Gotta know when to give

I am very fortunate that, unlike many of today’s politicians and Hollywood elites, Sean has no skeletons in his closet. He is a faithful husband and loving father. He is as decent in private as he seems in public. And he’s been that way as long as I’ve known him. Friends and family who've known him even longer agree: he is a genuinely good guy.

But there is one secret few know. It’s a love he discovered shortly after our marriage and it took me by surprise. I knew we’d have our differences – what married couple doesn’t! - and I knew we’d have to compromise on certain issues; I just never imagined I’d have to give on this front. But after seeing the joy this newfound love brought him, I caved and welcomed four more ladies into our marriage: Shelly, Denise, Terry and Heather, otherwise known as Point of Grace.

Point of Grace released their first album a year after we were married. And Sean fell hard. Hard. Those tight harmonies, soaring orchestrations and encouraging lyrics just did him in. He loved everything about the group. We saw them in concert several times and with each show and consecutive album, he was convinced they were the best thing going.

Four months ago, I found out they were coming to Jackson for a Christmas show. As a bonus, Aaron Shust would be with them. Aaron was a worship leader at our church in Atlanta and Sean has fond memories of playing in services with him. Major score for the wife! I bought 5 tickets and kept it a secret from Sean. I just told him to mark off that afternoon.

It got a lot easier to keep that date clear because two days after I bought those tickets, Amy Grant, the woman I brought into our marriage, announced she’d be in Grand Rapids the very same day. I was inundated with texts and emails, telling me about the show. Sean caught wind of it, and I knew he’d buy tickets for that and tell me to chuck the other plans because he didn't know Point of Grace was even coming to town. I cut him off at the pass and said, “Oh, that afternoon is blocked off for the Amy Grant concert. I already have tickets.” He didn’t give that one more thought. Of course his wife already had Amy Grant tickets! That was a no-brainer.

Both concerts were last Sunday, and until lunch that day, he was convinced we were seeing Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith that night. I had the Point of Grace tickets wrapped up and as the five of us sat around our lunch of soup and sandwiches, I handed him a package and said, “Merry Christmas! Here’s the first gift of the season!”

I can’t remember I time I saw him so confused. Or genuinely excited.

We made our way down to Jackson for the show and it was wonderful. Aaron and his band were amazing. It was great to hear him in person again. And those Point of Grace ladies did not disappoint. Even though they are now a trio, their harmonies were as perfect as ever. Sean loved the entire show and I racked up some serious wife points.

When we got married, I controlled the CD player. And that CD player played a steady rotation of Amy Grant music. I was upfront about who I was bringing into the marriage. And as much as I initially begrudged having to share CD space with Point of Grace, I must say they really grew on me. I am glad we welcomed them in to our lives. I enjoy them almost as much as Sean does. But not quite.

Thankfully, we love each other most.

Mothers have to stick together

Some people can sit outside, get some sun, sport a golden tan, and live their lives. Others simply step outside, burn to a crisp, peel and go back to looking like they’ve never seen a sunny day in their lives. Sean and Amy are in the first group. Michael, Rebecca and I are in the lobster category.

So, when Michael had a work trip to the Dominican Republic two weeks ago, I was very concerned about him burning. Yes, I know he’s 23 and living on his own – he was going on a business trip! – but still. The boy does not like sunscreen. And he does not actually think he burns. Seriously. It’s like in the peeling process a little bit of his memory peels away with the flaky skin and he has no recollection that every single time he goes to the beach he burns within an inch of his life. 

This is the text he sent me and Andi, his fiancé*,  after we both reminded him about using sunscreen:

No. We didn’t believe him.

After he’d been there a couple of days, a few of the women he’d been teaching in his training sessions approached him with concerned looks. They said they had sons his age and wondered if they might help him with his sunscreen application. Because it appeared he was getting burned.

Y’all. If that is not the Greater Motherhood coming together, I don’t know what is.

He told them he was sure his mom would appreciate their help and actually allowed them to help him. He allowed complete strangers to put sunscreen on him!

He called us that night to tell me about the helpful moms in his group because he was sure I’d be pleased they wanted to help him. Oh, I was! And I sent him a text to show the moms:

Unfortunately, their help came at the end of the week, and the damage was done. But at least now I have photographic evidence that the boy does not tan. He does, in fact, burn. And he looks just like a lobster.

*More to come on this development. 

An addition to What to Expect, please

What to Expect When You’re Expecting rocked the publishing world when it hit the market in 1986. Since then, expectant moms everywhere have poured over its pages, soaking up info on how big the baby is (It’s the size of a lentil! And now it’s the size of a lime!), what to eat for optimal baby baking, what to ask the doctor and a zillion other things I know I read but after nearly 18 years, can't remember.

Author Heidi Murkoff built an empire off that publication. There are 12 other What to Expect books, like What to Expect: The First Year, The Second Year, The Toddler Years, not to mention What to Expect at Preschool and a babysitter handbook.

But after 30 years, the What to Expect books have only covered about 5 years of a child’s life. Kids typically live with parents a lot longer than that. And while there are tons of other topics to cover after year 5, I would like to suggest an addition that is hitting close to home today – What to Expect When Your Adult Child Won’t Be Home for the Holidays.

By the time you read this, our oldest will be winging his way to a Caribbean island where he is scheduled to teach several classes for work. He will be there all week, missing Thanksgiving.

(Who schedules training over Thanksgiving week?! Turns out this training session is for Canadian members of Michael’s company. Since this is not Thanksgiving for Canadians, it’s a great time to schedule a business trip for them and it only impacts a few Americans.)

When Michael first told us of his trip, I was surprised. Fine, shocked. Okay, I cried. Whatever. I mean, this will be the first major holiday the Duffy Five have not all been together. Sure, since the two oldest left for college there have been missed birthdays and other lesser holidays. But this is the first big one we won’t all be together.

After a few minutes of my own private pity party, I pulled on my big girl pants and said, “This is the first of many holidays we won’t all be together. This is yet another new normal. I will not simply make the best of it. I will have fun with whoever is here, dadgumit!”

We’ll still do our normal Thanksgiving Day traditions: we’ll watch the parade while eating sausage balls. We’ll decorate for Christmas. And to mark this new time in our lives, I decided to add a new tradition: we’ll go to Chicago and see the Christkindlmarket and all the Christmas decorations.

The five Duffys will eat turkey together after church on Sunday so everyone still gets their fill of sweet potato casserole and my mother-in-law’s pear/Jell-O salad that I have, after 25 years, finally perfected. We’ll tell Michael about our time in Chicago and hear about his Caribbean adventures. And it won’t matter one little bit that all of it happens on Sunday and not Thursday.

Now that I’ve had time to process the situation, here’s what I’d say, given the chance to write What to Expect When Your Adult Child Won’t Be Home for the Holidays: don’t make an idol out of the date. Be flexible. Be willing to change up traditions. Hold things loosely.

With all the impending changes in our lives, I think I’m going to be reciting those thoughts to myself quite a bit in the very near future.

Ms. Murkoff, if you need any help with my suggested book, let me know. And Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, no matter when you celebrate!

To flush or not to flush?

(This is a semi-gross topic. Consider yourself warned.)

One of Rebecca’s classes was canceled this week because the house where she takes it had some plumbing issues. That’s a polite way to say sewage flooded their basement because the pipes from the toilets were clogged.

Team Good News: the remediation people. They showed up right away and cleaned up the sewage so the nastiness in the basement was all gone.

Team Bad News: the plumbers. They told the homeowners the clog was due in large part to tampons that had been flushed down the toilet.

The plumber told the teacher, “Flushing tampons is like flushing cement.”

(And you thought the sewage back-up was the gross part…)

Y’all. I am not one of those women who talks about tampons or periods or other personal things relating to the bathroom. That’s a big no-no for polite conversation. That I’m even writing about it is physically hurting my fingers as I type. But when Rebecca’s teacher told me what happened I knew I had to ask:

Who knew flushing tampons was a bad thing?

I have assumed my whole menstruating life that tampons were made of paper and, just like toilet paper, could be flushed with abandon. Obviously you don’t throw plastic in the toilet, so the applicator goes in the trash, but the actual, used tampon? Flush away!

We’ve all seen signs like this one:

But my thought was always, “I cannot believe they have to hang this up! Who throws things other than paper in the toilet?!” 

Who's to blame for this potential plumbing disaster? My mother never told me you couldn’t flush them. The teacher said her mom didn’t either. But when the teacher asked her sister, she said, “Of course everyone knows not to flush them!” 

Hey, sister - not everyone! Because when I Googled, “Can you flush tampons?” I got 348,000 results in 0.88 seconds. 

Clearly this is a question many have asked, but only to Google, apparently.

Let’s go to the source that’s not the Internet, I decided. I ran upstairs and got my box of Playtex tampons so I could read the instructions. In black and white they clearly state you can flush or place in the trash. Their online instructions are the same. But when the teacher looked up Tampax’s instructions, they clearly state NOT to flush.

Why is there no International Board of Tampon Instructions? I’m usually against that type of thing but in this case, I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be helpful…

So my question to you, dear readers (if any of you are still reading) is did you know this? Is this just some common knowledge that I missed? Do most women talk about tampons? Is this type of conversation really happening anywhere in the world?

I am now on a mission to erase my search history and the text conversation with Rebecca’s teacher. Because if I die today, I do not want anyone opening my laptop and seeing how many times I searched, “Can you flush tampons?” or “Are tampons biodegradable?”

I am seeing the flaw in this as I prepare to publish this on my blog…

Of course, when I finally do publish this, Sean will be so happy, because he has never talked about tampons ever before. And he is ready to never talk about them again.

I bet Rebecca's teacher feels the same.

Off the wagon for good

For years I have railed against the wearing of leggings in public. I’ve questioned how so many failed to realize the legging is not a pant. I’ve wondered how it became acceptable to wear little more than thick tights outside a dressing room. And I’ve marveled that this fad that I was sure would be a flash in a pan has lasted as long as it has.

But a few years ago, I got a pair of leggings FOR IN-HOME WEAR ONLY, of course. In those years I have loved staying home if only to wear those things. They are so stinkin’ comfortable! As soon as my outside-the-house responsibilities were over, I made a beeline for my bedroom; off went the pants and on came the leggings.

Then, like a wave, LuLaRoe posts flooded my Facebook feed. Grown, adult women started wearing leggings. Like, all the time. These were women wearing the leggings, not just college students who couldn’t be bothered to put on real pants to get to an 8 o’clock class. And they were all coordinated with cute tops and sweaters and boots… I found myself looking longingly at the comfy clothes and finagling a way to get home to put on my leggings.

After all that legging envy, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I finally fell off the anti-legging wagon.

Y’all, I wore leggings outside the house yesterday.

I recently bought what I thought was a shirt but after getting it home, realized it was a shirt dress. It was long enough to cover everything that nobody wants to see. I instantly thought it might – MIGHT – be the kind of thing I could wear with leggings instead of jeans. I put it on once with the leggings but chickened out and put on jeans. But yesterday, I took the plunge. I cannot recall a time I wore a more comfortable outfit.

Now, granted, I only went to a friend’s house (she was also wearing leggings!) and I didn’t go in public places, so I eased myself into the leggings-outside-the-house thing. But I did stop to think, “This is the day I get pulled over and go to jail and I get arraigned and people take pictures and I’m in leggings.”  

I should stop watching all those Law & Order reruns…

Like all who fall from grace, it’s the small steps you don’t notice that lead to the tumble. And for me, the in-home-only leggings was the first step down the slippery slope to full legging acceptance.

If I caved on the legging thing, I’m really worried about other fashion ideas I might change my mind about… white after Labor Day? Mixing prints? Wearing black and brown together? Perish the thought!

But y’all, if I ever cave on socks with sandals, lock me up and throw away the key. Just don’t throw away my leggings. 

_________________________________

Here's a helpful guide:

Didn't budget for this

So, we still have a dog.

When the Westie Resuce adoption agency did our home visit (that is not a joke), they asked me how much I thought we’d spend on a dog in a year. Um, we need to buy dog food and take him for a yearly check-up. In my mind, that equaled about $150, but I didn’t want to sound cheap so I answered “$200?” That number did not please the agent and she began listing all the myriad items we should expect to include for the Dog line item in our budget.

Turns out she was correct; my number was way low. From check-ups to heartworm chews to flea treatments to treats and toys and the four leashes we’ve had to buy since he’s chewed through them all, my number was laughable. But after a year and a half, I thought we’d finally gotten everything we needed for Dakota.

And then we went for his yearly check-up. He’s been chewing on his paws lately so we talked to the vet about his itchy feet. She said it’s most likely a grass allergy…

Y’all. This dog is allergic to grass.

(He’s actually allergic to the pollen in the grass, but at this point that feels a little nit-picky.)

So, the reality of what we learned is that Rebecca’s dog is allergic to his bathroom.

What do we do about this? Grass is everywhere! The vet suggested giving Dakota one Zyrtec each day.

I could not figure out how in the world we were going to get the world’s pickiest dog to take a pill. I’ve watched our neighbor make her cat take a pill and I was pretty sure that would never fly with Dakota. But the vet suggested Rebecca put it in a bit of peanut butter. Dakota does like peanut butter, so I was game.

I had no idea how successful the peanut butter trick would be. The dog LOVES his daily dose of Zyrtec-infused peanut butter. If he could unscrew the lid to the peanut butter I think he’d OD on the stuff. 

Sean takes a Zyrtec daily. Rebecca takes a Zyrtec daily. I take a Zyrtec daily. And now Dakota takes a Zyrtec daily.

We’re bonding over our shared allergy meds.

If we didn’t love our real-life human third-born as much as we do, I can promise you we would not be buying an extra dose of Zyrtec for a dog. Mainly because we wouldn’t have a dog, but you get the point.

The best thing about having Dakota is Rebecca will never be able to doubt how much we love her!

The future is (almost) now

I don’t mean to alarm you, but my baby is graduating from high school this year.

What I meant was I don’t mean to alarm myself… but, too late! I am officially alarmed.

I was doing pretty well pretending Rebecca would be around, oh, forever, because I was too focused on dealing with the desertion of her older brother and sister. For the past several years, I was consumed with Michael and Amy’s high school graduations, and then Michael’s college graduation. My attention was focused like a laser beam on the two older people who unceremoniously packed up and moved out. Rebecca was my steady Eddie. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. She’s my baby!

But this September I woke to find another high school senior in the house. And she started talking about where she’s going next year and all her plans and oddly enough, where she’s going and her plans don’t seem to include Michigan or me. Which, as you can imagine, has been quite unsettling.

I’ve said before that I am keenly aware I am not the first mother to send her children into the world. But I rarely heard anyone talk about it. My mom never brought it up, even though for her, each first was also a last, since she only had me and my twin sister. When we flew the coop to college within weeks of each other, I don’t recall any talk at all about it. I imagine my children wish they could say the same…

But this verbal processor is talking about it A LOT, and as I’ve talked about it I’ve run into other mothers who feel the same. It’s not that we don’t know it’s coming. It’s that it came a whole pickin’ lot faster than we could have imagined.

Days are long and years are short. I heard that when I was a young mom and thought it was complete garbage. Days, weeks, months AND years were long. I was feeding and cleaning and wiping mouths and bodies and noses and butts that weren’t mine, and I thought it would never stop.

Then one day, it did.

I have now become that old lady who tells new moms, “Enjoy it! Time flies!”

For those dealing with sleepless nights or picky eaters or kids who simply will not go poop in the toilet but will gladly do the deed in a diaper behind the couch, please know I feel your pain. Your days are long. And seemingly endless. Rest when you can and eat well and do your best to take care of yourself because you are doing hard, thankless work.

And when you can, find glimpses of joy. Maybe the picky eater eats a meal without complaint. Maybe Mr. Diaper finally uses the facilities. Maybe Miss Never-Naps actually sleeps more than 15 minutes. Write them down, with dates. That way next week, when you think nothing is going well, you can recall that something has gone well. And that can give you hope that more will go well in the future.

And the future is a whole lot closer than you can possibly imagine!

25 down, 25+ to go

What do Barney the Dinosaur and my marriage have in common? We’re both 25 years old this year!

Barney appears to have, mercifully, gone extinct but Sean and I remain just as young as we were two and a half decades ago. 

Hahahahaha! Nope. We’re a creaky, achy, grey-headed duo. (Yes, yes, technically I’m grey but I prefer to delay that look, oh, forever.) I had no idea my knees could be their own percussion section or that bodily functions we took for granted would begin to betray us. And we had no idea the children we lovingly brought into this world would just dip out and have their own lives, causing us to re-evaluate who we are and what we’re going to do with the next 25 years. 

On our anniversary weekend we took a quick trip back to where it all started. Hurricane Irma had just dragged herself through Atlanta and much of Stone Mountain was still out of power. When we pulled into the church where Sean and his family attended for years and where we took our vows, the secretary told us they were working off auxiliary power but she let us in and gave us free reign to tour the building. Amazingly, the pipe organ was on the aux power, so Sean got to play a few hymns.

We visited with family all weekend and on Sunday, went to the church we attended when we were first married – we were a part of that church and her daughter churches for the 13 years of our pre-Michigan married life. Perimeter Church was celebrating its 40^th anniversary, so a celebratory attitude was in the air. We ran into Brenda, who played French horn at our wedding, and she enjoyed recalling this little gem: “Do you know how lost we got going to your wedding? Remember, this was before MapQuest and cell phones! We had to stop and use a payphone to call for directions!”

We also saw our dear friend Jennifer. She and her husband, Wade were a part of so many important aspects of our early married life. The two of them impacted our lives in ways few others have. It was lovely to see Jennifer and my goodness, how we miss Wade.

As we settled into our seats for the flight back to Michigan, and the dulcet tones of our Atlanta-based flight crew rang over the intercom, we talked about the people we were leaving behind and those we were heading towards. Twenty-five years ago, no one could have convinced me I’d live in Michigan. I wouldn’t have believed I’d have a 23-year-old son and two daughters hot on his heels. And 22-year-old Christy would never believe she’d write 500 words reminiscing on years’ past! Only old people do that…

Barney may be a thing of the past, but his song lives on. As annoying as it was then, it seems like a pretty good earworm for today:

I love you

You love me

We’re a happy family

With a great big hug

And a kiss from me to you

Won’t you say you love me too

Happy 25^th to Sean and me!

(Tap, tap, tap… is this thing still on?)

It’s been just over 10 months since I checked in to my little corner of the internet. Those 10 months followed a few more that were, let’s just say, less than stellar. Between family ordeals both immediate and extended and friend issues (the kind where you find out who your real friends are), I found myself not finding joy in much of anything. Which meant I found little fun or humorous to write about.

After the first few days of no writing turned to a month, then two, then two more, I figured I was done. “Most blogs don’t last anyway,” I told myself. And I settled in to a comfortable denial of my once-strong urge to get everything down on paper.

And I found myself thinking, “I was a writer.” Totally past-tense.

But then my sweet third-born asked what happened to the blog. “I really miss your posts,” she said. “They were about our life. Like a photo album.” She didn’t just say it once. She said it multiple times. And between her asking me to write again and my dear mother-in-law saying she missed my posts, I decided to try to get back in the game.

Don’t get me wrong; much of the junk that caused me to hang up the keyboard is still there. And more bad stuff will happen. But good stuff is happening, too. Somewhere. Sometimes it’s harder to find than others, but it is out there. And often, it’s a lot closer than I think:

Like the fact that I just took a motorcycle training class with Michael. We’re both endorsed to ride!

Or that Rebecca is honing her teaching skills by teaching science, piano and ballet.

Or that Amy is helping to choreograph a show that Sean, Rebecca and I are working on with two other dear friends.

Or that today is my 25^th wedding anniversary!

Or that the sun rose this morning.

Now that I’m waking from my self-imposed stupor, I can see the many, many wonderful things going on that I would happily chronicle in a blog post.

Besides, my baby is graduating from high school this year and I definitely need a place to talk about how totally impossible that is.

It’s not just impossible. It’s downright crazy.

Here’s to a new start on Where I Am. And hopefully where I’ll be will be right here for many years to come.

The first day of 12^th grade...who let this happen? I blame her father.

Many thanks to our friends Barry P. and Dr. D for loaning us helmets!

It's the end of the world as we know it

Well, y’all, I never saw this coming. All these years, living like this day wouldn’t come and yet, here we are. I can only imagine it signals the end. The end of the world surely must be nigh. 

What? Do you think I’m talking about the election? Oh no. Something much more insane than a little election has occurred at our house and I know it must mean the end. Here it is:

Did you see it? Look again:

See it now? Do you see that empty pudding cup with a spoon in it? It’s an empty pudding cup with a spoon in it! It was left on the coffee table overnight. Left out. On the coffee table. All night.

What? That doesn’t seem like a big deal to you? Well, it will seem earth-shattering when I tell you the only person who eats pudding cups at this house is Sean.

That’s right, people. Sean Duffy left a pudding cup and spoon on the coffee table! I'm waiting for the earthquakes, crashes of thunder and bolts of lightning to begin any moment.

Rebecca and I came home from a rehearsal to a quiet house, so we assumed Sean had gone to bed. When we entered the family room and saw the pudding cup (and spoon!), we both gasped. I don’t think either of us has ever – EVER – known him to leave out anything like that. Ever.

We were afraid he’d been abducted because in our minds, that’s the only way this scene made sense.

He’s the one who sweeps through the house, dumping out glasses he finds without hands around them, not aware (or caring) that we might still be using them. He puts things away using the touch-it-once rule: if you handle something, put it where it belongs the first time. He has never left his socks or underwear on the floor. In 24 years of marriage I can honestly say I have never seen him leave anything out of place like this.

(I realize those of you with messy husbands must be jealous right about now, but it makes this person, who's fond of piles, just a little insane. You have no idea the pressure I live under to keep my piles neat and managed. Which doesn't usually happen unless company is coming over and then I sweep all my piles into a laundry basket to be dealt with at a later date. Look, we all have our filing systems...)

Once Rebecca and I recovered from the shock of seeing the trash on the coffee table, we both cracked up and said, “Picture! We must take a picture!” Because Rebecca knew her siblings would not believe this story without photographic evidence.

I guess it’s finally happened. My clear inability to handle-it-once has rubbed off on him. (Notice the barrette, single earring, bracelet and ring on the table.) Goodness. I wonder if tomorrow there will be socks on the bathroom floor or worse – a glass that isn’t whisked away from the family room to the kitchen sink.

My word. It seems I hardly know my husband any more. Maybe the real Sean Duffy WAS abducted and a fake was left in his place... If this were a movie, the pudding cup would be a clue that something was horribly amiss. 

Assuming that the real one is still among us, I must admit nothing will shock me any more. Nothing is as nuts as Sean Duffy leaving out a pudding cup and spoon. Not even an election season as crazy as 2016's.

My pleasure!

Eleven years. Eleven long years. More than 4000 days. That’s how long I’ve lived without quick access to Chick-fil-A’s chickeny goodness. But as of 6 am this morning, that has all changed.

Lansing’s first Chick-fil-A opened for business.

(Photo by RHD)

(I’m just letting that sink in…)

The new CFA is 8 miles from my house. Takes about 15 minutes to get there. A 2 ½ hour trek to the closest original chicken sandwich was my reality yesterday. But today. Today! A 15-minute drive is but a hop, skip and a jump!

I saw several friends as Rebecca and I had breakfast there this morning. I may have to go back for lunch. And if we weren’t having company for dinner, I’d be tempted to make it a three-fer kind of day…

I’m going to have to make a new budget category.

Chick-fil-A, thank you for coming to Lansing! This Georgia girl is thankful for the taste of home.

This will be hard to beat

We’ll celebrate our 25^th anniversary next September. We’ve thought lots about what we’ll do – but after our celebration of #24 two weeks ago, I’m thinking we should just hang up the celebration shoes and count it good for the rest of our anniversaries.

Yes. It was that good.

We went to the Big Apple and saw all the major sites – The Statue of Liberty, the Freedom Tower, 9/11 Museum, Rockefeller Center, The Empire State Building. We walked the Chelsea High Line and miles and miles and miles of the city’s sidewalks. We rode the subway from north to south and back again. We packed in so much in three days that we needed a break from our break.

And did I mention we saw this show – maybe you’ve heard of it:

OH MY WORD WE SAW HAMILTON AND I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I ACTUALLY SAW IT WITH MY VERY OWN TWO EYES.

Okay, y’all. I am not one to jump on bandwagons. Usually, if I know something is popular I will be less inclined to like it. When my mom took me shopping as a kid, the kiss of death to whatever clothing she was trying to get me to buy was saying, “This is so in!” Back to the rack.

I say that because there is nothing so popular, so hot, so on-freaking-fire right now as Hamilton. This does bother me a little, but I console myself by remembering that I fell in love with the show long before tickets cost a kidney.

Thankfully, Sean got our tickets months ago, before they were as obscenely expensive as they are today. But you know what: that show is worth whatever pretty penny you pay. The choreography, the score, the costumes, the staging – this show is going to revolutionize musicals. Revolutionize. Don’t want to take my word for it? How about Andrew Lloyd Webber’s – you know, the guy who did this little show called Phantom of the Opera:

Just seen #Hamilton; it raises & changes the bar for musicals. Brilliant lyrics, staging, cast. Creator/lead @Lin_Manuel is special. ALW.*

Oh, y’all. So, so good. And I got to see two of my favorites from the Broadway cast recording, Okieriete "Oak" Onaodowan (Hercules Mulligan/James Madison) and Thayne Jasperson (Samuel Seabury/ Ensemble).

It’s been two weeks and I can’t stop thinking about how amazing that show was…

So that was three hours of our three days. Here’s a look at what we did the rest of the time;

 

What would a Duffy vacation be without a visit with some shiny sheet metal? Cadillac recently moved their marketing headquarters to Manhattan. Sean has a friend there so we visited the offices and got a look at the cars on display in the lobby.

A trip to Trinity Church was a must for this Hamilton devotee (the man this time). Right next to Hamilton's grave was this one, which Sean thought was wonderful:

Robert Fulton. His memorial was erected by the American Society of Mechanical Engineers.

And here's Hamilton's and his wife Eliza's:

:

We had a celebrity sighting - Steve Higgins of Jimmy Fallon's The Tonight Show fame:

We visited NYC's first Chick-fil-A!

We struggled to get this selfie. We are not good at the selfie.

I got to catch up with my first college friend, Scott!

The Empire State Building at dusk - gorgeous! (We did better with this selfie.)

At the Grange, the house Hamilton built for his wife.

Our step-counter for Day Three:

A few final shots of the stage at the Richard Rodgers Theater:

GO SEE THIS SHOW! 

*The grammatical mistake in this tweet makes me a little crazy, but I guess even the best of writers can be grammatically challenged after seeing Hamilton. It is that good. 

This Hilary I want to see

There are so many people in New York City. So. Many. People. Running into anyone you know is a one in a million shot. Running into the person who gave you tickets you used on your first date, which led to you being in NYC to celebrate your 24^th anniversary – now, that’s got to be one in a bazillion.

My first date with Sean was June 21, 1989. (Yes, I’m aware that’s a long time ago.) And that date was made possible by Sean’s brand-new boss, Scott, who gave Sean tickets to a symphony pops concert that Scott and several other co-workers were attending with their spouses. Sean had just graduated from GMI (now Kettering) and had hired on with GM full-time. I’m the lucky girl who got to go along as his plus 1 for the outdoor concert. In Atlanta. In June. Did I mention it was outdoors?

The fact that I said yes to another date was a miracle. Thankfully date #2 was indoors…

Scott and Sean

Since that first date we've had many opportunities to interact with Scott and his lovely wife, Hilary. They hosted numerous work parties at their beautiful home and Sean worked for Scott for many years in Atlanta. He’s the boss I remember hearing the most about, the boss who helped shepherd Sean through his early years at GM. And he’s the man I always think of with great fondness for giving Sean the tickets that led to our first date.

So when we saw Scott and Hilary in NYC last week as we were celebrating anniversary #24, it just felt amazingly, wonderfully right.

Unfortunately, we ran into them as we were leaving the city and they were coming. But we had 30 minutes to catch up before our car picked us up to take us to the airport. And in those 30 minutes, Sean and Scott got caught up on their friends from Doraville and Hilary filled me in on the many volunteer projects she’s working on. And we had a few good laughs remembering that concert at Chastain Park Amphitheatre when we were all babies, 27 years ago.

Thanks for giving Sean those tickets, Scott!

Me with Hilary (yep - just one "l").

Starting early with the last

Just to clear up any confusion: Rebecca is not a senior. She just started her junior year. She has two more years at home before she flies the coop like her brother and sister before her.

Why do I feel the need to make this pronouncement? Because there’s been a slight misunderstanding about her age. Several people have asked about any impending college plans. Others have asked her how it feels to be a senior. These questions caught her off-guard, understandably so. And when she asked me why so many people thought she should be shopping for dorm room decorations, I had to admit that it was all my fault. 

My darn watery eyes got me good.

There was no clue it was coming. I was telling the parents at our church’s homeschool co-op meeting about a new year-end celebration. It will be a special night where we’ll see student artwork, selected readers’ theater scenes, hear kids perform memorized passages, hand out yearbooks. In addition, I said, it will be a great opportunity for us to recognize any seniors. That, my friends, is all it took. Caught me completely off-guard. In front of all those parents (friends, thankfully) I teared up. And I couldn’t get it together. I had to stop talking before I’d finished telling the parents the particulars of the new night, tossing out, “I’ll send y’all an email,” as I left the front of the room.

Normally I cry at the beginning of the senior year. Which makes sense – I’m gearing up for the fact that one of my children will be leaving. Getting used to the new normal and all that. (For what it’s worth, I must say, the new normal never feels normal. Do you get used to cooking for one less or the quiet house? Yes. Does it ever feel normal? Well, not yet.) Crying at the beginning of the junior year… that does not bode well for dear Rebecca or my tear ducts.

Sorry, Rebecca. I’ll do my best to keep it together. At least until your senior year, when the tears will make just a bit more sense. 

My new best lunch buddies

Who knew the key to gaining entry to the lives of college students was a crock pot full of pulled pork?

Well, actually, everyone knows free food will get college kids’ attention. And I used that knowledge to my advantage this summer to get to know the college students performing with Amy in the summer theater program in Mt. Pleasant.

Not knowing my college-kid’s friends is a bummer. One of my favorite parts of being a mom has been knowing my kids’ friends. So when my oldest two unceremoniously up and left for college, I realized how much I hated not knowing who they would talk about when we’d chat.

Well, thankfully, Amy’s school is only an hour from us and I have been able to get to know a few of her friends as we've visited or seen shows, but I don’t know them well. So when Amy told us she would be staying at school and working with 11 of her friends this summer I realized this was my chance to really get to know some of her people. All I had to do was show up armed with a crock pot, chips and cookies.

Now, cooking for college kids once a week this summer was not on my to-do list. (Cooking for my own family once a week isn't exactly on my to-do list.) But once Amy and I talked about me bringing dinner to the CMU Summer Theater students once a week, I realized the upside to getting to know her friends far outweighed the downside of grocery shopping. And cooking. Man, I am over cooking…

Anyway, once a week for five weeks this summer, I hauled up food from DeWitt to Mt. Pleasant. The first week I did a sandwich platter. Not. Enough. Food. It was crock pot city after that.

Five lunches. In hindsight, it’s really not that much. But during those five lunches I got to know each of the students by name and a little about them. Once I saw a little too much of Zach G., because he came to lunch in his costume, which was boxer shorts, but I was in the green room so what did I expect?

It seemed only fitting that we’d spend the last day of summer with our favorite group of new friends. Sean, Rebecca and I took up pulled pork, chips, carrots, grapes, cupcakes and brownies. We had dinner with them this time and it was really fun to see them again. We’d spent time with them in Mt. Pleasant, on Beaver Island, and in Whitehall. But we finished like we started, in the green room on CMU’s campus.

To Amy, Katie, Tyler, Zach, Allie, Anthony, Will, Emily, Dani, Claire, Zach and Lainey, thanks for sharing part of your lunch breaks with me. You are totally worth cooking for. Love y’all! 

We love because He first loved us. I John 4:19