Veiled Accusations

Good morning, Friends and Fam,

Unless you’ve hiding  under a rock – move over, I’d love to join you – you must know that I am about to become an MOB.  That’s right, Molly is getting married.  She has picked Cody, a fine young man that we are thrilled to welcome into the family.  She is in a  gaze-at-her-ring dream state when she’s not in near -bridezilla mode.  Of course, her wrath falls on guess who?  Her mother, who else?  She thinks that I am not taking all of this seriously enough and that I have not been doing my part to create the Wedding of the Century.  What do I have against ice sculptures?  Seat covers? Just what color dress do I intend to wear?   Have I called the _____________ (fill in the blank: bakery, florist, photographer,  seamstress, videographer, .......) Why NOT??? Well, you get the picture.  I'm thinking of filing a sexual harassment suit as I she hasn't demanded a thing of her father who is in the father-of-the bride mode of looking at his little girl nostalgically ,and ,when he looks up from a book, feigning excitement at her big day.  In the meantime, I've been accused of being a cheap neglectful lazy slob or worse.  Little does she know that I have been busier than ever since her big announcement.  Here's what I've done/had done/ or am having done:

replaced the deck (we wouldn't want you to see what it's really looked like all these years)

painted the bathroom (ditto)

painted the hallway and front door (ditto)

redone Molly's bedroom (ditto)

removed wallpaper from ktichen walls (ditto)

gotten my wedding dress and veil cleaned for Molly to try on (for the heck of it)

joined Weight Watchers (don't want you to see what I really look like)

gotten  my first pair of soft contacts (ditto)

made an appt for a dental implant (ditto)

tried a new hair color (ditto)

And the list goes on.  As you can see, I've been BUSY.  What more can I do??  Last week my sister told me that I need to start "working on my feet".  Dear me!  When am I going to fit that in?

Molly is coming next week and once again my motherly abilities will be put to the test.  I promise to listen attentively to possible color choices, table decoration ideas, bridesmaid adornments, etc. etc.  Meanwhile, I'll be "working on my feet."  Wish me luck!

Getting MOB-ed,

I remain,

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth/Mother-of-the-Bride

Some Tiz Advice:  Something to NOT do in a hurry minutes before leaving for work:  wax your upper lip.  And make SURE you have baby oil on hand for after the waxing. The details are painful, but suffice it to say, I drove to work picking wet kleenex out of my tache!  And I had a glob of sticky substance on my face all day..I'll try not to do that on the day of the wedding...Furthermore, I LOST the lid to my hot wax.  Don't ask me how.  Trouble just follows me around. .. I'm also looking for my camera.  Please let me know if you see it.  It's a Canon.. I had a great pic of Molly wearing my wedding dress, but it will remain unseen until my camera shows up.

Tiz Shares Her Beauty Secrets and More.....

Good day, Blogpals,

I guess you're put away your wrapping paper, organized your gifts, and written your thank you notes or you wouldn't be reading this, right? Well, at least go set a mousetrap to make yourself feel useful. (Aside: I must ashamedly admit that my son Tim has become a heartless mouse catcher. The first time he had to put a trapped mouse out of its misery before disposing of it, he was traumatized. Not anymore! He has ratcheted up the quality of his mousetraps and claims to have the surefire method to keeping those pesky critters out of the garage even if he does live on the prarie and back up to a field.)

You probably think I had forgotten you. But actually I have months' worth of blog notes scribbled everywhere. So, here goes...

Recently, Mary, Mom, and I flew to Florida for a wedding. I rented a car at the airport and needed to find my way to the beach side hotel at 11:30 PM. Anyone who knows me knows that me finding my way from Park Place to Boardwalk is an accomplishment. However, I was prepared. I had typed the address in my phone's navigation system (which I had used at least once before). Of course, I couldn't check a map or a phone once I got the car as it was late, dark, and I was alone in the airport lot. I've read enough true crime books to know not to look distracted and confused -- an extremely hard task for me as that's the way I appear most of the time. So, out I went without knowing anything more than how to turn on the car. If you ever rent cars, you know that an important step is familiarizing yourself with the knobs, buttons, etc. Well, I had no time for that; someone might get me. So, I pushed the button on my phone and said a prayer. Despite not being able to see out of either of my side mirrors (couldn't figure out how to adjust them), I was cruising along quite well holding my phone up to my ear to hear the directions. My cousin called a few times and disturbed my directions, but I didn't answer it and sojourned on. I was thankful that it was a clear calm night, especially since I had no idea how to turn on the wipers. I thought I was home free when, all at once, water deluged my windows. A hotel was watering its lawn... Well, I blindly started pushing, pulling, and turning knobs. I finally located the wipers and I --- as well as Pensacola, Florida--- was saved. It was only a few miles later that I noticed that I had somehow turned off my lights. Oh, well, I did get there. Nobody got me, and I didn't get anybody either.

Nancy has recently had a few interviews for internships. Outfitting her properly has been quite an ordeal. I thought back to what I wore when I got my first job. It was a lovely royal blue sleeveless polyester mini dress, belted and trimmed in white. I complemented it with tall white open-toe clog sandals. Of course, I had on the standard suntan hose and large dangling hoop earrings which peeked out from my shag haircut. It worked for me. And, obviously, my mother wasn't the least bit involved in what I wore...

Recent Tizhap...One morning as I was hurriedly getting ready for work, catastrophe struck: I dropped my blush in the toilet. In the words of a friend whose name I can't mention, I was "devastated.". I had no extra Cover Girl classic pinks in the cabinet. What was a girl to do? Well, I pinched my cheeks and bravely went forth... certain that someone would comment on my changed appearance. After all, I have worn Cover Girl classic pink my entire life. I must look as weird to others as I did to myself. When I forget to wear eyeliner, I inevitably get asked if I'm feeling okay or if I'm tired. Guess what? I was without blush for three days and no one said a word. And when I finally had a chance to get more, Walgreens was out of classic pink! Since I wasn't going home soon where I could steal one of my mother's classic pinks, I was forced to settle for Maybelline medium pink. I brushed it on ferociously each morning, but somehow it just didn't look right. You'll be relieved to know that Target was not out of classic pink, so now I am back in the pink -- the classic pink-- once again. Surely, you've noticed, right?...And one more (I want to throw away these scribbled notes), while on our trip to Fl I must have spaced out while purchasing my ticket -- or more likely the computer made a mistake -- my ticket had my name with a "Jr" after it, so now I'll have to add one more name to the list below. I was afraid that I wouldn't be allowed to board the plane as my I.D. didn't match my ticket, but I must have looked innocuous enough..

Flushing and blushing,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth/Elizabeth, Jr.

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.