Sock it to me, Baby!

Toasty toed

Hi, Blogpals,

Most of you know me as keen observer of what goes on around me. Okay, just say it, I'm nosy. Well, wasn't I surprised when my lame family and friends managed to put one over on me and surprise me with a 60th birthday party? Molly came from out of town. When my sister asked where she parked, she said, "In front of the restaurant. Mom will never notice." And she was right...My sister called and told me she was walking into the Country Club in Paris when,in fact, she was walking into Boone Tavern. Teresa took me for a glass of wine after work, and I didn't worry too much about why two other friends were no-shows. And I should've suspected something when Nancy rejected her favorite restaurant and suggested that we go to Boone Tavern instead for my birthday dinner...I must admit that I didn't have a clue. Instead of a quiet dinner with Nancy and Bob, I was treated to an evening with 20+ of my friends and family. My "friend" Jody, suggested that everyone bring me socks. And they all gladly complied. I suspect I'll still be wearing some of these socks when I'm sitting in my rocking chair.

Tim wrote me a poem, and I'd like to share it with you...

A Poem for Mom
By: Tim

Today you’re turning sixty, Mom,
Your years are getting higher.
But the Mistress of Knowledge does not age,
She only becomes wiser.

Over the years, you’ve acquired many names,
Like Ms. Liz, Tiz and Tizzie.
But the girls and I have used only two:
Either Mom or Mommy.

While we grew up, you washed our clothes,
Bathed, read-to, and fed us.
And Thursdays were the special days
You made us cinnamon toast for breakfast.

You have the gift of gab for sure,
Your loquacity is well-known.
It must be due to all those times
You kissed the Blarney Stone!

This wordiness has served you well
In your career as a blogger,
And it certainly helped you compose to me
“The Lament of the Mom of Soccer.”

Your exercise regimen consists
Of walking, talking and smiles,
But the girls and I are most fond of
Your famous “Mom Run Miles.”

Many a forced march have you completed
During your sixty years,
But you’ve usually marched forth in laughter
And not too many tears.

You’re a soccer mom, a poet,
An avid reader and a muse.
And everyone here calls you a friend,
That they would hate to lose.

At sixty years you’ve reached the time
When you are twice my age.
But you should be proud that throughout this time
You’ve made the world your stage!

This poem is done; there is no more.
But there’s one thing left to say:
From Molly, Nancy, Dad, and me,
We love you, and Happy Birthday!


Okay, I cried one more time when I reread it. I am a lucky lady.

I love and appreciate all of you!
With toasty toes,
I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Concrete, Cooking, Catherine, and Chidren

Good day, Bloggies,

Shouldn’t you be raking your leaves? Planning your Halloween costume? Eating a caramel apple? Well, since you’re slacking, I guess I’ll join you.

We have a new concrete patio outside our basement door! What? You’re not excited? Well, evidently, no contractors were either, as we had been trying to find someone to install one for quite some time. As usual, no one wants to do the jobs we need done. What? They don’t want to scrape peeling paint off my garage ceiling and redo it? A few years back, I got very excited about a great bid on that, but the painters never did show… Most guys we call either don’t call back and/or don’t show up. Do you think someone has our number? Are we on the contractors’ “No Call List”? One guy simply walked away during Bob’s interrogation (er.. I mean “questioning”) of how he was going to install the concrete. He drove off, leaving his stunned underlings to make excuses and skulk away. Another fellow spent several hours with us and even offered to “explain a law of physics” to Bob so that Bob would understand the angle at which the patio would be slanted… We finally picked the guy with the shortest rap sheet AND miraculously he eventually showed up. While we have never sat on the said patio and don’t intend to, it is a fine-looking perfectly –angled (well, we’ll know that after the first downpour that doesn’t result in a wet basement) piece of sand art… Now all this has led to us planting grass seed for the first time in our young lives, but I’ll save that for another blog.

Now let’s talk about cooking. What I know wouldn’t fill a blog, but evidently despite the internet, iPod, and iPhone (okay, now is where Nancy reminds me that she DOESN’T have one of these) to give her all knowledge she needs at her fingertips -- she knows even less than I do. She moved into her first apartment in Aug. Like a good mother, I supplied her with all the cooking essentials: Hamburger helper, Ragu spaghetti sauce, Shake ‘n Bake, Ramen noodles, a few frozen pizzas, etc. She called in dismay one evening. She was both hungry and humiliated. She had planned to make Hamburger Helper for her roommates. Her roommate Maggie asked, “Oh, do you have some hamburger?” Nancy’s reply, “Isn’t it in the box?” How’s a girl to know ? She hasn’t cooked the Ramen noodles yet, but remind me to tell her that Ramen won’t suddenly appear to cook them for her. ..

And now, onto my mother, Catherine… You DO like to read about nearly 101-year-olds, don’t you? What my sister told me may help explain why Mom has gotten to be nearly 101. Mary stopped by one evening to take her for a ride. Mom was already in bed. She asked Mary, “Can I just go like I am?” So, she got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and did what folks in my hometown have made an art form: went riding around. Here’s to getting out of bed and keepin’ on keepin’ on.

And finally to kids. I have only one observation today. Years ago when Molly was a young girl, she was noted among her family and friends for having a most untidy bedroom. I could describe it, but some of you mothers reading this might weep openly and have to explain yourselves to your boss or worse. In Tom Sawyer fashion, whenever she needed to clean her room before getting to go play, she would convince her unsuspecting friend (sorry, Amy, it was usually you) to “help” her clean her room in order to enjoy her inimitable company. My ever-wise sister would say, “Don’t worry. When she grows up, her house will be spotless.” That was little comfort t to me. Well, guess what? My sister was right. Bob and I stayed in Molly’s apartment last weekend and there wasn’t a thing out of place. There were no dishes in the sink, there were clean towels in the bathroom, the garbage can was empty, we didn’t have to wade through piles of clothes. So, for all of you mothers of slobs out there – you know who you are – fear not. They do grow up, and they do have spotless homes. So, just suck it up for 20 years or so. It’s not so bad now, is it?

“C” ing things my way,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Trying to be Fanny

Happy Labor-free day,

I hope you've slacked to your heart's content the past three days. I guess you're not done yet if you're reading this... One photo above shows me set free from the bonds of convention wearing what I secretly always want to wear: a fanny pack. Normally, my children won't allow it and even my sister tried to toss out my fanny pack collection (one way cool black leather one, a purple waterproof one, and a navy one I got for free that advertises something) when she came to help me organize my life a few years back. Well, I showed them. Bob and I went to Colorado in August, and I publicly and proudly made my statement. Bob didn't have a clue that I was a big dork. In fact, he's had 35 years to discover that, and he still doesn't know. As long as I could supply sunglasses clip-ons (they're not dorky, are they?), water bottles, and a debit card on a moment's notice, he didn't care what I wore. I loved having my hands free. In fact, I needed both my hands on one hike. We were the only ones on the trail and we were greeted by a sign which provided directions for what to do if we encountered a bear or a bobcat. One suggestion was to "do whatever you can to appear taller." Now that's a tall order for me. It recommended raising one's arms above one's head to accomplish this. And so I did as I followed Bob up the mountain. Of course, I worried the whole time about which animal I was supposed to give eye contact to and which one I was not. Luckily, my comprehension skills weren't put to the test as I'm sure I would've looked right at the bear and raised my arms and thereby incited him to action (or maybe just confused him..? ) The direction to not get in between a mother and her cub was particularly intriguing as would anyone do that on purpose? Wouldn't it be too late before you discovered that you were between them? Oh, excuse me, Mama Bear, let me step out of the way while you get to Baby Bear...Since Bob arrived in Colorado a few days ahead of me to attend a meeting, he had some time to get the hotel room in full welcoming mode for me. See the photo with the clothes draped lovingly on all possible surfaces. I felt so at home when I got there...Updates...Nancy still doesn't have a cute bedspread. Now that she's in her first apartment and supposedly on a budget, her solution is to come home and eat more. Some of you may remember how I stretched my money in college??? At the time, Pringle's potato chips were being test marketed and weren't available in Champaign-Urbana. However, they WERE available in Paris, Illinois. That's right. So, I introduced my friends to Pringles. They were quite a sensation. And I would get them at a very reduced rate (okay, free)from Bridwell's and then sell them to my friends. Those were the days...

Packing my fanny off to bed,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/ Elizabeth

Summer Musings

Hi,Summer Slackers,

Has your summer slipped away without enough fun to show for it? Are you still waiting for a break in the weather -- like maybe a day in the low 90s -- to start enjoying yourself?


You must be wondering what I've been doing this summer. I've accomplished a few things. I have taken my razor out of storage and managed to shave my legs a few times without ending up at the ER... Nancy has painted my toenails, so I look like a modern, well-groomed gal. I have cleaned the back porch floor and will get to the furniture soon. Why, I'll be out there reading a book and sipping mimosas any month now...I have taken my swimsuit out of the mothballs and am preparing to go to a pool party this weekend; however, I'm afraid I did forget to go on a diet. Maybe next summer...Is have rearranged my dresser drawers so that the first thing on top is no longer a black turtleneck...I have eased my guilty conscience by simply not buying any hanging plants for the porch and subjecting them to my tortur...er I mean nurturing... I have gone to the Dairy Queen once when I really wanted to and enjoyed a medium dipped cone...I have had a few "Tizhaps". I bought a new cheese grater. A certain person insisted on talking to me while I was grating which distracted me and caused me to grate my own knuckle. Ouch!..I managed to make a florescent light bulb explode in my car, spraying glass over a rather large area..

As the summer winds down, I have started hearing those words no mother ever wants to hear, "Mom, when can we go shopping for my first apartment?" Now some of you who are helping your first child move into an apartment are thinking that I'm a particularly negligent curmudgeonly mother who can't take joy in her child's progress. But that's not it at all. I could show you my basement and garage and what happens to all those "darling" bedspreads with matching pillows and had-to-have pieces of furniture, the dishes, the bookshelves, the toaster ovens..Somehow whatever we already own won't be the right thing. It won't be cute enough or modern enough (okay, I do still have the rolling cart I put my TV on in college and sometimes it even has a TV on it) or hip enough for the roommates. Do you think anyone would take my crockpot which has part of the lid held together with duct tape? How about my skillet which has half the Teflon scraped off? My pink towels with bleach spots which give them a bit of a tie dye appearance? So, if you see me schlepping around Bed, Beth, and Beyond with a cart full of crap while accompanied by a perky college girl, remind me to smile and enjoy myself.

So, write and tell me what YOU'VE accomplished this summer. Or better yet, what you haven't accomplished.


Sweatin' and frettin',
I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Elizabeth/Liz

Six Reasons to Go to Branson

Hi, blogpals,

Recently, Mary,Mom, and I enjoyed a fun getaway in Branson, MO. Branson is the Nashville/Vegas of the Midwest, in case you don't know. There are 138 shows in town. I have now been there six times since 1991, so it got me to wondering why people go there and why they go back. So I've come up with what I think are some of the reasons. Ready? Here goes..

1. To feel young again. Despite our status as Baby Boomer babes, Mary and I were NOT the oldest people at most of the shows --- we made sure of that since we took Mom with us to all the shows. However, there were plenty of senior seniors wandering the streets and shows of Branson.

2. To feel really old. When you look at the photos advertising Paul Revere and the Raiders in full American revolutionary gear you kinda see the passing of time, shall we say? At one show, one of the young cast members looked into the audience and exclaimed, "Look there. We have one under 50. Really. Come look at her!"

3. To buy CD's that will no doubt be rare gems on e-bay 30+ years from now when you might need the dough. After all, if only 50 were sold, they'll be worth a lot, right?

4. To take a scenic train ride. While it never said exactly what "scenes" we would see, we did expect more than trees and junkyards..

5. To learn some folksy jokes. You know you need one or two you can tell your kids, grandkids, or parents. Try this one: A four-year-old was watching her grandmother put on her makeup. She asked, "What are you doing, Grandma?" Grandma replied, "I'm putting on makeup so I'll look pretty." The little girl replied, "When does it start working?"

6. To shop with your sister, the fashion maven, so that she can tell you what is "in style" and "youthful". Of course, she is an expert on these things... Nonetheless, I continue to put stake in her advice. So, I turned myself into a regular hottie at the Eddie Bauer outlet. Check me out sometime.

Bob and I plan to go back in November to see Ireland's most famous music import next to Bono : Daniel O'Donnell. He's there in November as are Bill Medley, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Tony Orlando and more..Come join us. You know you want to!


In other news...

Tim and Megan are having more critter problems. This time it's swallows (ones protected by the government, of course) building nests above their front door. Poor Megan has been swooped down upon a few times. Tim thinks he has the problem under control. If only they would swoop down on the prairie mice instead....Worst critter story I've heard lately --absolutely true and verified by my friend Bunny at work -- a girl went into her upstairs bathroom at her home in Texas (You may think this is an urban myth, since I've given you specific details such as the person's sex, the location of the home, the bathroom, etc, but it's absolutely true.) and started screaming. When her mother came up, there was a dead squirrel in the toilet. No kidding. The sewer people could not figure out how it had gotten there...Not much happening here in COMO. Bob is mowing the lawn. No reports of snake attacks yet. Nancy is lounging on a yacht with her friends at Lake of the Ozarks. Don't know what Molly is doing other than not calling her mother. Don't know what Tim and Megan are doing other than not calling Tim's mother. Me? I'm sitting here with nothing better to do, just like you are. My only goal for the rest of the day is to go to the Dairy Queen and get a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone.

Happy 4th to you and yours!

Chillin' with no chillen,

I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth




3.

Under Siege

Hello, Saturday Slackers,

What is your excuse today? Pretending to be doing something useful on the computer while you’re really rotting your mind with Tiztalk? Well, I’ll never tell. Bob’s mowing the yard, so he’s not likely to check on what I’m doing for at least an hour. It’s always dangerous to leave me alone for an hour without specific directions .

Last time I swore that I was filling your quota for doing dumb things. Well, now I think I am setting new records for surburbanites whose homes are under attack. Under attack, you say? What is she talking about? Let me tell you. I live in a very ordinary house in a very ordinary subdivision. I think I live in a civilized neighborhood, but I sometimes wonder if creatures and critters look at my house and see a big X on it. Let’s go there. We’re sure to get a rise out of THAT lady.

I can’t decide whether it’s good or bad to wake up and put on my glasses. Last weekend I got up, did not put on my glasses, and grabbed a paper towel to pick up the “leaf” on my floor. Wasn’t I surprised to discover that it was actually a tree frog? See the photo above. Well, you can imagine my response. I screamed and hopped around like a tree frog myself for a few seconds. In fact, it was a DEAD petrified tree frog. Don’t ask me how or why it appeared in my kitchen. In self defense, I put on my glasses and walked over to the counter just in time to spy an ant strutting out of my toaster. .. Due to the rain, our basement got wet and we spent a few hours taking up carpet in Tim’s room. Despite family lore and evidence to the contrary, there was no well-established cricket colony or spider sanctuary ensconced under the carpeting. However, we did discover a few slimy worms living near the doorway which Bob picked up like a schoolyard boy and attempted to scare me with… Then there are the cicadas. They’re everywhere! One flew into my hair while I was walking and I did what anyone would do: I freaked out , waved my hands, slapped about my head , and did a little dance to entertain my neighbors. While all reports say they are “harmless”, I’m not fond of personal encounters with prehistoric insects. Last night I left the light on for Nancy and she said the entire door was covered with them. She had to sneak in the garage. ..We are also the victims of a tree outside our deck which is filled with squirrels that aren’t the least bit afraid of us. They come to the window and stare us down. Bob has been searching for his electric squirrel zapper to teach them a lesson, but so far he hasn’t found it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they stuck out their tongues and put their paws in their ears to taunt us.

We are s waiting for the deer to come feast on our tiger lilies, and the mole trap is set. But the raccoons and possums have left us alone lately.

This just in….Bob reported that he just killed a large black snake in the backyard. It was about 4’ long, although now that he knows I’m blogging about it he says it was 12 feet long and 4 inches in diameter. He killed it with a rake and then cut off its head with the clippers. He’s offered to show it to me, but I have declined his kind invitation. Of course, this reminded Bob of one more reason that Ireland is better than COMO – there are no snakes there.

I am about to build a mote around my house, but somehow I’m afraid all the critters would get on my side of it…

Did I mention the biggest assault of all on our home? Nancy is home from college. Talk about creatures stirring up trouble! Well, I’ll have to save that one for another time.

First photo is Nancy and Maggie heading to London a few weeks ago.

Crittering my life away,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Filling My Quota and Yours

Hi, Saturday Slackers,

You know that pile of mulch is waiting for you. What are you doing in front of your computer? Well, you must want to hear Tiz talk, so I won’t disappoint you.
Do you think that there is a requisite number of dumb things a person is required to do in her life? A quota that must be filled? Are mishaps preventable? Can you really wear white pants and eat spaghetti without incident? Can a person wheel large V-carts filled with textbooks without dumping them over? After picking up the mess of books, must one then soundly knock her head on the handle bar? I’m just wondering. I’ve long excelled in the klutz category, but lately I seem to be headed for the Klutz Hall of Fame. Ready to feel good about yourself? Read on. Before heading out to Moms’ Weekend with Nancy, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had thought ahead. I had a nearly-new pair of khakis, my hair had been cut and colored, my the car was clean and vacuumed, I was well-rested and ready to Mom up. However, like a trite sitcom, my life never runs smoothly. With a last admiring glance in the full length mirror, I noticed a red spaghetti stain on the knee of my pants. Like any seasoned housewife, I knew just what to do. I grabbed a wet rag and started rubbing wildly while cussing in daughter-friendly terms. The spot got bigger and wetter. Then I noticed that it was getting redder. After using the scientific method – well, actually, Nancy figured it out – I realized that my spot was not spaghetti at all; my knee was bleeding. They just don’t make razors like they used to. (You women readers will understand the need to shave one’s legs even when wearing khakis, just in case someone should take a thorough look at your ankles while you're sitting at brunch.) Anyway, Nancy introduced me to Tide at Hand and we ultimately got the stain to nearly disappear. (I’m still puzzled by where the blood went as the Tide stick was still snowy white; my daughter Molly, a biology major, later explained that it had “oxidized” whatever that means). I was saved as I had not another pair of trousers that would actually fit and flatter -- as in zip and not look too hideous – this 5’2” temple of mine. As we were leaving, I took a minute to clean the kitchen counter. What did I spy but a swarm of ants enjoying leftovers near the windowsill? Again I knew just what to do. I quickly and indiscriminately – again while cussing in a daughter-friendly way -- sprayed poison on the countertop and their marching quickly became writhing. I was triumphant. I could regale you with another tale of what went on that day, but it would make me look entirely too ridiculous and your would shake your head in disgust. Furthermore, I like being married, so I choose not to reveal all of my stupid Tizzie tricks, even for YOUR entertainment. Instead, I included some photos from Moms’ Weekend . But I’ll add a few other Tizzie classics and then I’ll sit back and wait for you to share a few of yours. Or tell a few tales on me if you choose. Don’t disappoint me, okay? Even if you feel mine can’t be topped? Try me…Here goes…

1. Before leaving for work one day, I once picked up the wrong can and sprayed Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner all over my hair instead of hairspray. (Yes, I went to work anyway, and I smelled squeaky clean all day.)
2. While pregnant with Tim, I once took a cart filled with 3 huge boxes of Brigance Inventories (some of you will know what those are) down an escalator packed with people at a convention. The boxes fell off at the bottom and about 100 people had to jump over me and my stuff when they reached the bottom. I imagine a few of them still remember that one, perhaps only subconsciously.
3. A few months after I got my driver’s license, I asked Dad to let me drive to Terre Haute, IN. I was so excited that he let me do it. However, I soon realized that I had no idea how to get to Terre Haute (those of you from Paris, IL, are at least smiling if not laughing aloud right now) . Of course, I couldn’t reveal my ignorance because then he might change his mind. I guess I eventually got there.
4. When Molly was 4 I bought her a nice pair of Stride Rite shoes. One shoe fit, the other didn’t. I took Molly and the shoes back to the store and demanded a replacement pair. The shoe salesman reached in and took the tissue paper out of the toe of the other shoe…
5. Tim went to a preschool co-op where parents helped. I sent his teacher’s Christmas gift with a friend. It was a lovely copper planter still in the box that Bob and I had received as a wedding gift. Well, you’ve already guess this one, right? The teacher opened her gifts and read the cards while sitting in a circle with the group. The card said “Congratulations on your wedding, Tizzie and Bob.” Well, my friend Marianne has NEVER let me forget that one!
6. Nancy’s preschool had a culminating event each year: The Mothers' Tea. The children made elaborate paper hats for themselves and their mothers, had a parade, and performed a skit. I clearly remember dropping her off at 12:30. I decided to make use of the few hours before I had to return for the party. When I showed up to pick her up, I noticed lots of extra cars and dressed up mothers with flowerly paper hats on… I was aghast. Not only had I forgotten the tea – Nancy had to sit on the teacher’s lap for the photos and events – I had spent my afternoon cleaning the garage. I had on a sweaty tee shirt and dirty pair of shorts. I truly was a disgrace. If Nancy has anything to do with it, I imagine the quotation on my headstone will read “She forgot the Mothers’ Tea.”

Doing your dumb things for you,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth