Some consider graffiti a nuisance that should be covered up and prevented. Others see it as artistic expression. You might see it under bridges, on abandoned structures or inside bathroom stalls. It’s presence can be defacing but it usually has a message.
I had the privilege of viewing a long, cement wall of graffiti in Prague, Czech. It was an homage to John Lennon after his passing. Apparently, many behind the Iron Curtain grieved deeply and the Communists allowed one spot for them to express themselves. This was an offensive move by the government to prevent random, public graffiti which was not tolerated. The collective mural featured different artists each with distinct style and was impressive. Art, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder….
Graffiti can also be delinquent, purposeless destruction as well. When our boys were young, one found a can of hunter green spray paint. He impulsively painted the side of our garage. After his brothers let him know we’d see it and he was going to get in trouble, he decided to paint “I love mom and dad” on top of his transgressive “art.” Of course we weren’t pleased with the graffiti but it sure was disarming to read his “love” for us- his hilarious countermove. Eventually, but not too soon thereafter, we had him paint over his parental homage.
None have tried or attempted anymore “freelance art” (that we know of). If anyone knows otherwise, feel free to contact me any time.
Does anyone else have a junk drawer that is basically a black hole? It’s full, but of who knows what? Recently, I spent hours going through one of these looking for something. Of course, it never appeared but some other really cool stuff did. I ended up reminiscing through pictures, children’s art, cards and very old documents from my grandparents. I highly recommend doing it sometime. Just sit down and take an inventory of your past years. Updated perspective is truly remarkable.
Some of the amazing items found were over a hundred years old. I happened upon my grandfather’s 1926 certificate of initiation into the Alpha chapter of Pi Kappa Phi at College of Charleston. I also found a tenant farmer deed that was originally signed in 1884. It was glued to the new one signed and notarized in 1909. I have no idea what to do with it but just touching the papered history of my family felt special. The children’s art is way too numerous to detail, but I loved the preschool mom letters. Ridiculously cute, they described me as 45 pounds and basically perfect (where did that opinion go?). A prized find was a tiny journal I had jotted some hilarious encounters with my children in. If any of you still have small children around, it is so worth it.
One entry in the journal had me at dinner with two of them. Apparently, one son wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer since he recently learned it. He began and then I noticed he said, “And lead us into temptation…” Upon finishing, I corrected him that it was actually, “And lead us NOT into temptation.” He shrugged and said, “What’s the big deal? It’s only ONE word!” Another was driving home from school, our daughter was reading about the Holocaust. She shared a very tragic story of a woman whose husband was shot in front of her and she delivered a stillborn days later. It was a very somber, quiet moment until my son said to me, “And you think YOU have stress!” (He had a very good point.)
As funny as the stories were, the art sweet, and the old pictures meaningful, I was amazed at the feeling of positivity that came from reminiscing. It was like looking back through a filtered, edited frame that provided good light and a beautiful landscape of my life. Sometimes, saved clutter can be good thing (sorry, Martha).
Does anyone remember the television show “Candid Camera?” It was the show from the 70’s where a serious newsman would interview children on relevant matters. Usually, the child was very frank in their response and was unintentionally hilarious. Occasionally, the interviewer would get giggly because some kid would say what adults could not.
If I had a Candid Camera crew around to record some of the things that came out of my childrens’ mouths, I’d have done it (most of the time). One example occurred during Vacation Bible School. It was tribal themed that year and I knew the leader of my son’s tribe. She found me during pick up to share what my son had said to the group. She had been explaining that tribes work together for the common good and that we do that for our families by completing chores. When asked who did chores for their family, my son’s hand shot up (he never backed down from an opportunity to talk out). She asked him his chore and he emphatically said, “When my daddy wants a beer, I go get it for him!” Strike one for parenting….
Another doozy occurred when we were all in the car. My husband was reprimanding the boys about their behavior and told them that their ADHD was not an excuse for D-U-M-B. Everything got quiet for a minute and a son said, “I didn’t know I had D-U-M-B too.” We got a kick out of that one.
Once the boys reached double digits, their language became somewhat “colorful.” I nagged them repeatedly about cleaning up their language, washed mouths out, put in time out, everything. So, one son began spelling out curse words because he believed God wouldn’t get mad because he actually hadn’t SAID them. I happened to hear him arguing with his brother one afternoon and heard him say, “You are nothing but a B-A-S-T-E-R!” (I am so glad I wrote that one down. Possible Strike Two in there for us as parents.)
Our daughter had the propensity to create new words and phrases. She invented the word “reservate” (instead of make a reservation) which I actually use to this day. Another thing she invented was a term for people who didn’t behave nicely. She had heard the term “red neck” and “white trash” so when someone was acting ugly, she called them “red trash.”
We have had a dear friend/nanny/housekeeper over the years and once when one of our sons was young and visiting her house he looked around and said, “You sure make poor look good!” Thank goodness she laughs about that one to this day.
A few years ago, my mother in law took my husband and two of our sons to the Holy Land. Our church had sponsored the trip and it was going to several ancient, biblical sites. One of our boys was adamant that he wanted to be baptized in the same river Jesus was by John the Baptist. The pastor wasn’t very excited to get wet and in the cold river because it wasn’t part of their group tour, however, his wife made him do it. He got in and Joshua got baptized. The only fluke was the picture my husband sent. He sent a photo with the caption “Baptized in the river Jordan!” (HE NEVER LOOKED AT THE SHOT.) Excitedly, I open the image and get a full frame of a bag of POTATO CHIPS. I could see my sons legs and water, but that was it. Chips. Really?
In Chinese philosophy, yin yang describes how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary. Can this explain how things can be both wonderful and frustrating at the same time? It’s like having an absolutely adorable puppy that just won’t stop pooping inside the house. It’s also like atomic fireball candy- it burns your mouth but you can’t stop eating it. I often find relationships to be like these, so wonderful I won’t leave them but so challenging sometimes I wish I could. Parenting is the epitome of yin yang to me.
As much as I love, appreciate and want to be a good mother to my brood, I find it to be the most aggravating assignment in the world. When I look at Facebook and see all the perfectly posed back to school photos, I chuckle to myself wondering what some of the REAL scenarios were like. I have to guess some moms are behind the camera threatening for all kinds of momentary misdemeanors. I will never forget a family photo shoot we had. I decided to dress everyone alike and take photos at the waterfront. (By the way, I regret every day that we wore denim overalls but, it WAS the nineties.) One son was having NONE of it and was not cooperating. He just got up, turned around, and posed in the opposite direction. The hippie photographer found his behavior hilarious and snapped a shot. I treasure that momentary annoyance.
Christmas is full of yin-yang moments. When we had four toddlers, I put a baby gate around our Christmas tree- the ugly, plastic, white folded kind. This hideous necessity was due to several pulled over, decorated trees. Thinking I had finally subdued their grabby little hands, I walked in to find my children INSIDE the gate WITH the Christmas tree. (So much for offense.) Another gross, yet hilarious moment is the year my husband’s stocking was empty (my bad) and the children wanted to know, “WHY!?” To satisfy their curiosity, he disappeared for a moment and reappeared with something he said he found in his stocking….it was a pair of boxers with brown magic marker drawn “stains.” He smiled and said, “Santa only left me skid mark underwear!” The children howled. I admit I did too.
Frustration is a guaranteed part of life. Wonderful moments aren’t guaranteed but sure are nice when they occur. I’m still working on trying to focus on the latter. Yin wouldn’t be the same without some yang.
The stranger’s name was Dexter. He was an older male, reserved, quiet and wary of others. I tried to be friendly but he seemed completely disinterested in any conversation. At one point he even turned his back towards me to get his point across. Finally, I relented and left him alone. Dexter was an attractive, tie-wearing yorkie with missing teeth.
His owner, on the other hand was very chatty. Like Dexter, he was an older gentleman that went everywhere with his tiny companion. I asked how he chose a yorkie and he said he didn’t, his wife had brought it home unannounced a long time ago. He went on to share she had died of cancer and now he and Dexter were as thick as thieves. He got teary after I told him she was better off than us. He said she had told him that exact thing from her hospital bed. It was obvious he loved her dearly.
Somehow I began sharing with him how overwhelmed and stressed I was taking/sending four college students back to school while working my job. From their car tags, utilities, rental agreements, packing, shopping, etc. I was completely spent. (At some point during this conversation, Dexter, the dog, turned and faced my direction.) Surprisingly, the gentleman told me, “Quit your bitching. That’s what moms do.” He went on to tell me that one day I will miss all this chaos. I told him that I wasn’t sure I liked that and that maybe I just needed a mulligan this time. He smiled and said, “Moms always get mulligans.” About the same time, Dexter crawled into in my lap and rested his little head in the crook of my arm to go to sleep.
Birthdays are a big deal in our culture. We celebrate, Facebook post, give parties, send cards, eat cake and get gifts. The fortunate friend or family member may have a surprise party, incredible trip, special dinner or some other token celebration. What is odd to me is that we don’t celebrate our “birthing” days. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to do away with birthdays I just want to add recognition for a “Birthing Day.”
People should want to honor and applaud the person who nearly died bringing them into the world, don’t you think? From gestational diabetes, ruptured placentas, BED ARREST, hemorrhoids, extreme NAUSEA (we feel you, Kate Middleton) to a myriad of other horrors, why do we just forget about it and not even thank that person? It is truly tragic women go through irreparable body morphing only to have that moment shoved under the rug, that is, until one goes to a baby shower. That is the one exception where it’s like women relish how gruesomely detailed their story can be. One-upping birthing stories are quite impressive, actually.
To remedy the situation (since I cannot see a BIRTHING Day added to anyone’s calendars), I highly recommend the act of celebrating it yourself. Birth moms, treat yourselves! Do something extravagant for you. Buy yourself a present, schedule a spa day, take yourself to dinner- just make it happen! Tomorrow is my triplet sons’ 21st birthday. I honestly do not see my three, 21 year old sons coming to me and saying, “Oh mom, thank you so much for the hellish two months you spent in the hospital for me. I am sorry you had wear 2 large hospital gowns for weeks,” or “Mom, here’s a bottle of your favorite wine for our 21st birthday, let’s all stay home together tonight, just the family, and celebrate you.” NOT GONNA HAPPEN! Instead I have made peace with it. Now I just have to go to Metal Benders and pick something out…..
Like many parents, I have spent many hours in car lines at schools. In an effort to offer each of our four children the best possible education, for a few years I’d dash between two different schools picking up from one early and the other late. This did not make me a very popular parent. In fact, I KNOW I was not a popular parent.
My boys were consistently in trouble in car lines. Either excessively talking, running, wrestling or tossing a rock around. It really didn’t matter, they always seemed to be in the hot seat. It probably didn’t help that they ran as fast as they could and body slammed themselves into the side of our vehicle vying for the front seat each afternoon. I finally assigned seats for each day of the week. That helped….a little. One afternoon, the assistant principal got wind of what was going on (or got complained to, more likely) and outran the boys to the car and jumped in the front seat first. The shock on their faces and stunned reactions ended all fighting (that day). I admired him for how he handled that.
I also remember the last day of school when a teacher grit her teeth at me in a grimacing smile as she shoved our car door shut. She said, “Have a good summer!” But I read through that look to mean “Thank God this is the last day of carline with the Turners!” That was just about the time I learned the truth….
You see, prior, I was eager to please and concerned with what others thought. Having triplet males was a cure all for that. As I wondered if I had an “It” tattoo on my forehead most days, I later realized I grossly underestimated reality. While I anticipated flying book bags, shoes and lunchboxes at carline, I did not realize the walkie talkies the teachers used were for conveying surveillance of the load and launch of the Turner triplets. Yep, they were all talking about us alright- EVERY. SINGLE. AFTERNOON.
I now get to tell people that they don’t need to worry about what other people say about them…..it might be much worse than anything they could imagine!
There have rarely been times when I have been totally and completely blindsided by my offspring. Since I had become so conditioned to strategize, I always felt the best possible outcome would ensue with the least amount of negativity. I became so accustomed to this mindset, I literally divided my day into quadrants- morning, afternoon, evening, and night. I micro -managed each detail so I might feel the tiniest bit in control.
It was farcical to be so type “A” when I lived a perpetual play date (triplet boys) that could go wrong at any second. Sure, I could plan but something was always bound to pop up.
One such afternoon, the children were all together at a friends’ house. They were having a fun time playing and there were about 5 of them. Our girls were in charge since they had reached babysitting age and could easily access us moms who were two blocks away.
It was a welcome break to see friends myself and get to visit. We were at a local tapas and wine store sipping and chatting when our cell phones began blowing up. Apparently, one son had gone upstairs to hang out and decided it would be fun to play on the phone. This resulted in cop cars WITH BLUE LIGHTS FLASHING to dash to their house assuming there was an emergency. One son had curiously pushed “911-111-1111” on the phone just to see what would happen. The cops asked where the parents were and they told them, “At the wine store drinking wine.”
Not only did our friends get highly embarrassed that cop cars pulled into their Main Street house for the world’s speculation, but we moms felt no parenting awards were coming our way either.
The first time I heard the term “PLU” was when I described a crowd. My sis-in-law said, “You mean PLUs.” I asked what that meant and she said, “People Like Us.” She nailed it. She wasn’t referring to people like her, but rather a group of similar people. The homogenous crowd I described WAS so alike I could have easily described one individual or the collective group and they seemed the exact same.
Recall being pigeon-holed by people as a prep, jock, or geek in high school? It was how kids identified themselves and each other. It was major effort to get to know someone outside your bubble. And more often than not, that cross- pollination didn’t happen that much.
Calling a crowd a “PLU” is not necessarily a compliment. When people only associate with like minded, like-appearing and like-interested groups, not a whole lot of influence or change occurs. It’s like we sometimes cocoon ourselves in familiarity, therefore protecting ourselves from appearing different from our perceived assigned group.
Growing up, our children were very open to a vast array of friends. Some were foreign exchange students from Germany, China, Roatán, and Poland that would visit. One of our sons called his friends “the misfits” in middle school. It wasn’t negative, just a description of his “Non-PLUs.” He already got how it was cool to get to know and get along with a myriad of people.
I used to be concerned with being in a PLU crowd. It was exhaustive trying to maintain the associations, relationships, activities and enrollments I self imposed on myself. Once I got over my petty insecurities, I realized I identified with all ages of people. I met some of the coolest people in non-PLU territory. They are 81-94 years and I love them! Had I not looked outside my PLU, I’d have missed that HUGE blessing!