Wilson Post Blogs

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

My children have very different personalities. The oldest is kind, considerate, extremely unorganized and forgiving to a fault. Some of these traits he inherited from his mama. The youngest is cautious, focused, type A and if he’s wronged, he holds a grudge.

Proof of this was when he played baseball a couple of years ago.  A little boy from an opposing team ran on the field.  My child turned to me and said, “That’s the boy who took the ball away from me when I played soccer!”

He then walked past the kid, stared him down and gave him the universal sign for, “I’m watching you.”

This may not seem like a big deal ifJacksonwasn’t referring to the one season he played soccer when he was 3!

He inherited these traits, especially the grudge thing, from his dad. My husband still talks about a friend from elementary school who tore his Bo Derek poster, and even though he hasn’t seen this person in more than 30 years he insists that kid should be punished.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

If you were to look in Webster’s Dictionary for the definition of the word despondent you would find the following:

Des-pon-dent (adjective) - a feeling or showing of extreme discouragement, dejection or depression.

If you were to look even closer, under the word, you would also find a picture of Brody.

It started innocently on Monday morning when we were all rushing out the door to work and school. And we heard him call out, “Has anybody seen my phone?”

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

I’ve been cheating on Angel. And by cheating, I mean working on call for a Nashville news station. From the beginning, she thought it was a bad idea.

“Where is the station?”

“Nashville.”

“As in Davidson County? Can you work from home?”

“No. I can’t work from home. It’ll be okay. I’ll train and if I can’t break away from work here, I don’t have to go in.”

When the training started, so did the complaining...from my husband and Angel. For two people who don’t like to text, I received more typed messages from them than that of two 13-year-olds.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

If you are a religious person, then you’ve probably heard of Hell.

All religions have their version of this place and all cultures describe it a little differently. But at its core, Hell is the most horrible place one can imagine. It’s hot, suffocating, filled to capacity and in this horror you will anguish for eternity.

In other words, Hell is our local DMV.

That’s right, who would have ever imagined, this place we’ve all read about and studied is located right here amongst us? But I kid you not, take a left off 231 South onto Maddox Simpson Parkway and you’ve arrived.

So we got there around 11:30.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

There seems to be an epidemic going around. It’s an epidemic that involves our children. I noticed something off in my own household a few years ago during a school break. After a few days of hanging out at home I was going stir crazy. When I suggested we go to a movie or ‘ANYTHING you want to do’ their response was confusing.

“We don’t wanna go anywhere.”

“Are you sure?  We can do whatever you want. What about the batting cages? Or Target? Chuck E. Cheese?”  I was desperate. There’s only one mouse I hate more than the one who resides at the happiest place on earth and his name is ‘Chuck E. Cheese’. The unsupervised children, the ‘prizes’, the bacterium filled pool of filth or ‘ball pit’, it was more than I cared to experience, but I was determined to get the kids out of the house.

“We just want to stay home.”

Who were these kids? When I was growing up and the opportunity to leave the house arose, it was a death race between my brothers and sisters to see who could get to the car first and win the coveted front seat.

By Angel Kane
Wilson Living Magazine

One Thousand Three Hundred Twenty Hours...(this is how long my kids have been out of school.)

One Hundred Sixty Eight Hours…(until peace is restored to my life!)

The countdown has begun in the Kane household and Brody and I are thrilled, thrilled, thrilled that in one short week, our lovely, adorable children will be back in school.

Don’t get me wrong, who doesn’t love driving kids around all day long between work, tennis camp, soccer camp, art camp, Wendy’s and the pool?

But all good things come to an end and the end, my friends, is in sight!

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

The first words out of Neill’s mouth when we hit the beach were, “Nikoli, do you want to dig a hole?”

And so it went for a solid week. Each morning my youngest would rise and his day would go something like this.

Get up whenever he naturally awoke.

Breakfast was served to the little master. His only decision being, would it be Cocoa Puffs or eggs and bacon?

Decisions, decisions.

Immediately thereafter, he would put on his swim trunks and grab a newly washed and dried beach towel and would race out the door to the beach.

There he would find waiting, just for him… chairs, umbrella, pale, shovel, kite and a boogie board. Together with his friends he’d spend hours and hours… digging a hole, running into the surf, catching a few waves and then back to… digging a hole.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

There is something very scary about the crossover from 12 years old into “teenage land.”  Not for the child – ahem – young man of course. He’s elated. Even though this new milestone has very little impact on anything in his life as far as rules for bedtime and social schedule goes. Besides the number itself, the only noticeable change is the tone in his voice and facial expressions when me or his dad talk to him about… ANYTHING.  In the span of one year, it seems this oldest child of mine has inherited the entire world’s wisdom.

Our conversations as of late go something like this:

Mom: “Turn the TV down; I could hear it when I pulled into the garage.”

Teenager: no response. In fact, I don’t think he even notices me standing beside him.

Mom: “Hey! Turn the television down!” This startles him.

Teenager: “Alright! You don’t have to yell at me! It was this loud when I turned it on. Why do you blame me for everything?” This is always followed with a very exaggerated eye roll.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

So the call came in about 8:30 Tuesday morning. Our storage unit had been broken into.

When Brody called me from the unit, I could hear the anger in his voice.

“Nothing is missing! They took nothing! Do you believe that? But they broke my $20.00 lock. That just ticks me off!”

“Are you sure? Everything is there? My two sofas are there? My brown velvet pillows, my glass end table with the scratch, the set of plates I had in college, what about my Santa painting?”

“It’s all here. Even the thieves don’t want your stuff!” (Still angry)

My stuff has been a source of contention for many years. It’s not that I am a hoarder, by any means. It’s more like I’m a collector of...stuff.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine 

The day started off as a big fat lie. My sister Christy visiting from Portland, Oregon had come to town and together we decided to take my children for a relaxing day by the pool. She didn’t know any better. She can’t be held responsible for agreeing that this day would be anything less than heavenly. I, on the other hand, should have known from experience that taking my boys anywhere while they are in the midst of summertime boredom (just 7 short days after a stay at the beach) was a recipe for disaster or at the very least a recipe for a fight.

When we mentioned going swimming both said something along the lines of, “Um. I’m not sure I want to go. Can we just stay home and you guys watch me make it to the next level Dragon Ball Z Bootikai Tenkaiechi 3? That would be better.”  When Christy calmly explained that there was no way she was going to watch them play a video game that she couldn’t even pronounce when she could be soaking in a heavy dose of vitamin D on this reprieve from the northwest, they obliged to shut her up.

By Angel Kane
Wilson Living Magazine

I have a theory...

Mean little girls grow up to be mean Mamas that spawn more little mean girls.

In the case of mean girls – nature supersedes nurture most every time.

In fact, I truly believe when scientists crack the  gene code they will find a mean girl supergene and when they peer closely into their microscopes, the markings of this gene will be the overly made up face of a 5^th grade mean girl.  She will be smiling back at them with that mean girl smile – sans braces, of course, because her mean girl Mama made sure her braces went on in 2nd grade to insure she would be prime boyfriend material by 4th grade.

If my description makes you cringe a little on the inside – then you know of what I speak - for one reason …or maybe another.

I have another theory...

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine 

It’s the end of another school year and that means my children (and probably yours) will repeat the same 4 phrases throughout the summer.

1. I’m bored.
2. Can we have a sleepover?
3. I didn’t do it.
4. There’s nothing to do around here!

And we parents will find ourselves also repeating the same chain of responses to our brood.

1. Clean your room or mow the lawn.
2. Someday when you get older and have children of your own, you’ll realize sleepovers are stupid. This usually occurs to you when your oldest child is 9 or 10.
3. Give me your phone, iPod, DS etc. Maybe you’ll think before you talk back next time.
4. I can’t wait for school to start.

Of course by preparing myself for the summer with the kids I often forget to relish these days. Eventually school will start and they will grow another year and we’ll be lost in the day to day of academia and fall sports. It won’t be long before we’ll all be thinking, ‘I can’t wait until fall break, Christmas break, spring break’.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine 

So for the last few weeks I’ve been in a funk, thanks to a new addition to our menagerie.

It started about a month ago when I woke to constant banging. For days I could not find the source until I happened upon the dining room window. There, outside, was a beautiful, red cardinal perched on the windowsill looking in.

The cardinal immediately reminded me of an article I had read. In this article, the writer had felt that the red cardinal, which had recently appeared at her window, was her guardian angel during some trying times.

How neat, I thought, I have my own guardian angel, too. So as I turned around to leave, I was horrified when I heard BANG, BANG, BANG!!!

I quickly turned back to watch my guardian angel flying as fast as he could into the window, over and over and …over again.

Figures…my guardian angel would be completely deranged!!

While my favorite places to shop are thrift stores, vintage clothing stores and goodwill, I love browsing the designer section of department stores. No, I’m not in the market for a $700 blouse. Not long ago I was in designer apparel when a new sales girl approached. The reason I know she was new is because most of the folks who work at this particular store know it’s a complete waste of time to try and sell me anything. Before I could say, “No. Not looking for anything specific. Just browsing” She started the pitch.

“Isn’t this classic? The lines are amazing. I could totally see you in this. Everyone needs to have 2 C’s in their closet.”

“It is beautiful. I keep my college transcripts in my closet so I have WAY more than 2 C’s.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. I started to believe she was right. Sure there is no way I could afford this frock but she didn’t know that for a fact. I could be the big sale she’d been hoping for all week. Who’s to say I couldn’t buy it to prove a point then return it the next day… pending she’s off work. 

“I’m kidding. What were you saying about the dress? I do love it but not sure where I could wear it.”

“Are you kidding? You could wear this anywhere; a date with your husband, girl’s night out, wedding, work, church. The possibilities are endless.”

I love shopping for bathing suits. I love it like a cat loves a bath, like a 2 year old loves naptime or like my husband loves complete strangers giving him hugs. The very process of finding that perfect suit is poetic. There are many things to consider before purchasing a piece of material so small even the larger ones would be considered indecent in some countries. There’s the print, the color, the amount of medication you will need to feel comfortable wearing that thing in public.

Not only does it cling, it’s tiny too. I’m not talking about just the bikini. Those became a thing of the past after having my first child. Since then my tummy has more closely resembled a deflated balloon with a sad face for a belly button. And this is why I opt for a one piece, but even those don’t hide the parts I think they should.

Besides religion, politics and sex there’s one more hot button issue that should be added to that list of taboo topics never discussed in mixed company. Not war. Not equal pay. Not even the latest shocking elimination on Dancing with the Stars. Nope, it’s breastfeeding. I understand that because this word actually includes part of the female anatomy some would argue it falls under the ‘sex’ category but trust me it’s shouldn’t.

When my oldest child was born, I had every intention of doing things the ‘right’ way. No television, strict feeding and sleeping schedule, classical music piped in the nursery daily, cloth diapers and because all the books and medical research proved that breastfeeding would make my little genius even smarter and healthier, I would breastfeed for at least a year. After six months and 6 brand new razor sharp teeth emerged, I decided to quit.