INTERNATIONAL WATERS

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on Pexels.com

My sister reminded me of this embarassing incident yesterday. She says it’s one of her favorite triplet stories. It’s one of those recollections you wait several years to find humorous. Since almost a decade has passed, I suppose the statute of limitations has run out. I was MORTIFIED when it occured and projected the delinquency of my brood into adulthood. I saw them ruining their lives before they even began.

It started as a nice, peaceful evening at home. My husband took our 8th grade sons and a few friends swimming at the pool. He was being selfless to go with them, I thought. He took a book and planned to perch poolside and read while chaperoning. The pool would not allow those under 16 unattended. Unbeknownst to him, the group left the pool area and hit the nearby beach merely yards away. This is when the situation began to rapidly deteriorate.

There were rocks projecting into the bay and those were not to be climbed. That was a posted rule. Apparently, my sons saw others do it and decided they wanted to also. As usual, they got security’s attention. Security came over and asked them to get off the rocks. Several did, but one son, with some nearby fishermen egging him on, ended up the star of the show. He wasn’t even on any rocks but was IN THE WATER. He decided to act the fool and put a bucket on his head and play dumb. The security guard was not humored and must have felt disrespected. The only thing I can think is that my “water criminal” must have been performing for his audience. He wasn’t violating anything, just being annoying. The security guard decided to make him get out of the water so nearby fishermen threw my son the line, “These are international waters, he cannot make you get out.” So my brilliant son told the security guard he could not make him get out since he was “in international waters!” This was when the security guard called the local police.

My husband, still blissfully unaware, was reclining and reading close by without his cell phone. He had no clue that our shirtless, shoeless sons were slammed to the sand, cuffed, and shoved in a patrol car and “taken downtown.” Two of the group quietly made their unobserved exit away from the crime scene. And that was how only three culprits were detained. The police had no idea who did what. They just knew some people were disturbing the peace of this nice establishment. The security guard was no where to be found and neither was my husband, their dutiful chaperone.

I got the dreaded phone call from the police station. This set off panic swirling through my head, “What happened? Who’s hurt? WHAT DID THEY DO?” I frantically tried calling my husband but couldn’t reach him. The boys said I needed to come right away so I arrived eyeing three, barefoot, bathing suit- clad boys surrounding an officer’s cubicle. Feeling a mix of shock, embarassment, anger and bewilderment, I inquired what happened and the officer stated he got a call that “someone was possibly inebriated and disrupting the area.” He then took a solemn tone and told them he would be looking for them to mess up again. What I think thawed his tone was MY come apart. My intense, domineering, mega-mom freak came out. By the time I finished, he commented, “I see you will handle this.” No charges were brought, no recording of the crime, no delinquency was registered that day. The mom of their friend, however, stopped being mine.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Fluffy Ate the Easter Bunny!

Easter is coming soon after Lenten season and celebration of our risen Savior will be at last. It also brings with it plenty of interesting family memories. We have accrued a few that will surely be passed down through the family annals.

The tradition of dying real, hard boiled eggs is a mystery to me. I’ve never escaped the ritual nor come away with anything but discolored fingertips every Easter morning. However, it’s a tradition and the Turners don’t ask questions, we just do. On one Easter eve many years ago, my husband hid all the colored eggs INSIDE our house. There were almost three dozen and I was a bit upset to find dye on way more than the eggs. Plus, someone needs to REMEMBER where they were hidden, right? A belated found egg could result in an unwelcome stench. The following year I begged, pleaded, and nearly cried to have them hidden outside in the childrens’ play-yard instead. Their dad reluctantly agreed and all were hidden safely outside the night before. Unforeseen circumstances had it that a raccoon must have been watching and grinning nearby because on Easter morning, only two eggs could be found and many shells laid scattered. No one sided with mama after that so all future eggs were hidden back INSIDE our house once again.

On another Easter occasion, we had a parent’s nightmare. The family dog, Fluffy, was big, fat and named after the three headed Rottweiler off Harry Potter. He was loving and tolerant of childrens’ antics but a demon when it came to small rodents or cats. So, luck would have it that bright and early on Easter morning, Fluffy had just so happened to chase, catch, and kill a bunny RIGHT OUTSIDE our home. Neither us parents noticed until too late and the boys saw the evidence. One then cried, “Fluffy ate the Easter Bunny!!!” It was a gruesome sight and difficult to explain it wasn’t THE Easter Bunny but just happened to be a rabbit he caught. Those four young, sad, quizzical faces will be imprinted in our minds forever.

Easter morning pictures were somehow mandatory and I want to cold cock whoever said it had to be done. I’d force dress up the boys and our daughter would dutifully don her new Easter outfit. Then I’d attempt to stage a photo before we left for church. This was a necessity because it also became a tradition for our sons to roll down the green knoll outside the church in a pile each Sunday.

Somehow, we got through all the traditions and now we just attempt at dying eggs as there are less takers. I try to avoid the “duty of dye” and have relaxed all my Easter expectations. A little dye, unmatched outfits and the dreaded family pic are all in the past. Now I just wish to have all four home on Easter. A colorful jewel-toned egg would even be a welcome site peeking out behind a pillow.

George Bailey & Me

“Why the heck does it have to be SO HARD?!?!” I wailed to God that Christmas Eve.

Once again, wanting a loving, Christmas Eve family experience, I attempted to force the concrete square through the circular opening and failed. We were all dressed up and driving into town to attend Christmas Eve services. The children were in their early teens by now. I thought surely we can do this! However, my anxiety was at a fever pitch and my tolerance was shot. Five minutes on the way into town, loud arguing was beginning in the back seat and I just couldn’t handle anymore fighting. So, I did what any rational parent would do. I turned the car around, drove myself back home, got out and told my husband to take them to church by himself. How kind of me. And that saint of a man did.

Back inside the house, I poured myself a huge eggnog and put on “Its a Wonderful Life” to distract myself. I fussed at God, “Why would you allow it be so hard if you know I am trying?” All of a sudden a near audible thought ran through my head, “The journey is worth it. I sent my Son into the world knowing He’d be rejected and crucified by man, but sent Him anyway bc His life on Earth mattered. Your journey is worth it too.” I nearly fell off the couch. This jolted my mindset just like George Bailey’s in the movie I was watching.

Ever since that moment I’ve quit expecting things to be easier. I realize it’s not about comfort or lack of conflict. This life is a gift with all the good, bad and ugly. It’s a process. But if God loves me enough to send His Son even though He knew we’d reject and crucify Him, I suppose I can handle some conflict and difficult circumstances myself. Praise the Lord for His infinite goodness where a worn out mama can belly ache to Him and He will answer our prayers- just like He did for George Bailey in the movie “Its a Wonderful Life.”

BAH- HUMBUG!

Christmas Eve was always action packed with high expectations. Somehow, I’d blissfully forget each prior year and repeat the same, self defeating cycle. This ritual was like going to war but forgetting you’re going to lose. It involved dressing four children in holiday finery and attending Christmas Eve church services. It was our family tradition, mandatory, and we’d do it…NO MATTER WHAT.

Early in the afternoon I’d begin the bathing and dressing process with the beautiful, clean clothes, nice shoes and all. Of course, the boys didn’t care and proceeded with their obligatory wrestling (albeit inside the house). By 5:30pm I’d be ready for a nap but still had to forge ahead to get kids in car seats and unintentionally get my Scrooge on. I had no idea I was increasing my own blood pressure, stressing out my poor husband and forcing energetic children to do the near impossible.

Ever since I could remember I promised myself my family would be together, have traditions and celebrate Jesus. It was very important to me that my family be what I wanted so desperately for myself but didn’t have since childhood- a loving, stable, Christian home. That idealized dream met my rambunctious family and we’d be deadlocked year after year.

Nonetheless, one particular year, before the Fire Marshall determined we were cramming our church way over capacity, my family sardined in like everyone else. We stood in the back near the entry of our sanctuary and tried to hear the message and participate. I really wanted to feel peace and engaged in the worship, but HELLO!?! four youngsters standing through a long service isn’t conducive to meditation. Recognizing my young sons weren’t able to take much more, I decided we’d go into the adjacent alter servers’ room so they could move a bit but I could make out what was going on. Well, that idea was met with….”let’s try swinging these long candle snuffers around!” So, I exasperatedly said, “No matter what I do, I’m not going to be able to enjoy this service am I?” One son stopped, glanced my way and said, “Well, you put us in a losing environment.”

Pants, Wings and a Nudist Beach

 

Photo by Donald Tong on Pexels.com

Young children are blissfully unencumbered by awkward things we adults have to navigate.  They tend to take things head on and react exactly how they feel or, ignore them altogether. There are three such instances that make me smile every time.

The first occurred when we took our children on a cruise.  Aside from lots of swimming and games, we also took them to an evening show in the ship’s theatre.  It was a show featuring lavishly dressed dancers and music.  One son, being approximately 6 years old had never seen sparkly, dancer’s costumes before.  When the velvet curtains parted, his eyes got wide, he turned around and blurted out, “Daddy, those women forgot their pants!”

Another surprising moment occurred when my husband took one of our 10 year old sons out for wings on a football Saturday.  We were out of town and he took him (here it comes) to Hooters.  When they returned, he said where they had gone. I was very curious how our impressionable, sheltered son would react to the scantily clad servers.  So, I hesitantly asked while fearing the worst but he said he DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE!

Last, but not least, one occurred when our 10 year old went snorkeling with his grandfather in the Caribbean.  When rinsing off in outdoor showers, his grandfather told him not react but a nudist couple was walking nearby on the beach. Not only did his face more than give away his feelings on the matter, but he was reportedly more appalled due to their being old……

Photo by Ibrahim Asad on Pexels.com

 

 

I’ll Be You

In 1989, the Replacements released a song with the lyrics, “You be me for a while, and I’ll be you.” Those words got me to ponder what it’d be like to temporarily be someone else? Being Hollywood’s most successful actor sound like a winner? Or how about becoming a gold medaled, Olympic-athlete? Maybe being royal would satisfy a fantastical life experience for some. I’d personally like to experience being Reese Witherspoon for a day due to her accomplishments: actor, author, and producer. She’s got a book tour, she’s beautiful and rich, however, I digress.

Contrarily, what if you were to swap lives with someone of a different gender, religion, or ethnicity? What about being a kid again and letting your kid be the grownup like in the movie “Freaky Friday?” Not quite as enticing is it? But it seems we may need to do just that to entertain being empathetic and potentially budge from our own rigid opinions.

It dawned on me this morning when I was getting ready for work the shirt I put on was a jewel-toned blue. I had scored a silk shirt of a favorite designer with tags on (!) from eBay. Strangely, the seller advertised it as purple. I realized the metaphor in that moment that each person sees things differently.

We each “see” based on our DNA, personal history, value system, and circumstances. Each of our views is limited in scope based on our location, both physically and mentally. It’s one of the reasons there are many referees on the field in college football. There is so much to see that it is impossible to assess from only one viewpoint. Watching games, we think we know what’s happened but after review, the head ref might change the call.  It’s because he gets additional input from others on the field (and a camera or two). In that same vein, what if we attempted to understand others by taking in many different viewpoints before coming to our own opinions?  Maybe we’d recognize we all want the same things and aren’t so different regardless our ethnicity, political beliefs, gender, or religion? Perhaps there would be less distrust and anger between us? It seems like a possible solution to all the polarization worldwide and even in my own home.

The Power of Humor

Praise the Lord for laughter. Praise the Lord for those with quick wit. He gave us this underrated tool to survive this crazy existence called life. I have a husband that can make any circumstance a joke. Sometimes it is well received, sometimes, not so much. However, I prefer it to not. For instance, when the children were small, he moved our family 20 minutes out of town to the river. Because all weren’t prolific swimmers, he decided to fence in all water access. There was a fish pond that got a circular fence; the waterfront backyard got divided by chain length fence; and then, the entire lot was enclosed in the same eyesore. Stainless steel fence framed every view. I said to him that it looked like we lived in a penitentiary. He remarked, “But isn’t it a beautiful penitentiary?”

Another example was when my husband (then fiancé) was asked if it concerned him that he was marrying someone who could inherit Alzheimer’s (my mom passed at 59 from it). He just plainly remarked, “Well, I’ll get at least 20 good years out of her.” So dreamy! I’m proud to say he’s still getting his money’s worth at almost 27 years. When I’ve been “poor in spirit” it sure has been nice to lighten the mood. I’m glad God gave me a partner who can do that readily (most of the time.)