The Joy of Gift Giving

My boys spent the majority of the morning piling my bed high with all the pillows in our home. Then they took all their "pets" (stuffed animals) and placed them in their fort with them. They were even so kind as to put the tiny pet animals in little sleeping bags (my socks).

Then they found and empty shoe box. Now they are taking turns filling the box with toys and trinkets and giving gifts to one another. There is pure excitement on their faces as they pull the familiar toys from the tissue paper. I love listening to their exclamations, "Oh I really wanted this!" or "I have always wanted one of these!". A couple gift exchanges ago, they are on about the 6th one now, Oscar pulled out a pair of underwear that was so gingerly placed there by his brother. Angus was hysterical. They both laughed a guttural laugh as Oscar then sling- shotted the undies across my bedroom. Kid laughter is some of the best kind of music around.

Angus' underwear gift reminded my of some of my gift giving days from yester year. I know one year I took a spoon half full of cookie dough, I had licked the other have of it off,  and put it in a box. I wrapped the box in Christmas paper, addressed it to Julia and put it under the tree. I know there was something else in there too. Julia do you remember what it was? Underwear? A dirty Sock? A booger encrusted tissue? Anyhow, I can still remember the pure elation I felt as she opened my trick gift. The look of confused disappointment on her face sent me into a tizzy of triumphant laughter. Horrible, right?

It was awesome...for me at least. I am pretty sure she would have liked something other than a sucked on spoon with dried up cookie dough on it for Christmas.

Oh the joys of gift giving.

Smells Like Roses.

Angus loves to ask me to tell stories about us all when we were younger. He especially likes me to tell funny stories about us while I push him on our front tire swing. The most recent story I told the boys was about how I used to play fart tricks on my sister Julia when we were younger.

So a few nights ago as I was giving Oscar kisses and tucking him in his bed he said, “Mom could you put your head by my bum for a second?” Playing along, I placed my head near his little behind. At the exact moment my head reached his bum, he ripped a huge one! All four of us cracked up, there was no other option but to. His timing was impeccable, and it was hilarious.


Wait. Back up. Have I not shared my glorious fart tricks of yester-year before? Well, this will be a treat!

When Julia was about six and I was about eight years old we shared a room. Her bed was along one wall, and mine along another. As we were lying in bed just about to drift off to sleep I would say excitedly, "Julia, oh my gosh. You have got to come and smell this. I farted and it smells like ROSES in my bed! I don't know why or how, but seriously my farts smell like the sweetest roses ever!"

And she would, like the loyal and gullible little sis that she was, climb out of her warm bed and step lightly over to mine. Just as she would lean her head in to smell the sweet fragrance of the rose promised to her, I would fling the covers open releasing the putrid odor of five or six bottled up farts.

My farts. Trick farts. Stinky farts.

She would shriek in disgusted disbelief and scurry back to her bed. I would laugh uncontrollably at the success of my flatulent farce.

I was a very good older sister. I did my best to torment her.

The best part about this whole toot scheme was that it wasn’t just a one time gig. It went on night after night. Sometimes I would even get her to come and “smell the roses” twice in the same night! I felt pretty proud of myself on those evenings. Of course, she would protest saying she did not believe me. That she wasn’t going to fall for that trick anymore. But I persisted, and she kept coming over to get a whiff of my rosy smelling SBD’s (silent but deadlies).

Nothing could get me to bust up laughing more than the high pitched squeal of a tormented Julia. I know, I know. I was so mean. But don’t worry, after a while she wised up and realized that my farts always smelled gross. I don’t think she experienced any brain damage from the extreme gas inhalation either. And she still likes me despite my antics. Love you Julia, my dear friend, my dear sister, my dear fart sniffer.

Now we are continuing the fun of fart tricks with our boys, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. 
However sweet rose smelling farts might be nice once in a while

"Hey You, 15 Year Old Helen!"

I am trying to participate in a month long blogging extravaganza over at NaBloWriMo, (thanks for the nudge Square Toothed Girl).

So far I am falling behind, and it is only the 5th of the month.  Oh well.

Yesterday's prompt, if we so choose to use it was "what advice would you give your 15 year old self?"

I have racked my brain for the last 24 hours over what I would say to myself. I am not sure I would change a whole lot. You know, that whole bit about the how the culmination of your life's choices and experiences makes you who you are today? Well I believe it.

I liked who I was at 15. I like who I am now at 28. Missteps and all.

However, I did come up with just a couple tid bits of advice for myself at 15.

1) You are going to want to pick endlessly at that welt of a zit on your left cheek bone. DO. NOT. DO. IT. Stop right now, remove your pinch-happy fingers from your face, and walk away from the bathroom mirror. It will not produce some impressive and shocking puss ball for you to gawk at, it will only produce a deep  and lasting divot in your skin that you will notice often years from now.

2) Take an art class. Don't be afraid, just do it. I know you think you are not "artsy" enough, "edgy" enough, or "creative" enough. But you are enough. You are enough to try out anything you are interested in. With one caveat however, I know you are signed up to take debate your first semester in high school. I know you think you are interested in this, but you are not. Get out. Get out of it now! You will loathe that experience entirely. I feel like throwing up just thinking about it.

3) Don't expect so much maturity from the guys you date. Most of the guys you will date are going to be great. Just please remember that they are young, so stop expecting them have the maturity of a grown man. Expect them to be kind, fun, respectful, and to love being with you. Other then that, just have fun and don't let your mind get to serious about it all!

4) I would also tell myself that the next 13 years are going to be really good and hard. But mostly just really good. Your heart is going to get broken a few times. It is okay. You are going to be better than fine. Life will change. Some of the changes you will actually be grateful for, others you will miss. Keep being yourself through it all.

I can only hope that the next 13 years will be just as good, and maybe even better than the last.

So be calm 28 year old Helen. Life is going to be really good, and hard. That is the way it is meant to be. Sometimes in the ride of life you have to hold on tight, and sometimes you have to learn how to let go. So pay attention and enjoy what you have, while you have it.

A few days late doesn't make it less true.

Dad.

I hope you know I love you. I tell you often that I do, so you should. I am glad you were always vocal about your love for me when I was growing up, because now I have no problem being vocal about it too.

I am a confident person. I know I learned a lot of that from you. You have an innate confidence that exudes from you. That is one of the many reasons why it is so simple to look up to you, and to trust you.

I think that you are one of the most capable and intelligent men I know. Really. I have needed your help often through out my life with various issues. Issues that ranged from helping me with math assignments, resolve problems I created, or even how to cope with and understand loss. You have always provided me with sound steps towards practical solutions. You are a busy man. However never, ever, have I felt that my needs were an imposition to you. You always help (and not just me).

Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for complimenting me on my successes.
Thank you for being understanding of my failures.
Thanks for teaching me to enjoy (dare I say crave?) exercise.
Thank you for naming me after your Mom.
Thank you for referring to farts as "barking spiders", or blaming them on "the bear hiding in the bushes."
Thank you for being the devil's advocate at times when more than one viewpoint is needed.
Thank you for knowing what is really important in this life.
Thank you for having a good sense of humor.
Thank you for eating cookie dough out of the mixer, and peanut butter right out of the jar.
Thanks for all the vacations, the memories are priceless.
Thanks for being Papa to my boys. You are a great one.

Thank you for being happy and content in life. I think that is one of the most beneficial gifts parents can give to their children, and you give it well.

I am proud everyday that you are my Dad.

Helen.

I watched Titanic while sweating on a bike.

Tonight I went to the "gym" (sometimes if it is late, and dark, I head over to local Apt. complex and use the equipment). I was the only one there, which is always rad and usually quite common, so I got to choose what to watch on TV. It was an easy decision tonight because the movie Titanic was on, and I have not seen it in years.

Call me crazy, but I still love that show. I use the word still, because I was one of those young teenage girls who saw the, then newly released, movie 13 times in the theatre. YES 13 times! That is not even counting the times I watched it at home once it came out on video. I painted phrases from the film on my ceiling with glow in the dark paint, plastered posters from the movie on my wall, became infatuated with the actual history of the ship, read tons of books about the real Titanic, and I seriously almost bought a second soundtrack because I was afraid I would wear my first one out.

I guess you could call me a freak, but that's not really a secret.

Okay so back to the gym. Admittedly, I felt a wee bit nerdy as I watched the chain of events unfold on the doomed ship, all the while dripping with sweat as I rode the stationary bike. I felt a bit of embarrassment just at the thought of someone walking in the gym during the nudie part of the show. But you know what, mostly I just felt thirteen again, and that felt damn good. Thirteen was good year to me. And that may, or may not, have something to do with my love affair with Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, and all things Titanic.

Wow, I really am a freak!

Stars.

There is something about a clear sky full of bright stars that really gets to me. It makes my spirit tingle to think that this sky and these stars I look at, are the exact same ones those who came before me gazed at, and will be the same ones those who follow me will see too. It makes me feel mysteriously connected to all spirits who walk this earth. I can feel it as though it were electricity running from my fingertips to my toes.

***

Tonight I was doing the dishes. I had just cleaned out the fridge so I had a few suspicious looking Tupperware to dispose of. I knew if I left the inhabitants of those Tupperware lingering in the trash can all night long, in the morning my house would be dripping with stench. So I took the bag outside to the trash cans.

As I stepped out my back door the stars nearly knocked me over they were so beautiful. The air was cold, but so incredibly refreshing. I stood in middle of the yard for awhile with my head and eyes pointing up. I swear I could feel the fresh brisk air cleansing my throat and lungs. The moon looked like a juicy lemon wedge in the dark night sky, and Orion greeted me so boldly I literally felt I could touch his belt.

As I spent these moments out in my yard adoring the sky, my mind flooded with memories. Memories of me as a kid doing the exact same thing with my Mom and Dad. I would often beg them to go on night time walks with me.

Walks which in summer we would feel the warm air on our arms, and smell the sweet scents of laundry exhaust and freshly cut grass. Walks which in winter our noses inhaled crisp air, and we could see our breath as we exhaled. Walks where we always spent long moments staring up at the stars. Walks were my Dad would help me find Orion and the big and little dipper, and my mom and I would look for the north star. Walks where we too, felt connected to it all.

So that our children will know.

Dear kids,

This is a small list of things I want you to know about your Grandpa Max. I know my list is lacking (I am sure I am forgetting some), and your Dad could write a more complete one. But for me, these things were important qualities I grew to love and appreciate about Max in the 7.5 years that I knew him.

He was:

One of the hardest working men we knew. He never said no when something needed to be done, or someone needed help. As you look around our home boys, you will see Grandpa Max nearly everywhere. For he helped immensely with the remodel of this home, in every stage. His service and hard work were one of the best ways he showed us how much he loved us.

Jovial, happy, friendly and kind. He was a friend to all he met. I remember being drawn to his friendly and accepting personality when I first met him 7.5 years ago.
A great giver of hugs.

Always ready and willing to give us a blessing if one was wanted, or needed.
Never on time, but rather ALWAYS early. He often said, "You can call me lots of things, just don't call me late for dinner."
Exceedingly complimentary. Max never failed to compliment me on every dinner or dessert that I made. He never forgot to do it, even when my cooking probably did not deserve it. He was equally apologetic for his own cooking, which was rarely ever needed.
Always joking that his hair, which was slowly turning to a handsome shade of white, was scaring the grand kids. Not so, Max, not so.
Could often be heard referring to your Dad as "Maynard." Not exactly sure why, but he did it nonetheless.

Quick to smile and quick to joke, it was a very endearing quality. What a great laugh he had.
So kind to our dog, Reece. Max would always talk to him, and give him a a good helping of pets and back scratches. Sometimes Reece got more attention from Grandpa Max, than Reece got from us.
A master at moving things. Whether it be packing our car in the most streamline way possible (watching this was often like watching a game of Tetris), or figuring out the best way to get a fridge down our awkward basement staircase, he was the go to guy.

I know that he still is all of these things. We just have to wait a while until we get to enjoy these qualities about him again. So here's to memories, right?
We love you Max.

Those darn cats. (Picture addition)

There was a black cat at the graveside burial. It was kinda weird. The cat kept wandering around our feet and under the chairs, as Bryan and his sisters shared some thoughts about their Dad. As Bryan was saying the dedicatory prayer, the cat kept went right up to the casket, and looked down into the grave below. Almost as if it was planning on jumping in. Luckily, a co-worker of Bryan's grabbed the cat and sent him away before the prayer had ended.

Yes, I know this because my eyes were open during the prayer. And to be quite honest, my eyes are pretty much always open during prayers.

After the graveside service ended Oscar and my Dad (Papa) followed that cat around for a good twenty minutes. Oscar hates wearing jackets/sweaters, so my Dad kept throwing Oscar's sweater on his back as he walked. Oscar would shimmy it off his body, and my dad would throw it back on again. It was really a sweet think to watch.

We were getting ready to leave Grammy's house a couple of nights ago. It was a bit chaotic, with kiddos everywhere. A little ash gray cat snuck in the front door. By the time we detected it, it has already made it's way into the front room.

Grammy is not a fan of cats, Grandpa Max knew this. We all kept saying that maybe he was trying to play a little joke on Grammy by sending all these cats to visit.