To my 20-year-old self

/

I'm fortunate to be part of a Facebook group of midlife women bloggers, called GenFab (Generation Fabulous). This week we have our first blog hop, posting on "What would you tell your 20-year-old self?" Here is my response, followed by links to the moving posts from my GenFab friends.

Dear 20-year-old Lisa,

You became a mom when still just a child yourself. As you suspect, the age at which you have your three precious daughters (yep, that babe in your belly right now is a girl, too) will affect everything you do and are throughout your life.

That can be a good thing, though—if you allow it.

In hopes you will indeed allow it, I have some advice for you. Despite you being stubborn in ways many have yet to realize, I do hope you'll take my advice to heart, act on it.

My advice is this:

Stop being so scared. You're scared about what's to come, what people think of you, what your girls—hell, what you—will grow up to do and be. You're scared of the other, older moms who seem to know and have and be so much more than you. You're scared of not knowing enough, not having enough, not being enough.

Well knock it off! There's no reason to be scared. Well, there is reason sometimes. But there will soon be an advertising tagline that says, Feel the fear and do it anyway. Do exactly that—always, in all ways.

Question authority. That principal who tells you it's okay to send your barely five-year-old daughter to kindergarten? Question that. That doctor who tells you tubes in a child's ears are a thing of the past? Question that. That same doctor, who tells you your daughter has an infection when it turns out to be a <cuss> hernia? Question that. When you're assured a negative amortization loan is okay, question it. And when an editor rejects your work, question that—then send it to other editors and never. ever. give. up.

Don't take the job. A few years from now, you'll be offered a job by someone you consider worldly and wise. Don't take it. The damage to your self-esteem, marriage and more because of "friends" you make there is so not worth it. Trust me. Yes, your household desperately needs the money, but Just say NO! (another slogan that will soon be a pop culture hit).

Brace yourself. I know you, I know you'll ignore the advice above. So brace yourself. The stress caused by the consequences of that bad choice will wreak havoc on your health in ways that will affect you each and every day for the rest of your life. Seriously. But know this: It's not as bad as doctors first tell you. You will walk again. You will see again. In fact, your neurologist will one day tell you you're a miracle. Trust that doctor. And trust that you will be okay.

Brace yourself, part two. Those little girls you hold in your arms today and the tiny one in your womb? Well, they're going to hate you. They will love you at first, of course. But when they're teens, they will hate you. Or at least think they hate you and make you think they really do. Because you'll be a mean mom and won't allow them to do much of what their friends do. Yet you won't be able to stop the typical teen stuff your girls manage to do anyway. And your disapproval, restrictions, and determination that they respect themselves and their parents—and that they just plain stay alive through the trauma-filled teen years!—will have them screaming, crying, resisting, and swearing they hate you because you are such a mean mom.

Be mean anyway. Regardless of their freakouts and your heartbreak and self doubt, be mean. It's what those girls—what many children—need. One day they will thank you, I swear. In fact, one night 28 years from now, that tiny bundle in your belly, the baby whom you've not yet met, will send you a text (something you'll learn to do decades from now) that says this:

Your baby girl's text—along with similar gratitude from her older sisters, once grown—confirm being mean was one of the most right things you'll do.

Have no doubt, the years ahead will definitely suck at times. But those sucky times will make you stronger, smarter, bring into breathtaking focus the brilliance of the many non-sucky times. Ultimately, you, your marriage (which does last, by the way, despite the challenges, stats, and naysayers), your babies, your eventual grandbabies, your life will turn out far better than you ever imagined.

Even if you don't listen to my advice.

Which I know you won't. Because you've always been far more stubborn than most people realize.

I love you anyway.

~ Your far older and a wee bit wiser self

Today's question:

What would you tell your 20-year-old self?

Please enjoy the heartfelt posts from my GenFab friends. Warning: Tissue alert for most!

5 things my husband has never done (plus 5 I've never done either)

/

Yesterday morning as I chopped my apple to place in my instant oatmeal before nuking it (good stuff; you should try it), I thought about all the apples Megan had at her house while I was there last week. She has a lot. All different kinds, too, from galas—my fave—to honeycrisp and yellow ones of some sort and more.

"Preston won't stop buying them," she told me, followed by a wish he'd buy fruit that's a little easier for Bubby and Mac—especially Mac— to eat rather than crisp and crunchy apples. (That require coring and slicing and, in Mac's case, peeling and dicing, too.)

As I cut my apple yesterday morning, I thought about Preston picking out apples for his family and realized that Jim, my husband, has likely never, ever bought an apple. Not for his family, not for himself. I buy the apples. All the apples...which are usually gala because those are what I like. Even when the girls lived at home, I was the family apple buyer.

Considering my apple for yesterday's breakfast and all the apples I've bought in the past while Jim has never bought a single one, I thought of some other things that Jim has never done in our 30+ years together. Things he's never done because I did them. For example:

Five things my husband has never done (because I did/do)

1. Not only has Jim never bought apples, he's never done the weekly shopping for our household.

2. He's never wrapped all the Christmas gifts. Or birthday gifts.

3. He's never played Tooth Fairy.

4. He's never done the back-to-school shopping. Or any clothes shopping with and for our daughters. (A special hell all its own, one you may know if you've had teen daughters.)

5. He's never cooked breakfast for the family.

Seeing how it's the political season, though, and I don't want to seem as mud-slinging as those running for office, in the interest of providing fair and balanced coverage here on Grandma's Briefs, I offer this:

Five things I have never done (because my husband did/does)

1. I've never changed a tire. Ever. Embarrassing but true.

2. I've never climbed an extension ladder and hung holiday lights on the outside of our house.

3. I've never worked three jobs at one time to keep our family afloat.

4. I've never wired a light fixture, a ceiling fan, an outlet that needed repair.

5. I've never changed a catheter bag. He did—mine, twenty or so years ago during an especially scary time. (Probably more scary for him than me, to be honest.)

Now is the place in my post that I should be wrapping it all up with a point. That point, though, has morphed, the more I wrote, the more I considered my lists.

I originally planned to point out what a helpful son-in-law I have, for Preston not only buys apples and has even done the weekly shopping, he changes poopy diapers and bathes my grandsons pert-near as often as does my daughter. While that's cool and admirable and something I appreciate, it's no longer my point.

My point now is this: Who needs a husband to buy freakin' apples when they're willing to change your pee bag?

Not me.

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is your favorite kind of apple? (Bet that's not the question you expected, is it?)

Sense, bright sides, and days when neither exist

/

The ever-so-courageous lion.Two things you may or may not know about me:

1. I like things to makes sense.

2. I like to look on the bright side.

Yesterday I struggled with news that made no sense, provided no bright side.

And I don't like that.

The past few months, my state has seen too many events that make the news, things that make no sense and have no bright side. The Waldo Canyon fire. The Aurora shootings. The heartbreaking story of Jessica Ridgeway.

We humans are born with a courageous spirit, one we're meant to put to good use throughout our lives to accomplish things great and small. I firmly believe that—despite the personally frustrating fact I lack courage far more often than not.

Those unfortunate events of late, though, had nothing to do with courage and everything to do with, well, with things happening for no good reason, making no sense.

Like most folks, I prefer stories of courage, in the news and otherwise. Retellings of how every single day millions of people beat a fatal illness, accomplish an incredible feat, overcome harrowing challenges, come to terms with odds no one ever expected to face, make a difference in personal worlds or the world at large.

The most recent example is the oh so courageous—some might even say crazy—Felix Baumgartner, who leapt from more than 24 miles high in the sky, landing safely to become the first man to reach supersonic speed without traveling in a jet or spacecraft.

What an extraordinary thing to do, and how incredible that he survived unscathed.

But then there are people who do completely average and ordinary things and don't fare so well.

Yesterday provided glaring evidence of such contrast.

Just after reading the newspaper account of Baumgartner's courage and derring do, I heard reports of an automobile accident a few miles from my home. A horrible affair in which two women—one a mother, the other a grandmother, pushing a 14-month-old in a stroller as they walked home after dropping off a total of five kids at school—were plowed down, killed by an SUV as the driver dashed to work or someplace apparently equally important to her.

It makes no sense. One man dares to perform a death-defying act and does exactly that—defies the sensible outcome, which would be death. Yet two women who likely never even considered death a possibility of their actions, that courage would be a requirement of their walking kids and grandkids to school, will never return home or to their loved ones again.

I get that bad things happen to good people all the time. That ordinary people doing ordinary things end up victims of unfortunate, unforseeable circumstances.

All the while a man jumps from far above the earth and falls into fame, good fortune, accolades and a forever place in history.

It makes no sense—the ordinary, the extraordinary, and how things turn out.

I don't begrudge Baumgartner his accomplishment of the truly awesome, incredible feat. I'm amazed he dared to jump from such heights, am inspired by him and his courage.

I just want things to make sense. More importantly, I want there to be a bright side for the families of those ordinary women who dared to cross the street yesterday morning, ending their lives and changing forever the life of the woman driver.

The baby, reportedly pulled by a witness from the mangled stroller, is in ICU but expected to survive. I suppose that could be considered the bright side.

I find it hard to wrap my head around that being a bright side, though, when that baby and a handful of other kiddos are left without a mother, a grandmother.

Perhaps it's at such times that our inherent courage is meant to kick into gear—to help us fearlessly accept that sometimes things simply make no sense, that sometimes there is no bright side.

Thing is, as I mentioned above, I unfortunately lack courage more often than I'd like. Yesterday was one of those days. At least when it came to accepting nonsense, darkness, and the unimaginable heartbreak affecting—yet again—ordinary people doing ordinary things.

photo: stock.xchng/KevinMcG

Today's question:

Where do you find courage, for things large or small?

Water under the bridge

/

For reasons unclear, reasons never honestly shared with me, my younger brother hasn't spoken to me in more than eight years.

This past Wednesday, thanks to my mom and my sister—my brother's twin—my brother and I had no choice but to have lunch together.

Which turned out to be a good thing.

Sometimes the reasons people do the things they do make no sense.

And sometimes, after a while, those reasons no longer matter.

Perhaps what does matter is forgiveness.

And watching the water continue on its course beneath the bridge.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

Though we've not spoken in years, I'd love to reconnect with _____________.

18 things I love about October

/

Leaves dancing in the street.

Snow on Pikes Peak.

Taking the sunshades down from my kitchen skylights.

Pumpkin-flavored anything and everything. (Except pumpkin-flavored macaroni and cheese. Which I have tried...and didn't like.)

The anticipation and excitement of little ones looking forward to Halloween. Not just my grandsons but even those I hear in stores, chattering away to Mom about the costumes they want, what their friends plan to be, the candy they love.

Lady in White, which I watch this time of year every year.

Sweater weather.

Sock and slipper weather, too.

Kids in Halloween costumes. Especially when they look like this:

Or this:

(Megan will surely one day pay for the cuteness she foisted upon her boys.)

Indian Summer. Far less hot and harsh than regular summer.

No more watering or worrying about the flowers and more in the front yard, back yard, side yard.

No more fans scattered about the house.

Snuggling once again with my cat Abby, who was continually pushed away during hot weather.

Blankets back on the beds. And curling up under them for my nightly read.

The first wafts of smoke from wood burning in a neighbor's fireplace. (We typically wait til November to burn a fire in ours.)

Caramel apple taffy.

Visits with my grandsons. We always visit in October. This year I'm fortunate to have two visits planned—one at the end of this week, another at the end of the month. An extra-special reason to love this October in particular.

Today's question:

What do you love about October?