An Open Letter to my Mother...

Not until I became a Mom, did I ever realize the power of Mom. That's when a thanks is overdue:

Mom:
Thank you for: potty training, "sunny side up" eggs and new Keds on the first of day of school.  Thank you for helping with homework, especially the "Little House On The Prairie" shoebox diorama in the fifth grade. Thank you for allowing sleepovers that never slept, being a Girl Scout Leader with the best crafts and for Saturday morning swim lessons.

Now, for the REAL thanks...thank you for taking me to the hospital when I pulled the family dog's paw and she bit my nose. When I hid in the bathroom(bleeding), you turned off the vacuum, and calmly drove me to the Doctor. No questions asked. You even bought me a water TicTacToe game after the stitches!

Thank you for driving me to dance lessons, carpooling across town for school and teaching me the fine art of driving. Thanks for being there for every school event, every award and every small accomplishment. You always made them "feel" important. Thank you for good advice, when you thought I wasn't listening...I was. Thank you for teaching me how to cook, do my own laundry and Shout a stain out. And, thank you for pushing me out the door to college. And, for care packages...

Thank you for listening to me rant about my own kiddos and my daily grind. And, understanding when life gets chaotic and I forget to say thanks for your words of wisdom.

You taught me that its never too late to say thanks.

Happy Mother's Day...
Love,
Cappy

A Mother's Day Wish List or Items You Just Can't Find In The Sears Catalog

Mother's Day is a day for homemade gifts, tissue paper flowers in papermache' painted vases and cereal on a string.  Sadly, my kiddos are in Middle School and I won't be seeing homemade gifts this year. So, I thought I would offer a few gift suggestions to the family.

I am not (too) materialistic. Saving their money...is saving my money. So, I will gladly accept the following items for Mother's Day this year.

1. The pair of kitchen scissors secretly MIA in "someone's" bedroom. I know they used to live in the junk drawer. They lived next to the (also missing) Scotch tape. They miss each other... and I miss them as well.

2. A pair of earrings, my blue skinny belt and the new sequin heart top I bought from the Limited. I think they are residing in "another" closet...down the hall. Secretly, I am giddy that my clothes are just cool enough to be borrowed. Too bad, I may never get to wear them myself.

3. An emptied dishwasher...without being asked, over and over. And, while we're at it...the ability to find the measuring cup in its usual cabinet, top shelf. Its a lot to ask, but finding the measuring cup next to the wine glasses last week, took ten minutes. By then, I had to pop a bottle of wine to calm my nerves.

4. Towels draped on towel racks. I haven't seen those since I walked through Bed, Bath and Beyond. I know that's what the rack is for, right?

5. A smile. I see alot of frowns and eye rolls...I know the mouth can curve up sometimes...it would be nice to see a smile on my kiddos face, just on Sunday.  

These items don't need gift wrap. The scissors and tape are gone anyhow. I kept the cost down so you can buy more songs on itunes and save for another pair of Vans.

I would also gladly take a Fruit Loop necklace, a homemade picture frame or a Lego model of our house. I miss those too.

To all you Moms, I wish you a Happy Mother's Day!





An Ode to Mom on her birthday...Color (and curl) me... Beautiful!

Bobby pins. Two small words, enough to send me into therapy.
From the age of three, I was introduced to excessive hair curling. It may be the reason for my wackiness now. Wound too tight in spit curls.

I recall all too well, sitting in front of the TV watching: Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, and Streets of San Francisco as my personal hairstylist, (Mom) would take my freshly washed (Prell Shampoo) hair and towel dry to dampness. I would sit with a BUTTLOAD of Bobby pins in my lap. On a side note, why are they called Bobby pins? I hated Bobby. And, his freakin’ pins!

I would sit “Indian style” on the floor. Remember that phrase, now it would be called “Native American” style….but in the 70’s you could say “Indian Style.” You could also say “Indian Giver,” but ya’ can’t say it now without be considered, “inconsiderate.”

But, I digress.

Back to my lap full of Bobby pins and the “big ass” turquoise AVON comb for my mother to pull the tangles; sectioning my long, brown hair with spit. Okay… a little spritz of water (from the same water bottle she would mist the macramé adorned, house plants and ferns). She
didn’t take the “spit curl” literally. Thank God. Mom would “criss-cross” each Bobby pin, to get the desired effect. Curls by morning accompanied by a throbbing headache. We did this dance for nearly ten years.

My mother, being very fashion conscious in the late 70’s and
early 80’s… believed that certain colors looked better on me than others. She even invested in the ever popular book, Color Me Beautiful by JoAnne Richmond. A conversational “coffeetable- must have” indeed. This book described your color palette in “seasons." It was discovered that I was an “Autumn.”

As an Autumn, I wore a closet full of rust, maroon, burgundy and red clothing. Luckily, I had a variety of fabrics to “spice up” my very red
wardrobe. Corduroy, velour, crushed velvet and the ever popular plaids completed my look.

And, long socks. Did I mention the long, wool socks? They covered my very hairy, Italian legs. I wasn’t introduced to Nair until 7th grade, so wool socks were my friend. And, no outfit was complete without an itchy, acrylic sweater. Red, of course.

Did I mention I grew up in Irvine, California? Not Alaska, as some might think.

It should go without saying, I hated going to school. I looked a little quirky in my curly locks, crimson and wool. But, living in sunny Southern California was really the wrong place for this East Coast/New
Jersey style. I secretly wished my parents would embrace a new fresh look in California. Instead, they were trying to bring Jersey to Cali…talk about an East Coast -West Coast rivalry!

I was fortunate to have a stay at home mom, who would pack my Charlie’s Angels lunchbox, sometimes surprising me with Chef Boy R Dee Ravioli in the Thermos. That one move stained my Thermos for the year. Red. At least it matched my wardrobe.

Mom would also parent-volunteer for art projects too. She offered to teach my 5th grade class to make Root Beer Float candles. My classmates loved her creative candles and the way she whisked the white wax for foam on top of the candle. Mom enjoyed this project so much, it repeated through the eighth grade. Yes, right through St Cecilia’s Catholic School, the red tartan skirt and white peter pan collared shirt.

Little did I know, she would take this volunteering to the next level and by High school, she would become a substitute teacher… at my school. No amount of therapy can alleviate this period of my life. Mom didn’t have compassion for the teasing that would take place because my mom was the sub. I didn’t have compassion, either. I saw this act as her sabotaging my teenagecareer. I wished she had stuck with the tacky
candles and left her mark there. But you can’t change your childhood. Only years later, you can change your perspective.

Fast forward, to the present. My mother decided that the color “red” looks best on her head. She is now a “full bodied red head “and still on the hunt for hair curlers to give her the best fullness. She recently found herself on eBay and considered “buying someone else’s” Clairol hot rollers. That is, until I told her how disgusting it is to buy used curlers. Mom says, “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.” She liked the pins that came with that particular model.

I am now forty something and curl free. And, on most days… pretty normal.

I came out of this unscathed.

As for my closet…nothing red or Autumn- colored exists. I run from Red. No wool socks are allowed to darken our drawers. However, my bathroom drawers do hold a few Bobby pins…for my daughter’s Gymnastics-required hairstyles, ONLY! I admit that I own: hot rollers, three curling irons and a flat iron, too. But, the flat iron is my favorite. My husband prefers my hair straight... and truth be told, I do too!

Thank you Mom…for curly hair, crimson clothes and being…my
Mom.

Yellow Cab Driver #14...and Why Dayton Is So Green

Fresh from the recent Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop, I have one last story to share. This one is dedicated to the driver at Yellow Cab in Dayton Ohio. Being the insensitive person I often am, I didn't ask his name, but I got his number...14.

#14 found me in the hotel lobby, calling out "Mrs. Thurlow." I answered to his call and off we went to the cab on the curb.  I quickly texted my husband his number and the number of Yellow Cab (overthinking all the Lifetime movies of abduction) 'cause I wanna be safe. Am I the only person who thinks this stuff?

Safely in the backseat, #14 asks me why I was visiting Dayton. I tell him about the workshop and mention that I write a blog. Connie Schultz would have been proud for two reasons: 1. I called myself a writer and 2. I didn't use the word "just"... just a writer, just a little blog, etc.. But, I digress, this blog is about my driver.

So, #14 listens to my explanation of "Married to the Material" and why I write about my husband. I tell #14 that he is a Financial Advisor by day, who hangs with the kids at night... jumping on the trampoline after work. He's forty-four and rides a dirtbike, cliff dives with our daughter and her friends; basically he's my third child.

#14 replied, "That doesn't sound so bad, there are plenty of kids in juvi that could only wish for that type of Dad." Hmm, #14 just put me in my place.

The subject changed and we talked about the mild winter and miles of green. Being from the desert, this is foreign to me.  #14, proud of Dayton said - "God loves Dayton so much, that why he made it so green." Poetic huh? He went on to talk about other small towns and told me, "Indianapolis is Mayberry on steroids."

Then, #14 confessed that he was a journalist for over twenty years.

#14 told me he worked minimum wage for maximum work and wrote for the Agriculture Section of the paper. He represents working Dayton...no make that working America.

He said he would look up my blog and I hope he does. Too bad I didn't get his name, its nice to know the people who touch your lives and provide the paradigm shift to your perspective.

Thank you #14.

The cab ride was $32.00 but the words...priceless.

What Erma Bombeck brought to me...

I just returned from a four day adventure in Dayton, Ohio. Home of the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop and the University of Dayton. This was my third trip to the humor workshop and each time, I came back with something special...this time I "adopted" three big sisters. 

My first big sister greeted me at the first dinner and with a kind heart, she offered an empty chair at her table. Her inviting smile and cheeriness set the mood for the evening. She told me about her healthy spirituality blog, writing for her town's paper in Ohio and her pervious jobs in the medical field. She was a third time Erma attendee and we soon learned that we had gone to the same three workshops in '06, '08 and now '12. Funny that we never met before then.  She said she was there to infuse more humor into her writing. I knew better. Erma put her there, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped for me. This sister oozed joy, and her positive outlook filled the dining room.  Her smile was a ray of sunshine.  She was full of infectious optimism. She was sent from Heaven.

My second sister, showed up the next morning at the breakfast hall. Not only did we learn to write better humor, we ate continually! Being jet lagged, I was a little slow to start the morning, but this sister woke me right up. Telling her personal story of two tragedies in her life- the passing of one of her children... then her husband. A story that makes you appreciate the dirty, wet towels on the bathroom floor and those precious family members that threw them there. Yes, Erma did it again...she put another person in my path to reflect on the precious gift of life.  This sister has plans to start a blog,  and write her story. Oh, I forgot to mention, she found new love and was recently remarried. She is full of desire to tell her story and I cannot wait to read it! Note to self- remember the Kleenex.

My third sister is a quiet, tall beautiful woman. She is a blogger and in the re-invention of herself. A mother of four, who also lost a son too soon. She spoke of her family, and offered her pearls of wisdom...because Erma placed her there.  She unknowingly taught me patience. She spent time with me and listened to me. Sharing her analogy of the "low, drifting balloon" that needs us to run under and blow on it to keep it from touching the floor- I am forever grateful. She is full of insight and I am thankful to have met her.

Usually, I come back from the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop with writing tips...this time I came home with three adopted sisters. I wish them all the luck and power to write their stories, to make time to write and to share their gift with others. But, most of all...I thank Erma who keeps coming back to the workshop (in her "own" way) offering gifts of her writing, her beautiful family (who read their favorite pieces) and providing the "sisters" when we need them the most.

New material...just in time for the Erma Bombeck Writers' Conference

Desperate for material and less than 24 hours from the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, I found some material just in the nick of time. Sadly, my husband is the material…again.


Begrudgingly, I have been exercising with him, okay its Wednesday so it’s been three days. I won’t complain that he lost five lbs… while I gained two.

Day one: A brisk hours’ walk through Sunset Park, which backs up to Wayne Newton’s home. We walked enough to allow my husband to catch a little sun on his face and for me to find “sore spots where the muscle used to live.”

Day two: Well, I count that intimacy as exercise these days and did you know “3o minutes in the sack” can burn 144 calories? I was in the bed for 30, so it must count.

Day three: Shooting hoops in our backyard’s basketball court, something I failed in High School PE, mostly because PE was first period!

I was amazed to dunk eight balls in half an hour. Impressive, huh?

Most of my workout was by way of catching “missed balls” in the rose bushes, behind the air conditioner and under the trampoline. Tony decided to play “Horse” which I ignored while he spelled H-O-R-S-E out loud.

Next thing I knew… he missed a shot, heading for the fire pit area and lost his footing on the brick ledge thereby…twisting his ankle. Landing squarely on the flagstone, he rolled and winced like a stop-drop and roll routine. Running (not as clumsily) to his aid, I stood over him and said, “Game Over.”

Thus begun the “neediness”…ladies, you know when a man gets a hangnail, splinter or a cold and suddenly the neediness appears. “Get me an ice pack...Can I have a pillow…Where do we keep the Advil?”

Safely, propped up in his Man Chair/Lazy boy recliner, I retrieved the requested items and thought, “So here’s the material babe.” I have had the longest drought of writing; mostly due my personal commitment to put others first.

Writing is a luxury best left on the back burner.

But, not today...this is just too good to pass up. I know you ladies out there will agree that there is nothing more humorous than an injured man.

I am not sadistic, I only laugh at the small injuries, such as motor-crossing into a Cholla Cactus on our 4th Anniversary. You can’t beat picking cactus needles out of your husband’s backside with tweezers... and pliers.

Or, take the time he broke his collarbone testing out Supermoto on the new track. This mishap was six long weeks of neediness. Never mind, we were two weeks from moving into our new home and he heard the crack of the collarbone while hoisting a coffee table off the moving van. If it weren’t for our old friends from college who were passing through town and had the unfortunate luck to call us mid move, only to lend their hands that evening.

Did I mention the sprained ankle is a repeat of two years ago? Although, that time he was jumping on the kids’ trampoline and broke a spring in the process. Same Nike shoes, so husband suspects the shoes are to blame for the MULTIPLE injuries!

Fast forward to 5am this morning when I asked him to step on it, the gas pedal that is, as I like to be punctual for the security TSA at the airport. It slipped my mind that his ankle was resting on the pedal and pressure/acceleration is a double edged sword.

I felt a hundred times worse when I saw the picture of his foot this evening. As I dined with writers and listened to Bill Bombeck read his wife’s legendary words…I was eating the humble pie for dessert.

I thank my husband for the material, but most importantly… for the support in providing me the luxury to attend the conference while he convalesces alone.