The Jumbo Gyppy

We had a family reunion recently and had such fun. It was basically just the 11 kids, spouses, and grand kids with my Dad at the park. But it was our park, across the street. Only our park has grown up too and looks nothing like we remembered. I'm telling you it went in for the tummy tuck, the face lift and the nose job. The playground, the pool, the building, the tennis courts had all been completely ripped out and rebuild. Looking back across the street to our house and neighbors the transformations was about as remarkable. I grew up on a cookie cutter street where 8 out of 10 houses were the same. Now they had different porches, siding and windows and didn't match my memories. All but one had been updated. So three things looked the same on that side of the street: The Macks, our birch trees, and the fire hydrants. But it is still sitting across the street from the old homestead. Dad likes to call that the orphanage.

During our cloudy and sprinkling off and on reunion we heard the ice cream truck go by the orphanage and a whole set of stories came out. According to my dad, one day a man asked to park in front of the house and was a bit apologetic about it. To be nice he offered to buy ice cream for the kids. So my dad smiled and said sure. He called into the house and out popped 11 kids who had just been offered free ice cream. Now that is expensive parking. Sister Mary 1 was recalling how the truck used to be a Jumbo Ice cream truck, and my Dad thought it was a gyp. So they became the Jumbo Gyppy in my family. I don't really remember calling it that. But all memories are not shared as the generations move through a big family. As one of the littles, I can remember talking an older sister or brother into treating or talking Mom into opening her mad money purse in the kitchen cabinet to splurge on ice cream. I do remember begging to work with the ice cream man and riding with another friend in the back and fetching the ice cream for half a day or something that approximated an eternity. I was cured of work for quite awhile after that.

I suppose I will share one more Ice Cream Truck story. My kids once heard one coming and began the begging for money. Now with 5 kids, we don't always have a lot of cash to spare. In fact, why do the kids now always have more cash than I do? But this was before all that. So I simply told my little Buck and Half Buck that when the music was playing, they were out of icecream. Horrible I know. Thankfully they've forgotten. But God bless the sister that won't let me live it down : )

The Station Wagon

I drove by an 1970 something Oldsmobile station wagon today and was sucked back into time. It had the handle on the side, the luggage rack, the whole shebang from our childhood. We had a gray green Impala I think. I need to check with better memories than mine. When our fifth, Mite, was on the way, number one son, Buck, wanted to know where we were going to put him in the minivan! I can remember packing 13 into the station wagon to go to Grandma and Grandpas for the holidays. It went something like this: 3 in the front row with baby on lap, 4 in the middle, 2 (or 3 once that baby graduated from the lap) in the section between middle and the way back and 3 in the way back. Sister Mary 7 and I were the regulars in the middle metal section. If it was a long trip (yep that used to mean 3 hours!) we got to take a pillow to sit on. But for that 45 minute suburb to city drive it meant imprints of the metal on your legs, tingling sensations for the half hour after arrival as the feeling returned. Assorted luggage strapped to the top, fruit baskets at the feet in the way back, windows rolled down all the way, don't cross that line into my space, head counting after rest stops, Paulina, Paulina, where you been so long on the radio memories overwhelmed me.

Someone had to honk to get me moving after the light turned green and that station wagon was on down the road.

Decoration Day

I talked with my Dad today. He is 82 years old and was in the Navy at the end of World War II. Here he is with his 28th and youngest grandchild, my little Mite. He was telling me how Memorial day used to be called Decoration Day. He used to go to the cemetary with Grandma Buck (his Mom; remember, he was Two Bits as a boy) to plant flowers on the family graves on Decoration Day. As a young boy he learned about the "Decoration of Independence" at school and so connected the two days together. I suppose kids have been saying cute things for as long as there have been cute kids. My little Cents has been full of them the past week or so. We were out with our strollers, Mite in the one I was pushing and "Ariel" in her little stroller, when we ran into a mom we know from down the block and her two sons. Cents told the boys she "would really appreciate if they would come and play at my house." So down the block we went together. Cents was chatting it up with the Mom along the way when I heard her answer the question about whether we walk our babies together often with, "I don't ordinarily take my baby for a walk." A few days later we visited the GR Children's Museum and spent some time together in a triangular mirror tunnel. Cents and I had fun counting how many Cents we could see. Then we began counting Moms when Cents said, "lets get out of here, this is disturbing." Honestly, this girl has a better vocabulary than I do. I'm often stuck on: "can you bring me that thingy over there on the, the, ummmm, the table." I'm certain these kids have helped themselves to whatever brains I once had - and they are using them against me! : )

Since it's Memorial Day, let me tell you a new story I learned about my Dad and his time in the Navy. He chose to graduate early so that he could enlist before being drafted. By the end of the war, they were drafting by the 18th birthday, so some schools arranged for summer school and early graduation so that they could go to war with their diploma completed. Following in his big brothers' footsteps (that would be the original Buck and Half Buck), he chose the Navy. After some time aboard a ship and some testing, the Navy sent him to U of M for training in engineering. That is where he was when Truman dropped the bombs that ended the war. He has always been thankful, as he feels this saved his life. After the war, he returned to U of M to finish a degree, and served in the Naval Reserve. It wasn't until recently that he was able to tell this story, as it was deemed classified. Basically he was sent to language school at nights as a reserve to learn Russian and codebreaking (there is probably some technical term for this, but you would need to get it from Cents). After several months, his day job needed to send him out of state for a few months, so he checked in with his superior officer and recieved permission to miss his training and take the assignment out of state, with the understanding that he would continue training when he returned. Upon his return, he simply couldn't find the class or the instructor. It appears they were called up to active duty while he was away!!! And that is how my Dad didn't become a more active part of the Cold War! This was just fascinating to me because of the "what ifs" it entailed: if he had been called up to active duty, he wouldn't have been around to meet my Mom....and then all eleven of us wouldn't have been around! Those of us raised on movies like Back to the Future can spot these turning point moments where our life could have gone elsewhere, but didn't. I could have been fading away right out of the photo to be replaced by some resonably sized family. But he met my mom, had 11 children, giving Mary 5 a Russian nickname, and being really interested when my hubby and I went to spend a year in Russia when our own little Buck was a year old. He even gave me some books to help us out. But he never told us of his time studying Russian. It was only two years ago, when he looked into his military record and found that the this informations was no longer classified, that he passed the story on to me. Memorial Day 2009

I Want My Mommy

Little Mite doesn't like me to leave him. At 18 months, he may leave me, but not the other way around. Although he doesn't say it, I know quite well that his cry is saying: I want my Mommy. I know the feeling.


She flew up to Heaven on the wings of angels
By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting
And I know she's smiling saying Don't worry 'bout me

That's from an Alan Jackson song that makes me cry every time I hear it. Mom's day is still - I might cry for any reason - hard for me. Yep, chocked up during the Mom song video at church this morning. If you haven't seen this one, it really isn't a tear jerker, but it is really funny.

My Mom has been gone for 16 and a half years. Sometimes I think people think the pain should have faded. It has some. Today, just today, I look at it another way: she has been gone 20 grandchildren, including a funeral for one of them and the adoption of another....she has been gone for 4 daughters' weddings and one son's as well....she has been gone for one of their divorces (well, so there is a good side)....she has missed first houses and job changes and firings and illnesses. She isn't there to consult about a recipe, the chickenpox, marriage, teething, sulky teens. And today is the day that I allow myself to have a big old pity party about it.

Since I made my serious entry into a big family with the surprise pregnancy of little Mite the same year I turned 40, I've really felt her absence. There are just not loads of people who have 5 or more, who have children in 3 to 4 different schools, who are simply inundated with laundry loads of socks alone. I was sincerely freaked out when we realized our 5th was on the way. He was quite a shock to us. I felt just like you would expect an expectant mom of 4 when the income consists of one part time job per adult with a 3-bedroom ranch and mortgage and the big 4-0 looming. It took us 5 months 'til we told even family, and I was seriously waiting for them to take me to task. Instead my sisters, the Marys, were thrilled and excited. "Terrific?" I said, "It's terrifying!" "Because we are getting a little older?" asked Sister Mary 1, who is 10 years ahead of me. Crying by now, "Because there are so many of them." I just wanted my Mom. Suddenly I could see her face throughout my childhood and I knew what she was feeling: overwhelmed, tired, hormonal, chained to family, wondering when this season would end or get easier.

I just can't relate to the advice or experiences of the Mom of 2 very well....except as a distant memory of when I thought I had this job in hand. (In fact, all I can often do is smile indulgently and hope they fare better than I.) I need someone who knows they are in waaaaaay over their head and has thrashed their way to shore and can throw me a line. Okay, okay, I know it is our personal ocean to survive, but I would just feel good knowing that they lived to tell the tale. I sometimes think my Mom didn't live to tell the tale. She died when her baby was 21. She didn't get all those perks of watching us all really take flight in our adult lives. She didn't get to enjoy her years of rapidly increasing intelligence in her kids' eyes. And she sure did earn it. From Mothers Day 2009

About My Age

I just had a cousin turn 30 and it got me thinking about last year (alright, alright, two years ago, when my oldest Sister Mary 1 turned 50 just a few months before my 40Th. I was at her cottage (which also belongs to Sister Mary 2 and perhaps their hubby's too) with all the sisters for a weekend and we were chatting on the deck. It is such a treat for the 7 of us to be together. I was looking for the right time to tell them that little Mite was on the way and thinking they were all going to be as shocked as me. They were the first people we were going to tell about the baby and I was wondering what the more outspoken ones might say about a fifth at 40 when the careers are on there umpteenth speed bump. I mean, if I think it is absolutely crazy and stupid to have a surprise like this, what are they all thinking? And I was dreading my 40Th. Anyway, I asked her what she thought of her age and which birthday was hard for her. She said that 30 was a bit hard, 40 didn't bother her and 50 seemed pretty good. Her kids are raised, she has a little money in her pocket, retirement isn't too soon, but they can envision it. She is really enjoying and I was so happy for her. And I thought: I want to be 50, I want to just skip ahead to that feeling of having gotten somewhere or gotten something finished or feel the freedom she is enjoying. And then I did the math: At 50 I will have children who are 23, 20, 17, 13, and 10. I don't think I will be quite where she is now. I would like to be a young mom of 30 again and have some of that energy and enthusiasm back. By the way, they were all thrilled about the baby, way more than I was at the time. They thought it was terrific and I busted out crying and said it was terrifying. Sister Mary 1, the birthday girl, asked me if it was because we were getting a little older. My reply was because there were so many of them!!!! So for my 40Th I got bifocals and a baby. I certainly don't think I will be bored this decade : ) From April 2009

Road Trip

The best laid plans fall apart when you are trying to stuff 5 kids in a 7 passenger minivan for a 2 1/2 hour drive!!!! We were going to leave for my brother, Luke's (yep going with Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John for my four brothers. It seems to fit with all the Marys)in Ann Arbor right after church at 11. Ran 15 minutes over. Of course we ran everyone to the bathroom before we left. Add 10 minutes. Lost track of 2 kids in the lobby at least 3 times and we ended up pulling out at 11:40. Ugh. At least we have enough gas to get us there. Did you check the oil last night? Add the oil. Can I get a Slurpee? Left the gas station at Noon and made it all the way to the other side of GR before the first potty stop!!! How many gallons of water were served in the 4 year old class anyway? One more potty stop on the drive there. So instead of arriving at 1:30 we got there at something like 2:45.



We HAVE GOT to leave by 7 at the latest - it is a school night. Surely Mite and Cents will sleep on the drive home anyway. It shouldn't be too bad. At ten to seven I have all the stuff I know we brought in the house by the door. Time for the violin concert...and the piano concert...and finishing the latest board game. Did you get the leftovers from the fridge... extra trips out of the car into the bathroom for the kids who forgot...borrow 2 video games and a board game...and on it goes. Mom, where did you put my candy, my gum, my pen, my video for the car? And off we go at 7:45. That's okay, the roads should be clear at this time of night and we can just set the cruise and get home. Nope backed up about an hour out of Lansing so we spent an extra 45 minutes getting round on the scenic route. I think I will invite Luke and family to our house next Easter. From Easter 2009

Tupperware

Okay, Half Buck is about to turn 11. I can tell, because he is suddenly treating me like I am extremely stupid. When anyone who really knows me knows the kids simply stole most my brain cells while inutero and are using them against me. But I do know my Tupperware. Sister Mary 5 even complimented me on it. She's the one whose hubby wants to bury her in Tupperware since she owns so much of it. She has the good stuff. You know me, I have the generics, the butter tubs, and the still surviving after 19 years of use stuff. Quite a hodgepodge. So, anyway, Half Buck is supposed to be putting away the food and clearing the table. This is a race against time (read: Mite). You must do this chore before he is set free from the highchair or the clean up need increases by factor of 10. So I want him to do it, but I want it done right... the first time... with no extra plastic to wash because the chicken didn't fit. Which means I'm being hover mom. No really, I'm just hear to teach and assist, he is almost 11, he can do this. But that lid is not going to fit. Yeah it will.....no, it won't, yeah it will. Okay, well, anyway, I don't think that container is big enough, yeah it is....no, it isn't, yeah it is. You get the idea and I'm sure you probably know who was right (unless you are 11). More dishes (that's okay, it is Buck's night for that chore). But my problem is: I know I can't download a song to his mp3 and I don't even know what music is cool. I accept that I don't know how boys are wearing their hair. I apparently have no idea what kind of coat is needed on any given day. I don't even feel confident helping with math homework. But I know my Tupperware! Can we credit me a high score on this one drawer in the kitchen or must my child think I'm an idiot in every facet of life as we head into the tweens - again. When face book comes out with a Tupper quiz, I will kick butt (Sister Mary 5 is the only one who can beat me I'm sure, if we can get her on face book). From April 2009

I'm Not Even Dirty

Cents didn't want to take her bath tonight and miss playing with her cousins. She informed me she wasn't even dirty. I reminded her it had been awhile since we washed her hair. So she agreed to take a bath "but we are only going to wash the parts that are dirty." I washed a few others as well.

My Mom used to throw a bunch of us in the tub at the same time. We Four Littles did just about everything together. Then my brother, John would get his turn alone. I can still here the refrains of my Dad yelling things like, "Use soap this time!" up the staircase. In those moments, when your parents come on over and possess you, I've found myself quoting this line to a boy or two of mine. And at the dinner table, I can hear the echo of, "your paws are like the paws of an animal."

On what day did we become our parents? Why did no one warn us, why didn't we listen, why didn't we run??? I can remember the first moment I felt I had become my Mother. And fittingly for this bath story it does involve water. When Buck was about 2 year old, we were in Russia. My friend Galya invited us to go to her Mother's dacha. Before you think of some nice cabin or get away this is not what this was. This was an over 100 year old cabin on an island in Lake Onega. Anyone we knew lucky enough to have a dacha used as much of it as possible to grow food for the winter. Any free summer days were spent working this mini farm and then relaxing a bit. You know relaxing while you haul and boil your own water, use an outhouse, chop lumber for the old woodstove kinda relaxing. Anyway, we get on this little boat that can hold about 4 people, a couple bags of supplies, and apparently no life vests! Half way across the lake the motor dies. Yep, that is when I knew that I'd become my Mother. I was just overcome by the worry of carring for this little foolish guy who would have climbed overboard just to go exploring. They got the engine going again and we had a wonderful dacha day.