|
To
Sign Up
for the
E.N.
Travel
or
E.N.Magazine
Newsletters
Please CLICK
HERE
!
Personal
Stories
& Poems
(both
Inspirational,
Humorous & some straight
from the Heart)
For
more Personal Stories &
Poems "CLICK
HERE"
by
Callie Gross
To
Carolyn Louise,
You are my first born
child. I love you more
than anyone alive. Always
have. When you were born
you were all mine. You
were the most precious
thing to me. You were just
the right size. So little
and depending on me. I
surely didn't think I had
it in me to take care of
you or surely not to raise
a daughter so smart and
perfect as you are.
God
has surely blessed me in
this lifetime. I lived my
life because of you. You
kids were my life. I knew
no other. I always wanted
the best for you. And I
tried really hard to get
you that. Maybe I failed
in some ways because we
never did get rich in
money. But we are a family
wealthy in love. I think
there is no family I know
who sticks together as we
do. They stray apart and
live their own lives
forgetting who really
cares most.
Even
thought I have brought you
all up to be individuals,
we as a family still stay
strong. You were the
leader of the pack the
rest followed you in life.
Even though they have
strayed some you have been
a major influence and a
cause for jealousy as your
life is so much more on
track. But they will
follow you and overcome difficulties
as you have. You are an
excellent example to
follow. As an adult you
have proven yourself to be
a fine human being and
mother and wife and I am
so proud of you.
When
you were getting ready to
go to the military I was
very proud that my
daughter was doing better
things than I could do. It
almost killed me though.
To let you go was the
hardest thing ever. I
couldn't make you stay. I
had to let go of the baby
bird and let her fly. That
I guess was the end of the
life I had known. I cried
myself to sleep every
night and woke up crying I
broke down crying at any
given moment. I felt like
my life was over. I hated
your Dad for allowing you
to go. I messed up a lot
after you left me.
By
Fall I needed to find out
who I was going to be now.
Now that I wasn't
Carolyn's Mother. I think
I have finally figured
out. Even though you don't
need me in the way you did
when you were growing up
you still have a need of
me. You're never too old
to need your mother. I
seen that the other day
when you went to crying
over that song. I seen
that you still needed me
ant that I'm not in your
way at all like I though.
I love you so much and yes
I wish you were still my
little girl but life goes
on and I just have to
accept that.. I have
raised a very fine
beautiful woman and I'm a
very proud mom.
©
2006 Callie Gross
Back
to Top
The
Room
by:
Kenan Bresnan
Yesterday
Rita and I tackled the
“room.”
It was our fourth
time doing this.
It is always a good
feeling when it is done, a
nostalgic feeling while you
are doing it and a dreaded
task when you are
contemplating it.
Rita
and I have four children and
our youngest, Conor left for
the University of Iowa three
weeks ago.
He took with him all
our hopes and dreams for his
future.
He left us with
eighteen years worth toys,
souvenirs, pictures,
magazines, collectibles,
books and too small
underwear; plus a high
amount of just plain dirt.
Being a normal high
school boy, for four years
he deposited all of his
clothes on the floor of his
room.
He shoved stuff in
his closet till it
overflowed and one was
scared to open the doors.
And most of all he
resisted any efforts from
his parents or oldest sister
to clean the room or
organize his various
collections into some type
of order.
Rita
and I had been kidding his
relatives and the neighbors
that we had purchased HazMat
outfits for the occasion.
Now that we are
finished I wish that we had.
Three of our four
children could be classified
as All American slobs, so
this was not a new
experience for us.
I will take a minute
to point out that our oldest
is not like the other three.
When we went into her
room all we had to do was a
light dusting and turn out
the lights.
All of her things
were organized by function,
by size, by color, and
alphabetically when the
Dewey decimal system was
insufficient.
Quite
appropriately it was Labor
Day when I started into the
“room” at about 7:30 in
the morning.
I had finished
pulling everything out of
the closet when Mrs. Clean,
the wife, waded in.
Our first task was to
clean the closet, which
consumed three rags and 1/5
bottle of Pine Sol with a
dash of oven cleaner mixed
in.
I took the plastic
shelving unit out to the
driveway and hooked up the
power sprayer and removed
several layers of grime in
order to get it back to its
natural color. Once that was
replaced, we had to decide
which items would be stored
in the closet.
That is when the
memories started flowing.
First were about five
childhood games, two of
which had been passed down
from oldest to the next to
the next to him. We had to
stop and chat about who
played which game or the
times that we all played
this particular game.
Then
came the baseball cards, one
of his earliest fixations.
We remembered how he
use to take his little bike
down to the town square to
the Squires Shop, a men’s
clothing store that had a
baseball card counter. It wasn’t long before he was on a first name basis with the
owner.
He had the catalogues
and thought out his
purchases.
He still has all of
them with the exception of
one rookie card that he sold
for $280 over eBay.
We dusted the boxes
and put them on the shelves.
Next
we waded through the stack
of World Wrestling
Federation magazines.
Somewhere between
fourth and sixth grade
several of his buddies
developed an all-consuming
fascination with this excuse
for a sport.
He had a huge supply
of the magazines and we
discovered four old VCR
tapes of Wrestle Mania
Unlimited Super Ass Whipping
Number 465.
What really lit up
our spirits was when we
found a series of about
thirty file folders that he
had made up to follow this
sport.
He had names, events
and results separated into
separate folders.
I had to stop as I
looked at these folders for
a few minutes to as I
remembered the couple of
times I took him and his
friends to a theater in Des
Moines for pay per view
wrestling events.
They loved it; I was
bored out of my mind.
Rita
discovered a couple of
bulging folders from his
middle school mock trial
adventures.
As we looked though
the different cases, the
research, the briefs and the
exhibits our minds drifted
back to his opening and
closing arguments, his
interrogations, and the
sheer fun he had doing that
with some of his classmates.
Naturally I
remembered the fact that I
had to put out good money
for a sports coat that he
wore three times for these
competitions and then
promptly outgrew. Back then
we had started to prepare
ourselves for the possible
embarrassment of someday
having an attorney in the
family.
We
had filled one large Wal-mart
plastic container with odd
stuff so it went on the top
shelf.
Next came the rolled
and folded items.
Our son has developed
quite affection for movies
so his walls are plastered
with movie posters.
Needless to say, he
has more posters than walls
so we rolled and rubber
banded several and put them
on the top shelf. Next came
the folded flags.
In seventh and eight
grades Conor was consumed by
geography so relatives
showered him on birthdays
and Christmases with the
flags of foreign counties.
Folding those took
Rita and I back to the two
trips he made to the
national Geography Bee in
Washington D.C.
We had to get a cup
of coffee and remind each
other of tales from those
trips. As we looked around
the room we could see the
collage of state buttons
from the National Bee that
his aunt made for him, we
looked at the box of photos
of the trip and gingerly
perused the programs from
the competition.
I
do believe it was about this
time, that Rita finally got
the windows open and the
screens down so that for the
first time in six years
fresh air circulated
throughout that room.
He had moral
objections to opening
windows.
Next
came the major bookshelf
that contained all of the
Star Wars Soda Pop
collectible cans and
bottles.
He is a premier Star
Wars fan and when the second
trilogy of movies started to
come out he decided that
certain things would be good
investments.
The Star Wars pop can
idea was great at the time,
but over the course of the
second half of the trilogy,
some sprung leaks and we had
quite a mess on the bottom
shelf and on the carpet.
Now please don’t
judge us too harshly on
this.
If we could have
found the carpet under his
clothes, we probably would
have seen the spill. The
cans complimented the fifty
or so star wars characters
still in their plastic
containers that are push
pinned to the wall.
We will have to see
how his investment turns
out. The top shelf had
miniatures from different
vacations that he and we had
taken, so we got to linger
over them and relive
highlights of all of those
trips.
Next
was the other bookshelf that
had actual books.
There were geography
references, Star Wars books,
two books that belonged to
the Indianola High School
library (which were promptly
delivered to the neighbor
girl to return anonymously
for us,) a dash of Hannibal
Lector and his seven
Wildlife Fact file binders.
This was probably his
first obsession and the one
he is most noted for.
His room was still
full of statues of animals,
an animal bedspread, and a
wallpaper border dedicated
to the beasts of the jungle.
Somewhere years ago Rita and
I saw where you could get
wildlife fact sheets sent to
your kid every month for
only $4.95 each month. As we
were attempting to be good
parents we went for it.
This was just at the
time that Conor was
developing his reading
skills. This went on for a
couple of years.
One day his oldest
brother and a few of his
friends were looking at the
binders and one mentioned a
particular animal.
“Page 123,” Conor
responded.
They where shocked
when they discovered he was
right.
They started quizzing
him on different animals and
were amazed that he knew the
page for each.
One can only imagine
how many hours he must have
poured over those binders to
be able to do that.
Needless to say he is
a legend among his oldest
brother’s high school
friends.
Memory
lane came to a dead end and
reality set in.
We had been meaning
to remove the carpet in his
room since the Reagan
administration but had never
gotten around to it.
We paid for that
delay.
It was the filthiest
thing that I have torn up or
carried out to the garbage
in my life.
I had grave doubts
that the garbage guys would
take it.
Once we got that
chore done we busted our
backs and bruised our knees
by spending an hour taking
up carpeting nails and
staples, then Rita went over
the floors with a vacuum and
several types of detergent.
After
I took a bath with vigorous
scrubbing and a long time
soaking, I made it back to
the now cleaned room. Rita was there and I could see that her thoughts were the
same as mine.
One chunk of memories
from the first 18 years of
our youngest life brought a
tear and many thoughts of
the rest of his life brought
a smile. Our parting thought
was that this was one clean
but empty room.
We will take the
messy lived in room over the
clean room anytime.
©
2006 Kenan Bresnan Kreasan@mchsi.com
Back
to Top
WORKING MOMS
By: Kathy Whirity
Who works harder, a working
mom or a stay at home mom?
What if the stay at home mom
also happens to make a
living by taking care of
children for career moms?
The debate is as about as
long running as the fight
women have fought to gain
their independence in the
working world.
The answer may vary greatly
depending on who you talk
to.
Stay at home moms, who make
a living by caring for
working moms' children, may
seem to be a little envious
of the freedom their
counterparts seem to have.
Career moms drop off the
kids and head for the train.
For the rest of the day they
will they will enjoy nothing
but adult conversations and
have the ability to actually
carry out a thought without
the constant chatter of
toddlers that have learned
to equate tantrums with
attention.
Working moms, on the other
hand, have their own visions
of what a luxury it must be
to stay home. These busy
moms pluck their babies from
their warm, comfortable
cribs with some regret.
Though the sun is barely up
they have a schedule to
keep.
At the baby sitter's, her
child will settle in to what
has become a second home.
And as she hurries to catch
her train, the career mom is
just a wee bit envious that
someone else will be
receiving the hugs she'll
only wish for.
Both are working moms,
dedicated to their specialty
just the same.
The other day I overheard a
comment by a career mom that
baby sitting is not a 'real'
job. I found that statement
to be a little bit amusing
and so very far from the
truth.
Not everyone has the
maternal gift to lovingly
nurture and care for someone
else's children.
Having the ability to calm
little one's fears, cheer a
toddler's independent first
steps, or rock a cranky baby
to sleep are all attributes
of a childcare provider.
Sometimes these women find
themselves pitted against
each other.
Stay at home moms who baby
sit vs working moms with
careers.
Each side views the other a
little differently.
The job of care giver is not
all baking cookies and story
time. The feeling of
claustrophobia can sometimes
overwhelm a a mom who is
surrounded by the calamity
of children, day in and day
out.
And, likewise, spending a
few hours each day commuting
by train is not the luxury a
homebound mom might think it
is.
The reality of rushing to
meet deadlines, while being
accountable to a boss,
leaves little time for the
glorious misconception that
career moms indulge in
enchanting work days.
Whose job is more valuable?
The jury is still out on
that one.
But, if you look at it
realistically, both sides
need each other to
accomplish the goal of a job
well done--whatever that job
may be.
©
2005 Kathy Whirity
kathywhirity@yahoo.com
Bio: Kathy Whirity
lives in Chicago where she
shares her life and love
with her husband of 28
years, Bill, their two
daughters, Jaime and Katie,
and two rambunctious
retrievers, Holly and
Hannah. Kathy is a
newspaper columnist who
writes sentimental musings
on family life. Kathy would
love to hear from you. You
may reach her by e-mail
kathywhirity@yahoo.com Back
to Top
|
|
THE WEDDING DRESS
By: Kathy Whirity
When a mother dreams of her
daughter's wedding day she
has visions of the flowing
white gown and a beautiful
bouquet. She pictures her
husband, the father of the
bride, walking their
daughter down the aisle, arm
in arm while tears of
happiness blur her view.
Never in those days of
anticipating her daughter's
Cinderella day did she once
think about something
equally important - the
shopping for the wedding
dress.
But, as the mother of the
bride soon learns there are
many tedious steps that need
to be taken before the
glorious event of walking
down the aisle.
As a newcomer to the bridal
scene I pretty much thought
that if you've seen one
white wedding dress you've
pretty much seen them all.
Did I not learn anything
from the past experience of
shopping for Prom gowns?
This, I was to learn, would
be an experience like no
other.
The hangers each held a
variety of styles. There
were the poofy-foo-foo
dresses with yards and yards
of material. There were
A-lines, straight lines and
mermaid styles for the
slimmest of the slim.
Organza, tulle, satin, silk
and lace were just the tip
of the fashion fabric
iceberg.
Patiently, I sat and watched
as my darling daughter
modeled a medley of gorgeous
gowns, one prettier than the
next.
Any one of them could have
been the perfect one.
Whether fancy lace or simple
satin - they all looked
flawless on her petite size
6 frame.
Fear of commitment seemed to
be what spurned her on to
visit other bridal salons.
It wasn't too long ago I had
been in a similar situation,
but that was senior prom and
I thought that was cause for
an ultimate Tylenol moment!
I can tell you now that
shopping for a prom gown
pales in comparison, and
rightly so. This is a big
day; one that will not only
live on as a memory in our
hearts but that will also
live forever on the wall in
the form of a framed
photograph of this merry
milestone in all our lives.
So, it was, with minimal
complaint from me, that we
searched and searched some
more.
I was becoming quite good at
going with the flow and I
began to enjoy the outings.
Oohing and ahhing became as
natural as breathing as my
daughter modeled these
fantasy gowns before me.
Finally she had it narrowed
down to three. All were
similar in style, all looked
stunning and beautiful but
still no commitment from the
bride to be.
I was now in the 'going with
the flow' mode and knew she
would eventually find what
she was looking for.
And, it did indeed happen,
quite by chance. Browsing
through a salon she chose a
dress from the rack that I
wouldn't have guessed she'd
take a second look at.
Her decision to try it on
would change the course of
our shopping adventures. It
would also signal the
beginning of the wedding
planning.
No sooner had she slipped
into this creative vision of
splendor and we both knew
this was thee dress for her.
There was my little girl,
standing there in a white
wedding gown; a white
wedding veil with tiny
sparkles of crystal and
bugle beads trimming the
edges that softly caressed
her shoulders.
The sight brought tears to
my eyes.
The message hit home as I
watched her gracefully step
in front of the long triple
wide mirrors.
My baby girl is getting
married! There is no turning
back only going forward,
toward a new life with the
man she loves.
Time is flying by so fast!
We've reserved the church,
we have the reception hall,
the DJ has been booked and
the photographer has been
hired.
And as the date draws ever
near I know the hardest part
for me will be accepting
that my little girl will be
leaving home to make her own
home and family with the man
she will soon marry.
For her, finding the perfect
wedding dress signals the
excitement of new
beginnings.
For me this a lesson in
learning to let go, slowly
and gracefully as the sound
of wedding bells ring out in
her not so distant future.
©
2005 Kathy Whirity
kathywhirity@yahoo.com
Bio: Kathy Whirity
lives in Chicago where she
shares her life and love
with her husband of 28
years, Bill, their two
daughters, Jaime and Katie,
and two rambunctious
retrievers, Holly and
Hannah. Kathy is a
newspaper columnist who
writes sentimental musings
on family life. Kathy would
love to hear from you. You
may reach her by e-mail
kathywhirity@yahoo.com
Back to Top |
A Soldier’s Tale…
By:
Georgia Nelson
Everything I read, all
advice I get tells me I am
suffering from Empty Nest
syndrome. When that time
finally comes and all the
kids have left home. I have
volumes about how this is a
joyous time, time for me,
time to nurture myself, time
to move on. So why is it so
hard? I’m not alone – I have
a whole chat group devoted
to mother’s feelings of loss
and emptiness. I subscribe
to a newsletter for Empty
Nesters. I try to buy into
the whole idea – OK new
phase of my life – time to
go back to school, take art
classes, travel, Those
things fill up the time and
space but don’t make me feel
any better about the
situation. I feel so stupid
– I don’t want to make a big
deal out of it – I have
faced so many obstacles in
my life – this is just
another hill to take –
right?
I have come to the
conclusion that I am not
suffering from Empty Nest
but rather Post Traumatic
Stress. I am a soldier home
from the war. When I became
a Single Mother of two,
urban working class poor
holding down two jobs to
make ends meet, I became a
soldier and the war I fought
was to keep us all afloat
until things got better. I
fought brave battles, making
sure we had a roof over our
heads, a warm bed, food on
the table, as well as
nurturing the spirit –
birthday parties, Christmas
mornings, soccer games, boy
scouts, hiding illness and
shame from my boys little
blue and green eyes.
Now I am battle scared but
victorious from the war. I
fought my battles well and
have raised two extremely
awesome young men – I did my
job well and their successes
& independence are my medals
of honor. So what does a
soldier do when the war is
over?
I band together with other
victorious mothers – we are
members of a sisterhood That
crosses all lines. Our
support groups over coffee
and tea are my therapy. That
is why Empty Nest Mom’s cry
so much – because there was
no time to cry during the
war.
I’m making up for twenty
years of tears. I’ve been
discharged from the urban
military core of single
working moms – I’m happy but
I miss the battles just the
same.
Its not Empty Nest – its
Post Traumatic Stress. Back
to Top
|
The Dichotomy
By:
Tracy Steffa
Dichotomy: 1. separation of
different or contradictory
things: a separation into
two divisions that differ
widely from, or contradict
each other.
I took my only biological
child, Lindee to Colorado
State University on August
18, 2005. It struck me how
differently we understood
her transition to college
life to be.
I felt like I was losing my
only child. She felt like
wanted to be on her own.
I felt anxious about her
academic performance. She
reassured me that she did
fine in high school, while
she worked and was the photo
editor of the newspaper.
I feel worried about I how
am going to pay for school.
She told me that she can
always get student loans and
I can help her pay them back
after graduation.
I suspect that she will not
make good decisions about
drugs, alcohol and sex. She
felt like she was prepared
to deal with everything on
her own, including her own
adult choices and the
repercussions.
I feel like she won’t take
care of her self and get
sick, injured or become a
victim of a crime. She tells
me that it hasn’t happened
yet, why worry so much!
I feel a sad loss that we
will never be as close as we
are right now. She assures
me that although we are
close, it is time for her to
have different relationships
with different people.
I didn’t expect to have
these anxious feelings, but
her divergent opinions about
my fears kind of made me
feel worse. They also made
me feel like she has the
solid foundation to become
what ever she wants. It is
the beginning of the end in
my parenting life.
I am planning on going to
Cuernavaca, Mexico to study
in a Spanish immersion
program for three months in
early 2006 as a way of
enriching my career as a
state probation officer and
expanding my horizons.
Slowly but surely, I will
work down my top ten list of
things to do before I die.
Back
to Top |
Saying
Goodbye to Summer
By: Kathy Whirity
How can it be almost over
when it seems like it's
barely begun? As the old
saying goes: 'All good
things must come to an end'
and summer is no exception.
Our summer calendars had
been filled with graduation
parties, baseball games,
backyard barbecues and pool
parties. These joy filled
events are beginning to wind
down and soon we'll be
filling our September
calendars with dates for
chaperoning school
activities and adhering to
the more rigid schedules
that fall brings our way.
These dog days of summer are
finding me in a bit of a
melancholy mood. As the heat
continues to be an issue my
heart happens to be melting
with memories of summer's
sweet song of yesterday.
On a faraway street corner,
many , many years ago stood
a lemonade stand that held
the promise of making lots
of money for two
enthusiastic best friends.
This memory is brought alive
as I see today's mommies
spending no less than ten
bucks on ingredients so
their little entrepreneurs
can shout ~ ' LEMONADE - 10
CENTS A GLASS!!'
The smell of backyard
barbecues always bring to
mind the memory of my dad
attempting to grill
hamburgers. We'd jump for
joy even though we knew the
hamburgers and hot dogs
would be so well past done
they'd be well on their way
to burnt.
Now it is my dear hubby who
likes to play weekend chef.
It is his turn to burn the
burgers while leaving a
happy memory of family time
for our kids to recall in
years to come.
Many years from now the
smell of freshly cut grass
will bring the same aroma
therapy of youth to our
children as it does to us,
their aging parents.
Back in the summer of our
youth every boy's bike had a
baseball mitt hanging from
the handle bars. On hot
muggy nights moms and dads
visited with neighbors on
front porches while kids
shared in the joy of
catching lightening bugs in
Mason jars.
These were the best of
times. We never worried
about things like the ozone.
These days little ones
almost need the protection
of SPF 60 just to play
outside.
I remember going to the
drive in as a family. What
an adventure! Looking back,
I wonder how my brothers,
sister and I all fit in the
back of my father's old
Edsel, but we did.
These days of summer are
definitely different from
the days that I remember.
But, there are similarities
- like the laughter of
children enjoying the
summers of their childhoods
that can spark in our
youthful hearts, our own mid
summer's memories.
Good bye summer till next
time, when the beautiful
rays of sunshine will once
again warm our happy hearts
while leading us to the
bliss of new beginnings.
©
2005 Kathy Whirity
kathywhirity@yahoo.com
Bio: Kathy Whirity
lives in Chicago where she
shares her life and love
with her husband of 28
years, Bill, their two
daughters, Jaime and Katie,
and two rambunctious
retrievers, Holly and
Hannah. Kathy is a
newspaper columnist who
writes sentimental musings
on family life. Kathy would
love to hear from you. You
may reach her by e-mail
kathywhirity@yahoo.com
Back
to Top |
Mother's Apron Strings
By: Eva Marie Stover
I've worn my apron proudly
As a mother, if you please.
Though it's somewhat torn
and tattered,
It still holds fond memories
Of a mother's heart, a
mother's love
For her children dear.
Yes this apron tells a story
That only God can hear.
Child, now that you are
married
With a family of your own,
Never forget your mother's
love;
It can never be outgrown.
Yes, never forget your
mother's love.
Now fly and spread your
wings.
Look closely at her apron,
For love had cut its
strings.
Back
to Top
For
more Personal Stories &
Poems "CLICK
HERE"
|
Do you have
something that stands out in
your mind? Maybe a really
great trip with the
family / kids / husband or
friend? A certain time of
your life that might have
had an impact on you. Maybe
you know of someone who has
touched your life in some
way? Please feel free to
submit a "Personal" story of
your own to:
emptynestmomsite@bellsouth.net
with "Personal Story" in the
subject line. We'd love to
read it!
 |
