I offered to lay a fire for my daughter and her friends when they went out for that last get together at Shari's. I thought another nice thing for them to do would be to have a last campfire before they went off to their respective colleges. As a recorder of life both in my writing and with photo albums, I'm very aware of capturing last moments. 

I've written about this subject before in relation to my daughters' childhoods. I don't know when the last time was they rode the mechanical horse at the grocery store, their last bedtime story, or even the last time I had to cut up their food. It's difficult to judge many of those life events because it's really impossible to know what triggers the mental development that makes them grown up enough to pass up the horse in the grocery store. 

I texted my daughter at the restaurant to ask if they wanted the campfire and told her I stashed s'more stuff. She replied, "I will keep you updated on whether or not we can eat  more after."

It was ten at night. I didn't want to know if they wanted more to eat. "I will be in bed. What you guys really need to decide is if you want to sit out by the fire."

"Yes, please. Let's do it."

So I laid a fire, set out the s'more stuff, lighter, flashlight, and turned on the back porch lights. Then I went to bed. Around 12:00, I woke up to go to the bathroom. I peeked out my bedroom window and there they were, enjoying the fire. I heard them sing Happy Birthday to my youngest as it was officially her birthday. I peed then crawled back into bed and left them to their joy. 

What I really wanted to do was race outside, sit with them, and press upon them the gravity of this campfire. Although it was only intended as the last one before the end of the summer, they really didn't know if it was permanently the last one. I mean they're growing up. They don't know what direction they'll take after a whole school year. For some of them it will be their second year. For one of them it's in California. Someone may decide to get a job and live close to school permanently. 

It could have been their last campfire EVER and even though they were there, they might have missed it.  

[This sounds a bit formal because it's my newspaper column for next week - I felt like it was worthy to post on my blog also]

My youngest turned 20 last week. I felt like I was dealing with realities beyond my maturity level. How can I not have a teenager in the house? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, kick up my heels or curl up in a fetal position and sob. I kept myself together, because no matter how I reacted she would indeed turn 20.

Later that night she asked me if she could meet her friends at Shari’s for one last meal together before several of them went back to college. After she left I pondered why at 20 she was asking me instead of just informing me. She’s certainly old enough to make those kinds of decisions. I know she lives in my house and it’s very considerate of her to ask permission. However, she only needs to let me know of her whereabouts, as she should for anyone she lives with for safety reasons and the other party’s peace of mind.

A few days later, when a similar situation arose, I told her she didn’t have to ask if she could go somewhere, she could just tell me. I would let her know if there was a reason I needed her to stay home. Truth be told whenever she asked if she could meet friends in the dark of the night, I wanted to scream NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! The same was true when either of my daughters asked if they could go to a concert, a friend’s house, or visit someone in another city.

I don’t want my daughters out after dark running around, not even a mile away. I don’t want them to travel further than I can easily save them from whatever the big bad world throws at them. I want my whole family to be home when the sun goes down, right where I can touch them when I need to be assured they are okay. However, I am aware that’s the mom in me talking and I have to pause and consider if there is real harm in what they are asking or if my “no” comes from my own internal, mom-martyr angst (that one where we want our children to just do as we say without questioning our motives).

Also, they aren’t doing anything I didn’t do when I was their age. In fact, when I turned 20 I was in Europe finishing my school year abroad and planning on traveling on a Euro-rail pass alone the rest of the summer. I didn’t have a cell phone, Facebook, or social media to easily keep in touch with my parents. I called collect occasionally and if my dad answered the phone he’d ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Call in a week.”

If my mom wasn’t in the room to intercept the phone, he’d hang up on me. Apparently, their phone bill was expensive during that time I was away. My daughters are quite sedate and stay close to home compared to my adventures at their ages. Still, I’m the mother now and it’s all I can do to not say no to anything they want to do out of my reach (think the next block, yelling distance, somewhere I can see when I step outside my front door).

But I know part of growing up is doing things away from parents and it’s not healthy to shelter them, especially for my own self-serving purposes. Now it’s just better if they don’t ask. My youngest didn’t have my permission to turn 20 after all, and she did it anyway. We both lived to tell the tale.

This has been a rough end of summer for me. My MS kicked in again forcing me to make some tough decisions about future treatments. There have been a few other incidences that have stopped forward progress of my weight loss and I struggled to regain focus, which initially made me go further off track. 

As I talk to friends and family, take time to breathe and refocus on my own health and well being, I have to give a lot of credit to my good friends who always take time to listen. Not only do they listen, they don't give me advice. Most often when people need to talk something out, that's what they need - to talk. If they wanted advice, they'd ask for it. I know it's something I have to work on when I'm on the receiving end. 

One of my recently acquired friends has really been through a trial by fire, being the recipient of my personally inflicted anguish one day a couple months ago. It was an unexpected moment, even unexpected by me, and she didn't flinch. She listened as I gave her my heart and she cradled it close and handled it gently. Not only that, but she didn't bolt. Then she said something to me, which was so heartfelt and touched me more than she'll ever know - "You are worthy. You are loved."

To have a friend who will say that when I feel my most unlovable is such a precious gift. I can't even explain to her how much her friendship means to me. She's in my writer's group and we literally hand each other our hearts every week through our writing, expecting other writers to handle them with care. But those simple words - You are worthy. You are loved. - are ones we should remind each other of all the time. Especially as mothers, as parents, trying to figure out how to raise our children to be the kind of people who will say those words to someone who needs to hear it. 

No matter what distresses life or people hand you, may there be someone in your life who says those words to you while they cradle your heart in their hands.

Always remember - 

YOU ARE WORTHY. YOU ARE LOVED.

PS Happy Birthday to two of my friends who have cared for my heart when I've needed it.

A few months ago, when we were deep into the heat of the summer, my oldest tagged me on FB for a recipe for roasted tomato soup. I thought, "Lordy, I am not making her soup in the middle of summer. She can make it herself." I suggested that to her and I swear I heard her grunt (virtually). She ignored me and didn't bring it up again. 

I don't expect my daughters are ever going to make raw food into real food. At least not any time soon. They will move out someday and I predict they will get tired of macaroni and cheese. Though my mother prodded my sister and me to learn to cook, I didn't really cook until I got married. In those early days, my cooking was just okay. I remember calling my mom a lot asking for advice. Shortly after my youngest was born I joined the Pampered Chef team and started doing cooking shows. Doing that made me the bold chef I am today, I've even been know to try a completely new recipe on company, I'm that confident in my skills. 

However, I had no intention of making homemade tomato soup when there are perfectly good cans or boxes as the case may be for the roasted tomato soup Costco sells. She told me it would be better. Pfft. How would she know, she's never made it. 

Though this week, with the weather markedly turning to fall I learned I can't cook anything until nature tells me it's time. Fresh tomatoes are in abundance now. I'm not a big eater of tomatoes, but even I have a couple vines that are going abundantly crazy. I enjoy a fresh tomato now and then on my salad or in a sandwich and it's immensely satisfying to throw a tomato I've grown into a casserole or stir fry. 

She didn't move out or anything, rather the teenager has left the house. My baby girl turns 20 today. Sob!

​My heart soars for her, but breaks all at the same time. I told my husband last night to hug his teenager one last time before he headed to bed. He said, "My baby?" 

"The infant who screamed her head off and made us suffer when we failed to guess on our first try what she wanted." I remembered.

"The one who flung plastic vegetables at the hallway wall when she got mad at us?" he countered.

The very same. She's come a long way and long ago left her spinning-head temper behind. I can honestly say once she got past those volcanic years, 18 months to 5 years, she's been an easy girl (woman) to live with.

She's quiet, yet funny. She's wickedly sarcastic and appropriately irreverent. She's intolerant of intolerance and socially aware of the ramifications of bad politics. She has a heart of gold and keeps little care packages for the homeless in her car. She's my vampire-hermit-girl superhero. She respects our opinion. A couple weeks ago I had to tell her that she really didn't ask my permission go somewhere, she could just inform me. I'd tell her if I needed her to stay home. 

Our lives definitely improved when she was born. I can't believe my baby girl is turning 20 today.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl! We love you!

After the post about the quilts, a few people have asked me if I quilt on a regular basis or did I visit the quilt shop in Long Beach. The short answer is "Oh hell no." The long answer requires a story, but would you expect anything less? 

After the second quilt I made in 2008, I thought it could be a fun hobby to pursue. I bought a beginners quilting book and cozied up in a chair with a quilt I'd purchased to read about the wonders and joy of putting together a "real" quilt. One with patterns and sophistication, unlike one with just car t-shirts. 

It was convoluted and confusing with decisions and choices and all other sorts of things which I find are way beyond my level of comprehension. Don't get me wrong, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, but seriously. That's a lot of math and, worse yet, intricate work. Not just the sewing, but the planning,  cutting, and precision would be enough to make me insane. I'd have quilt pieces stashed in drawers and cupboards just to procrastinate a bit longer. It would never get finished. It's one reason I whipped out a quilt in a weekend, I didn't want it hanging over my head, plus I don't have extra drawers or cupboards to store stuff. I don't even have a laundry room to store  dirty or clean laundry, for heaven's sake. 

That being said, I admire those who do quilt. It's an art form and well worth the time for someone who enjoys that form of torture. Many would claim scrapbooking would drive them insane as well. And as many of you well know, I have 30+ completed photo albums scattered around my house. To each his own, I say. 

I keep my quilting to a minimum, as a type of survivalist skill. My husband owns so many t-shirts we could wallpaper the house in them. I quilt for him out of desperation. His drawers are packed, even after the 23 I used on our anniversary quilt (two had to be procured because at the time I started gathering shirts the one from last year that we owned was too new to chop up, the other because this year had yet to happen).

​So no, I did not visit any quilting shops, I do not quilt consistently, I don't even know when I'll make the next one. Given my track record I'll probably be in my sixties by then and we'll be buried in t-shirts. 

To each his own hell, I guess.

NOOOOOOOOO! I feel Autumn in the air. Even though it's supposed to be 80° out today as I hang my laundry I sense the end is near. At least for hanging laundry outside. Then I looked at when the sunrise and sunset occur these days: 6:41 and 7:27 respectively. Again I say NOOOOOOO! 

Though I'm not a fan of the sun setting at 10, I also prefer to have a little more daylight in the evening than we get in the middle of the winter. I do like the coziness of the cold winter nights and I love fall weather when it's time to turn on the gas fireplace in the mornings.  It was 47° this morning and would have been a good day to have a little fireplace on, but here I am on the back patio, because I can and it will be 80° eventually today and why confuse my new heating system. 

But the laundry.... I prefer to hang it outdoors and now that we've vented the bonus room with heat, laundry doesn't dry as quickly as when we had the pellet stove in there. But I hated the whole pellet stove dilemma with buying a ton of pellets, having to store them all, then filling the stove after it ran out of pellets. I miss the pellet stove for only one reason: its ability to quickly and thoroughly dry the laundry. 

I'm not ready for fall, yet I'm weary of summer. Such is life - often we have mixed emotions over changes that occur, whether it's just time to let go of something like my mother's decision to give up driving, or if they happen consistently like the seasons. Often change is welcome when it finally comes. 

​I'm just a bundle of contradictions today, okay most days - that will never change.

I told my husband I would have our anniversary quilt finished to take on our last car show of the summer. I'm very proud I achieved my goal. We're leaving for Long Beach today with the quilt nicely displayed on the bed in the RV. 

We had to take it to the laundromat to wash it yesterday. That is the downside of making what my kids are calling a BIG ASS BLANKET. I was reintroduced to our local laundry facility which I haven't used since my washing machine broke when my oldest was a toddler.

I was livid that my washer was still broken because I had to haul all the laundry to the laundromat. My misery was only made worse after she mistakenly grabbed a soda cup off the table thinking it was mine, took a big swig before I could stop her, and it was someone's "spit" cup they had slovenly left behind. I put my foot down after that and insisted major appliances get fixed immediately and if they can't be fixed right away, I WILL replace it with my credit card and the store's delivery service. I haven't been in that predicament since. 

My husband and I became spoiled by having a king sized comforter on our queen sized bed after I bought one for our bedroom a couple Christmases ago. All summer we've missed the extra width while we're camping. Of course, if I'm complaining about the width of the comforter on our queen sized bed in the RV, "camping" is a relative term. We're not exactly roughing it. But if we're going to take it all with us, we may as well be as comfortable as we're used to being. It looks so nice on the bed, it's longer so it covers the pillows and we both get a whole column of shirts on either side. Woo hoo. 

To be fair to us, we will have a couple nights without any hookups. The struggle is real. Just sayin'. At least there won't be anymore struggle over the comforter as we take it for a spin. I'm hoping to come back refreshed, without my current "MS leg", and that the air will be clean and the fires that surround us out or contained. 

25 t-shirts
6 yards of fabric
1 spool of thread 
33+ yards of tying cord (to hold the batting in place)
1 sheet of recycled batting
1 king sized sheet from Goodwill 
26 1/2 hours of labor

What did you labor over this weekend?

This time last year I was finishing digging my newest garden bed along the fence we share with our neighbors. It was like having a baby, you don't remember the pain of labor after time has passed, so you do it again. I certainly hadn't remembered I did the whole thing by hand. Though I was hard pressed to willingly jump into doing a new one this year. It must've been a subliminal memory that made me rent not one but two power tools to dig more beds along the back fence. 

Now look at it:

My backyard is my first solo act as a gardener. Even if you're not a gardener, you have to appreciate what a sense of accomplishment I have over this. I love my front yard, too, but my Florida friend designed it and though I've made many changes to it over the years and called it my own, this one is truly me. Admittedly it took her expertise to give all this some water and shake me out of my denial.

Little did I know that the rock garden I dug a year ago last spring would be he catalyst to a whole new world of gardening. May your own labors this day flourish beyond your wildest expectations.