Thanks-taking

As I get older, I get bolder. When I was growing up Thanksgiving was fun. Everyone - in-laws and out-laws - showed up to laugh and play for the holiday. We seldom all ate at the same time because we grazed all morning while the food was being prepared. Stealing bites here and there. It was okay, though - just a chill day for us all to get together and enjoy the company. 

On John's first Thanksgiving with my family, Daddy and Richard, my uncle, had recently gone to Las Vegas together and had gotten some nasty smelling cologne called Jade East (God only knows why). They spend the day chasing each other (and I mean running) around the house trying to spray it on each other. We all laughed until we hurt. John was introduced to the "pull my finger" joke for the first time by my brother, Scott. John pulled! All my cousins, my brother, Michael, the neighbor kids and I all screamed "NO!!" and ran. I think John was a bit shocked. This was a Barton Thanksgiving... CRAZY! But also very chill. There was no appropriate social etiquette. We just had fun.

As timed passed, Thanksgiving became a day I began to  dread year after year. We were expected to dress  nice; act nice; eat nice. Fun was not encouraged. Jokes were definitely not encouraged. And one should never, EVER fart on Thanksgiving. Very different from the irreverent holiday I had grown up with. It was formal. Neat. Polite. Sterile. Most definitely not a time I wanted to give thanks for.

Last year I decided I was ready to start a third Thanksgiving tradition - one for my kids and eventually my grandkids. Back to chill. That was the goal. For the first time in 21 years John, JB, DA and DB and I had our own holiday in our own home. Nothing special, but very special. The beginning of a new era. It was wonderful.

This year we added a new twist. We still munched from the island. We were still just hanging out laughing and enjoying each other, but then we bundled up and headed downtown to the UT football game, getting there early enough to do a little pre-game tailgating. As we started across campus from our parking spot, John said something about wanting a beer, and , voila, the man-child (now 22-years-old) pulled one out of his pocket or boot or something and handed it to his father... more laughter. THIS is our family! OUR tradition.

We parted ways with the kids for awhile and met back up once the game began. Our seats were in the stratosphere and the cold wind blew, but we huddled together and enjoyed it all. After half time DA was able to worm her way out of the student section with some of her friends and join us. Her ex-boyfriend also showed up for our little party. JB made frenemies with the Tech fan in front of us - using his charm to calm the beast he had created just before I thought the guy was going to punch him in the face. Once again Thanksgiving had become a time when anyone was welcome to join us... no more exclusively family holiday. We all put up our horns and sang loudly as Texas scored time after time. It was fun! It was cold! It was crazy! But it was chill... I think the universe is right again. And I'm glad getting older has made me bolder.

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

A couple of months ago Daddy called my brothers and me together at the place my parents plan to retire to let us know that the doctors were pretty sure  he had pancreatic cancer. They did a surgery to check things out and said - no cancer, but other problems... which they fixed. Unfortunately, the solution caused new problems that had to be fixed. Which led to more tests and more revelations. This continued for several long, hard weeks. Last week my brothers and I were called together by Daddy for the second time in a short time. This time we were in a hospital room. Daddy looking incredibly frail - a lot like our grandfather had near the end of his life. He was on some serious pain medications and sometimes didn't make much sense but at others he was very clear. Once we were all there he was ready to talk to us again - to tell us he had colon cancer (and probably it was elsewhere in his body), but he didn't want any treatment. He wanted to go out on his own terms, and we weren't going to change his mind.

Now, we all know Pops is a very stubborn old man so we didn't even try. We knew we'd be wasting our breath. Only his brother (another stubborn old man) even tried to "talk some sense into him". Daddy gave the three of us instructions for when he was gone: to respect our mother (duh, you don't ever cross that line), to help our mother in any way she needed us (again, duh, of course), and to make sure he wasn't buried next to our grandmother (his mother-in-law) - his attempt to lighten the moment since that had been a family joke even before my grandmother passed away. They had a very interesting love/hate relationship.

In the spirit of Charles Dickens, that weekend was the best of times and the worst of times. Daddy is dying. He may not even be with us for Christmas which is only a few weeks away. The thought of life without this incredibly grouchy, incredibly generous man was almost more than I could bear. My mother was strong. But then, she's always strong. She's an optimist. Daddy's a pessimist who claims to be a realist - they complement each other. It was so hard to process it all.

In the next 36 hours ALL of my aunts and uncles came into that hospital room. It was phenomenal. Even Daddy's brother, whom I haven't seen in years was there - being a bossy big brother and a loving uncle. Bartons are cranky. Bartons are opinionated. Bartons don't show emotion. Bartons argue for sport. And things were the same as always between them, but things were different. There were expressions of love that I have never seen before. There were discussions (arguments) about Daddy being selfish in his decision to "give up". It was amazing to see those two brothers interact while watching my own brothers and me do the same types of things. And my mother's brothers were also there for a different kind of familial interaction. We laughed, and we cried, but we were together. A family that loves each other but has let the busy-ness of life get in the way of being together regularly. We found our way back to each other. It was glorious. 

As my brother and I left to head back to Austin, Daddy kissed me and said he loved me... I don't know when or if that has ever happened before. Definitely not any time in my adult life. Daddy was dying, and I was feeling warm and happy. I'm not sure I'm going to be okay with this, but I can at least see some good coming from it already.

Birthday - Or Not?

My birthday was last Saturday. I got cards, calls, and good Facebook wishes from lots of friends and family. But John didn't mention it all day long. I decided not to say anything in case he had something planned. But he didn't. Didn't say a thing all day long. I wasn't upset, but I did get to where I didn't want him to remember. It became a game. I wanted to see how long we could go before he realized it was my birthday. At one point a neighbor hollered "happy birthday" to me, and I wanted to shush her. Please don't let John hear you. We made it through the day without any mention of birthday or surprises or gifts. It was classic.

Sunday morning as I was getting ready for church John said, "Someone has a birthday on Tuesday." I must have had a really confused look on my face as I tried to think of who it could be. My grandmother's birthday would have been on Wednesday, the 25th. My aunt's birthday had been on Friday, the 20th, but I honestly couldn't think of anyone with a birthday on Tuesday. So I asked, "Who?" John looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "You!" Me? Really? All I could say was "my birthday was yesterday". Then he was the one who looked confused. It was funny to me, but to him it was a tragedy. He felt awful. He truly did believe that my birthday was on the 24th, and had been planning on celebrating my birthday on that day for the past few weeks. It does get a little confusing in our household. My birthday is the 21st of September, the girls are the 22nd of July, our anniversary is the 24th of August, and Brandon's birthday is the 29th. Too many twenties. 

We didn't celebrate on the 24th, either. I guess I just missed my 51st birthday. But it'll be fun celebrating his birthday this year. I'm not sure what I'll do, but it'll be bigger than usual. That should be fun!

The Empty Nest

It's a little hard to believe that we are actually empty-nesters! No more full time children in our house. Already thing are quieter even though DA has only been gone for a few days and has been so busy for the past year that we've seldom seen her anyway. Closing air vents and the doors to the girls' rooms seems so real and final. I haven't begun to go make beds, clean bathrooms and vacuuming the floors. I'll get to it, but just not yet. In the mean time, I have plenty to keep me busy... building bunches of costumes for Romeo and Juliet for Cedar Park High School theatre, figuring out how to teach a new grade level, making new friends at my new job, and who knows what else. It's gonna be an exciting year!

Graduation Part 2.2

John and I have now managed to successfully get all three of our children out of high school. Or maybe I should say they've managed to get themselves out, since they actually did the academic work. We just provided a place to live, food to eat and clothes to wear. On Saturday Daughter A and Daughter B walked across the stage of the Cedar Park Center and received their diplomas. (Actually they received an empty folder and went and got their diplomas from some other location after the ceremonial pomp, but you know what I mean.) They were both beautiful and poised and made us proud. DA had the closing address - fulfilling the last of her high school goals, to speak at graduation - and did a fabulous job. She was her usual witty self and entertained the crowd. 

After the ceremony we were planning on going to have a nice meal at a nice restaurant, but more people than I had made reservations for ended up showing, so I cancelled the reservations. I thought since it was in the middle of the afternoon it would be okay. Surely not that many people would be going to the same place. I was WRONG! The only way they could seat us was at three different table, and not even necessarily in the same general area. The girls wanted everyone closer so they could visit with everyone. So we did what we do best. We improvised and went to What-a-burger. 



It was a blast. We took over one side of the restaurant, bopped from table to table talking and having fun, laughed, ate, had great burgers and milk shakes. It ended up being much more appropriate for the "Looniverse" than the expensive place could have ever been. I'm not sure all of the extended family appreciated our ingenuity, but it suited us, and I'm glad DA made the suggestion in the first place. 

I'm not real sure where we go from here. The kids have their lives planned, but what will John and I do? It's hard to believe that we've come this far. It's almost time to let the little birdies flutter from the nest. Oh, we'll still be feeding them from the ground for a little while, but even that will pass quickly. I guess I better start making a list of all the things I want to do so that we can start checking them off.

How Many Wilkinson Women Does it Take?

Yesterday was our last prom. Only DA decided to go this year, and it's a good thing. it took all three of us and Auntie Jan next door to get her ready. It all started about six weeks ago when she showed me a picture and said, "Can you make this dress? But with an overlay?" I'm not one to back down from a sewing challenge so I said "Sure!" We spend $30 on fabric and a zipper, and I'm ready to go...sort of. I had some other sewing things to do, and the dress got put off - for about a month. And then DA was busy with her theatre stuff, and I don't have her body to measure when I need it. I get it done, though - with about four hours to spare!!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (style house), DA is trying to figure out her makeup. This seems a little crazy to me because she does makeup all the time. However, I'm told that's stage makeup and this is different. (Who am I to say, I seldom wear makeup.) I suggest checking with Auntie Jan. She's able to do beautiful natural makeup. DA returns from next door with instructions and makeup. She takes all my brushes, because a friend has hers, and begins her transformation in the middle of the living room which is now dubbed "Prom Central" because her room is too small and cluttered (cluttered being the key word here). The results are beautiful!

The plan was for DB to do the hair. She knows her sister's curls and has a gift (it must come from her uncle) and is able to copy almost any hairstyle picture. DA decides to go with her "natural" hair instead of straightening it, so she's a little nervous. And since DB isn't getting home from work until about an hour before DA's date is to arrive, she's a little more nervous. She plans ahead, though, and has all the tools and products and a special snack for DB (she sometimes gets low blood sugar) all spread out and ready to go in Prom Central. The plan works perfectly. The hair is more fabulous than the picture - Grecian, just like DA wants.

The dress and shoes go on. the transformation from "one of the guys" to a gorgeous young woman is complete. Almost. She needs a purse for her ticket, phone and keys. Preferably a clutch. Well, now that's not something I would have. Neither do the girls. So another trip to Auntie Jan yields the perfect clutch to go with the shoes, earrings and necklace. Whew! She is now ready to outshine all the other girls - perfect hair and makeup, custom designed dress and perfect accessories. Just in time. The date should be here any minute. (He was actually a bit late - but she wasn't).

So in answer to the question - it takes three Wilkinson women and one super-incredible-to-the-rescue-chosen aunt to get one ready for prom.

P.S. And now I get to create a shorter version of the dress for DB to wear to graduation.

The Wreck

Puck, my cute little car, is gone. He passed away on April 1 about 4:00 in the afternoon. All because of a stupid decision on my part. I made a left turn on a busy street and was hit by a car coming over a hill. I didn't see her until it was too late to do anything. Puck was totaled. It's a sad, sad day. He gave his life to save mine. I walked away with only a few bruises and some hurt pride. There is definitely something to be said for German engineering!

If I someday get a chance to get another MINI, I will, but in light of upcoming events (see my last post) i think it's best if I go with something more modest at the moment. Thankfully, we got a good deal on Puck in the first place, and I took good care of him. The insurance company rewarded me with much more money than I expected to get (probably part of someone's room and board for next year). After some rational thought on the subject I've decided that the whole incident could be a good thing. DA doesn't plan on taking a car to UT. The parking is outrageous, and she can take a bust or ride a bike almost anywhere she'll need to go. And we will be living in the same city, after all. I can give her a ride if she really needs it. DB is currently driving John's old truck. She hates that it gets such awful gas mileage and is looking for a car to buy for herself. (She's doing very well saving her money. Yea, DB!) That means that come August we will have two vehicles sitting in our driveway. There's really no need to add a third. 

The only challenge is working out transportation for all of us from now until then. Once DB finds a car, it's easy. I drive the truck, but until then I'm at the mercy of my children. If they had wrecked their cars I would have said, "Natural consequences - you have to get around at the convenience of others." It's only fair that the same rule apply to me. So, please, sweet daughters, can I have a ride? I'll pay for your gas (and your food and your education and your insurance and your phones and your...)

Decision Day at the Wilkinsons

College choices have finally been made. It's hard to believe my babies will be headed off into the big world all alone in less than six months. Never mind that they will be two months older than I was when I first left home - they're too young! Actually, I'm just not quite ready to let them go, but that's exactly what I must do. And they really are ready. If the truth be told, all three of my kids could have taken care of themselves if they had to by the age of thirteen.

I'm grateful that all three have chosen schools relatively close to home - DB had decided to join JB at Texas State... Not so much because he's there, but because they offered her the best scholarships, and she was admitted to their Honor Program. A hand written note from the dean of the program commenting on the depth of her essays didn't hurt any either! DA decided on UT Austin. (Hook 'em!) They have a great acting program, and she already knows several of the faculty there. They are so much better prepared than I was that there is really no way I can rationally worry about them. I know the most exciting times of their lives are yet to come, and I want them to enjoy it to the fullest.

Something I can rationally be concerned about is financing four different households!! I feel very strongly that everyone should move away their freshman year. Even if away is to a dorm in the same city you grew up in. It's time for the little birdies to spread their wings a bit. That means that John and I will continue to share our current home, but each of the kids will have a separate abode - JB in an apartment in San Marcos, DA in Jester and DB in Laurel Hall (we think). That's a LOT of rent! I'm not sure how we'll do it, but I know that we will. And I know that we will be finished within five years, and then John and I get to go play. Hmmm, maybe I should start making travel plans now.

Shattered Dreams, Part 2

Today was the funeral. Actually there were two. The program began with the second half of the movie showing what occurred after the accident yesterday. It showed the accident scene and followed the various characters from that scene. 

The boy who was driving was handcuffed, taken to jail, fingerprinted and put into a cell. He was filled with sadness and remorse. He kept saying it was all his fault. His friends didn't deserve to die or be injured. He was a good kid who made a bad choice. A choice that would affect the rest of his life. He would go on to spend 20 years in prison for vehicular manslaughter.

Two of the girls trapped in the car were transported by ambulance to the hospital. One was unable to feel her legs. She would arrive at the funeral today in a wheelchair, paralyzed by the accident. The other was banged up, but no serious injuries.

The girl who was taken by Starflight to the hospital died there. The doctors had to let her mother know that her daughter had not survived the trauma, and she was badly beaten up. She had suffered. The mother was overwrought. She had to go into the emergency room and see her only daughter lying bloody and bruised on a table. (Like me, the situation was incredibly real for her. Not at all what she had expected to feel.)

They showed me being told by the police that my child had been killed on the scene. With their editing only about a minute of the intense conversation was shown, but definitely enough to get the point across. Many of the students watching (invincible 16-, 17- and 18-year-olds) were in tears.

The caskets and flowers were beautiful. Five or six young people, dressed in their best to say goodbye to their friends entered the stage. The boys read eulogies for their "girlfriends". They were heart-wrenching and heartfelt. The tears in the Performing Arts Center continued to flow. And then it was over.

There was no need for a lot of talk by adults about the dangers of drinking and driving. This group of kids (who come from all different groups in the school) had made their point. They had used their talents and passion pass along to the other 900 or so one of the most important messages they will every hear.... Don't drink and drive - the consequences can be permanent and far reaching. This group of new friends will forever be connected by this project. And all that I heard talk about it agreed that it was one of the hardest things they had ever done. It wasn't fun in the end - it was painful. I'm so glad they were willing to give of themselves and make a difference in the world.

Shattered Dreams, Part 1

I wander up on a car accident today. It had just happened, and there was no way I could get to them to help. It was a bunch of teenagers. One had been thrown from the car, two were wandering around frantic trying to help their friends and some more were trapped in the car. The one on the ground was covered with blood. When her friends tried to revive her they got no response. It seemed to take forever for the emergency services to get there. First a few police cars and motorcycles, then a firetruck and finally an ambulance or two. 


The first reponders talked to the kids who were able to communicate. There was a lot of screaming, confusion. My attention kept being drawn back to the girl sprawled on the ground a few feet from the car. She never moved. Soon firefighters were working to get the crushed door off the car to get the ones trapped inside out, EMS personnel were helping the people they could get to and police were giving a field sobriety test to the young man who had evidently been driving. Everyone did their jobs quickly and efficiently. It was like a smoothly working machine. 

Only a man with "CHAPLAIN" on the back of his black shirt seemed to notice the girl on the ground. He took pictures of her, and finally her small, bloody body was covered with a white sheet. At that time I knew for sure that she was gone. My heart sank. That was someone's child, and all these people were scrambling around her, ignoring her. I knew they were trying to take care of the ones they could save, but it still bothered me.

Starflight was called in for one of the victims. It had been 30 or 40 minutes since the accident had happened, and I wondered why it took so long to get there. I supposed they had determined that the girl's injuries required the services of a hospital farther away than the ambulance to get to in a reasonable amount of time. She was loaded into the helicopter and it took off as quickly as it had landed. 

Ambulances left. Firefighters cleaned up their equipment and tried to put the doors into the crumpled car. Police made marks around the scene with their fluorescent spray paint - even around the girl under the sheet who was still lying on the ground. 

Forty-five minutes after the ordeal began a hearse pulled up to the scene. Two men in black suits pulled a gurney from the back of the car. They carefully opened a body bag on the ground and gently rolled the young woman into it. They were so tender. Respectful. It was somewhat surreal to watch. Almost like a scene from Men in Black cleaning up after some aliens. Then they drove away.

People began to disperse, so I made my way home.

Shortly after I arrived there was a knock on the door. I opened to it find several people - a policeman (maybe two), a man in a black shirt and khaki pants, a kind-faced woman. You've got to worry when the police come to the door. It can't be good. But Daughter A was at school; Daughter B was at work; and JB was in San Marcos (probably in class). I let them in and they told me they had some difficult news for me. They invited me to sit and clustered around. Their faces all full of care and concern. The police officer informed me that my child had been involved in a car accident. And she was dead. He didn't say it that way. He was careful with his words. He was genuinely concerned for me. But that was what I heard - SHE WAS DEAD!

They offered comfort and asked who they could call. I didn't want our tight family to hear that type of news from some stranger, so I asked them to call my mother and explain to her. She would know what to do. She always knows what to do... She's a mother. I managed to remember the phone number that I have called hundreds of times after a little thought. The only question I could think to ask was, "Did she suffer?" This is one of my babies. I don't want her to hurt. She hates pain. She's always hated pain and never even tried to pretend that she was tough. If she hurt I couldn't stand it. They didn't know for sure, but let me know that she had been thrown from the car and most likely had died on impact. No pain.

The chaplain did his best to comfort. I wasn't hysterical, but the tears fell. I couldn't stop them. This could not be real. "DA was at school", I kept telling them. There were hugs and pats and comforting words, bunches of business cards with numbers I could call at any time of the day or night. I wasn't able to process any of it. It was just like a buzzing in my head. My mind was racing - DB, JB, John. What would we do? How could this happen? What had happened? But I wasn't sure how to verbalize any of the questions going through my head. The words wouldn't string together outside of my mind.

Finally the men all left and the kind woman - a victim counselor or something - stayed with me. She gave me instructions about taking care of myself. She told me she would be with us through the next steps and help in any way she could. She kept saying she didn't want to overload me with information at that time, but would be just a phone call away if I needed her. She was like a best friend when I was all alone. My mind kept screaming, "Make it go away! Make it stop! I can't do this anymore!" when a young man said, "That's good. I think that's all we need. Thank you."

I managed to get my breath and say thanks to the people around me.The worst part of this dramatization called Shattered Dreams was over. Or at least I think It's the worst part. Tomorrow I go to my child's "funeral". I'll let you know how that goes.

Two Gay Dads

Life in the Wilkinson household is never dull. Frustrating - yes. Frantic - yes. Funny - sometimes, yes, but dull - NEVER. The neighbor jokes that when life gets too calm we create our own excitement. I suppose it's true. For New Year's Day John and I got to go to San Marcos to try to figure out what was wrong with JB's old truck. He made it a block or two from his apartment as he headed to work (a job he'd only been at for a couple of weeks), and it died. He found a friend to take him to work and called his father to help with the mechanics. Being a good wife and mommy, I tagged along. 

We weren't able to get the thing going and returned home to regroup and figure out what to do. It was decided that John would borrow a car dolly from his good friend and tow the truck to Cedar Park where another friend (mechanic) would do the repairs. It shouldn't be too big of a deal - in theory. I wasn't there. I was at work, but here's how JB explained the situation.

John and Bill (the friend) both showed up. The truck was parked on a hill and would need to be pushed onto the dolly. It would take more than just John and JB to push the huge heavy thing around. Bill is retired and had nothing better to do that watch over his precious dolly as it was used for its intended purpose, so he joined the party. Mainly just to oversee the proper use of his property, but perhaps he was a bit of help. After several hours of fighting with the truck and dolly, and John and Bill arguing with each other about the best way to do things, they managed to get her all loaded up and proceeded to go have a nice Mexican dinner. 

San Marcos isn't that big. JB probably sees people he knows wherever he goes. Unfortunately, the menu at this place was rather large. Bill is known for being something of a knit-picky tightwad and, of course, wanted to make sure he got the best food for the best price. John doesn't worry about such things. He's willing to pay a reasonable amount for good food with minimal hassle.  The waiter had to be thoroughly questioned about all the choices in order for Bill to make his decision on lunch. He wanted to know which was the best choice of sauce for enchiladas; how did each one taste; was it hot, medium or mild; what did it go best with; how was it made... I'm not sure all the questions that were asked, but as the interrogation was going on John began to get flustered. He was saying, "Bill, just pick one. It's just enchilada sauce. It's red. It's green." Doing his best to answer questions without allowing Bill to offend and annoy the waiter. The two of them were bantering back and forth, and all the while JB was sitting there looking around, hoping that no one he knew was witnessing what appeared to be his two gay dads arguing. Finally, John suggested that the waiter just bring Bill a sample of each of the sauces to expedite the ordering process. Evidently the plan worked. They got their lunch and ate. But Bill continued with the whining about the cost while John told him to calm down. 

According to JB they looked as if they had been married for years (actually they've been good friends for about 25 years, and are comfortable fussing at each other). He's pretty sure someone is going to wonder how he turned out "normal" growing up in such a household. As he told his sisters and me the story he was laughing so hard he was about to cry. I can just imagine the two of them going at it. They are almost like an old Abbott and Costello routine, one of them constantly cutting off the other in mid-sentence to try to make his point and be heard. I've often laughed at their relationship. It's a bit odd, but they've been friends for so long they are comfortable telling each other like it is. And now that it's been pointed out to me that my son has two gay (almost homophobic) dads I may never be able to watch John and Bill together again without a little snicker. The irony is too incredible.

Times TWO

Almost 19 years ago I found out I was going to have twins. The next afternoon I attended a senior class meeting (I was a class sponsor) and listened to all the expenses the students were going to have to deal with over the next few weeks - graduation invitations, caps and gowns, prom tickets, yearbooks. The list seemed to go on and on. I thought to myself, "All this times two! How will we ever do it?" I really had no idea what we were in for. I was only hearing about a few of the expenses of being a senior in high school. My eyes were opened (just a little) for the first time three years ago when JB was going through the process. He was pretty sure where he wanted to go to school and only applied to one or two schools. He didn't re-take any standardized tests to try to get a better score. All in all, he was pretty cheap. And he didn't prepare me for this year at all!

Once again, tonight I was asked for the "college card". The new name for my debit card used to pay the application fees for each college. That card has gotten a workout the past 17 weeks. It's a wonder they don't have the number memorized. Two kids, a minimum of 4 schools each! Plus SAT fees, ACT fees, the fees to send scores to more schools, theatre program application fees, unknown fees. Before I know it we'll be paying dorm reservation fees and freshman orientation fees... Fees, fees, fees! I'm sure there are others I've forgotten about in the past three years. 

Next fall there will be three of them in school. It's a little scary, but I'm so proud of all of them for working hard enough to even have the opportunity to get there. Three out of three have put my poor little card to work in preparation to prepare for their "real" lives. I don't know if they'll make it in the world as an archaeologist or an actor or a nutritionist, but I know they will work had and do their best and be successful in whatever they ultimately decide to do.