Men Are from Mars, Women Love to Talk

I am flying out to see my girls (my daughter-in-law and my 3-month-old twin granddaughters) this morning, and I have to get up in just over two hours so that I can shower and get to the bus that will take me to the airport. I should be trying to get some sleep, but I can't relax--and for some crazy reason, writing calms me down. Hopefully, when I finish this I'll be able to at least squeeze in a little cat nap before my alarm goes off.

Although I am, as always, a bit nervous about the flight, I'm also excited about this trip. I'm really looking forward to some good girl talk! Even if the babies can't respond yet, that doesn't mean I can't talk to them! The last time I saw them, about a month ago, they were really good listeners!

One of the great differences between men and women is that you will often find a guy who's a proverbial "man of few words," but less often will you find such a woman. Women just have a lot more to say than men, generally speaking. I don't know how often I've asked my husband, during one of our comfortable and companionable silences, what he was thinking about and gotten this response: "Nothin'." Seriously, I'll wonder; he has not had one thought floating around in his head, not even "I could really go for some nachos right about now," or "Notre Dame better beat Navy this year"? Nothing? Just a flat line in the old brain? When he asks me the same question, I don't even know where to start. Even when I'm sitting still, relaxing, my brain is flitting around from one thing to the other--and if he really wants to know what I'm thinking about, he better have some time to listen, because I'll talk his ear off.

A few years ago, I found these old postcards in "Just the Thing," a wonderful antiques/gift shop located in our little downtown area. They were mailed in March of 1912 to the Cartmill girls, Josie and Mertie (sisters, perhaps?) of Strickland, MO. I was drawn to the postcards initially because of the quaint Victorian artwork on them. (I've already written about the subject of Victorian paintings--an obsession of mine--at this blog, and I'm sure I'll write about it again!) Also, I am always awed when I hold in my hands a hand-written message sent from one person to another almost 100 years ago. I just have a thing about old stuff. And by the way, how often do you ever find a hand-written letter or postcard amidst the bills and junk mail in your mailbox these days? Anyway, when I flipped the cards over, I was even more charmed by what was on the backs of them than I was by the artwork, and I immediately carried them over to the cash register and bought them.

Since these notes were written in pencil and are difficult to read from these pictures, I'm going to rewrite the messages, complete with grammatical errors (for authenticity!).

First, here's what Cora had to say to Josie: "I am a little slow about sending you a birthday card. We are all well. Forrest has a tooth & can say dad, dad. We have got a hen a setting & have 32 goose eggs haven't set any of them yet am going to put them under the geese. [That was a bit of a run-on sentence, Cora. Slow down, Josie's not going anywhere.] don't suppose your geese are laying yet the men are sowing oats. have you heard from Charlie yet, we saw in the paper that he left Mon. Cora." I'm sure she would have gone on, but she ran out of room!

In contrast, here's Fred's note to Mertie: "Hello How are u I am fine and dandy. How do you like this snow, I think it is just fine I will ring off so bye Yours Fred." It seems Fred was way ahead of his time; u get the feeling he'd b gr8 at sending texts.

Okay, now do you see what I mean? These antique postcards illustrate my point perfectly--that women sure have a lot more to say than men. At least they think they do.

'Tis Himself, My Husband's Irish Grandfather

This is a picture of my husband's grandfather, whom he never got a chance to meet. This handsome Irishman immigrated to the United States from County Cork when he was 19 years old, and sadly, he never made it back to the land of his birth to visit the family he'd left behind. My mother-in-law would often say of her father, "Imagine: he left home at 19, and his mother never saw him again." To her--a woman who absolutely lived for her own eight children--this thought was incomprehensible.

My mother-in-law's father died suddenly and prematurely of a bleeding ulcer when she was only 10 and her one sibling--a brother--was 13. Her father's absence left an enormous hole in her life, one that she felt until the day she died, 67 years later, in 2009. I recall her saying that she could only remember him raising his voice in anger at her once, when she'd talked back to her mother. She always spoke about what a kind and gentle soul he was, and how well thought of he was by everyone who met him. My husband is named for him and shares many of the character traits for which his Irish grandfather was known.

My mother-in-law's mother continued to love her husband long after he'd left this world, and she never remarried. She lived another 30 years after he died, until my husband was in high school. My husband's grandmother used to tell her daughter, "I miss your father more every day." My mother-in-law missed him terribly, too. He had died on March 19, the Feast of St. Joseph (how apropos), and my husband remembers that on that date every year when he was growing up, his mother was not herself, and he and his brothers and sisters knew they needed to behave like angels and give her some space.

My husband's family has always been quite proud of descending, on both sides of the family tree, from Irish roots. This grandfather, however, is the only relative who was first generation Irish, straight from the old sod, and that--combined with the fact that he died so young--has given him an almost mythical quality. But he was a real man, adored by his wife, his son, and his young daughter. And all of us who loved my mother-in-law are comforted by the idea that when she died, she was finally reunited in the afterlife with her beloved father, who'd left her, in this life, much too soon.

Somebody Makin' Soup?

In case you don't get my title, it's a reference to a line from the T.V. show "The Office"--something Creed said in one of the series' more disturbing (yet LOL funny) episodes. (My immediate fam will certainly recognize the line, immediately.)

I decided to post this easy soup recipe, because it's one that was a big hit in this house--especially with my second son. He just recently moved into his own apartment and is interested in learning how to cook. We went to visit him at his bachelor pad Friday night, and I was amazed that there were no dirty dishes in the sink and the whole kitchen was almost immaculate. He's been doing his own laundry (although I'm sure he'll let me do a load or two when he comes home for a weekend visit), and he's been making his own meals, too--not eating take-out every night. "Who are you, and what have you done with my son?" I asked him. We had given him some pots a frying pan to get him started, but he went to Wal-Mart recently and bought himself some pizza pans and two glass casserole dishes (!). He said that so far, he's been just making Kraft macaroni & cheese for dinner, or heating up a Freschetta pizza or some Tostino's pizza rolls. But he said he wants to learn how to make "real" food, and this is one of the recipes he wants me to give him. I thought I'd give it to you, too. You probably won't like this soup if you don't like spicy food--but otherwise, enjoy!

(To enlarge for easier reading, click on the image once or twice.)

They're Just Takin' Care of Business

If I wanted to be topical with this blog, I'd talk about Hurricane Irene today, the effects of which we should be feeling here in New England by this afternoon (it's already raining cats and dogs out there); but I just don't feel like talking about the weather. I know, I know: I promised yesterday that I wouldn't obsess about my children and use this blogsite solely for the purpose of posting nostalgia-inducing pictures from their early childhood days. Remember, though: I promised that with fingers crossed...and I just became a true empty-nester, so I think I deserve a little latitude here. It's a tough adjustment to make for someone whose whole identity has been tied up with being a mom for the past 28 years! I think when you look at this little gem of a snapshot, though, you'll forgive me. It's just too cute for words, in my opinion. And I know that just about every apple pie-eating, flag-waving, all-American child has set up a lemonade stand in front of his house at least once in is lifetime. But this lemonade stand is special, you see; it's special because it's my two adorable little businessmen who are running it.

That's my #4 son (now 23) on the left and my #3 son (now 25) on the right. This lemonade stand was son #3's brainchild, of course, because he was the one who was always so interested in money. He liked to earn it, to count it, to spend it; he always insisted on being the banker for epic family games of "Life" and "Monopoly." He became a math whiz before he ever started kindergarten because he became so adept at making change during those board games! My fourth son wasn't the one who came up with the "get rich quick" schemes (and don't laugh--those dimes really added up!); but he was always game for being a partner in his older brother's business endeavors. It should come as no surprise that my third son majored in finance in college; my husband and I predicted he would go into business when he was about four years old!

The funny thing is, these two childhood business partners haven't strayed all that far from the old lemonade stand, figuratively speaking. They remain extremely close to this day. They are actually both working now in the civilian contracting business down in VA (which is just a tad more lucrative than the lemonade selling business). They not only work in similar jobs that utilize their Army Military Intelligence training; they even work in the same building, though on different floors. They drill as Reservists at the same Army base. And just as they shared a bedroom growing up, they share a condo now, along with their cousin's boyfriend. Some things, thankfully, never really change!

Yes Sir, That's My Baby

Okay, bear with me here. I know I posted a picture almost exactly like this yesterday; but I think this one is just so cute, too--it must be shared! These two priceless photos of my boys never made it into any of my albums, but were tucked away for use in a possible project many years ago--so finding these forgotten treasures was an unexpected pleasure. I was so tickled when I saw them. Especially because both of them have my baby in them, front and center, and I'm really missing him these days.

This photo really brings me back. I particularly love the expression on son #3's face; he's the one with the impish grin sitting right behind my baby. The grin is impish because my middle child was an imp! A lovable imp with a sparkle in his eye. And check out the bruises up and down son #4's shins (he's the one on the far right). That boy had only one speed and was constantly bumping into things and getting boo-boo's. I'll never forget the time we were at a yearly check-up, and the pediatrician looked at his banged-up legs and asked how they'd gotten that way. I began to say, "He's a bit accident prone--" but he cut me off and said, "Let him tell me." (That's right, he had so many bruises that most of the time, the poor thing looked like someone had hit him in the legs with a baseball bat--but what was Doc implying?!) How he made it to adulthood in one piece, I'll never know.

In this moment captured on film, brothers #1, #2, and #4 only have eyes for their baby brother, the star of the show. Awww...was he a cute little guy, or what? And he was like built-in entertainment when he came along and joined the other four boys after a five-year hiatus. He made them laugh, but he also taught them patience, selflessness, and tenderness, and these lessons enriched the lives of that little fraternity of rough-and-tumble boys.

It's hard to believe that the little guy who's center stage in this photo is now a 6'2" young man, an Army ROTC cadet, and in college! But he is. I miss having him here; I miss his sweet personality: his unique blend of maturity, compassion, kindness, obedience, devotion to his Faith, and a silly, off-beat sense of humor that you might miss if you're not listening, because his clever comments are often delivered sotto voce. (He's definitely not the loudest person in our family.) But I think he's doing just fine where he is. Yesterday, he posted these simple words on his Facebook page, and they made me smile: "Complete first week of college: check."

I promise that this is it, for awhile at least, as far as old pictures of my boys. I'm not just a one-trick pony--I have other interesting things to blog about besides my children...okay, I'll come clean: my fingers were crossed. But I really will try to get onto other subjects!

A Boy is...

Yesterday, we were at a party and I met a young mother who had one little girl getting ready to start kindergarten. When she found out I'd raised five sons, she gave me that familiar wide-eyed look and said, "Oh, God bless you! Five boys!" I know that there was a time when having five children wouldn't impress anyone, but it sure does now (and then add in that they're all boys, and people stand in awe of you). During the 60's and 70's when my husband and I were growing up, five was a pretty average-sized family, and many people we knew had much bigger families. My husband was one of eight, and a family down the street to whom they were very close had eleven children. So five was really no big deal. But in this age of shrinking families, having five boys will get you comments like, "You're a saint!" My neighbor, a mother of two girls, has said that to me on more than one occasion--to which I can only reply, "I wish!" To me, being the mother of five boys has been a unique joy and privilege, and I thought I'd share a couple of poems about boys that I stumbled upon. Both are very simple and by authors unknown, but they really hit a chord with me. Boys, I believe, are naturally allergic to or repelled by poetry--at least mine are--but it's okay for their mothers to enjoy it. So here goes.

A Boy Is...

Trust with dirt on its face,

Beauty with a cut on its finger,

Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair,

And the hope of the future with

A frog in its pocket.

God Made the World out of His Dreams...

God made the world out of His dreams,

Of wondrous mountains, oceans and streams,

Prairies and plains and wooded land,

Then paused and thought, "I need someone to stand

On top of the mountains, to conquer the seas,

Explore the plains and climb the trees,

Someone to start small and grow

Sturdy, strong like a tree," and so...

He created boys full of spirit and fun,

To explore and conquer, to romp and run,

With dirty faces and banged up chins,

With courageous hearts and boyish grins.

When He had completed the task He'd begun,

He surely said, "That's a job well done."

Boys are wonderful! 'Nuff said.

A Little Trip Down Memory Lane

It's 2:30 in the morning, and I'm wide awake; so I thought I'd blog now, because I think I'm going to be sleeping at my usual blogging hour! I hope so, anyway.

Above is a picture from 1986 that I doctored up as a birthday gift for my husband. (I thought I was so clever!) I'm feeling nostalgic here in my big empty nest, so I thought I'd take a little trip down memory lane--and while I was at it I decided to share this picture, because unless you have a heart of stone, it's just about guaranteed to make you smile.

It's hard to believe that my three oldest sons ever looked like this! The sweet "big boy" who's two-and-a-half and holding his baby brother is now an Army helicopter pilot, serving in Afghanistan, married and the father of twin baby girls. The cute little 15-month-old monkey on the left has just started teaching Algebra I and Algebra II at a high school not far from us, and he's also the offensive coordinator for the freshman football team. The wee newborn baby in the middle is 25 now, working as a defense contractor and serving in the Army Reserves. They're not babies anymore; I blinked and they grew up.

I wouldn't go back to the days when my boys looked like this (and all three of them were in diapers at once, albeit only for a short time), because I would miss the men they've become too much. But they were so darn cute, and I do love to look at old pictures of them. And I think this picture is a real hum-dinger.