Clinton Township Newsletter

1 M a y 2 0 1 6 May 2016 May 2016 Jie Fly, Edit Jie Fly, Edit Since 1982 This Mother's Day column – from May of 2011 – was one of the best received columns I've ever written and, since I'm at deadline with no column but lots of writer's block (or Spring Fever?), I'm re-running it. " M o t h e r s h o l d t h e i r children's hands for a short while, but their hearts forever." – Unknown This Mother's Day is especially poignant for me, since it's my last one with a full nest. Approximately 18* years ago, with the birth of our first child, I became an official mother – truly a baptism by fire. Our newborn wasn't eager to enter this world – he had to be coaxed into it with the help of Pitossin, Demerol, Morphine and emergency surgery. He burst into his new life completely blue, hands and feet constricted as if planning an attack, and screaming bloody murder. After a somewhat mellow couple of days in the hospital, we brought him home and he proceeded to scream for the next three months. "What an unhappy little creature I've given birth to." I'd think to myself, during my few brief periods of clarity. Magically, he became a very happy child, and all signs of his previous misery vanished. A couple of years later we moved to Clinton Township (from Madison) and he started kindergarten at Spruce Run. The memory of his classmates and their parents in those early years are etched in my mind as clearly as yesterday – actually, clearer than yesterday. Now all of those children – the class of 2011 – are men and women, and eager to move on to college and adulthood.** We parents run into each other in town and say things like "I can't believe we've gotten to this point..." and "Wasn't it just yesterday that they were at Spruce Run..., at Patrick McGaheran..., at Round Valley Middle School..., freshmen at North...?" It's true what they say about raising young children: "The days are endless, but the years fly by." I must say, I'm as proud of this class as if I had raised all of them myself. Really, when I think about how much our families have participated in each other's lives over the last 13 years, I realize that this "village" of Clinton Township has collectively raised all of its children together. We rejoice at their victories, stress over their hardships and secretly weep for their pain. And then it's time to let go. This is perhaps the hardest part of raising a child. If we do our job well, it's the eventuality we all have to face. On this Mother's Day, I want to extend a hug and a pat on the back to every mother in Clinton Township (and to the fathers too!) Appreciate all that you've given your kids and, please, appreciate all they've given you. CLINTON TOWNSHIP Newsletter ® CLINTON TOWNSHIP Newsletter ® – Julie Fl�nn I love you Mom! You could lear n a lot about people if you were to go through their garbage and their closets and cupboards. The things we hold on to for dear life, regardless of age or condition, may r eveal our innermost needs. My needs must be minimal because I discard stuff all the time. Sunday's Courier News is in the recycling bin by noon and food leftovers have the shortest life span in Clinton Township. However, I must confess to a few "keepers" and why I am reluctant to toss them. I have recipes from the 1950's when the kids were toddlers. I continue to clip recipes from current women's magazines. That's because I really enjoy cooking – mostly because I really enjoy eating. I take pleasure in trying new recipes on a weekly basis. I am reluctant to discard a bottle of prune juice thats "used by" date has expired. You never know when you'll need prune juice at my age. Perhaps even before my "used by" date. I have a hard time tossing certain old shoes into the Good Will receptacle. You and I both know I couldn't walk 50 yards in a heel higher than ¼" yet I persist with a fantasy of looking taller and slimmer in a somewhat dusty pair of gray suede three inchers. I've saved a scoop necked chiffon blouse that I honestly wouldn't be caught dead in. Scars from that long ago mastectomy glow in the dark and make everything cut lower than a turtleneck totally inappropriate for public viewing. I have some Limoges salad plates, two silver gravy boats and assorted cut glass bowls and pitchers that live in my dining room hutch with little hope of ever seeing a dinner date. They belonged to my Grandmother and I would no more throw them out than I would discard my Father's class ring. I have been successful pitching a bundt pan that hasn't seen cake batter since 1949. The same goes for muffin tins and a fondue set that was destined to be a loser from day one. I usually keep doggie bags from restaurant leftovers overnight but they seldom survive to be re-heated. Fred used to keep (hoard) everything including 23 empty mayonnaise jars and two dozen empty tuna fish cans. His side of the garage housed old wedding invitations from his first marriage (I was number 3). After he died I filled a dumpster with tons of stuff. When the garage was clean and bare I brought a glass of Scotch out there and sat in a beach chair reveling in the newly acquired space (although I would have traded it to have Fred back!) I"ll bet a psychiatrist would have a field day interpreting my keeping/ discarding psyche. But I doubt he/she would bother. My son in Minnesota keeps every one of my columns which, I hope, says what is important to him! * Almost 23 years ago now! ** And now they've graduated college!

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