With today being  Mother’s Day I have thinking of all the ways I am blessed as a Mother.  God gave me a wonderful Mother who loved me and is my inspiration, a caring and wise Father who taught me what it truly means to be a parent, a fantastic Brother who has shown me the true meaning of family, a loving Husband to share the in the joys of parenthood and offer support in the not so joyful times, the sweetest Mother-In-Law who has always known how to make me feel better, a Father-In-Law that has been there to give strength and wisdom through it all, an awesome Best Friend who is always there to offer encouragement and a laugh when I need it, and two absolutely amazing Children, Ashley & Josh,  who bring a smile to my face and joy to my heart every day of my life.

I Love you all!! Happy Mother’s Day and my hope is that you all have been truly blessed as I have!!

So being from the South I have always enjoyed the humor of Jeff Foxworthy and Bill Engval.  One of the routines that Bill does is about “stupid people” and how they should wear a sign warning the rest of us.  You know, the ones who ask “You have a flat tire” when they find you sitting on the side of the road in 90 degree heat.  You just want to respond “Uh no, the other three just swole up and I thought I would just sit here and wait for the last one to swell”.  Yeah you know people like this… the movers showing up saying “So your moving” and you say “Nope, just pack up all the junk once a week for the fun of it”.  Heres your sign!

Well I think I could have used one of those signs the other day.  I had been delaying it as long as I could, but it was time, really time, that I got my hair cut.  Anyone who knows me well knows how I hate to do this…almost as much as I hate shopping for jeans or a bathing suit…I hate getting my hair cut.  My hair has always been thin and invariably the hair stylist (and I use that term loosely) cuts it too short.  The finished product leaves me looking like I am ready to audition for Annie (as in Little Orphan, not Woody Allen).  Along with the thin hair I have the natural curls – the ones with a complete mind of their own and that you can never do a thing with.  I try desperately to prevent the inevitable and take at least 10 minutes to explain to the stylist what exactly needs to be done, and it always ends up the same.

I had a very bad experience at one salon a while back, so I decided to try a different one.  I walk in, the receptionist, who has beautiful hair by the way, asks are “Are you here to get a haircut today”.  Ok stop, you think you know where I might go with this, but wait…she is not the one at fault, sure I could say something like “No I just love the smell of hot curling irons in the morning”, but this poor girl is not the one in need of the sign. No it is I who should have worn the sign this fateful day.

You see, the next question she asks me is “ Do you want a particular stylist”.  Now I am a firm believer in the truth of the phrase “never trust a skinny chef” and along the same line “never trust a stylist with bad hair”.  Unfortunately I had a brain lapse and said “No”.  So she calls the stylist over and introduces her –this girl, who looks barely out of high school, has hair that is wild standing straight up, and mixed in the Jet black color is Pink, bright Pink!  So here I am, knowing that I should stop the nightmare right then and there…buttttttttttt, I did not.  I told myself, it will be okay, she is not dyeing my hair, its just a cut, I will take lots of time to be sure she understands…in the meantime my brain is screaming No -No Don’t Go!  Heres your sign!

It did not end well.  Cost me 30$ and I ended up with pixie bangs. Oh and if the air is on high in car the bangs stick straight up—this has led to more than a few strange looks at the drive thru and gas station.  I’ve since learned to look in the mirror before making public contact.  I know, I know, it will grow out.  And really, it’s my own fault, why would I think someone who can’t manage their own hair could deal with my complicated mess!  It should have been a sign—for me—but I woke up with a case of “stupid” that morning I guess. 

Later that evening, overhearing the heated conversation I was having with my mirror -fussing and complaining about my hair – my husband came in to see what was the problem. His response, “Oh honey, you’re beautiful”.  Well I am sure he would say this to me even if I were bald, but then I have to say he is a pretty smart guy after 15 years of marriage!  Honey, you get a different kind of sign!

Now, when I was in college, oh so long ago, the student was often treated as the lowest thing on earth.  Although I had some excellent professors, I was shown my place very quickly.  All it usually took was a visit to the Bursars office or a complication when registering for class.  I knew nothing, got nothing and deserved nothing.  You could say it left me with a somewhat negative view of those in charge.  But, there were a few times when I came across that person that truly wanted to help.  That proverbial “ray of sunshine”  – the person who could get me where I needed to be by a simple signature or phone call.  Someone who actually cares..a doer.

They are rare, but they are out there, these doers, and somehow my faith in humanity is restored when I encounter them.  My daughter is new at this and still a bit naïve I think to expect help from a Chairman’s secretary.  After all, she just needed a signature to approve the class.  Little did she know the web in which she was about to become entangled was woven by “undoers”.  She was exasperated to find that such a simple need could become so complicated.  Yes darling, these undoers are crafty, they put obstacles where you least expect them.

When she called me, angry and very upset, I was not surprised at her dilemma.  We encounter them daily I told her, at the Bank, on the phone, at the Pharmacy, and my most dreaded of “undoers” –those at the DMV.  These undoers are a part of every day grown-up life.  Fortunately, there are two kinds of people in our world, the undoers and doers.  I explained this life lesson to my distraught child over the phone.  I told her, you have to find a way around the undoer, you need to find someone or some way to accomplish your goal despite the roadblock that you have encountered.  Gee sounds like one of those video games my kids play!

Sure, I could have probably made a few phone calls and fixed the problem.  To be totally honest, I really think some re-training on student rapport would be very beneficial for many of these college offices, and I would be happy to explain my thoughts on that subject, but I doubt they would really care.  After all, when you get right down to it, it is the students (or their parents) who are essentially paying the paychecks of the professors and staff, and just like that Dangerfield guy, they deserve a little respect. Yes Helicopter Mom could have flew in to “save the day” — but this time, I chose to let my daughter handle the problem, with a little guidance from Mom of course. I am happy to say she dealt with it, the problem was ultimately resolved and she will be able to register for her class—thanks to a very caring professor. My daughter found a doer!  Faith in humanity is restored once again!

This morning I got a hard dose of reality…I found out I was not cool! Seems that I have been misleading myself thinking that I was cool, at least in a retro 80s kind of way.  But I guess my kid differs in opinion.

 Surely you remember what it was like, walking 20 feet in front of or behind your parents at the mall.  Your futile attempt to blend in and pretend that you are not with those goofy looking people that are your PARENTS.  Trying to shop alone in Pac Sun or Hot Topic while your Mom is checking the sale rack.  Desperately trying to ignore the woman proclaiming loudly “ this would look soooooo cute on you”!  Did she really say “cute”!  Yeah, if you are like me, you remember, but now, sadly, you are on the other side of that…and you are definitely “not cool”.

I just wanted a hug goodbye.  My youngest left for a school trip to Boston today.  He will be gone 4 days.  Four days that I can’t remind him to brush his hair, brush his teeth, pick up his clothes, pull up his jeans,–wear clean undies, look before crossing the road, don’t talk to strangers— you know the drill– the usual things Moms have always told us to do.  I just wanted to give some last minute directions, the kid just wanted to escape, preferably without any of his buddies witnessing the scene.  Really, I do understand this, my parents were not cool when I was a kid either.

My oldest kid thought it was cool to have Mom around.  I went on the field trips, I was there for every game, concert, play, recital—you name it!  I cheered loudly and sometimes cried loudly—but most of the time my daughter thought it was cool to have Mom there.  Maybe boys are different, I don’t know, but I doubt the realization that I am “no longer cool” will change my behavior much. Although I guess I should have been, I was not prepared to be “uncool” so soon.

No matter how “uncool”, I will still nag my kids to do things they need to do—at least until they are married and someone else can take over the job.  I will still cheer them on loudly and yes, I will cry from time to time as I see them grow up and achieve new goals.  I will still see them off on trips, all the while praying for their safe return, and dreading the mess that will be their suitcase when they come back.  I will still take them shopping since I do experience sudden moments of “coolness” when I open up my wallet to pay for those ridiculously expensive purple shoes.  Maybe I will even try to refrain from telling everyone how cute this will look.

Bottom line, I will never stop being a mother and that is “totally cool” with me.  I hug my Mom every time I see her – this woman dealt with me and my antics for years, she deserves every medal there is!   I will take every hug I can get, it is a cherished perk of motherhood.

Now,  just in case your were wondering, the kid did hug me goodbye and then casually sauntered off to meet up with his buddies—and no I did not cry—at least not until I got back to the car—and yes I have been, am, and will be, praying during the entire trip because I know my kid!  Oh yeah and one more thing—Go hug your Mother!!

Everyone knows how it works, you fill up the gas tank and get a car wash.   Use to be a “free” carwash, but I guess that was back in the day so to speak. So I pay for my discounted car wash and proceed to enter my code.  Everything is suds and bubbles, just fine, by the way I did take note of the big sign on the exit of the carwash that says “Blow Horn if Door Does Not Open”.  I think wow, I feel sorry for the poor schmuck who has that happen!

Well meet the poor schmuck.  It happened to me!  I was stuck in the car wash.  Ok, when you finish laughing, I will finish my story.  So the wash cycle was complete and the light to pull forward comes on and you guessed it, the door is not opening. Water is spraying for the final rinse and the dryers are on and I can’t pull forward.  In blind faith, I blow the horn.  I wait, almost laughing at myself for this happening to me, but there is no response from the gas attendant.  I blow the horn again, a little longer this time, thinking they must not hear me.  Waiting again.  No response.  Ok, it has been 5 minutes.  I blow the horn even longer and I wait.  My best friend calls, we laugh because I am stuck in the car wash, and I tell her I will call her back.  I am a bit flustered now, I blow the horn once more–loud and long–no response.

So I am weighing my options.  If I get out, I am sure it will be bad.  I just know I will initiate a wash cycle and get soaked, and although that could be a funny sight, at this point, I am not laughing.  If I get out and try and lift the door I could initiate the drying cycle again, and that could be worse than getting soaked.  Beyond that, I am not too keen on leaving my car in there to go for help.  What is a girl to do?  Well this girl is married and so I called my husband (thank goodness I had my cell phone).  When he stopped laughing he searched the computer for the phone number of the gas station.  I am sure he got a good laugh, but he was concerned for me and made me promise to call him as soon as I got out of the car wash.  So I called the station and the attendant came right away and opened the door.  She apologized over and over, by this time it had been 15 minutes I was stuck, and gave me free passes to the car wash for my trouble.  Okay, not sure that I will be using those but I could always give them to somone I don’t like (not really).

After the ordeal, I called my hubby to let him know that I was safe and yes, we had a good laugh.  I asked him what else could I have done?  He suggested that if I had been unable to reach him on the phone that I could have called 911.  Yeah, after giving me a lecture on uneccesary emergency calls, I am sure those guys would have had a good laugh as well.  Only me…

We were actually in the DC area for an Easter service that my daughter was a part of, and the original plan was to tour DC on Saturday with her. Unfortunately she was not feeling well and decided to stay in bed. We, my husband, son, and I, ventured on sadly without her.  We opted to take the Metro, which by the way is the only way to travel around DC, saves the trouble of finding and paying for parking, and not having to deal with the dreaded Beltway is always a plus.

Washington was very crowded, lots of families–after all, it was Easter break. The weather was miserable, rainy and chilly. After a bit of walking we found some lunch (I wish we would have kept walking but that is a different post)–and afterwards we decided to head back to the Archives.  The rain had finally stopped and the sun started to peak through.  As we walked towards the museum it was still a bit chilly and husband put his hands in his jacket pockets.    All of a sudden he gets this look (the one that I know is not good) and says “oh my God”. Now I am thinking he has lost his wallet, the metro cards….so I am saying “what … what”. He pulls out a box cutter!  Turns out,  he had worn the jacket the other day when we went to Lowes to pick up an order and had taken the box cutter to use when tying the items to transport them in the truck. Likely story, can you see him explaining this to the security guards at the federal museum building? So at this point,  we decide the best thing to do is just throw it away in the nearest trash can. My husband failed to see the humor when I said, “you know, it does have your fingerprints on it, maybe we should wipe it off first”. I know, I know, I watch too much NCIS and Law and Order. Really, I was just joking.

As we approached the Archives building, the long line came into view and I could hear the collective sigh of my companions.  Being the gentlemen that they are, they felt that they could endure the sacrifice and allow me to realize my dream to see the Constitution.  Now I admit, I almost chose not to wait myself, but in the end, I am glad we chose to stay.  We waited in line over an hour outside the Archives building, and finally we were allowed to enter. Of course you go through security, much like the airport, and for anyone who has traveled with me, they know that I “look” very much like a terrorist. I must, I seem to always set the alarm off, or there is the guard that selects me to have the body scan–I don’t know why, but I don’t complain, these people have a huge responsibility to keep us safe. So you guessed it– the alarm went off–but this time it was not me! It was my son. I wanted to laugh, but thought I better not. I made it through with no problem, no need to tempt fate. They did the full wand on my son and at first could not figure out the problem. The alarm kept going off! Well it turned out to be his belt–you know the metal block kind you would buy at Hot Topic (I am sure it has a name but I am 40 something, how would I know). Talk about wardrobe malfunction!   My son was not scared, in fact I think he thought the experience kind of cool.  Me, well I am thinking I have passed my luck on to my child.   I guess we will see how it goes when we travel to Bermuda this summer. He definitely will not be packing that belt.

So we pass through security and head to the Rotunda, where the Constitution and the Declaration is displayed. Another line. This time we get the warning speech about flash photography, which I understand, and immediately hand the camera to my husband, let’s just say I am well known for my operator errors! The Rotunda is beautiful and almost majestic, befitting the documents held there. The lighting is low, to reduce the deterioration of the documents, and your eyes have to adjust a bit. The murals on the walls are of our Founding Fathers and I thought them to be quite impressive. There are guards positioned on both sides of the cases holding the documents. We went right to the Constitution and waited for our turn to view it up close. We were amazed at how faded it was, but then that is to be expected, it is over 200 years old. It was more faded at the bottom than the top, as was the case for Declaration of Independence.   I was excited that I could still see the signature of John Hancock. Funny, I seemed to have been the only one excited by that..oh well. There was a sense of awe in the place. We were not here to simply view pieces of paper, we were here in reverence, to have a glimpse at what our country is all about–lest we forget, as many have. At least that is what I am here.

Because we are the Clark family, and there is always a bit of adventure in our travels, there is a little more to tell. It is very difficult to get pictures of the documents. As I said, the lighting is very low and flash photography is not allowed. My husband was trying to get pictures for me and tried several options on my new camera to get a good shot. It was really not his fault, with the setting configuration he chose the flash option was positioned for off, but the flash went off. Right in front of the Constitution. Things got quite for a second, and the guard said something, we are still debating what he said, but my husband apologized and showed the guard the camera. My husband fixed the setting, no more flashes, and proceeded to take more pictures. No more problems. I felt bad about what happened, but it was unintentional.   I also remembered thinking how many people, particularly politicians, malign our treasured Constitution intentionally, it seemed to put our little mishap into perspective.

The remainder of the museum is very interesting, we were able to see some of it, and it is definitely worth a trip back to see the rest. It is wonderful that this exhibit is free to the public, you do not even have to be American.  There were people from other countries in line with us. It made me proud, that the interest was there, the respect and reverence was there, so many people of all ages and races, waiting in a long line together on a Saturday afternoon, for a glimpse of how it all started–this dream called America, The United States.

Before I go any further in my tirade, let me state that I have the utmost respect for educators, my major was education in college but I decided to pursue a career in the business world.  I expect my children to show respect for their educators and my kids will tell you that they know I am quite serious about my expectations and the consequences for failure to meet them.  In my opinion, teaching is one of the most important, least appreciated, certainly undervalued financially, of all the professions known to man.  That said, certainly, there are those who should not teach. By far, both of my kids have been blessed with fantastic teachers.  Unfortunately, we have encountered one or two teachers in which this was not the case.  In situations involving these teachers, my child would attempt to solve a problem with the teacher only to be rebuffed, or the situation ignored.  Eventually this would leave my child frustrated and they would either give up, or bring the problem to me.  Should my husband and I be made aware of  the situation,  we would discuss the problem with the child and then together decide the best course of action.  The involvement of the child is absolutely necessary, this is ” prime learning time”.  How children learn to negotiate with other people in childhood, will certainly relate to their success in adult relationships.

What did I learn?  Well each time my child would tell me, “Mom, they do not treat me the same when you are not there”.   In the few situations that actually made it that far, I realized that yes, my kid was pretty perceptive, they were being treated differently.  What did my child learn?  Well, they learned that you still treat others with respect, even though they may not treat you as you desire, you still attempt to solve the problem–although sometimes you have to be creative, and last, everyone usually answers to someone.  If you can’t resolve a problem at one level, and it is an important problem, take it up a notch.  I have had to contact Principals, Administrators, School Boards and even Superintendents–and I am certainly not bragging, I think it is pitiful that things had to go that far!  Point is, if you believe your right, stick to your principles and seek the help of others–don’t just give up and  accept things as they are.

If Helicopter Moms are frowned upon during the school age years, well then they certainly are more discouraged in the college years.  Unfortunately, they are sometimes even more needed!  I am sorry, I am supposed to hand this school my kid and my money( lots of my money) and then walk away??  I don’t think so.  My daughter is in college out of state, just far enough for her independence and just close enough that we can be to her in an hour (if I am driving).  Living on campus was something we wanted our daughter to experience, a part of becoming an adult, if you will.  I admit, the separation process was hard, more so on me than my daughter, but again, a necessary part of the growing-up process.  The first time I came across the term, Helicopter Parent, it was in material sent to the parents by the college.  I was a little insulted, but my hope was that my daughter would be able to deal with whatever she encountered, and that our involvement, other than that of stroking checks, would be on the sidelines.  Bless her heart, she did so well.  She tried to handle every situation, most of which were resolved, at least the ones she shared with us.  But there were a few– mostly involving dorms, equipment and maintenance– that were quite simply ignored.  These people looked on my daughter as a “lowly college kid” and felt she should be happy with whatever she got.  She treated them with respect, as she was taught, they treated her with contempt.  Who did she think she was expecting to be able to shower, use the bathroom, wash her laundry and get her mail?  They had more important things to deal with than the likes of a “mere college student”.  My daughter made 3 or 4 attempts over the course of days, even weeks sometimes,only to be ignored.  But look…up in the sky…it’s a bird…no a plane…no it’s Helicopter Mom!  I made a call, sent a few emails, all respectfully worded of course, and all was cleared up.  That was it.  Now I ask you, why couldn’t these people have treated my daughter with the same respect that they treated me?

I have come to the conclusion that there are a relative few at these institutions, schools and colleges, that force us to become Helicopter Parents.  Now please don’t confuse me with those wacked out parents who expects that their kid must  have the lead in the play, the band solo, all A’s, and they do not mind who they step on or insult (including their own child) to achieve said goal.  I am adamantly not one of those parents.  But I do not apologize for being a Helicopter Mom either.  In fact, I come from a long line of them.  There were many trips to the school on my behalf  as a child, and I am sure  I must have  embarrassed my parents on more than one occassion, stellar student that I was.   I remember my parents telling me that ” a parent is their child’s best advocate”.  As a child who cares more for you, wants more for you, gives more for you on this earth, than a parent!  So thanks Mom, and Dad, for helping me to become a Helicopter Mom, and by the way — I am proud of it!

These days, when I work on my Genealogy project, I wish I would have hung on to the words a little more, remembered more about the names and places of my people in the stories my father and grandfather told.  But the search is part of the excitement, one of the reasons  I love the show History Detectives on PBS.  I always say,  “I want to be one of those guys when I grow up”.  Well, the growing up part is never going happen, not completely; I think kids enjoy life way too much to just let it all go and be an adult 24 – 7.  But I have decided to pursue my passion for history – I am going back to school!  When I left Old Dominion University  I was a Junior, majoring in Education.  I got offered a position making a bit more money than teachers make and after a few teaching practicums, decided to go for the money.  I have been back to school twice; the first time, I got married, and then the second, I got pregnant with my son.  I have been a little apprehensive as to what life changing event could happen if I go back to school a third time, but now that my children are older ( and have informed me that they do not need Mom around as much) I have decided to do something I have always wanted to do.  I register for my first class in a few weeks for summer session.  It is only an online course, I want to see if I can handle the course load before taking on the actual classroom.  I don’t see myself making loads of money after I graduate,  but eventually I hope to work with a historical association or property, and possibly I will even get to dress in period costume – much to the embarrassment of my kids! Who knows maybe I can even play History Detective….