Quitting Ain't Easy

 I am not a quitter. 

I do not quit things unless, well, there is a new dog in the house. A dog that needs lots of attention and training. 

In the past three weeks, let me tell you what I’ve quit. I’ve quit grocery shopping. I’ve quit cleaning. I’ve quit my regular bike rides. For a non-quitter, I sure made quite the list for myself. 

Our rescue dog turned out to be more than we could handle. There were some biting incidents, lots of house accidents and barking spells for no reason. There is hope for him but it won’t be because of us and that makes me sad. But coming from a newly established quitter, it was best for my family to quit this and move on. 

We really wanted this to work but after the first biting incident, which to clarify, was to protect something the dog thought was his, my kids kind of gave up. They didn’t want to be snapped at or bit and just eliminated themselves from the situation. This was hard for my youngest who wanted a buddy most of all. 

But guess what that meant? One person was taking care of the dog and that person was me. That is not what we agreed to when we first talked about this as a family.

I will be starting back to work in a few weeks, when school resumes, and everyone would be needed to help with Mac but with the new element of fear involved, that would be a hard sell. I knew what we had to do and unfortunately that was met with discontent from my husband who fell hard for the dog. 

I get it. The situation is disappointing but it is hard since my spouse and I don’t see eye to eye on this one. But I forget how much dogs mean to him. I mentioned before, growing up, he always had a dog in the house and it has been 5 years since we’ve had one. I think he was really counting on this dog being a permanent member of our family but unfortunately his couple hours of playtime at night weren’t enough to make it doable on my end. 

But here is the part I just can't wrap my head around. It seemed like this was meant to be. Everything worked out so well from the minute we saw Mac’s photo; the application process, then the meet and greet. It was going so smoothly and then his first day here was a disaster. Between the puppy accidents, and the thunderstorm barking and the countless things that were jumped on or went in his mouth. It was a long day for sure. 

The look on my youngest’s face said it all. “What is going on with this dog, Mom?” It was a shock for sure. Not the Normal Rockwell puppy moment we had all expected - the five of us sitting around the dog showering him with affection. Smiling and sharing looks of “Ahhh, this is what we’ve been missing.” By the end of the day, we were dazed and confused. That feeling has only lingered. 

For the past three weeks, we had been living in a bunker. The dog was quarantined to the kitchen and the rest of the place looked like an episode of Hoarders with everything you can imagine; totes, boxes, books piled up to keep Mac out. He is quite the jumper, coming from a trailer he shared with 93 other dogs scrounging for food. 

When we played with him in the yard, he got lots of air underneath him when he jumped for a toy, like one of those show dogs. Twice he made a run and jump for our dining room table and has made it to the top of both of our couches in seconds flat. (Hence the bunker.)

After thoughtful consideration, we decided Mac needs a family that is not us. We are always on the go and with school starting up in a couple weeks, he would be alone a lot more than he is now. He needs someone who can work with him to correct his bad behaviors and after meeting with a dog behavioral specialist, we know those are fixable but only with time. That is something this family doesn’t have much of as we approach a new school year. 

So as a “non-quitter” this experience doesn’t sit well with me but I know in my heart it is for the best. There will be an ah-ha moment I’m sure down the road but until then I will be thankful for the experience that was Mac and pray that he finds the perfect home. The adoption agency we’ve been working with has been very understanding and the dog went back to his foster mom for the time being. 

Even though we weren’t the right family for him, our hearts were in the right place and for a small moment in time, we took care of Mac the best that we could.

Uncomfortably Numb

 It was a shock. 

I couldn’t even cry. I just felt numb.

I knew it could have been much worse but still, I wished they would have taken my credit cards instead of my phone. I could have cancelled the cards. But how could I get back the videos, photos and memories that were stored on my phone? 

You see the news stories and social media posts all of the time. Lock your cars. Don’t leave valuables in your cars. 

Why I continued to do this is unknown to me at the moment. A few weeks ago, we started parking our van outside because our garage door broke. It took some time to get the door repaired but I made sure I locked the van each time I returned home and had to leave the car in the driveway. 

This was a temporary situation. Once the door was fixed, back in the garage the van went. But once we returned from vacation, this past weekend, we had so much stuff to unpack and I still had all of our recycles stored in the garage. Once again, we had to park in the driveway.

This was something we did for three days. That was all it took to create an opportunity for someone possibly down on their luck.

The evening prior, my husband was doing yard work and he moved a bicycle that needed to be repaired. He put the bike in the van so I could take it to the shop the next day. After he put the bike in the van, he forgot to lock it.

I had my wallet and cell phone in the van. My cell phone was not working and I had put it in the center console so I could take it to hopefully get repaired. It wouldn’t even turn on and the screen was cracked. Not your coveted iPhone by any stretch. 

It was a busy night and I completely forgot about the phone until the next morning. It was still dark when I went down to the van, parked in the driveway. I remember hitting the unlock button on the key ring but I quickly found out I didn’t need to. 

When I opened the door, my wallet was open on the seat. Receipts were all over the cushion. My little vacation handbag was there too which had some spare cash inside. The first thing I did was look for my credit cards. They were accounted for thank goodness but the spare cash was gone - probably about $40. 

Then I remembered the phone. 

I looked through the middle console again and again and again. I couldn't understand why it wasn’t there. Why wasn't it there? I couldn’t grasp the reality that someone would take a phone that wouldn’t even turn on and the screen was cracked. Why? 

Then I thought about the photos and memories on the phone. Graduation photos, baby videos, music performances. All gone. Plus,  all of the phone numbers I have collected over the years. Hundreds of numbers. 

My husband felt bad. Real bad. I know this because he was pacing around the neighborhood looking for my phone. He felt as though the person who took it would toss it once he/she realized it didn’t work. While he was gone, I noticed other things were missing - random things including a phone charger and both my son’s and my pool passes.

I sat in bed trying to process what had happened. My husband joined me and we sat in silence. I couldn’t be mad at him. Ultimately this was my fault. I left the items in the van. 

After what seemed like an eternity I asked, “Do you want to take another walk around the block?”

He reluctantly agreed since he had already been around the block three times both on foot and by car but off we went. 

To be honest, I don’t remember what we said to each other. We only made it to the third house past ours and my husband darted in front of me. He bent down in our neighbor’s grassy yard and picked up something black. He turned around and showed me what he had found. 

It was my phone. 

I was in disbelief. My eyes instantly let go of the roller coaster morning in a cascade of tears. My memories were back and I was overwhelmed with emotion. It was a miracle and I was elated. Only three doors down, my phone was tossed away like garbage, garbage that meant the world to me. 

I know I would not have walked around the neighborhood looking for my phone unless my husband hadn’t started pacing in the first place. I was curious why he thought my phone would be recovered.  He said he has watched too many crime shows and thieves quickly discard what they can’t use. I am so proud of my little detective. 

I really haven’t explored the notion that someone was desperate and needed money. Someone went through my personal things and took what they wanted or thought they could use. While my family and I slept, someone sat in our van and looked through our things. It is an uneasy feeling and makes me feel less secure about the neighborhood I live in and I live near a police station!

There is a lot to unpack about this chain of events but all I know is that our van has been parked outside for the last time. I will tell my neighbors about what happened to me and warn them not to leave their vehicles unlocked. It is a sad reality to know people can take advantage of others but these incidents can be prevented. 

Other than being out a few bucks, I got my phone back. This story could have had a much different ending and by the grace of God it didn’t.

Photo courtesy: Motoring Research

The Modern Mixtape

A road trip can test even the best relationship.

I have to admit I was nervous about driving across the state with just my teenage daughter. I mean, I wasn’t sure what I was going to get. With teenage girls you just don’t know who is going to show up each day. There are mood swings and attitude adjustments that often accompany the sweet exterior. 

The opportunity to head out east to visit friends came up so suddenly that I didn’t have time to think about what it meant. It was supposed to be a family of 5 trip but even early on my daughter suggested, “Hey, let’s go, just the two of us!”

“Oh, no,” I said. “We can’t do that. We’re all going.” This was not because I didn’t want to travel with my daughter but the sheer decadence of traveling, just the two of us, I couldn’t quite justify.

But then as details were becoming clearer, the boys started dropping like flies. My husband had to work. My oldest had to work. My youngest had a baseball game. I wanted to find another weekend so we all could make the journey to the Philadelphia area but with everything the kids have going on, it became evident that probably wouldn’t happen any time soon.

I realized it was a do or die chance and we ran with it. 

It would be a whirlwind trip, leave late Friday and return early Sunday. There was a lot of driving to do and to be honest after the busy week I had, I wasn’t sure if I was up for five hours on the Turnpike, in the rain.

But we packed up the van, waved goodbye, said a prayer and we were off. 

I needed time to ease into the trip so I told her to hold off on the playlist she created for us to listen to. We got a later start than I had planned which made me a little nervous but once we got to the Somerset area, I was feeling more relaxed. 

For years my daughter and I have been in opposite music camps. She is a country girl and me, well, I’m either stuck in the 60s or in an alternative 90s world. When she asked if she could put together some tunes for us to listen to, I wasn’t sure what I was going to get but she did say she would keep me in mind. That would prove to be an understatement. 

The country music she chose were songs I played when I worked overnights at a station in Virginia Beach in the late 90s. There was plenty of alternative music and even some great 60s tunes. I asked her, “Where is your music? This seems to be all my stuff.”

She explained that the world of Tik Tok, which I am only slightly familiar with, has helped broaden her music horizons. I remember a few months ago, she played a song for me she had just heard in a Tik Tok video that she really liked. It was by The Smiths, an English rock band from the 80s. I was shocked. She genuinely seemed to like the unique vocal stylings of the band’s lead singer and it took me back to when I was her age and had been turned on to the same band and the same songs. 

On the road, it was fun to have a song end and anticipate what was coming next. It appears our taste in music is more similar than I realized and it really made the drive just fly by.

As we got closer to our destination the weather took a turn for the worst. By this time, it was dark, the rain was no longer just moderate and there was a lot of road construction. That is when she switched to the soundtrack of the musical Hamilton. “I think we need this now,” she said. I couldn’t have agreed more. I was not throwing away my shot at completing our voyage.

Music has been such an important part of my life since my earliest days. It is so fulfilling to share this love with my children and experience what they appreciate and how I subtly played a role in shaping their musical palette.

After listening to her playlist, I did feel a little guilty that she left off a genre really important to her right now - K Pop, which is Korean popular music. She knows I am not a big fan but there are a few songs I can tolerate. So, from Breezewood to Irwin, with an hour and a half left, it was all Korean radio. But honestly, it wasn't that bad. It gave her a chance to try to win me over to the BTS (her favorite K-pop band) club. She even tried comparing them to the Beatles!!

Do I understand my daughter’s Korean music fascination? No. 

But maybe that will be something her daughter will figure out.

Put Me In Coach, Not

 The boys of summer are back. 

Ok, maybe it is not quite summer, with up and down temps, but you get my drift. Little league baseball is almost mid-season and oh what a season it is. 

My youngest plays on a 10 and under team and they have had some pretty exciting games. It has been a fun time for us to be back on the diamond after having no season last year. It seems like the kiddos are happy to be back too as I've noticed a little more spring in their steps. 

My husband and I weren’t sure our son was going to play this year either. It seems absurd that this kid with so much love for all sports would consider sitting out but that is where we were. The season before the pandemic was a rough one. There were a couple of incidents of being hit by the ball, once in the head and another in the foot, that left a lasting impression on this little baller. 

Things got so bad that we actually had to bribe our kid to go to his last game and even then, he ended up watching the final few innings in the stands with us. The fear was real. 

Apparently, you can’t just tell a kid that has been hit in the head to get back out there. (He was up to bat and did have a helmet on when the pitch took aim for his noggin.) It was a good thing this happened as the season was winding down because it would have made for a very long couple of months. The final two games were painful and a lesson in patience and empathy for us parents.

Our son wanted us to buy a face guard and a shin guard to help him feel less vulnerable on the field. I wanted to say, “Why don’t we just invest in a bubble? Does that sound good?”

Patience is a virtue and to be honest now that we are going through this parenting thing for the third time, I am running a little bit low. I don’t want to say I’m giving up but my tolerance is not where it once was, like when I was young and less gray.

You walk a fine line between babying a kid and getting them to toughen up. At the time, my son was eight-years-old.  The kids had just graduated from coach pitch to kid pitch. As any baseball parent knows, this is the hardest transition for kid players. You go from having nice concentrated throws over the plate by an adult to wild errant pitches by kids. It is hard to find a groove for these little ones and sometimes there is the ball to the head. 

It was scary for me to watch especially when there is an older, taller kid who has a pretty good arm already. One day I showed up to a game and asked my husband, “What is this, the World Series?” I was aghast. The pitches, it seemed to me, were at least 90 mph and my little guy was just standing at the plate, inches away from another fast ball to the brain.

With that being said, we really didn’t think our kid would play baseball again. This was very upsetting since baseball is the one sport, I know the most about and one that has a long family history. And to make matters worse, he was not only hit with a ball while batting, but he was also hit while fielding. There was no safe place for him to be. 

Luckily, the pandemic year off actually worked in our favor because cancelled seasons and months off made the memories of being hit fade just a little.  For months, there were no outside activities for our son to participate in and he really missed having these opportunities. When it came time to sign up this year for baseball, he did not put up a fight when we brought it up. 

Personally, I think the chance to be with his friends again, in a setting that wasn’t a virtual classroom, outweighed any chance of injury. Also, a year is a lot of time to grow and mature. The kids are a little bigger and even our son has grown a few inches which makes him less of a target for a crazy pitch.

Fast forward to our son’s fourth game of the season this past Saturday, his team was losing 6-2 and it was the final inning. It didn't look good for the team but starting off with our son, hits helped load up the bases. I can still hear the crack of the bat by a player I’ll call “Spanky” that sent multiple runs around the bases to home plate. 

Our kids ended up winning the game by one run and the celebrations and chants of “Spanky saved our lives!” will live on in my memory. Watching the team have fun and play their hearts out after a year off is something I don’t take for granted. Seeing them progress in their skills is fulfilling and the wins here and there, make it just a bit sweeter. 

I Can See Clearly Now..

Karma comes around pretty quickly for some. 

It sure did for me. You see, last year my husband got his first pair of progressive lenses.

If you are not in the 40+ crowd, a progressive lens is like a bifocal but better. It provides multi lens support; distance, intermediate and near all in one pair of glasses. Even better - there are no lines to alert people you are getting old and you can’t see so good up close. 

Even though my husband is younger than me, only a year younger than me, so you can put the cougar jokes away, he made the downhill vision slide before me. He was a little beat up about it so I did the only thing a loving wife should do. I hit the ground running with old man jokes and started calling him Ben Franklin. 

All the ribbing was done with love, really. I find the best way through hard times is with laughter and I did make him smile. I was a little worried about him getting used to the glasses because they tell you to be aware of possible headaches or balance issues. The doctor said the change would be so slight, my husband would hardly notice. To this day, he claims the lab messed up his glasses because he never really noticed any change in his lenses and never had anything to adjust to. 

Personally, I think it’s male self preservation thing and he didn’t want to admit his glasses improved his vision. I don’t think he is ready to admit he needs them and that is ok. 

But me on the other hand, days after my 100th Ben Franklin joke, I noticed I was reading food labels a little bit closer. I was reading the medicine bottles a little bit closer. One of my favorite insomniac hobbies, reading newspaper articles on my phone in bed, was becoming a challenge. 

I went through weeks of thinking my glasses were dirty or my phone screen was dirty or damaged. It didn’t occur to me from the start that I needed the progressives as well. But the reading at night was really bothering me and I wanted to fix the problem. The more I thought about it, the more I realized what was happening. For a minute, I wished I had been a little bit nicer to my hubby but deep down I knew this middle-age right of passage was coming for me no matter what.

It took months before I could get an appointment. Because of the pandemic, all five of us were behind on both dental and eye check-ups. By the time it was my turn, I learned it had been four years since my last pair of glasses. (When making multiple appointments for people I sometimes forget to make one for myself.)  No wonder I couldn’t see very well.

But my doctor was very sympathetic and explained to me that while my up close vision was worse, my far away vision had gotten a little better and in fact my new prescription would not be as strong. 

This did make me feel better. You see, I’ve been wearing my glasses since the second grade and it seems like my vision has only gotten worse with each check up. But when you space out appointments over four years, it makes it easier to deal with the bad news. Obviously, that wasn’t why I wasn’t more regular with my appointments and I’ve gotten used to having very poor vision but hearing about some slight improvement - that was nice.

I had to pick out new frames which is hard for someone like me. When you can’t see to begin with and you have to put frames on with no lens power you cannot really see what you look like.

It is a frustrating experience and I have to hold up my regular glasses over the potential new frames to get a slight inkling of what I'm working with. I feel like I never have a great idea if something will work for me so I end up just picking something and hoping for the best. 

I went with a purple leopard print frame which seemed to be calling out to me probably because my eyes were diluted. It took two weeks for them to arrive and to be honest I was excited to get them. Four years with the same glasses is way too long and I needed a change. 

When I arrived at the doctor’s office to pick up my frames, I announced to the staff, “I’m here to pick up my old people glasses.”

I was met with words of encouragement. “Awe, no Kristen. Your new frames are sexy. You are gonna look great.” 

I haven’t collected any new phone numbers lately but I can read better in bed and that is as sexy as it gets. 

My Museum Is Closed

Have you fallen into this trap?

Thinking you have a secure storage area only to find out sentimental items have disappeared, broke or were donated?

Ok. I admit it was naive of me to think my childhood bedroom would remain a shrine for life. To be honest, I should have done more to protect any items I had any attachment to. 

In my defense, I moved into my first apartment not long after I graduated from college. It was a studio apartment and there wasn’t a lot of room for my bed let alone mementos of years gone by.

The first thing to go was my snow globe collection. This was an accident. A mirror toppled over in my “former” bedroom breaking a few of my treasured items. At this point I don’t even remember what existed before the destruction so this isn’t that big of a deal. I have accumulated a pretty nice collection since then, mostly holiday related, alongside my wedding cake topper that has soothed the loss of any snow globes that came before. 

My prom dress - that was a big one. I am not sure how that ended up finding its way into a Goodwill donation bag but I continue to look for it when I go thrifting.

I think I had this notion that the Kristen Museum would be there forever to house the items that tell the story of my life. That is so not the case. Keep in mind I have two other siblings that probably feel the same way about their things. And a side note...all three of us spent many years living out of state. I am sure my parents wanted to de-clutter their house and create their empty nest love shack. 

(I look around my own house after 18-years of child raising - I have redecorating dreams too.)

I recently told the story of my piano, in a state of disrepair,  that I gave the green light to have removed. While my father was working on taking it apart, my husband mentioned (unbeknownst to me) that he would like the bench. He thought I would appreciate having a memento of my childhood piano and he planned on refinishing it to make it look like new. The bench held 8 years' worth of instructional books and sheet music I had accumulated. 

When anyone other than me would open the bench, it probably looked like a lot of clutter and random papers. But among the books and papers, a treasure was hidden. 

When I first started taking piano lessons, back in the early 80's, my dad’s father went to the music store and bought me a book of old standards, some of his favorites, including "Goodnight Irene" and "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" plus he picked up the sheet music for "The Sound of Music". 

For a kiddo just starting out on the keys, these songs were challenging. It would be a while before I could ever attempt them. To be honest, the songs always remained challenging. I wasn’t that good at reading music. But I held out hope that one day, I would be able to play them for him. My grandfather passed away before that day came.

This has been a regret I carry with me but again I have always had hope for a future recital. That hope came to a crashing halt when my husband and I went to pick up the piano bench from my parents’ garage. The first thing I did was lift the lid and I almost lost my breath. It was empty. 

“Hey, Dad,” I nervously called out. “Where's all the stuff?” 

I began to look around the garage frantically. There was no sign of a catalog worth of piano books. My dad promised he did not throw anything away, but I had my doubts. He did not understand the relationship I had with those items or the future concert I was planning on performing. 

A few days later, my mom took pity on me, probably because of the prom dress debacle, and let me know when they would not be home. I was able to go over when the house was empty and look for my books. Luckily, it didn’t take long for me to discover the very items I thought were gone forever. They were in the garage, in a tote, underneath a bunch of photo albums and knickknacks. 

Those items mean more to me now than they ever did when I was younger. My grandfather died when I was 12 and I really don’t have much to remember him by. This music was such a personal gift and it offers insight into a complicated man who I really never got to know. 

I believe I inherited his love of music and the two of us probably had more in common than we had the opportunity to realize. Maybe that is the true gift?

Finding Your Happy

365 days….

It seems much longer than 365 days. It seems like years - decades.

On March 13th, 2020, I left the school where, only three months prior, I had been hired. The students would not return until 10 months later. No one saw that coming.

I am still trying to make sense of a year that had so many ups and downs. I am sure we all can agree, our lives will never be the same. 

Ten months later, we still walk around wearing masks at work, at the store, in church. I keep my distance from people when speaking to them and I refrain from any hugging or touching - for the most part. Occasionally, my mom will come in for the sneak attack hug. She has the philosophy that if it's her time it's her time. But as a rule, I only hug my immediate family. 

At my school, the students started coming back a few weeks ago. The return was staggered to allow students and staff to get adjusted to the new social-distanced learning. Two weeks ago, marked the return of the students I worked with before the world stopped. These kids are now 1st graders and while not all of them have chosen to come back in person there are quite a few familiar faces. 

I had only worked with them for a few months so for the most part these kids see me now and while there is a slight glimmer of recognition we didn’t have a lot of time to build a relationship. There were a few kids I worked with on a regular basis and those I have not yet seen. But last week, when I walked into the cafeteria for my assigned lunch duty I was spotted by someone who was genuinely happy to see me. 

I think we saw each other at the same time. But it was her arms waving frantically in the air that really got my attention. I was so happy to see this little girl  again and I immediately went over to say hello. This kid is one of those people who smiles with her whole face and since it was lunchtime, when the kids can take their masks off, I got the full experience.

Her joy is contagious and I missed that. With all the gloom and sadness of the past year, it was nice to see someone genuinely HAPPY. Happy to be in school. Happy to be at lunch. Happy to be with her friends. Just a whole bunch of happy!

After we caught up, I realized I recognized a few of her classmates. I said hello and they were more guarded than “Little Miss Sunshine'' but that was ok too. One little boy said, “I know you” then gobbled up another bite of lunch. 

I went back to my corner of the cafeteria. My eyes kept finding their way over to her table. Seeing her made me realize just how different things are this year. A table, which used to seat nine kiddos, now accommodates only two. There are stickers on the seats, spaced six feet apart, where kids can sit and there is a lot of leaning in order to communicate with fellow classmates.

The once chaotic environment is much more subdued and the kids are encouraged to stay in their seats after getting their meal. The garbage cans are brought to them once their meals are finished. 

At the end of this school day, a day that is two hours shorter than last year, I was standing in the hall as dismissal began. I watched as the first graders came down to board their buses. And once again, there was Little Miss Sunshine. This time she was all bundled up with a furry hood framing her face. Her electric smile was concealed by a mask but her eyes said it all. 

Her “happy” made me happy and for that I was truly grateful. We, as adults, can get bogged down with the weight of it all but we have to find our “happy”. Things are so different from how they once were but there are plenty of reasons to be happy and sometimes we just need a little reminder to smile.