand almost fell off. If Mr. R. doesn't like it, he can shove it!! I'm a zit-head. I laughed so hard at lunch--we had blueberry dessert and I blacked out my teeth with it." Deep, huh?!
I was obsessed with my weight back then, even though I recognize now that I wasn't overweight at all. These are all from August 1976 entries, right before starting my senior year: "I ate a ton, and I just hate myself." "I've been eating from boredom and I'm an absolute moose!" "I'm gonna try to go all weekend without eating anything." How do teenage girls get such distorted self-images??
Sept.12, 1977 (freshman year at UW-Eau Claire) I AM 18!!! A bunch of us from my floor went down to Water St. and they bought me drinks. I had 6 slow gin and ojs. On the way back to the dorm, I had to stop in the Fine Arts building to pee, and I dropped my keys in the toilet." Classy.
Jan. 7, 1982 (first year of teaching) I'm so sick of these freshmen!!!! They don't do their work, then moan about their grades. I went to college 4 years for this??!"
Okay, I admit, not everything I wrote was frivolous and routine. I also recounted my feelings about the people in my life, the things I learned, and events that changed me. I gradually got too busy to keep up with daily entries, and my journaling lapsed. Over the years I did try starting again, but it would usually only last for a few months. Now that I'm blogging, a journal would be sort of redundant. But what should I do with the old ones? Some of them got lost or have been thrown out, but I still have several. I suppose I should get rid of them, too. I don't want to die and have Fred and the girls discover them. Not because I have deep, dark secrets--just the opposite. "This is what was going on in Mom's brain?! Scary! Boring!"
Sept. 3, 1994 Erica's 8th b-day. Headed over to the cabin with Tracey's family and Kelley to meet Fred. Grilled out for supper and Erica opened her presents. Had a campfire--kids were tired and wild. Katie got marshmallows in her hair and Annie threw up." The stuff of life.

P.S. Please go to http://www.rhinelanderdailynews.com/ sometime today and check out the Pet Pin-Up contest. Vote for my cat Smokey or dogs, Bum and Koko! Thanks! **UPDATE:the pictures are posted. Go to the website, click on the "Pet Pin-up" box on the right side. Smokey is on page 2 and the dogs are on page 3.--voting ends April 30th.

Honoring Pat Tillman

Today is the 5-year anniversary of Army Ranger Pat Tillman's death in Afghanistan. If you don't know Pat Tillman's story, the short version is this: Pat was a pro football player with the Arizona Cardinals. Deeply affected by the events of 9/11, he gave up his successful football career to join the army with his brother Kevin in 2002. After serving one deployment in Iraq, he was sent to Afghanistan where he was killed on 4/22/04. His family was told that he had died heroically, pursuing the enemy up a hill, and he was awarded the Silver Star. A month after he died, they learned the truth: Pat had been killed by his own men, a "friendly fire" incident. Since that time there have been seven investigations into his death, and two Congressional hearings. The government and the Army gave the family false information and covered up many of the details surrounding Pat's death. The Tillmans still don't know what really happened to their son in that Afghanistan canyon.
Mary Tillman, Pat's mother, wrote a book in his honor called Boots on the Ground by Dusk. I read the book last summer and was extremely moved by Pat's story and all his family had gone through in seeking the truth. I wrote to Mary to tell her so, and was pleasantly surprised when she wrote back to me to say thank you. The family is still searching for answers.
We may never know the truth about Pat's death, but in my view he is a real hero. He gave up a life of fame and wealth to serve the country he loved because he felt it was the right thing to do. You can honor his memory by learning more about him, starting with his mother's book. She also did an interview on 60 Minutes last May with Katie Couric, and several soldiers who were with Pat in Afghanistan are interviewed, too. http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/05/01/60minutes/main4061656.shtml (If this link won't work, you'll have to type in the address--sorry!) There are numerous other articles available online about his life, death, and the cover-ups. You can also donate to the Pat Tillman Foundation, which "seeks to forward Pat's legacy by inspiring and supporting young people striving to promote positive change in themselves and the world around them." (www.pattillmanfoundation.org)
Pat Tillman's life ended at 27, far from home in a desolate war zone. But his legacy has affected millions of people who never knew him--including me.

Mother's Wrath

I had planned to write about something else today, but my chagrin over the weather changed the plan. We have gotten 10 inches of heavy, wet snow since Sunday night. We may get 1-3 more before it's done this afternoon. It is April 21st, right? I didn't turn the calendar ahead a month too early or something? Our plow is back at the cabin, the shovel and snow boots had been put away, and the scrapers are out of the cars. Any brave flowers that were starting to peek out of the ground are now buried. I heard a couple robins making plans to head back south. The power has been out twice, for two hours yesterday and one this morning, and many areas have had much longer outages.
But--I can't keep complaining about this without 'fessing up to my role in it. Last week when it was in the 60s and 70s, I put away my winter clothes and got out the spring/summer stuff. Anyone who has lived in Wisconsin her whole life should know better than to tempt fate in that way. We all know summer doesn't really start here until mid-June or better, so how dare we pack up the sweaters and long johns in April??! Mother Nature took one look at me in shorts last Friday and brought winter back with a vengeance. I'm not sure if it was my flouting the gods or my glaringly white legs, but either way, winter has returned. To add insult to injury, I also caught my only cold of the season. Fred got it last week, and now I'm aching and coughing too. But, I can't go back to bed. I have to put on my boots, sweatshirt, and sweatpants, slog through the drifts to take care of the dogs, and then haul the garbage and recyclables down to the end of the driveway. And Friday, when it is again going to be 70 degrees, I am leaving my winter clothes and the snow shovel out, in plain sight, so nobody thinks I think winter is over!!
I have to congratulate my brother-in-law, Terry Stanton, who ran in the Boston Marathon yesterday. He finished with a time of 3 hours, 36 minutes and placed overall 9127 out of 25,000 runners. He is 48 years old, and I am very proud of the job he did representing our age group and the family! Way to go, Terry!!! Now come up here and get Fred and me in shape for the Rump Roast Run, will you?!

Soldier Mail

Friday I opened the mailbox, expecting the usual newspaper, junk, and bills--but in addition to all that, I had SOLDIER MAIL!! There was a thank you note from a Wisconsin Army major in Afghanistan to whom I'd sent a bunch of cigars at Christmas--compliments of Fred, left over from hunting season at the cabin. There was also a package from Brian in Iraq, containing a stuffed bear wearing a T-shirt with the name of his base, KALSU, on it and a magnet with a scene from the base. I had supported Brian when he was in Afghanistan, so have known and kept in touch with him for almost four years. He invited us to his wedding in Virginia three years ago, and I receive picture updates of his 2-year-old son. He is the third soldier I've seen through two deployments, one in each war zone.
When I sent my first package to a soldier in June 2004, I really wasn't expecting anything in return. I figured any recipient of mail from a total stranger would be too busy in a war to write back, let alone send me something! Was I wrong! I totally misjudged the amazing character of the men and women who represent us in uniform around the world. I've sent packages and letters to people in every branch of the military, and have had responses from over 100 in the past 5 years. The scrapbook I started is now loaded with pictures, e-mails, letters, and certificates of appreciation from these terrific people, as well as a big box with more e-mails and handwritten letters and cards. Several letters were written just to say thank you for a card of mine that they had received from the many "card swaps" we've done on the anysoldier.com forum. It is humbling to find out how much a simple note of support means to these troops so far from home in dangerous places.
In my "shrine" I have the gifts received over the years on display. There are 3 American flags flown in Afghanistan, along with certificates with my name, the date they were flown, and over which base. There is a plaque from a Marine helicopter unit that flew in the November 2004 raids over Fallujah, Iraq. A stained glass wall hanging made by an Iraqi craftsman for us on behalf of an Iowa National Guard captain. Two sets of nesting dolls from Afghanistan, sand from the Persian Gulf, a lapis lazuli trinket box from A-stan, mugs, T-shirts, and medals.
The best gifts, though, have been actually meeting four of my contacts in person. The fact that they took the time to express their thanks face-to-face is something I will never forget. SSG Ryan Johnson of the Iowa National Guard has met our whole family, and I've met his in Iowa. Maj. Sean Gustafson of the Minnesota National Guard came to our house in Elk Mound for dinner two summers ago. Cpt. Melinda McGregor of the Iowa National Guard met me in La Crosse for lunch, and most recently I had dinner with Darrin Troyer of the U.S. Navy and his family in San Diego. I currently have a contact who is from Whitewater, WI and hope to meet her some day, too. (Got that, Theresa??!!)
Two of my soldiers just returned to their families in the past couple months, and another one will be deploying again soon. When I started this, I didn't expect that I'd still be doing it 5 years later with no end in sight. But it's one personal way that we can help make life a little better for those with the courage and character to defend freedom for the rest of us. I hope you will think about trying it, too--I'd be happy to help.