Lifeless after nine

It's 8 p.m. in the middle of summer, and the sun begins to descend from the scene.
While most Findlay families have had a leisurely meal, the young kids are showered and reading a delightful book in bed while the parents are snuggling together on the couch by now....the Larmore family is still struggling to sit down and eat a darn meal before it's time for bed. We just didn't get to it; mom was working on her newest piece of jewelry and doing laundry, dad was mowing the lawn and washing the car and the younger sisters are out and about sucking up every moment before school starts. Dinner is never a set time...in fact, nothing happens at a set time around here.
OH, the joys and sorrows of living in a small town with a family that belongs in a place like Brazil; time is always subjective, parties are unorganized and when we say "come over at 7," we won't be eating till 9.
Mom and Dad (well more like Mom, really) say we're "European," that we follow foreign customs as a joke, but I say we're just distracted and sometimes far too social. I mean, they know how to throw one heck of a family party, professional entertainers at heart. But everything is so complicated, so elaborate...contributing to serious delays. They get out their fancy wine glasses with the cute lil wine charms, the labored-over appetizers sit gleaming on table and my dad is going on and on with the men about this and that fancy attachment on his sweet grill.
Don't get me wrong, though; the culture in this small Ohio town isn't quite my cup of tea, either. Let's say you're laying flat on your chair at the neighborhood pool; the music is blaring, the kids are screaming, the water works are flying as the kids weave in and out of the sprays with delight.....but when 5 rolls around, the crowd lifts and the waterside is as vacant as a grazed-over field. You look up from your chair, and you've got the place to yourself. It's no longer "happening" at Lakeview pool because the families had to make their prompt dinner hour. We don't want to turn into pumpkins, now. When the clock strikes 5, it's feeding time.
...Which brings me to my next point. After our usual conclusion of the family meal around...I don't know...I guess it was 8:45 or so? Dad decided we were going to partake in a family custom they seem to have started while I was off studying hundreds of miles away: late-night Dairy Queen. We drive all the way downtown- a good 15 minutes, which in Findlay time is quite a distance. And mind you, it's summertime. But as we drive around the corner, the local DQ decided it's lights out. Did they close early?" I could have sworn those closed at 1o in the summer," my sis piped up. We try Dietz's, the better choice anyway for its local homemade cream. As we coast down mainstreet at nine in the evening, the dead and lifeless town illuminated only by old fashioned street lights, a family accustomed to the big city Charlotte life laughs at the "down-homeness" of this place. Everyone's sleeping? Only in Findlay, we think. But really, it's just how small towns are. But for a group of people so opinionated, loud and "all over the place," it just doesn't seem to work sometimes.
My family is one of the most unorganized I know...but in the end, I wouldn't have it any other way. It's why I've learned not to take things so seriously, why I don't freak out when everything doesn't go just perfectly my way. If a glass breaks, it can be replaced. If something like red wine spills on the carpet, there's no way to go back in time and fix it. They're just possessions, and we're never going to miss them once we're gone.
I'll never be one of those moms who gets the meal on the table at a prompt 5:30 with quiet, perfectly obedient children, but they'll certainly know they're loved and certainly get the best nutrition I can provide them.
But the most ironic part? There's a big "simplify" sign in our kitchen! We're not simple people, but we certainly enjoy ourselves in the end.....just "go with the flow," people. GO WITH THE FLOW.

The Treasures and Timeouts of Sisterhood- Chickspeak.com

August 14, 2009 by Kristin Larmore

Put away the footballs, sports magazines and golf clubs and pull out the makeup, funny nicknames and jewelry.Welcome to the world of sisters.

Believe me, I know what it’s like. I’ve had three of them since I was 12.

So what does it mean to have three sisters? Well, it’s nothing like having one or even two, especially when we’re all living within two miles of each other. It’s three times the confusion, but three times the treasure. It means constant photos, plus reshoots and poses.

The days of daddy begging for us to stand still for a quick click are long gone; in fact, he often wearies of holding that dang thing while we decide where we want the next shot, which is just a hair different from the previous. As the years go by, each new event is deemed “the most photographed event of the year,” even though they all are.

It means jewelry parties with punch and endless purchases where women sit around and model all these silver and gold beaded beauties so they’re tempted enough to buy their own stash.

It means chasing each other around the house with cherry pie filling in hand and wiping it on like war paint.

It means singing and playing one of her favorite songs to her at her wedding reception, but then making her join in halfway through when you’re embarrassed.

It means learning how to relax and share the floor in an estrogen-filled, opinionated room and re-apologizing over and over when we realize we hurt the other’s feelings. Because mother raised us to speak our mind (balanced with a good measure of kindness, of course,) we sure did take that advice and run with it!

No one said it better than my now nine-year-old sister. All four of us were sitting in mom and dad’s car one hot summer day waiting for them to leave a store. My other younger sister and I were engaging in our temporary bicker about something dumb, like we always do, irritating the other two in that claustrophobic excuse for a “spacious vehicle.” The oldest piped in, feeling it was her duty to put us in our place and “shut it already.”

And with the adorable sincerity of a half-bald two-year-old my youngest sister turned around in her car seat and sternly said, “Chill guys, chill.” Somehow, it managed to echo above the loud shouts; suddenly, the fight was forgotten and we laughed till our sides hurt. Like they always say, children can be wise beyond their years.

It continually reminds each of us to remember, to relate, to another’s personal challenges. And the older you get, the harder it is because you forget the younger ones aren’t going to fully understand; they haven’t been where you are. So you patiently wait and when they finally do, you’ve hit your next big phase.

Because of the wide span of ages from 24 to nine, not one of us is experiencing the same stage of life.

There’s the innocence and yet simultaneous hyperactivity of a nine-year-old combined with a struggling sense of self and the longing to belong of a 17-year-old. I constantly need to look back, to recall what it was like when boys were nothing more than “cooties” except in the privacy of your own room and then when Friday night and driving off alone under the city lights was the biggest freedom in the world.

And then there’s the young, but career-oriented and exciting life of a 24-year-old woman, the one my older sister has carved out for herself.

So though I can’t look beyond to the days ahead which promise more rocky phases and a new set of challenges, I envision what’s it’s like to go home to someone every night while planning every week around another’s schedule. That has to be an adjustment!

If I’m with the youngest of the clan, it means brats and Disney movies and letting out the silly that I’ve been holding in while focusing on writing and responsibility. Or even swimming back and forth on a kickboard in my grandparents’ pool counting 71 laps to the Five Dollar Footling song is some good entertainment. (Yes, we actually did that a few weeks ago.)

If I’m with my high school sis, it’s all about the boys, the clothes, the parties and head-bopping to rap music. With an older sister, it’s talking about the future, serious relationships and learning from past experiences. It’s bouncing ideas off of one another and being black-and-white honest with advice.

Customizing your thought process and even your mood is often a crucial part of switching from sibling to sibling.

Let me tell you it’s far from easy, especially when your typical thought process is almost night and day compared to the others, a young woman just out of college without a job in a new town.

But the hardest part is when we all hang out together, a clashing and confusing melding, if you will, of all these personalities literally rolled into one.

Well, at least when someone suggested we take pictures laying in the grass before dinner a few weeks ago, which turned into somewhat of a wrestling situation. It started as formal posing, maybe just cute Christmas card material, but resulted in joking and organized, pyramid-style silliness. What an opportunity for my dad to grab some candid shots.

These are the memories that will live in your heart forever, this one marking the first time the whole family spent an evening at my sister and brother-in-law’s new house…..I swear that wrestling picture will make it into the Christmas card if I have anything to say about it!

So what does it mean to be a sister? It’s everything all in one. It’s understanding; it’s willingness to let someone else have the spotlight; it’s patience and self-analysis; it’s constantly reaching for that unconditional love.

Kristin Larmore is a Journalism graduate. She recently rejoined the sister clan after college, now living with her two younger sisters Brittany and Hayleigh, her older, married sister Allyson a mile or so down the road. She hopes to always live close to them, though living apart is something she expects with change. She enjoys going to the gym with Brittany, playing Mario Kart Wii with Hayleigh and indulging in wine tastings and sushi with Allyson.

Dirty Vegetables: the only way to go

I've never been able to grow my own carrots, mostly because my parent's backyard has no sun and all that will emerge is tomatoes and sometimes a kirby cucumber or two. But the inner workings of my best friend's father's and uncle's vegetable gardens in North Carolina have taught me it's quite simple, really. They're farmers, you see. And they enjoy sharing their crop, especially with someone who appreciates the process as I do. I transported this small crop of dirty carrots all the way to Ohio from my college town in Boone. My friend kind of scrunched her nose at them sort of as an "apology" for the filth, but that's just it. The dirt is a good thing. It means it came from the ground....straight from the ground. You can get these 4094's (bunch carrots) at the grocery with the leaves still on, but there's still no comparison. They're not as sweet as I was expecting; still wonderful, but NOTHING like a pre-washed baby carrot. My dog Riley and I (or the family dog I should say) cut off the stems outside on the porch. She didn't think they looked too appetizing...oh well, more for me!











And then I washed all the grime off with some nice cold water...sure the dirt is great, but not to eat, people! So it's my plan.......to start my own vegetable garden and grow my own carrots (along with peppers, green beans, maybe some brocilli) to not only help the environment, but to be as natural as I can be without going completely organic....I'll admit I don't have the money as a poor, out-of-college "student" to buy everything that way! I'm sure an apple or cherry tree would help, too. There's the second part of the plan!