# 22

Nick has a football game this afternoon. It’s actually the third one of the season, but he missed the first game because of the flu, Mike and I missed his second game because of” life”, but today we’ll all be there, including Jordie.

Raising our kids, I’ve always (right or wrong) subscribed to the “Parenting by Fear” model. When the kids were younger, it was great. They feared us… at least we like to think they did. At the very least they understood cause and effect!

I grew up fearing my folks, and most of my friends feared theirs as well. I would march right up to that line drawn in the sand, literally teetering over it at times, but on rare occasion did I out and out cross it. The risk had to be worth the short-term reward for me to do so. Or maybe that’s just the convenient memory I have since my own kids are now at the teetering stage of their young lives and I want them to make the right choices.

What I failed to realize until recently however, is how the definition of “Parenting by Fear” so quickly changes.

I’m a freak about them driving, a nut-case over a bad grade, distrusting of most friends. I’m a walking infomercial invading their ears with safety tips and an encyclopedia chock full of horrific stories regarding young people’s bad choices. “Good kids make bad choices too” loops over and over in these poor kids’ psyches’!

Parenting by Fear… great model… I am now the fearful one.

I dread this afternoon. Nick is new to the game of football. These kids are big; thank God he’s among the larger ones on the field. “Teach him to hit correctly Coach” I implored at the parents meeting last month. “He’s a pleaser Coach, don’t let him get hurt trying to please you and the team”. “Tell him how you never, ever hit with your head Coach”. By the time I was done with the guy he wanted to hit me over the head.

Last week didn’t help when Nicky came barging in the door after the game all a twitter to tell me that another kid on his team was taken away in an ambulance. Apparently he took a cheap shot to the back and the coaching staff did the right thing by not taking any chances with his health. He was checked out at the local hospital and back at school the next day.

When Nick left for school today I was taken aback at how handsome and grown-up he looked in his game day jersey. I told him Daddy and I would be at his game and Sissy would meet us there too.

“I’m # 22 Mom, I’ll look for you guys and wave” was his reply. That’s him in a nutshell; carefree and happy, no outward sign of fear.

So this is me now…
Breathing deep, facing the fear and letting go.

Not just for today’s game, but for both Jordie and Nick’s young adult journey. I won’t be fearless, but I’m going to try very hard to no longer be paralyzed by that fear.

Wish me luck!

I am Verbose…

Verbose is not a word I’m unfamiliar with, but if I think about it, I doubt I’ve ever actually used it myself. Someone used it today in the comment section of a Facebook friend; I fell in love with the word, it “spoke” to me and decided right then to look up its official definition rather than rely on my own loose interpretation.

· Main Entry: ver·bose
· Pronunciation: \(ˌ)vər-ˈbōs\
· Function: adjective
· Etymology: Latin verbosus, from verbum
· Date: 1672

1 : containing more words than necessary : wordy ; also : impaired by wordiness 2 : given to wordiness
synonyms see wordy
— ver·bose·ly adverb
— ver·bose·ness noun
— ver·bos·i·ty \-ˈbä-sə-tē\ noun

Ru-roh.

Is this some sort of divine intervention? Is there a “Word-God” out there orchestrating said intervention regarding my verboseness? Will family and friends be awaiting my arrival soon at a dingy motel room with a list of demands I must agree to or risk losing them forever? Do I talk too much, do I ever shut-up, AM I VERBOSE???

Well the good news I suppose (for you), is I’m only a delete button away. For me the dilemma is much deeper. The words that actually hit the keyboard are a mere fraction of the words whirling around in my ever-churnin noggin.

In fact, the verboseness in my brain is verbosely a verbosity.

I’ll be quiet now!

It is with great trepidation…

I introduce to you… Renni.

Trepidation only because the wounds of losing Tucker are still raw; I miss him every day. Mike admitted to “stepping over” him still at night, and I swear I hear his tail thump once or twice a day in this big empty house. But in reality, it’s in my empty heart.

We are dog people, plain and simple. We usually have two of them. We were in fact playing with the idea of finally filling Ziggy’s void when Tucker so quickly turned downhill. Renni is not a replacement; I just told her a moment ago in fact that she needs to “Tucker up” i.e. “earn her stripes”.

I have no doubt she will. Already having overcome the odds of landing in a shelter, Renni was most likely dumped in the country when her family could either no longer afford her or perhaps she had outgrown that “cute as can be” puppy stage which abruptly ends around 4 months. Then they enter the lanky tween-age years and their cuteness no longer over compensates for their naughtiness.

Enter Wren.

Wren is the great lady who found the scared pup on her front porch one morning a couple of weeks ago. Trembling but in otherwise good shape, Wren did all she could to find the owners, posting flyers, calling neighbors and contacting the local vet (She did not know about KC PetConnect but does now!). She and her equally awesome husband Jim have 6 small dogs of their own and this little sweetie could not have chosen a better home to try and invade. They would have kept her too if they could; it seems the little guys were not fond of this stranger who did not look a thing like their pack. Renni tried and tried to befriend them Wren told us, but all she got for it was a cut under her eye “through” a fence! If that’s not a “go back to where you came from” statement, I don’t know what is!

So what is a long story can be summed up in one word… fate. The kids and I took off on a 3 hour jaunt last night to “see if she’s the one”. Jim and Wren live on a parcel of land just shy of 5 acres and we parked at the very end of a long gravel drive. I had warned the kids on the way up that the dog is timid so not to expect her to come running to us begging for a good home; she thinks she’s already got one!

But lo and behold, that’s exactly what happened. She came trotting toward us, fluffy ears flopping in the breeze. The three of us dropped to our knees and she bowled us over with lovin and tail-waggin. I knew right then… game over.

Wren and Jim could not have been nicer people, the kids want to adopt them as yet another set of grandparents. When I asked Wren how she felt about us naming the dog she saved after her… tears welled up in her eyes and I knew this dog would forever be known as “Renni”, after the woman who “really” rescued her.

We met the rest of their crew, swapped some stories and a few more tears. They lost a dog this past Fourth of July when a careless driver hit him on the country road outside their home. Renni must have sought out their hearts to heal but when it was clear Jim and Wren have plenty of canine love to go around, “fate” brought her to us.

Just like Tucker at first was no Ziggy, who was no Nubi, who was no Louie… the cycle of life continues. And one day soon, Renni will be Top Dog.

Morning Coffee with my Friends…

My mornings could be described as enviable. No longer do I hit the floor running, watching the financial news channels so as to be aware of what awaits me at the office. My kids are at a totally self-sufficient age having left carpool lanes and packed lunches long ago. These days my mornings are quiet and progress at a lazy pace.

For that I am grateful. Not a day goes by that I am not aware of how good I’ve got it. Sure we do with less, but we have so much more. Life has finally exited off the fast lane; no more gerbil cage for me.

I have a ritual in the morning, sometimes it starts as early as 6:30a.m., other days might be as late as 9. I have my coffee.

I love my morning coffee. And I love my friends. When I started combining the two… my mornings became truly peaceful for me. They calm me and prepare me for the day ahead and all it might hold… good and bad. Life is put in perspective during coffee time; I think of my friends and the challenges they may be facing, or I cheer for them from my kitchen table willing them to fulfill their dreams. We all have them, and they are easily lost, especially at the age my friends and I are. Children, jobs, life… can easily cloud our vision. They don’t know it… but they are with me, at my table… and I am listening.

My yellow “Atlanta” mug is from my friend Dini. She brought it back to me when we both lived in Texas and she got away for a few days of fun with Brent. There is absolutely nothing spectacular about this mug except that it is from Dini. We were Starbucks buddies in Texas, much of our together-time centered around coffee. Dini passed away 3 years ago last month; I often choose her mug to enjoy my coffee in, especially on days that might have a special emphasis on her boys. The first day of school I always choose Dini; we chat about how big the boys are getting, how she’d dig on their new haircuts and how proud she would be of Brent… holding them all together. Their lives are happy and good.

The Kansas mug with the tornado on it is for when I have coffee with my sister Toby. It comforts me to know that even though she is over 4000 miles away from me in Ireland, she too may be sipping her morning Joe from the matching mug I sent her last year. I hope to be sipping from it at her kitchen table soon.

“Nothing like buns and coffee to start your day” is on a mug from Robin. It has a picture of cowboys sitting on a fence showing off their perfect cowboy derrières; not a bad way to start your day! Robin is my “gentle” friend, the kind that just makes you want to be a better person.

The blue “General Store” mug is my “feel good” mug. I bought it this summer in Gruene, TX… home of the oldest outdoor honky-tonk in the country. We were on our family reunion (with people who aren’t really our family, not yet at least… wink, wink) and ALL those people make me feel great inside. I look forward to next June when we meet again and one by one we stumble out of bed, grab a cup of Joe and start our visiting all over again.

The earth-toned mug in the back is probably my favorite if forced to choose. It was given to me by a friend of my Dads. It was handmade in Kenya by women who strive to make life a little better for themselves and their families. These women most likely benefited from a micro-loan, which I am a huge fan of, and I cannot sip from this cup and not be transformed for just a moment into their world. How different, how difficult it must be, yet how alike we all are. I want to go there someday. I believe I will.

The mug next to that one is a hoot. It’s from my neighbor Mary who knows me all too well. It says… “Excuse me? Did you talk to me BEFORE I had my coffee?” Sadly, it’s spot on. Most people who know me are aware that I’m not socially acceptable until I have my hands wrapped around a piping hot mug and I’ve enjoyed at least one long slug!

The “Instinet” cup next to that one is the one mug I wish could talk to me. It would have a lot to say. This is the cup I drank from daily when I was in corporate America. My friend Jeanie has a matching one. We used to drop our empty cup by the coffee machine, run for a restroom break and fill it up on the way back to the trading desk. More often than not though… we’d forget the coffee having our latest transaction on the brain. Eventually one would mosey back for a refill and see the other had left theirs behind. Jeanie took hers black; I like a little creamer in mine. We would always come back with 2 cups in our hands, brewed to each other’s liking and no words needed to be exchanged; only a knowing smile. We always had each other’s back when it came to coffee… and life.

The pretty cup with the saucer is a work in progress. I have a friend I met several years ago through our girls playing club volleyball together. We are so different on the outside; she comes from old Kansas City royalty, a blue-blood we might call her. I’m a mutt. We gravitate toward each other for some reason, and both make an effort to stay in each other’s lives, even though there’s no real convenient reason to do so. I am going to see her this afternoon, its VB season again and although Jordie has decided to sit the High School season out, we’re going to watch Kim’s daughter play our school and cheer her on. It was a long summer and Kim goes to her vacation house up north. I crank the a/c up and stay here so we’re a little out of touch. I’m bringing her this pretty cup and saucer today, I have the matching set. Her mornings are a lot like mine except hers are much more productive; spinning classes, volunteerism, raising 4 kids with 3 dogs and a cat (oh and one bird or two?) in it. I hope tomorrow morning to have coffee with her, and she with me. We have a lot to catch up on.

I have other coffee mugs of course. "To go" cups, over-sized cups, pretty yet impractical (it’s all about the feel) cups. But these are the ones I choose when I want to have coffee with my friends.

BTW... if you’re not on my "coffee with friends" list, no worries. I’m starting a collection of wine glasses! Surely you’ll be on it… you know who you are!!!

“I’m Published, I’m published”!!!

I’ve waited a long time to say those words; truth is I never put too much stock in it ever happening. Good friends and family have long told me I have the gift of the written word, but what has always held me back from taking that next step and actually pursuing some of my work to be published was my own lack of confidence.

Admittedly I suffer from anxiety every (each?) time I hit the “publish” button on my blog. I worry about proper grammar and punctuation, neither of which I’m any good at. “No worries” people I’d confide in would tell me, “I love the way you write.” So although I still may cringe a bit when I publish a post, for the most part I’ve become comfortable with Popeye’s mantra… “I am what I am” which for me interprets as “I write like I speak”; direct and from the heart with plenty of foul language sprinkled in.

I was recently given an opportunity through KC PetConnect to write an article for the September issue of Metro Pet Magazine. TC was always my biggest cheerleader in anything I chose to do. It was she in fact who suggested the name “ChrissyCan” for my own business because she believed I could do anything I set my mind to. “Chrissy can do anything” she used to tell people. It does not go unnoticed by me that in some distant way, TC was the one who got me my first gig!

1000 to 1500 words was what I understood the length of the article would be limited to. I wrote with reckless abandon because this was something I was passionate about; my sister TC and the legacy she left behind, KC PetConnect. When my trusty word counter reached 1749 words, I knew I was in trouble and worked feverishly to cut it back down to 1459. I was told the magazine had an “editor”… which is now a four letter word in my vocabulary… who would “neaten everything up for me”. Ru-roh!

Tom is a very nice man, Irish Catholic and grew up near Breezy Point in New York where my family is from. An instant connection was made and I thought, “This won’t be so bad”. I handed him my paper, he glanced at it and said “Whoa…. this is way too long. It can’t be more than 800 words”. I felt like a knife was jabbed in my heart. No way could both TC’s story AND KC PetConnect’s story be told in 800 words. “You have two different stories going on here, nicely merged, but too long.” I knew then what would happen to my story… slash, slash, slash.

Metro Pet hit the newsstands yesterday; I flew out the door to get a copy and actually copped 10 of them. They’re free and can be found at most all CVS pharmacies, Blockbuster’s, Price Choppers and a slew of other business’ most likely including your favorite Vet. I had not seen the final cut so my eyes could not read fast enough while sitting in my car outside the store. I hate the first sentence; really? The word “finally” used twice in one sentence? And I’m the one with the lack of confidence regarding grammar? But I read on as I sipped my coffee to settle my nerves and the rest of the article is full of my words. I can appreciate that they gave TC credit and had a very small space to do so; I’ll just have to post the article in its entirety here soon. Bottom line I’m published; even if it is in a pet magazine!

I always like to look for the “lessons learned” from new experiences; if given the opportunity to write again I will be better prepared. The lesson learned this time around will come in very handy when I finally write my book that is currently stuck somewhere between my soul and my keyboard. Two simple words…

Self publish!!!

Note: Metro Pet is also offered online, you can check out my article by clicking on their link, then clicking on "Latest Issue". As of right now, the September issue has not been downloaded, check back soon. Ideally though, pick up the magazine at a CVS or Blockbuster near you; they're free and chock full of great pet info!