The Maytag Man

Monday, our washing machine finally kicked the bucket. It had been limping along, leaking water since we got home. Not really washing clothes, more like swishing them in soapy water. So we went in to our local appliance store. That is where we met the Maytag Man, Jerry. He was a second generation appliance guy (for lack of a better word). We felt like we had stepped into a different era. Jerry wore the blue coveralls that you would associate with Maytag, but sadly, not the hat. He was probably in his 60's or early 70's with white hair carefully combed with some sort of pomade. He knew everything there was to know about appliances and genuinely seemed to love the way that they worked. And he happily told me more than I ever wanted to know about the machines, frequently peppering his knowledge with advice and anecdotes. I found out how his dad died and that his wife wanted all her appliances and car to match her sister's. He treated me like I didn't really know anything about washers (which is true) and explained things to the minutest detail. He told us not to bother paying until he had delivered the goods in case he died before it got to us. (that's how I heard the story about his dad). That afternoon he brought over our dryer (by himself!) and manhandled it down the stairs. He apologized that he couldn't bring the washer alone anymore since he had had his knee replaced a few years ago, but he had a fellow to help him with it. He made sure to wipe the tires of his dolly so that he wouldn't track dirt in the house-he"just wouldn't feel right about that". Today I was told that he would arrive shortly after 10 with my washer. Sure enough, 10:02 came and he was pulling into the front yard with his fella to help-another guy as old as himself and politely dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans with a belt. He brought dog biscuits for my dog and was not in the least bit intimidated by Roscoe's size. I've never bought a washer before. And never had one this fancy. The two old gentlemen were nearly chortling with glee as they (ironically?) welcomed me to the "technological age".

Thoughts from the backseat

Yesterday we were driving down the road when Aidan loudly bursts out, "Mom what does a **** mean?" (a particularly choice word) Umm, where did you hear that? "It's on that bumper-sticker." (Thanks Dude in the green car who doesn't want anyone to mess with him and feels the need to display that for all to see) Really trying not to laugh at the incongruity of what we have just heard coming from our 9 year old, Chris and I try to explain that that word can really mean lots of things. None of which is acceptable. But the point of using such language is to make a strong statement in a crude, offensive way...etc. Feeling that we have done our best to explain the inappropriateness of such a word, (and the use of it by our children) and expounded sufficiently enough, we finished the topic only to hear a sweet little 6 year old voice from the backseat say, "Well Aidan, now you know what **** means".

Thankful

Today I was driving home from the library lost in thought about Chloe's birthday party. Okay, I know I have 24 days until her birthday, but these things take planning. Anyway, as I was driving, I noticed a woman walking along the sidewalk. She was dressed in gray, bulky, mannish sweats, and she was limping. Not a little limp, but one where one whole side of her body dragged as she walked. Her face looked weathered and worn and I was instantly struck by the difference in her life and mine. I was comfortably driving in my car with the heated seat on, healthy and well cared for. My body is without handicap from either birth or accident. How different my life would look if I had been born into a less privileged set of shoes. And I am thankful. But at the same time, a little ashamed. Because sometimes I spend more time and energy thinking about things that make my life better and less time devoted to making someone else's life better. My hope though,is that as I continue to walk through life, my heart will be consumed with less of me and become more like the One who created me.

Aidan

Aidan is playing his first season in club soccer. And since we arrived here late, the only spot available for him was on a U11 team. Completely undeterred by the difference in size and strength, our scrappy little boy has been playing his heart out. Often on the sidelines when we are chatting with other parents they ask which boy is ours and we reply-that little guy; the one who keeps getting knocked over. But everytime, Aidan pops back up and throws himself back in the game which is earning him reputation among the other parents for being so tough. And now, there is a whole orchestra of "Go Aidan!" as he runs across the field.

Aidan was really proud of the nickname "Kaka" that the coaches from the British Soccer Camp dubbed him with last season. (not so much for playing soccer with Brazilian like finesse but more because of the hair)

Four guys on him and he still manages to push through a hole to shoot and score!

But as proud as I am of his soccer playing self, I am most delighted with the person that he consistently shows himself to be. Full of integrity and thoughtfulness, with a giving and generous heart. We had a garage sale a couple of weeks ago and Aidan was trying to raise money for a remote controlled helicopter that he has had his eye on so he was trying to sell his old skateboard. There was a a young hispanic boy who had his eye on the skateboard, but his father told him they couldn't spend the $5 for it. When I turned around a few minutes later, Aidan was kneeling by his skateboard peeling off the price sticker and giving the skateboard to the little boy. Athletic skills are over emphasized and highly sought after, but a man of character is priceless.

Friday

This morning I got up before the sun and headed to Denver for a benefit breakfast I had been invited to by a new friend from my soccer team. I didn't feel intimidated when she casually mentioned her nonprofit. But, um, by "her" she really meant "Her"-like as in, "I am the Executive Director". I'm sitting at the table, appropriately dressed in business casual, nibbling on my bagel and lox with a side of green capers (which I am thinking looks suspiciously like something my rabbit would have left behind although, much tastier) and fortifying myself with a cup of coffee AND tea. The lawyers surrounding me at the table make friendly small talk and offer validation of the "hard work" of my role as a stay at home mom in the way that only working professionals who have careers and not kids can. (yep, if anybody at the table throws up or needs to use the bathroom, I'm your girl.--thought, not spoken.) The benefit was for an organization called Seeking Common Ground and the idea is to bridge the gaps that religion, social status, and history, etc would dictate for our path. My legs dangling above the ground in the adult sized chair, I listened to eager voices of change and friendships between white and black South Africans, Jew and Muslim, Israeli and Palestinian-neighbors except for a wall. The thoughts and actions of people inspired to make a difference and "use the brick they had been given to make a step instead of a stumbling block". I was thinking over the meeting as I was driving home to do the laundry and chaperone on a 1st grade field trip. I thought maybe I was the only one going home who had the urge to shout "slugbug" and hit the ceiling everytime I saw a VW Beetle thanks to the usual cacophony from the backseat. And as I arrived home to a locked door and had to shimmy under the garage door while climbing over boxes, I imagined the lawyers at the table with me, sneaking peaks at their cell phones under the white tablecloth, doing the same. The image didn't fit. But for a moment, an hour and a half, we shared something more than a table and the cream cheese. We shared some common ground. And had the same thought planted that an ordinary person could make a difference. My ordinary seemed extra ordinary compared to the PHD's and awards around me. But maybe, there is a chance for this laundry-doing, meal-making, bathroom-cleaning Momma to take her very ordinariness and make a difference as well.

Chloe-ish

When I first got my camera, Chloe was my patient, willing model for hours of picture taking. In retrospect, I should have spread those days out longer as it appears my sweet littlest one has become tired of patiently posing. But these are just as fun because here you get to see the quirky, zany side of our Chloe.

Taking a moment to pause and shoot the mountains because they at least, were not wiggling.

One last try...

Fall

Fall is my favorite time of year in Colorado. Eager to experience the arrival of fall we headed out to Estes Park on Sunday. We managed the swirly curvy ride with minimal car sickness in the backseat. Chris and the kids explored while they waited for me to finish taking pictures so we could go out for the promised (bribe) of ice cream.

Chris loved this pic because he thought it looked like the tree was on fire.

It was hard to meter this picture correctly because the elk is in the shadow and the sign is white so I just gave up and snapped the shot.