The things they say

I have two daughters, both are amazing in their own right, honestly, amazing. Maggie, the youngest, is one funny kid. Tyler tries to be as funny as Maggie, but you know when someone is just funny, they come up with things that are hysterical without even knowing how they do it. This is Maggie. So, yesterday it was time for Maggie to get ready for school. This week, the dear hubby is home for the week, and we are all kind of in this lounge mode. He is home, we want to relax and hang out, not get ready for school. Anyhow, we had sent Tyler off to school, and now it was Maggie's turn. So, I said (as I do every morning), okay Maggie go and get dressed. I then continued my conversation with Tony. The next thing I hear is:

(a whistle) then, "hey , forty (did I mention I turned 40 on Sunday?), you need to help me get dressed"

Seriously, she whistled, then she called me FORTY. She had not heard anyone say anything other than "happy 40th" "wow, can you believe you are 40", etc. But this cute as a button four year old whistled at me and called me "forty", which has now become the nickname that my hubby thinks is very funny. Where does she come up with this?

Again, yesterday Maggie's preschool had their "thankful feast". All of the kids dress up in something that has to do with thanksgiving.........it was fun, good food, etc. We were driving home from dance class (with both Maggie and Tyler) and Maggie says:

"so, did you know I was an indian today?"
"yes we did Maggie"
"did you know the other class was pillow crumbs"
"PILLOW CRUMB?" we all say, "maggie, what are pillow crumbs"
"you know pillow cases with little crumbs all over them"

Tyler, the child who see the trees in the forest and not so much the forest says,

"pillow crumbs Maggie? Don't you mean Pilgrams"

Maggie says, "oh is that what they are called? "

Then, of course, through our laughter we explained who pilgrams were, and Maggie could have cared less.

Speaking of laughing, here is a question, do you ever laugh uncontrollably? I remember doing it as a child, with my friends, over nothing. That feeling kind of subsided for me, until I met my hubby. He is a shy dude (many would not actually believe that, but it is true), and he is also not a guy who laughs a lot. Yes, he chuckles, yes, he laughs, but rarely does he have the uncontrollable pee in your pants laugh.

So we meet and very soon after I begin laughing at the MOST inappropriate times. The more I look at him while this is happening the WORSE it gets. Last Christmas he was jumping on this thing Tyler got as a gift (it was like a pogo stick, but not) and just by the look on his face and what he was doing, I laughed so hard I actually peed in my pants.

So, yesterday we are waiting for the kids (maggie is dancing, tyler is in voice lessons) and I give Tony a piece of chocolate. It was the "healthy" chocolate that I want to like with something like 75 percent Cacao, but I really don't like it, because it is nasty. Well, I take some, willing my brain to love it. I offer some to Tony. As I am swallowing my chocolate and the VERY strong aftertaste is hitting me, I offer some to Tony. He takes it and before he is even finished I start laughing. The more he chews the more I laugh. He is making faces and I am laughing. There are three other people waiting for their children and they are starting to stare, which only makes the situation worse. Tony is completely ignoring me, but still making faces. At this point I have tears running down my face and all Tony is doing is making faces like "that was TERRIBLE chocolate".

This continues about 5 minutes, maybe more. I am exhausted when I finish. Tony looks at me like I am a loon. The people in the place think I might be laughing at them, you see they have not seen me laugh like this in the year I have been regularly sitting in the lobby of the dance studio. Tony is completely ignoring me, but every now and again looking up from his magazine and making the face, saying some comment, which brings me back to hysterical laughing.

You see, this is not funny to anyone but me, yet, I simply cannot control myself!

raising ourselves can be challenging

So, my youngest daughter, Maggie, looks quite a bit like I did at her age (she is 4). So much so that the only way she can decide if a picture is me or her she looks for red hair. That is the only difference really, I have red hair and she does not. So, yes, we look a like. My other daughter looks much much more like my husband, and acts much more like him as well. Maggie acts like me, or like I did as a kid. I remember acting like her, and I find her very very funny. I also find it very hard to raise myself. Then I try and convince myself that "surely I did NOT act like that". When, in reality, I was the third girl in my family, the third girl to working parents. As my Mom says, we ignored you kids a lot more than you all ignore your own children. What I think she meant was, parenting when I was a kid is a bit different than how I parent. My parents were very involved, but we were not that involved in "activities", both of my parents worked, and my Dad happened to be the one home with us because he was a teacher. So, in those blissfully formative years, we tended to be ignored more, our needs were not immediately met. We did not have cable, remote controls for the television, and my parents (nor did their friends) did not feel the need to fill all of my day with activities. My parents let us fight (I distinctly remember on day when I was probably 8 and my next oldest sister was 10 and we were fighting. We were digging our fingernails into each others wrists and screaming at each other at the same time. My Dad was sitting near us reading the paper very calmly. My Mom walked in from work and said "Jim (that would be my Dad) WHY ON EARTH HAVEN'T YOU STOPPED THEM". He said, I figured when they hurt each other enough they would stop. I try to have this philosophy, but sometimes I just cannot take the screaming, hitting, screaming, yelling, and screaming.

So, back to Maggie. The girl is crazy. Crazy in a bad way, but crazy. She can push my buttons like no one else. She hates to do all of the things I used to hate (cleaning, being helpful when it is something she doesn't want to do), she loves all of the things I loved, boys, being the center of attention, sucking all of the air out of the room, talking incessantly, and being a ham. The good thing is she acts wonderful at school, at other people's homes, with friends, and saves her not so nice behavior for me. She demands my attention, screams if she does not get it immediately. She wants things NOW, she wants me to do everything for her (pick out her clothes, get her dressed, brush her teeth, NOT brush her hair even though there is a huge rat in the back, she wants to be the baby all of the time). Now if anyone in my family were reading this they would LAUGH and say, that is EXACTLY how Leigh used to be.........but when I was that way, everyone was doing things for me, I was not doing things for them!

My husband gave me some excellent advice, he told me to think about what I needed from people at that age that helped me behave better. I try to think about that, I try to play games with her, and teach her patience in a nice kind way. But just a warning, if you are at Target and you see a red headed lady with a 4 year old girl, and the lady is saying "IF YOU DO THAT ONE MORE TIME MY HEAD WILL POP OFF" you know it is me.

Until you walk a mile in my shoes

I try and remember this every day. There are things that just bug me when I see them and I try to be zen about it and remember I am not that person, why should it matter to me? One of my pet peeves is when the back windows (you know the minivans with the kids seats in the back) are plastered with stickers. So, from an outsider all that I see is stickers EVERY PLACE. So, I think why would someone let their children do that? Maybe I can justify my attitude from the fact that we never had a new car, we always had older cars, but we took care of them, and we NEEDED them to get us from place A to B. But, that would not be the truth, I simply get irritated by the "mess" of it all. What I should think is "wow, those parents are ingenious they have found something for their child to do on a long trip that will keep them occupied". All I am saying is I am trying.

So, I think of all of this because I am the youngest girl of three girls in my family. I was married first and had kids first, and as my next oldest sister said to me in our teens, "you have been nipping on my heels your whole life and I am tired of it". Yes, I did get married first. I had to deal with doubt from my sisters when I moved in with Tony (okay, we moved in together for 3 years before we got married, but I was 27 at that point!!!). I had to justify my "big move" because they had never been "in love" like this. But I did, I justified it. The only person I didn't have to justify it to was my dear sweet Mom. She said "sounds like a great idea, I really love Tony". So, years go by (actually just before our wedding) and my next oldest sister starts to date her now hubby. Guess what? A couple of months into it, they are living together? I wish I could say I didn't smack talk her, but I did, I could not resist. How could I not?

Couple of years later I had my first daughter. My oldest sister came to visit. She was neither married, nor dating anyone, had never been married and did not have any children. So, she and go shopping. I called my hubby two times during that shopping trip, she couldn't believe it. "he is her dad, he can handle it". Then two years later we had another daughter. We were all at the beach, the same sister was still not dating anyone and still not married, and we were shopping (this feels like a trend). Again, I checked in with the hubby who was now watching a toddler and a baby, again, the sister did not understand.

Guess what? The SISTER meets someone! The sister falls in love. Suddenly the tides are turning. She understands the world may not revolve around her exclusively. So, I bring this up because now the sister has a baby!!!! The sweet boy is 4 months old and just so damn cute. They are all coming down this weekend for my 40th birthday party. I hear from my Mom that the sister doesn't want to have our babysitter babysit her baby! The baby is coming to the party. The party that is out of my home, that is at a venue, that has a Dee Jay, food and alcohol. I had to laugh. I had to laugh a lot, to my Mom of course, not to the sister. I said to my Mom, you know, had this been 4 years ago, I would not have gotten away with this. But, to the sister, I said, I completely understand, it is up to you and no big deal to me. Inside, I was proud because I was mature enough now, on the cusp of 40, to NOT say anything to my sister who I love dearly. Because it is nice to see her softened and a Mommy. But silently, I will laugh all night at the party.

RMBRNDAD

RMBRNDAD - this is my license plate, remembering dad is what it means.............

A bit of a crappy day. It was 14 years ago today that my dear dear Dad died. He was only 54. I was so young (by young I mean, not actually in age, but really in my life). How to start this? Well, I remember my parents going on a biking vacation to Ireland with friends. They didn't take luggage, just what they could carry on bikes and they biked from town to town, pub to pub. They were gone 2 weeks. They had a wonderful time. That was the last vacation my dad really took, which is an odd thing to think about. He was diagnosed with leukemia in September of 1993. It took us all by surprise. I remember my Mom calling me (I worked at a residential high school in durham, nc - the School of Science and Math) and I answered the phone, and screamed. Students came running, I barely listened to my Mom telling me, through tears, that I had to go to UNC hospitals. So a dear student (who is now a doctor herself, who grew up with parents who are doctors) ran into my bathroom, shoved a toothbrush in my back pocket, grabbed a pillow and sent me off. It was a Thursday night, we all snuggled in Dad's bed and watched Seinfeld together. We laughed, we cried, and we laughed. We found out he had the "good leukemia", called Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia. It was "treatable" he would need a bone marrow transplant, but he would be okay. I was 25 when this happened, I didn't have a lot of direction in my life, I had a job, but not a career.

I realize now, in looking back, my Dad was a very private person about his feelings, fears, his illness. He was the life of the party, had amazing friends, made everyone laugh, loved to be with people (well, most people), told great stories, and was happy. But, he didn't want any of us inside his illness. We didn't really talk about it much. We ignored it because he wanted us to. I wouldn't do that now, but then, I was young, I just did it. I did chemo to keep it at bay, he has his blood checked, he was doing fine. Through some unfortunate circumstances that are just too much to blog about, he ended up very sick in a hospital in Columbia, SC getting a bone marrow transplant.

We went into the hospital July 5th, 1994. He stayed there until he died, November 8th, 1994. We were with him 24 hours a day for his entire stay. Someone had to be with him, and generally it was one of us Millar's. We survived, he did not.

So, for his memorial service, we had a Quaker (which I must point out is NOT amish, much to the confusion of quite a large number of people I encounter) service for him at Carolina Friends School (where we all went to school, where he worked for many years). We had a yellow balloon that we released at the service, given to us by our dear friends who own Balloons and Tunes in Chapel Hill. This balloon is huge, 2 feet in diameter. We let it go and watched it for what seemed like an hour in the sky. So, now we have a tradition. Every year we release the big yellow balloon on this day. We watch it go, see who can see it the longest, we have our children talk to Grampa Jim, and we watch. The only other times we have released the balloon is when each of us girls got married. Marianne and I were married locally, so it was easy! Lynn got married in Key West, so we took the deflated balloon with us down there, and gave Erin the responsibility of getting it to the wedding on the beach. We smile through out tears with the balloon.

There are days that I do not think about my Dad. I know that is okay. He missed so many milestones in my life, that if I thought of it too much I would not be able to get out of bed. He never met Tony, my husband, who really picked me up from a pile of apathy less than a year after my Dad died. He did not see any of us girls get married, he would have been the BEST grandfather, and he never met his grandchildren. For him and for them I am truly sad. All of the things he would have LOVED he missed. He would have loved his daughters as adults. He just would have. He would have loved holidays with us, our spouses, he would have loved Tony. They would have had great times drinking beer, and getting away from all of the women in the house. He would have found such joy in Tyler, Maggie, James, Emma and Cooper (the grandchildren). So, today, I am sad and angry. Sad for my loss, angry for my loss and just missing him quite a bit.

Make up classes

Recently my 4 year old had missed a gymnastics class, so we went on a different day for the make up of the missed class. I had said to her, this is a make up class. She didn't ask questions, went right inside, did her stuff (waving at me periodically through the glass). I sat in the "waiting" area of this very popular local gym. I say very popular because it is the ONLY gymnastics joint in wake forest. Is that a bad thing? Not usually, makes you think it would be very nice, because it is usually quite crowded. Well, every time I go there I wonder where all of the stains have come from on the couches that the mom's who are waiting try desperately to sit down on. You see there is room for about 8 people to sit on a couch or chair. Generally there are about 15 people waiting. To get the "seat" is like a game we all play with each other during the "class transition" time. All of us very refined ladies make a mad dash for a seat on a couch that has food stains, crud, crumbs and stains and odd smells from years of other mother's sitting their bums on the same seats.

Once we get into our seats, we try and talk (if you are lucky enough like me to have a dear friend enduring the torture with you - many thanks to Tracy), but invariably there are at least 4 young kids who are roaming the joint. Their mom's looking tired of entertaining their toddler brains for one more minute in the cramped space. So we sit and wait for the hour to be up. We wait, and this year we wait while all of the cheerleaders wait for their class to begin. That is a whole different blog, but let me tell you waiting with the cheerleaders is not all that it is cracked up to be! The teachers in this gym, once you get to the "older" kids (which means 3 years old and up) are high school students. They are as good as they can be dealing with children who are 6 years old and younger. Often times they have a look of utter displeasure on their faces, and they seem much happier once they are done with class. We, the parents, do not get any feedback from the "teachers", we are just happy that it seems like our children are learning something.

We do this, week after week, wondering about the smells, the stains, and the time lost at the gym. Yet, every nine weeks we sign up again, and pay for this experience.

So, back to the topic at hand, make up classes. My sweet Maggie went into her class, performed her gymnastics moves, got her stamps and ran out the door to see me. "Mommy you are NOT going to believe this one" she said very loudly as soon as she got to me. "there was NO make up in that class at all, look at my face, SEE NO MAKE UP". I laughed and laughed and laughed. Although for you people out there who have never experienced this particular place, I am sure you have seen some like it. The make up comment would make you laugh after enduring this place for more than a week.

The Closet

So.........I used to be a slob. I used to cry for hours when I had to clean on saturdays. Everyone in the house would go right to the chart, find their "job", get to it, and be done within the hour. Then there was me.......sitting crying, and begging someone to help me clean. Now, my sweet dear Maggie does the same thing. I feel for her, and I do try and help her. She wants someone involved in the process with her, and if left to her own devices, she will get her sister to clean her room for her. That being said, I am not a slob today, except for my dreaded closet.

If someone were to come in my house they would not see massive piles of things around (once in a while, yes, but generally no). I feel such peace when my house is tidy and clean. When it is a mess, I kind of freak out and need it to be in order so that I can relax and blog! So, one would think my entire house would be like this, but it is not. My closet is my secret slob spot. It is the one space where I can go back to my old ways, I can just chunk things in there and shut the door. You see in this house, for the first time ever, my hubby and I don't share a closet. He once said it was one of the best things ever, and didn't think we would ever be able to share another closet. When we did share a closet, I was not a closet slob. I couldn't be one because then someone would actually see the mess!

Then we moved.......I thought my closet was perfect. It it is a walk in closet, with lots of room for all of my clothes. Well, let's first realize that I don't have that many clothes any more! The ones I do have are all "mom" clothes and some items I have refused to "let go" over the years. But, I have clothes. So, during my week I wash clothes. I wash for the girls and tony, and put them all away. I know, I probably wash in a strange way, but I put the girls clothes together, then tony's clothes and then mine. All separately. I don't know why, this is just how I do it. So, by the time I get to my clothes, I just wash and then they go into the closet, in my basket, ready to be put away........

They are rarely put away. They are simply in the basket waiting for me to place them on their hangers. I end up with a pile of the clothes that are dirty that are suppose to go in the basket, and the clean clothes in the basket. My closet is a danger zone where I could easily break an ankle trying to get around the basket with the clean clothes, avoiding the dirty clothes. And, I wonder, why do I do this to myself? Honestly, I think I need that one slobby space, that is just for me.

So, what do you want for your birthday?

My hubby recently asked me this question. You see, the big birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks, and by big I mean 4-0.........seems odd to me since I think I am still something closer to 25. Then I look in the mirror and think, wow, I am not 25 any more.

So, anyhow, the hubby says that "people" have been asking what I would like for my birthday, and what should he tell them. "a wife" I reply. "thanks" he said "that was really helpful" - I don't think he appreciated my answer. In reality though, I was serious. Who wouldn't want a wife? I would want a wife for a week, well, maybe two weeks. I would want a wife who is not like me, one who is super organized, super crafty, has great decorating ideas, can make and freeze a month's worth of dinner in a day, who figures out "storage" for all of my items, who goes through my children's clothes and makes sure everyone has the correct sizes and seasons in their closets (as well as the right shoes), someone who can do laundry without shrinking anything and gets it out of the dryer before it is a wrinkled mess. A wife who is patient with the children, who will listen attentively to her husband and will come up with fun things to do in the evenings. A wife who doesn't want to spend so much time on the computer that everything else kind of slides through the cracks. A wife would pack the lunches for the kids and make them cute and good and healthy. A wife would get up every morning with the kids and make them breakfast, she wouldn't want a couple of days off of people asking/needing her as soon as their feet hit the floor.

I remember when I had my second daughter, my mom and sisters gave me money to have someone come and clean our house every week for a month. Once she came and cleaned I was hooked. She still cleans our house every two weeks..........it is very nice. It helps me a lot. I shouldn't complain that I want a wife for my birthday, because I have so much. But I would SO love a wife, just for a little while, just to help me catch up.

Other than that, I would like Obama to become the president for my birthday. Of course, the majority of my friends here in Wake Forest would not even think to give me that gift.

So, if anyone knows of a wife rental, let me know and I will pass the word to my wonderful hubby.

So, how much is too much?

I always say I grew up in Chapel Hill, but "technically" I grew up outside of chapel hill with a hillsborough address, yet living closer to chapel hill than any place else. So, we were in the country, on some acres, in between two dairy farms. My dad and mom built our house. Our geodesic dome house (that is for another blog people!). I loved our house, our "country living", our outside time, our garden, our above ground pool that turned into an ice skating rink in the winter time. I thought we had it all, we were rich, we lived high on the hog. We took beach vacations every year, we went skiing in vermont many times, we trekked to Canada to see my dad's family. I never seemed to want for much. Target did not exist, and I survived my childhood. We rarely went "out to dinner", and when we did it was a BIG deal. We took one 'school shopping' trip a year to the peaches and cream outlet in burlington.

So, now I am a mom. I have young children. They have more today that I ever thought possible for myself as a child. For them, it is commonplace. It is not a big deal to get a new pair of shoes, go out to dinner, watch a movie. They have their own room. They do not want to share a room. They live in a house that could eat the home I grew up in, and I have done this to them.

This year for a couple of days of my oldest daughter's track out (she is in year round school) we went to disney world. We did it "on the cheap" so to speak....we drove down there, we stayed at a hotel paid for by Tony's hotel points, we only went to the parks for 3 days. Yet, somehow, Tyler (the oldest daughter) was disappointed. I want to believe that she was disappointed that disney did not live up to her expectations, that she believed there would be rides every place and that cinderella would follow her around the park. But, in some way I also know that things are not as "special" to her because she has so much.

My four year old knows how to "pause" the television. I will turn a show on for her, and in the middle of it I will hear her go to the bathroom. She will pause the television so that she will not miss anything. I remember the days when everyone would wait for the commercials and if someone dared to get up for any reason, everyone would yell "hey, could you get me _____" while you are up. Now, we simply pause the television so that we can have it all, without even trying.

I know, unfortunately that this stems from me. I talk until I am blue in the face about empathy, and how many people do not have as much as we do, and how I grew up, how my husband grew up. But, I know that I need to reel them in, the problem is I like having 132 channels of television, and going out to eat, and pausing the television! So this will be harder than I want it to be!

So, maybe I will just tell them the pause button is broken and we will take little steps from there.

What is in a name?

My last name has not always been Bhe (which, by the way is pronounced Bee). My name used to be Millar (pronounced miller), then I met my husband, we got married and bam, my name was changed. It is not like I met my now hubby when I was young, I was 26, I was in graduate school, I was a Millar. Granted, people butchered my name even then, because I was Leigh Millar (they would say, lea, leegaha - truly they did say this - lay, etc. Then my last name was always something like mylar. So, I went through life being lay mylar. Was it fun? No, but it was me and I was used to it. I didn't know any other millar's in chapel hill, and then people could always say, oh are you Jim and Claire's daughter? Yes, I am why thank you very much. Anyhow, back to the story, I met my now hubby and when I realized he "might be the one" I thought, how in the hell is this going to work? My name will rhyme, I will be Leigh Bhe (or lee bee). Guess what? My nickname in elementary school was leebee (said quickly, lebe not leeeeebeeee), so I marked it down as destiny, my nickname was going to be MY NAME for all of the world to use.

That feeling did not last long! One day, a few months before our wedding, we were eating out and I said some along the lines of 'so, what if I didn't take your name'. Needless to say, my argument of "well, I am older than you and I have had my name longer" and "there are no other millar's in my family to carry on the name" didn't go over to well.

After we got married I kind of hyphenated without actually using a hyphen for my last name. My excuse was "well, everyone at work and the university knows me as Millar and it is just easier to use both names". In reality, I just was not ready to part with the Millar. I felt like a Millar, it was me, it always has been me.

Then we had a daughter. I tried to get her named Millar, but that did not fly. Her last name is Bhe. I quit my job. No need for Millar any longer. I had heard from friends with different last names than their children that it could be a pain to deal with. So off I went to duties of a stay at home mom as a Bhe and only a Bhe. Now, the questions I get are these:

1. How do you pronounce your last name? Bee, I respond. Ah, I would not have guessed that.
2. Wow, I have never seen your last name before, what is the origin of it? Pennsylvania Dutch from what I have been told!
3. So, your name is Lee Bee (not really a question, but more of a statement of amazement)

Often, when I introduce myself people look at me a little strange, and say, "lee bee that is so cute". Sure, it is cute, try having it!

Finally though, my sweet hubby said "I should have just said you could keep Millar, but I wanted someone else to have to deal with Bhe as a last name also!"