I remember when we had this photo taken. It was a fundraiser for the local animal shelter. We took a rare Saturday morning off from hockey practices, made sure the pups were presentable, and headed over to wherever they were taken. The scene is pretty accurate to the mood. Oz didn’t have a dog in front of him so he was pissy; Preacher (far right) was being pretty but always ready to eat someone if they came too close to his kids; and Tango not giving A.F. The Z’s putting on a smile face in spite of the fact that there was probably some barking (from mom) to get everyone and everything into the car and over to the studio on time.
Busy. Our days were busy. There were some evenings during this time where the little Oz-man would be in his car seat for hours but we’d only drive 2 square miles from ball fields to hockey rinks to soccer fields to church and back to the hockey rink. Throw in the goal of making it to Grandpa’s (my grandpa) once a month three and a half hours away and I’ll say it again, we were busy.
There was school, tubs, stinky hockey gear to disinfect, homework, dance classes, a very tired mom most of the time, and short tempers at times to go around. When you’re in the thick of this stage of parenthood, it’s common to believe that there are easier days ahead. Days when they can get their own hockey gear on. Days when they’ll just magically sit down and do their homework so they can get out to play. Some day, days where they’ll drive themselves to school or practice. Easier days ahead. Just get through this.
What I’ve come to realize, in our case, is that those WERE the easier days. Life was constant. Consistent. I had a voice in my children’s lives. Sometimes a voice that spoke harshly and way too loud, but not always. It’s easy to take on a lot as a parent. I own what’s due, I’ve had to apologize to all of my kids at one time or another. Bad decisions: chaos I brought into an already chaotic time; not knowing how to respond to some of our challenges. But I had a voice. I could steer the ship and for the most part, we stayed upright. Jules 1: Delta airlines 0.
Later years brought teen rebellion we weren’t prepared for and consequences that involved outsiders (yes, there will be vague references here. Some of these aren’t my stories to share, only the pain left in their wake.) Disruptions that impacted future opportunities and present-day peace. Hope that things and people will right themselves; frustration when they don’t. A frustration that turns to sadness when chaos remains.
To be honest, we’ve lived in chaos for years. The HotHunkyHubs is a champ when it comes to bringing some clarity and solutions to some of the chaos but slowly the day comes when you realize that your voice has ceased to reach ears of those you love most of all who choose to stay off the path of success.
Those are hard times. We have lived in perpetual chaos; sadness; frustration; yes, even anger. Yes, we have joy. So much joy and I’m grateful that we can find joy in difficult times. But still. We have watched as adult decisions have impacted the next generation. We’ve moved because of some of those decisions. We’ve seen the impact on the next generation. Sadness; confusion; and a missing of a parent that is absolutely heartbreaking. Difficult times.
Tomorrow is the 32nd birthday of my twins. It is a melancholy birthday for their mom. I am separated from one, and give the other enough space to allow him the opportunity to seek me out when things are going well. It’s hit and miss. There are rules of engagement, of that I am consistent. I’m disappointed in choices and at the same time, filled with hope each day they wake up that they choose a path to success and fulfillment. Today wasn’t that day. Maybe tomorrow.
I yearn for easier days. Homemade birthday cakes. New hockey sticks. A home filled with a good version of chaotic laughter. Lots of hugs and love shared. Maybe that’s the worst part, not being able to share your love. Because no matter what, there is love. So much love.
The hardest part about being a parent is watching your children go through something really tough and not being able to fix it for them. All I am doing is all I can do.
I haven’t written/ranted/blogged/bitched in a quite a while. Why? Busy. Don’t have much to say. Don’t want to contribute to the raging lunatics of America. Focused on living in joy despite life’s hits. I don’t know if I’ll write regularly. I don’t know if I care enough. But I AM! paying WordPress a few bucks a year for this site so I figure I better get my money’s worth.
This picture is a beautiful illustration that we have no idea what can lurk around the corner. It is taken on the porch of our Texas home (ok, we don’t really have a Texas home. We have an airBnB that we stay at when we head down to spend time with Oz and family in Waco. It is the home of a former professor and librarian from Baylor college and we have enough family memories there that we call it our Texas home.) I made Matt sit for a few moments out in the August heat so we could grab this before heading home.
The trip had been a bit of a rollercoaster ride. We had an amazing visit with Oz, Ashley, and my youngest baby, Daniel. We also had some car issues. It all worked out, we thought, but it blew our vacation budget a bit and when we had to say our last teary (me) goodbyes and give my last squeeze to our tank of a grandson, we were ready to just get home.
So Matt and I took our selfie and set out early on Sunday morning. We had an 11 hour drive ahead of us which was fine, I’ve done that on my own, but we were tired. And hot. Anyways.
We made it about 30 miles down the road when the car started acting up again. Shit. Not good. We stopped for Kolaches and some transmission fluid and hoped that we were good to go. It was stressful. Very. I was determined to stay positive, but Matt was stressed. Very. Matt was determined to figure out what was going on with the car. Staying positive really wasn’t on his radar. You know, men really don’t multi-task as good as us girls. Heh.
At our 4th stop, outside Dallas, I’d had it. Not with the car, but with my husband. I walked across the street from a mechanics shop and hit a Super H-E-B for some retail therapy. It worked. I was even so nice that I bought my crabby husband some lunch. Aren’t I sweet??!
We made it 15 minutes down the road and the car started in again. We’re about to hit Dallas traffic, mild since it’s now early Sunday afternoon, but still busy with some spots where pulling off isn’t an option. Okay, we need a new plan. Matt has an Auntie and Uncle in Dallas. They became our new plan. Matt was able to get their number from Mom, he called and left a message for Auntie sharing that we were in the area and limping along the interstate. The calls themselves were fine, necessary. However, the sweet tone of voice Mom and Auntie received versus the snapping and barking at me the previous five hours was it. The final straw. Ever been there? The final straw?
It ain’t pretty. It was un-pretty enough that when he was leaving a message for Auntie, asking if we can park at their house and try to figure out what was going on, I forgot about my goal of not being a raging lunatic and completely lost it. By the time we rolled into their driveway, I wasn’t even talking to Matt. Done. I’d had it. Done. Ever been there? Done?
Ya, we aren’t done. We’re fine. It was a bad deal that was stressful, and we still need to improve how we talk to each other in high stress moments. We’re getting better. But chances are high that one of us will hit that ‘done’ moment again. We’ll still be fine.
It took another three days before we got out of Texas. It was horrible. And by horrible, I mean fantastic. Matt’s Auntie and Uncle took crabby married couple in stride; handed me all the wine and Matt all the bourbon we wanted; ate well; had a pool afternoon; saw an incredible full moon; laughed (after I started talking to Matt again;) and finished our vacation fairly spectacularly. We did NOT need a transmission so spending a bit more money we hadn’t planned was still better than not spending the thousands of dollars we originally thought we’d have to spend.
We made it back home in one piece and decided that drives to Texas were done. At the very least, we’d rent a car and not put the miles on ours. But probably we’ll let Delta get us there and hopefully land upright while doing it.
We went from selfie smiles to a fight in a few short hours. We went from fight back to smiles, but that took a little longer. Hee Hee. I guess if your day is going to turn to shit, I hope it’s a manageable version of shit where smiles are just around the corner. Along with an Auntie & Uncle who spoil you rotten.
It’s not the stress that kills us, it’s our reaction to it. Hans Seyle
After 2019, I took an unplanned hiatus from the Highland Games. Truth be told, I was tired. The year was a brutal competition schedule that aimed for World Championships in two different challenging strength sports; a fairly drastic weight cut; and lots of car hours back and forth to Minnesota at least every other weekend for months on end until my newly graduated “baby” flew off to serve in the Military. His BCT graduation was sandwiched between winning a gold medal at weightlifting Masters World Championships and quickly pivoting to Highland Games Masters World Championships in just over 8 weeks.
Add in an unfortunate event at the one Highland Games I did just days after I lifted in Montreal where the judge decided to talk lies about me when I wasn’t around which ended a friendship that was incredibly meaningful to me and I really didn’t want anything to do with Highland Games for a while. SIDEBAR: A Highland Games should NEVER have a judge for a group who is also a competitor. I understand, we’re a fringe sport but throwing in Illinois always had a slightly negative feel when the judge/competitor either didn’t like me personally (AS IF!) or just didn’t like the fact that I won so often. Despite the fact that Matt & I were on the field at this particular Games for an hour and a half after throwing so if anything truly happened that the judge wanted to question, we all could have sat down together and ironed it out, she later seized the opportunity to lie; the AD refused to give me a chance to retort; friendships gone, and my joy in participating in the Games took a hit.
When so many of the Games shut down and many have still struggled to come back, I just couldn’t get my head and heart around throwing. I could have thrown at our home Games in Milwaukee in 2022 but we got a chance to have our Granddaughter for the week and that takes all priority around here. No time to throw, we’ve got toddler stuff to do! Truth be told, the world kind of stops around here when a grandbaby shows up. I wouldn’t have it any other way!
I’ve written ad nauseam of the turn of events prior to weightlifting world championships last December and the time it’s taken to get my physical self back. The meniscus tear didn’t help. Throwing is hell on knees. Highland Games throwing, even worse. You don’t control the throwing trig or it’s condition and rotating on a knee you can barely walk on some days is terrifying. It took me until July and a quick trip to Minnesota to throw with Brian Hare and his Minn-Kota throwers to finally be brave enough to try it. Brian has also come back from a meniscus tear and I’ve appreciated his sharing what worked for him as he came back.
That one practice really changed what I thought about the throwing community. It reminded me that there are really good people out there who want to have fun (fun being subjective when we threw weights for nearly an hour); learn; and get to know each other. I grabbed the other two ladies, Leslie (the caber dragon. Seriously, she just steps up, picks a beast of a caber and effortlessly turns the thing, and then calmly comes back and sits down like she just put her laundry away) and Casey (who got off a plane from Iceland, jumped in the car, and came directly to the Ren Faire and threw the height events. You could make a case that Highland Games athletes really are a bit nuts but we’re a lovable nuts;) I will forever be grateful to these two for reminding me of the beauty the Games community really is.
After that practice and knowing my knee wasn’t going to spontaneously combust, I decided to get a little serious about practicing and looking for a few Games. Yes, I said I was going to take the year off of competition. I lied. Well, I most likely didn’t lie but I was fooling myself. I wanted to dip my toes back in the Highland Games and see how things went. To be completely honest, things went swimmingly.
I signed up for a Games in northern Minnesota, God’s country. Well, God’s and some of my adoptive ancestors. My Grandma’s family settled just miles away from the throwing field when they came over from Sweden. It made the 9 hour drive well worth it. Up north Minnesota will always be one of my favorite places on earth and now it will represent the place I fell back in love with the Highland Games.
Lawds, these ladies are an amazing mix of everything wonderfully female. Competitive; hilarious; lovely; supportive; determined; with a solid foundation of knowing who they are. I have so much admiration for these qualities. I have learned (the hard way) to NEVER trust someone who has a low opinion of themselves. They will ALWAYS throw you under the bus for brief moments of self satisfaction. But not these girls. We had an absolute blast and ya know what? I actually threw pretty good! I PR’d my sheaf at 24′ and came sooooo close to it sneaking over 25!
My stones were decent even though I hadn’t practiced those at all so literally the last time I tossed a stone was November, 2019. I’ll start to care more about stones. They’re a pretty decent event for me and if I can figure out how to move without jamming my left knee into the ground, I think I have some room to move the numbers on stones. COOL! Even hammers were decent. Nothing groundbreaking but they felt smooth with, again, room to move. WOB was a bit disappointing but I won’t pout. I’m out of my groove in WOB. I’m strong and still have a bit of explosiveness left in me so I’ll take practicing next year more seriously. I always have to remember that as I age, so do others. Heh.
Then there’s the weights. Weights, in general, are a Jules event. I remember; however; back in 2019 when I started practicing with just weeks to go until Tuscon that my weights were not where they usually were and I was going to leave myself vulnerable if I didn’t figure it out. I was able to walk away with wins in both heavy and light weights for distance at the World Championships but my numbers were not where they usually were. Why? I had no idea. I was tired after it all and hadn’t touched weights again until July of 2023. Unsurprising enough, a 4 year break didn’t help my weights. A torn meniscus on my drive leg REALLY didn’t help. A healthy fear that I’d blow out my knee completely and be writhing in pain, alone, on the practice field REALLY REALLY didn’t help. I made progress but there’s work to do. Lucky for me, I love to work. I made a little progress at yesterday’s Games and I’ll take it. I see what I was doing wrong from the video the HotHunkyHubs took and I’ll go back to the drawing board. That I made a few feet progress throwing 8 days after my first Games back is a win. I’ll McGregor strut my way to the practice field and be happy my 56 year old ass can still make progress.
Lastly, the caber toss. Now, I’ve never really been a spectacular caber turner. I can usually pick one all day long but turning them is another story. At my “up north” Games, OHHHH that caber was beastly. Thick, heavy, tall BUT it’s straight so you’re not fighting a curve on top which is nice. After my 1st pick, I had a heart to heart with myself that went something like this, “knock it off Jules. You’re acting like you’re not strong. Turn this damn thing.” And I almost did. But I still had one more shot. At that point, I channeled a dear friend who hasn’t met a caber he’s never turned and flipped that beast of a caber! I had a huge pull that felt absolutely amazing and I was absolutely stoked! Stoked enough that I texted a friend and told her about it.
The reply I got, “Did you win?” Nope, nope I didn’t but I had an amazing day. I PRd an event; I didn’t break my knee; I figured out how to keep myself going all day for the first time in four years (ahhh gals, 52 to 56 is kinda different. Hit me up when you get here and you can tell me about it); AND I was the only one who turned the BEAST! Her reply? “Bummer.” Honestly, I could have cried. What a fucking sucker punch to the heart. There was actually zero “bummer” to my day. I met amazing women; I returned to the field and did pretty damn good; and I walked (albeit with a limp) off the field. By the way, never treat women you perceive as strong as if they don’t have feelings. They do. They’re not robots, they are human beings. If you can’t be a decent friend that just keep your mouth shut.
As I drove the few hours back down to the cities, I realized that maybe people expect me to appear on the field and be THE best without understanding that the goal for the day was to be MY best. See, I know what it takes to be THE best and as I work my way back to getting a shot to be THE best, I’m going to accept small victories of being MY best. I’m comfortable with that but you can be damn sure I’ll be more selective in who I share my victories with. Heh.
I had another Games, yesterday, to be MY best. And I was. No, I wasn’t THE best but I sure cheered her on! There is, I believe, about a 15 year age difference between us and I’ve been around long enough to know that she and I are not the same. Never have been to be honest but sharing a day on the field with another group of amazing ladies; with the HHH; new friends; and a massively supportive crowd was absolutely THE best!
I’m so very grateful for the Minn-Kota throwers; their tireless efforts to keep Highland Games strong in the region; their unselfish giving of time and resources; their light and laughter; and some damn good scotch being passed around.
Always do your best. What you plant now, you will harvest later. Og Mandino
Whenever our granddaughter comes to the house for a visit, there is a very specific sequence of events. Kulani will say hi to Glitch and then push past him as he tries to herd her to wherever he wants to herd her in that moment. She’s not playin’, she’s got toys to get to.
Her favorite is Mrs. Potato head.
Yes, she’s missing an ear. Don’t worry, it’s stored safely in her butt. Kulani could play with Mrs. Potato head for hours but we let it occupy her while unloading and chilling out after her car ride. From there she checks out her room to play with everything fun she hasn’t seen in however long (hopefully not too long or Tutu gets sad) and away we go!
Her last visit a couple of weekends ago made me think of the times I’d go to my grandparents and what I looked forward to playing with there. Remember, I’m a 70’s childhood girl so tv was out. Eventually we got the Muppets on Saturday and I’d put with Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom but reading and play time was it at Grandma’s.
There were some things that were special about being at Grandma’s. When I was very little, they lived in a house with pillars out front. I thought this was very glamorous. It was also near the train tracks so at night when a train went by and it’s shrill whistle was blown incessantly, I would wake up screaming and running into my parents room. That was less glamorous. They also had their garage in an ally which was super boujee. I’d wanted one ever since until I moved to Tosa and people who’s cars were in the ally’s kept getting broken into. Hard pass.
One of the coolest things at Grandma’s was their tandem bicycle. Grandpa would be in the front, Grandma behind him and us kids would take turns sitting in the basket in the back meant for groceries and shit. We would fly through the streets and I’m sure were quite a sight. One time we fell, I don’t remember why. I just remember that Grandpa was annoyed with me because I was crying but Grandma was actually the one bleeding, sitting along the curb. I have no idea how we got home but obviously we figured it out or else I’d still be living on that street corner in Windom, Minnesota.
Grandma had a washing machine with a hand crank and she talked me into the idea that this was a toy. I give her all the credit for obtaining child labor under the guise of play time. Well done Grandma, well done. There was a park along the river that remains one of the most fun parks of my life’s entirety. Sometimes we even got to go swimming at the pool. Years later, after Grandma had died and Grandpa moved into an assisted living complex, we went to a different park and Zac got stung by a bumblebee. My Grandpa was super pissed because he told Zac to stay still so it wouldn’t sting him but then it did anyway. Gramp’s felt betrayed and as if he advised little Zac incorrectly. That was too much for me to unpack in one park trip and I just said, “shit happens, Grandpa. Let’s go get ice cream.”
But when I was the little one, the gold mine at the Grandparents was in the basement. Grandpa had a train set; an old western toy town, and a playhouse. Like, a real one. Wooden with real wooden furniture and doors that worked and I most likely spent hours and hours in that basement. The train set was off limits unless Grandpa was with me but I think of the fun I’d had with that western town every time I watch Blazing Saddles and they set up a fake town near the end to be destroyed.
I think back to the statement that it takes 3 generations to lose oral family history, if you’re lucky. Matt’s family is luckier than mine. His Grandma is still going strong at 95 and her great-grandchildren will take memories of her into adulthood. They’ll have stories of their Busia, aren’t they the lucky ones? My cousin’s Paul & Denise & I have Grandpa stories. If you get us together, bring wine cuz we can tell these stories all night long. Maybe our kids would be lucky enough to hear them, I’d like that. Because when we go, so goes the stories.
Maybe that’s the treasure of being a grandparent. We’re impressing on a generation we likely will not see grow to old age all of our memories and what the world was like, “back in the day.” The toys give them visual jolts of memory.
Another favorite of Kulani’s are these Care Bears that I got out of a vending machine in New Jersey on a barbell weekend with the Texas crew. Last time she was here she put them all, along with the gnome, into my boot which was a nice surprise as I shoved my foot into it. She’s kind of a stinker.
But her favorite toy at Tutu’s?
JaJa. She still likes to be flipped upside down, she’s lucky he’s strong. My grandpa never flipped me around but he wasn’t the strongest JaJa like Ku get’s. Lucky girl.
Each visit with Kulani is a treasure for us. We try to make it a treasure for her even though there are still rules at Tutu’s. Not many, but a few. Each memory made is almost like a sigh of relief that if something happened to us today, she may have a memory jolt each time she saw a Mrs. Potato head or a Care Bear and think of Tutu’s toys.
Nobody can do for little children what grandparents can do. Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust over the lives of little children.
tosabarbell 