Dad, Cher and Lassie

I spent my early childhood in a small town in Indiana - Winchester.  My Dad was born and raised in nearby Marion, Indiana. 

When I combine memories of Dad and Winchester in my mind, the following are a few of the search results...

I remember Dad coming home from work for lunch on occasion.  His office was close enough he could do that.  He always wore a suit and tie, and smelled clean.  I remember him walking on his hands in our small, family room.  If I threw-up, he called for Mom because it would make him faint or throw-up.  When I was home sick from school, he would come in my room after work (in his suit, still smelling clean), ask how I was feeling, visit, and give me a sticker book.  That was a big deal then.  If I bought him a Marathon Bar he ate the entire thing like it was the best gift he'd ever received.  He always accepted the occasional offer of bubble gum and chewed it with me.  We both liked to watch the "Sonny and Cher" show - because we both liked Cher. 

I loved the "Lassie" show which usually aired while Mom and Dad were cleaning dinner dishes.  The end of the show had Lassie sitting with one of her front paws lifted, her hair gently blowing in the wind, while the Greensleeves melody played in the background.  I cried every time.  It was Dad's job to listen for the end of the show so he could turn it off before the dramatic, but predictable scene played.  He rarely timed it right.  The music would start.  Mom would yell, "Hurry, it's the end of Lassie!"  Dad would come jogging around the corner to turn the television off.  "Chrisy, don't cry.  Lassie's not hurt.  She's just saying goodbye."  It didn't matter.  If I'd heard even a couple seconds of the music or Lassie's little whimper, I was wrecked.  Killed me.  I think it kinda killed Dad too.

Happy Father's Day Dad.  I love you.

LIFE! Drink. Every. Last. Drop.

Corbie Coy-Lopez is a friend I met because our kids go to the same school.  She has a mind that operates at Mach 5 and the physical ability to keep all the moving parts of her schedule running smoothly.  I've labeled myself as a life junkie, but Corbie's the real deal.  I'm a wannabe.  She's even going to AFRICA soon to do true philanthropic work.

Because I don't have a thingy (technical talk) on the side of my blog for links YET, and my dear friend, Betty, would enjoy learning more about the witty, fast-thinking Corbie Coy-Lopez, please allow me to introduce all who are interested to Corbie Coy-Lopez.  She's real pretty too.

Be careful though, you might get addicted to "life juice" and need to score yourself some - Corbie'll hook ya up.  Chug!  Chug!  Chug!

(Note:  I only know THAT vernacular because of books I've read and my husband who teaches me things.)

Girls Gone Wild

Mother arrived Friday from Arizona and returned home today.

Mom was here to celebrate my birthday, make sure the boys still know and love her, and get up to speed on our newest rules and regulations for the care and feeding of said boys. The two oldest will travel solo for the first time EVER this summer to spend a few days with Mom and Dad. 

Mom and I shopped, lunched, chatted, laughed, and played with kids. It was a nice visit.

On the way to the airport today, we got into one of those complicated mother/daughter things. The thing where you're having a discussion, both agree on what's being discussed, but it turns into (at first) a polite debate (about nothing), then a childlike girl-fight where we're windmilling at each other verbally...maybe I was doing the windmill. Doesn't matter.

Goes like this...

Me:  "It just cost over $80 to put gas in this car."

Mom:  "Well, you know, it costs me over $50 to fill up my little car."

Me:  "It's just ridiculous." (shaking head)

Mom:  "Europeans have been dealing with this for years."

Me:  "Yeah. At least in Europe, things are more community-centric."

Mom:  "Not really. They have large cities in Europe."

Me:  "My friends who are FROM Europe and tell me how things ARE there, indicate it's just 'different.'"

Mom:  "I have several friends from Europe...AND...I've been there." 

Me:  "I know...it's different. I'm just saying, like in New York, T doesn't have a car because he can use public transportation, take a cab, walk to the market. You know. It's just different."

Mom:  "Well, just wait until you see what happens in India and China. There's an affordable car that's being developed and almost EVERYONE will have a car and use ALL the gas."

Me:  "Apples and oranges Mom—I don't get what that has to do with what we're talking about."

Mom:  "You don't have to get defensive."

Me:  "I'm not defensive, Mother."

Mom:  "You sound defensive."

Me:  "Okay. I'm done."  (feeling defensive)

Mom:  "Christina, that's not..."

Me:  "DONE!"

Mom:  "Chrisy, you're acting..."

Me:  "DONE!"

Mom:  "You sound like..."

Me:  "DONE!"

Mom: "...A CHILD!"

Me:  "Mom, can we please stop?  My kids are in the car."  (I'd chosen to use my girl powers for evil.)

Mom:  "That's terrible."  (she said calmly)

It got quiet. For a long time. Mom and I love each other very much. It's a complicated and strong relationship we have. 

This silly story reminded me, even as it was happening, of one time when I was in my early 20's. We were discussing, then arguing, about nothing really. I remember saying, "Mom, you just don't know how to communicate effectively."

Mom said, "Well, you're not doing much better, Honey."

I screamed, "I'VE HAD THERAPY!  I KNOW HOW TO DO THIS SH#T!"

I love you Mom.  I'm sorry.