The big guy

So, I am a member of a Mom's group. I tend to lurk with this group, I don't tend to go to playgroups, moms night out and all of that stuff. The group has an online forum, and I spend some times reading the posts, responding, etc. Anywho....someone posted something about the big guy, you know the dude in the red suit. The question this person posted was if people teach their children that Santa is real. I was taken aback not only by the post but by the responses! There are many people out there who do not want to teach their children some falsehood about something blah blah blah. Others only wanted to celebrate the birth of Jesus and not get the big guy involved.

Guess what, I love Christmas! Yes, I get stressed. Yes, I spend money. Yes, some days I feel pulled in different directions. But, when it comes down to it, I love to bake cookies, decorate gingerbread houses, and watch as my kids talk about Santa. Granted, I have acted like I called Santa so that my sweet children might behave better, but in general I don't use Santa in that way!

I love to see it all through my children's eyes. I love that they light up when they hear about Santa. I love that they are trying to figure out how it gets to all of those houses in ONE night. And, how they are concerned that he might not make it down our "fake propane gas chimney".

After reading the posts from these ladies in my mom's group, I realized, for me, Santa embodies the spirit that is so important for us to maintain. The idea that everyone needs a helping hand sometimes, that everyone deserves to feel special, the fact that magic does exists in the world. The spirit of giving. I know that if I were really wealthy, where I knew my family was taken care of, I would spend much of my money on others. Santa is that little part of all of us who loves surprises, who loves seeing the joy on the faces of the people we love.........and who LOVES sugar cookies with sprinkles!

By the way, we have taught our children something a little strange about Santa. They leave him cookies and beer, because Santa cannot drink all of that milk in one night!

So you think you can sing?

Tonight both of my little girls had their recital. Maggie, the four and a half (very important to mention the 1/2) year old did a ballet number and a tap number. Tyler, the six year and a half year old, did her first ever solo. She sang "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" from Annie. It was quite a proud moment for me, and it made me take a little trip down memory lane.

My Dad could sing. He would get out his guitar (or as he would say in his Canadian accent, trying to have a southern accent, GE-tar) and he would sing all of the Bob Denver folksy songs, and whatever else came to mind. He played a lot. He played at school (he was my teacher - remember it was the 70's). There was music in our house quite often. I would sing along, I would sing loud and I would sing proud. He always told me I could sing. I believed him. Heck, I even tried out for a singing part in a musical in high school! I didn't get the part and couldn't quite figure out why.

I remember listening to my Mom and sisters sing and I would think, WOW they cannot carry a tune. In my head, I was Madonna, or Helen Reddy. I was someone and I could carry a tune.

My Dad got sick when I was 25. He got leukemia and then had a Bone Marrow Transplant. He was in the hospital for just over 4 months. There were a few times that he was well enough to "walk the halls", and we would share walks. One day, I thought, what could be better, I will sing to him! So, we walked and I sang. Finally he looked at me and said "leigh, your singing is really bad". WOW, seriously?

Fast forward two years later, and I had met my hubby, Tony. We had not been dating that long and he got to experience me in a car, belting out some tunes. I would just sing it out and he would sing and it was fun. I remember him saying, "I love that you sing" I took that as, I love your singing. Years and years later (we are talking 10 years later) he finally says, "you know, when we first started dating it was cute when you sang in the car, and now, well, not as cute". You see, my hubby can sing. He can carry a tune, and it hurts his ears to hear the pitches I can produce. Don't worry, I still sing in the car, I still sing to him, but I know now that I am a terrible singer.

I am though, a really really lucky Mom. I have a child who can SING! I love that she can sing, I love that she writes her own songs, and I love that she is shy and still gets up on stage to sing. I love that she tells me that I am a very good singer when it comes to lullabyes, but she often tries to help me out with my pitch for songs in the car.

I am also really lucky, because Maggie carries a tune like I do. She loves to sing, she believes she can sing, she believes she is as good as her sister tyler, and she sings loud and proud. She cannot carry a tune in a bucket, and I think I will wait until she is in her 20's to tell her that fact!

Before I was me, I was her.................

Recently one of my dear dear friends phoned with birthday wishes. This girl, Jennifer, is probably one of my dearest friends. We have one of those amazing friendships where neither of us really care of we don't call for 6 months. Once we do reconnect, well, it is like we talked yesterday. She knew me "when". She knew me when I was just me. I was not the Queen Bhe, I was not married, I did not have children, I was just a confused teenager. I remember our first meeting, which we have great delight in telling people, from our own perspectives. We both agree that it was in 10th grade english class with Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone was one of those teachers who was VERY smart, quite disheveled, always had chalk on his nose, had a sweep over, and expected greatness from his students............

In our high school there were two public middle school feeder schools, phillips and culbreth. I came from neither! I had been attending a private, quaker school that had classes like basketweaving. Honestly, there was a class about basketweaving (an elective people!) but there were also classes about the hard core essentials. Of course NO ONE knew this at the public schools.........so as we went around the room and said our previous school, there were some chuckles when I said "carolina friends school" (which, on a side note is a cool school to attend now, but back then, not so much). Sitting in front of me was Jennifer. She had this LONG LONG reddish hair, curled so nicely on ends, she had a ribbon in her hair that matched the belt on her jeans, which matched her socks, which matched her shirt. You get the picture right? She was perfect in every way. I soon realized that she was VERY smart, but also a cool chick. She was quite dismayed the day I came into class in sweatpants and clogs. You know the clogs that were wooden, with swede tops? Well, she said "oh, are you not feeling well today?" I thought, no, I am just comfortable (this is typical attire at my old school). She just laughed. Then I would tease her years later (and still today) how when Mr. Stone would ask a question, Jennifer would preface her answer with something along the lines of "well, Mr. Stone, last summer when I was reading war and peace for fun, I did find the story related to the one we are reading currently".

Jennifer and I were not exactly the typically matched pair. She was in Latin club for heaven sake! But our friendship developed throughout high school. We spent our entire summer before college together. We had one goal, which looking back on it was a very strange goal indeed. We had fake id's, we would go to all of the college bars, and we were determined that Jennifer would lose her virginity before college. SERIOUSLY, how crazy is that? That was our goal. Did we achieve it? Well, some things should be kept between friends!

Anyhow, the point is, she knew me before I really even knew myself. She knew the crazy me, who drank, who had boyfriends, who cried over boys, who had girl trauma in college (over boys of course), and she stuck with me. She knew me before I was someone's wife and someone's mother. She knew my Dad. She knew the wacky house I grew up in and didn't care that it was a bit off of the grid of normalcy. She is turning fourty this weekend. She is now married, with a little boy who is just over one. She is a professor, she has her PhD (this does NOT surprise me), and she is FUNNY, and we laugh.

This is for her, and for all of us who were someone before we became the people we are today.

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.