Thank You...

Have you ever been so sick you tell yourself you're never going to feel good again? That you're never going to get well? Yeah, that's where I was earlier today. I've been stuck at home this week and I've missed out on a lot of things because I've had no choice but to clear my calendar. I know for some of you that sounds heavenly but for my energy type, it's pure punishment. I'm the girl that can't stay in her jammies past 6a (trust me, I've tried). That can't nap (even when I need to) unless it's Sunday afternoon. The one that has a hard time slowing down (if only I had a dollar for every time I heard that advice)! With all of these thoughts bouncing through my aching brain while I was waiting for a chest X-ray this morning, I managed to throw myself a pretty spectacular pity party.

Fast forward a few hours (and three new meds) later and party clean up has brought some much needed clarity. I'm grateful I'm not worse because for some that isn't the case (I need to get over myself). I'm grateful for quality medical care (complete with stupid forms and boring waits) because for some that isn't the case. But most of all, guys, I'm grateful for you. I'm blessed beyond measure and it's all because of so many of you. You guys amaze me.

Thank you for lifting me up this week and for being awesome! Thank you for caring and for taking time to reach out. Thank you for notes and texts and soup and fresh fruit and for homemade whoopie pies (forget I mentioned those because I can't share, I have germs)! I promise I'm on the mend and I'll be back in action soon, which means it's time to reschedule our plans. And there's a bonus... When we get together we'll get to go right to the front of the line because when I start hacking, people run! #NotContagious #StillNeedToDitchTheHeadache

WE HAVE TO GO...

We have a thing around here. A sure fire way to tell when the kiddo is annoyed with me. I get “mother”ed. The kiddo doesn’t call me mom or momma like he sometimes does when he’s tired, and he doesn’t send out a low, groaney, drawn out mom like other teens might do.  Nope.  Not my kid. Mine looks at me and very sharply says MOTHER and this is the tell, that not so subtle way I know that I’ve gone too far, overstepped my bounds, insulted his intelligence, breathed wrong on a given day, or otherwise just ticked him off.  

So imagine my surprise today when for the first time ever I check my texts and the word MOTHER pops up from the kiddo.  Before you judge me, just know that I’ve been in my office all morning staying in my lane and he’s at school.  I know what you’re thinking but cut me some slack.  Surely I couldn’t have screwed something up all the way across town, right?

We took the kiddo to see John Mayer last summer, his first concert and his best concert, and it was magical.  Our little trio had an amazing night and we made some of our biggest memories over sodas and wailing guitars.  Walking to the car we promised ourselves if John ever got close enough that we could go again, we’d do it without question.  That night is still something we talk about all these months later.  We promised each other.

When MOTHER landed on my screen this afternoon, I had to read the text twice before I could fully comprehend that the kiddo wasn’t saying it to chastise me, point out a flaw, or call me to the carpet for something.  Nope.  For the first time ever this MOTHER was used to snag my attention and hold it tight.  

HE’S COMING BACK 

After I figured out who HE was, my first thought was that I have no idea where we’ll be on August 12th. Where the kiddo will have landed for school and how I’ll be filling my time and dealing with the newly vacant room at the end of our hallway. 

WE HAVE TO GO  

Well of course we do! I have no idea if money for five tickets is in the budget but yes.  We have to go.  The kiddo has invited his dad and I to join him, his bestie, and his girl at the concert and there’s no place I’d rather be. There’s no place else I’m going to be.  

I’ve been mothered a lot over the past seventeen years but never once has it made me smile like it is right now.  Thanks for putting Indy back on the calendar, John. This is MOTHERhood gold.  

Mrs. Christmas...

For as long as I can remember I’ve loved the lights, and the music, and the hype, and the hustle of December.  Shopping doesn’t stress me out.  I don’t stear clear of the mall for an entire page of the calendar.  I don’t even mind wrapping football shaped presents that were never meant to be covered in paper, let alone sport a bow.  I’m the granddaughter of Mrs. Christmas and I consider my love of all the things associated with this month a welcome benefit of being loved by such an amazing woman.

I can’t remember a time she wasn’t wrapping something in shiny foil paper that became her trademark or making peanut butter fudge to give to friends.  She wrote cards by the dozens and always managed to have a little something for everyone she encountered during the Christmas season.  

While I think about her every day, there’s never a time she’s with me more than at Christmas and this year is certainly no exception. She’s everywhere in my memories this month. Is it just me?  Am I just paying more attention to every flocked tree and blue ornament?  Every “Lite Brite” ceramic tree and carol?  Every silver and gold decoration?  Don’t even get me started on the blue lights...

To me Christmas is time to reflect on the amazing gift God gave us in the form of his Son.  It’s a story of unconditional love to a power of infinitiy so I guess it’s only natural that when I think of that, I think of her.  Her love for me came with no strings, no prerequisites, and no performance reviews.

My grandma didn’t know me at the end of her life, recognizing me only for an instant here and there when it seemed the moon and stars aligned, but I knew her with my whole heart, that very same place her memory often grows so large I have to stop and catch my breath.

RockStar Fashion...

It's easy to forget that my unspoken communication can sometimes send a message I don't intend.  A sigh, an eye roll, an ill-timed huff…  I'm guilty of them all.  I’m just not usually guilty of them all at once!  Except for this morning, when the kiddo appeared from the depths of his closet ready for school.  I have no idea what I did (because I didn’t say a thing) but clearly it was wrong. Way wrong.

In my defense, it’s been an interesting fall in the world of Buehlerland fashion.  The kiddo has always been what I would call a Dapper Dan.  In fact, just this time last year I remember joking that it looked like Ralph Lauren and the Brooks Brothers were having an illicit affair in my laundry room.  The kiddo knows how to sport a suit and when he needs to step it up, he does so in custom tailored, cufflink clad, matching tie and pocket square style.  It’s a look a mom can easily get used to in a hurry.

But dressing down has changed for the kiddo this year and while my savings account isn’t complaining, the new look has taken some getting used to.  Gone are the matching outfits (he would die if he heard me call them that) and put together style my kiddo used to labor over.  In their place is a much more casual look which I can only describe on a given day with words such as “oh,” and “huh,” or the occasional “really,” which I try to toss in every so often for variety.  When I asked the kiddo about the change, he rattled off something about GQ and rock stars and trends and I have to admit, I laid off at that point rather than stepping fully into the conversation. If living with a world-class debater has taught me anything it’s this--knowing when to step out of a conversation you aren’t fully prepared to have is a very useful thing.  He was clearly disappointed with my reaction and we didn't leave it in a good place.

 

I’d like to think I’m enlightened enough to catch myself rolling my eyes or sighing a bit too loudly, but the truth is I’m not always there and this morning I got called out on it.  I could play the mom card here because frankly, I’m entitled to my opinion and my eye roll was a mere one of tens as opposed to the thousands I’ve endured over nearly eighteen years of parenting.  Or I could let it go and see it for what it really is—a one on the scale of things that matter and things that don’t.  Honestly, I really don't care what he wears most days.

Chances are he's already forgotten about this morning.  But I haven’t.  Which is why I think the best thing I can do is own this mistake and show the kiddo that I’m not above stepping up to correct my error.  #BuehlerLife

Why I Rap (like a boss)...

To hear the kiddo tell it, I’ve got more rules and procedures in place in our lives than an eighties communist dictator.  But he’ll also be the first to tell you that I’m present and engaged and I care about what’s going on in his life.  I try hard not to spout off opinions like I know it all because the truth is; today’s kids aren’t growing up in a world anything like the one I enjoyed.  While I try hard to pull relevance from my experiences and salt and pepper the truths of my upbringing into my kiddo’s life, connecting the parallels where I can, I don’t discount the differences.

I know genetics. I know how life within these four walls operates. But the truth of the matter is my kiddo is out of these four walls now more than he’s here so it’s my job to expose myself to some of what he’s exposed to. I want to understand what his environment outside of home base is lavishing on him.  My latest attempt at tuning in and trying to better understand this phase of my son’s life has me downloading a lot of the music he’s currently listening to and forming my own opinions.

I was raised on country, gospel, and bluegrass music with a bit of the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, James Taylor, and Bob Seeger tossed in for good measure.  As an 80’s teen, I hit my own stride in mainstream pop (Culture Club, Cyndi Lauper, the Eurhythmics’, the Thompson Twins, Duran Duran, the Artist…). And as a mom in 2018, I now find myself listening to hip-hop and rap.

We tell our kids that anything is on the table and there’s nothing they can’t talk to us about but then we’re quick to scoff when they fall into something we don’t like. Don’t misunderstand, we’re allowed not to like everything they like with good reason. But if we want them to talk to us about things like sex, drugs, depression, and love… Shouldn’t we be able to handle listening to a few of their favorite songs? 

I made a pact with the kiddo and as such, I’ve spent the last few weeks intentionally listening to a lot of rap and hip-hop.  Whether I like it or not is immaterial.  It was the anthem of our summer.  You know that one that will be the last one when my son still felt like a kiddo to me? As a musician, the kiddo is always studying new things in an effort to learn all he can and there’s something catchy about these genres to him so when I noticed they survived August and have stayed somewhere in the background of his playlist, I decided to pay a bit closer attention.  While I tend to get stuck in predictable ruts, the kiddo hops around music genres like I change channels during basketball season.  So now I find myself purposefully listening to the music that he and I drove through Ohio and West Virginia to this summer while his dad snored in the backseat. The stuff we sang to, our own version of dash cam, him singing every word and me picking up on harmony and melody and spoofing most of it for fun, while we laughed away the miles.  

Do you remember that song that felt like it was written just for you?  The one that was an anthem of some long ago summer?  Can you still hear a few bars of a specific tune and be transported right back to the lake?  The prom? Do you remember the one you used to sing along to the way you thought it went because you didn’t grow up with Google so you couldn’t go run check the lyrics?  Yeah, that’s where I am with this stuff.  I rap my words and I haven’t checked Google yet because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what they’re really saying. 

It’s been an education to learn what the lyrics and various slang terms and phrases mean in some of this stuff.  Did you know one of the artists in these genres has a Pulitzer to his credit for writing lyrics? It’s been enlightening to engage my son in-depth about why a beat is structured like it is and why tempo and timing changes work in a given piece or why they fail.  Why a slap beat bests a hi-hat in one case but not another.  Why certain words have to be repeated so many times.  And it’s been a chance for me to remember that I’m never too old to learn something new and to see that my kiddo is a good teacher.

I don’t love these genres but I adore my son and since he’s shared this part of his life with me so willingly, you can bet I’m in going to listen up. 

A Little Help from my Friends...

If you’ve been following along for a bit, you may recall that every November I participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month-- https://nanowrimo.org).  While I like the catchy name, I’ve always thought it a bit of a misnomer.  NaNo is far less about writing the great American novel and much more about staying in the discipline of writing every day. 1,666 words a day to be exact (think four typed pages in 12 pt,. font) if you want to win the 50,000 words in 30 day challenge.  

This year the challenge was incredibly hard for me and there were days when the goal of 1,666 words felt more like 1,666,000.  I seriously thought about quitting twice and two more times I stopped working on story lines I know like the back of my hand and started new stories because I couldn’t quiet all the voices competing for attention on the page.  In the end my 50k was comprised of the completion of one story, the addition of plot and character development to two other works in progress, and the start of yet another brand new piece.   

I have little doubt I would have taken my toys and decided to play another day if it weren’t for the tenacity of a certain soul I’ve come to love like a sister.  Denisea Kampe is the most amazing writing partner on the planet. She’s the calm to my crazy and although she does this supernatural telepathy thing all year long, she was particularly on point last month, reading my mind at every turn.  A day failed to pass that she wasn’t checking on me—“How’s it going over there?”  Or reminding me to take care of myself—“Cheese Puffs aren’t an acceptable three squares.”  Breathing wisdom through the cracks—“Just walk away for an hour and leave some ink in the well.” Making me laugh—“Look what my crazy characters just did.” Listening to me complain about whatever was going wrong that day—“Is the back door done yet?” 

Denisea kicked NaNo butt this year nearly two weeks ahead of me and then she did the most amazing thing… She doubled back and loved on me just enough to drag me over the finish line as well.  Here’s to us, soul sister.  And to our amazing book boys.