tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2008://1 2008-11-20T02:12:29Z A Mature Mother's Musings Movable Type 3.34 tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2008://1.441 2008-11-20T02:09:41Z 2008-11-20T02:12:29Z

In case you were wondering why I have not posted here in awhile, well, it's because my clients in Seattle keep me very busy (which means 7:05 a.m. ferries in the morning and 5:30 ferries at night). So what...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com In case you were wondering why I have not posted here in awhile, well, it's because my clients in Seattle keep me very busy (which means 7:05 a.m. ferries in the morning and 5:30 ferries at night). So what little time I have to write, I spend on the A Wild Ride website and its related Blog. Please visit me there. ~ Elizabeth]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2008://1.405 2008-08-27T05:41:15Z 2008-08-27T05:57:01Z

I have never been so proud to be an American as I was tonight watching Hillary's speech. Chelsea introduced her mother just as Alexander (age 13) came in from soccer practice. His first words: "I want to call Jason...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com I have never been so proud to be an American as I was tonight watching Hillary's speech. Chelsea introduced her mother just as Alexander (age 13) came in from soccer practice. His first words: "I want to call Jason for a sleepover." I told him to "sit down and listen to history in the making" as Hillary walked on stage. For once, Alexander did what he was told. When the phone rang a few minutes later, I heard him tell his friend "Hey Jason, I'll call you back in a few minutes." Alexander then sat with full attention in front of the television and truly watched history. Hillary, thanks for giving me hope in the future of our country and in the future of our young people who have been disillusioned for way too long! ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.235 2007-11-01T16:21:19Z 2007-11-01T17:50:31Z

After twenty years of living a fairy tale, complete with happy endings and evil witches, a house made of bricks and a house made of sticks, a prince in a white Rabbit (Volkswagen that is), and several fairy godmothers,...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com After twenty years of living a fairy tale, complete with happy endings and evil witches, a house made of bricks and a house made of sticks, a prince in a white Rabbit (Volkswagen that is), and several fairy godmothers, I’m here to tell you that the shoe still fits. When I was a little girl, I loved to play house. I dreamed of my knight in shining armor and I cradled my dolls lovingly. I treated my baby sister like a living doll and enjoyed the fact that people thought she was my child when we were in public. (A little weird it’s true. Consider however that this was in Texas where a young mother was/is not all that uncommon.) During my teen years, my favorite pastime was flipping the pages of Brides Magazine and pretending I was the young, beautiful woman pictured in her flowing wedding dress. Then the Seventies came along. I too was swept up in the I Am Woman movement. My dream of becoming wife and mother pushed to the back burner, I instead pursued a corporate career that lead me from Dallas to New York City to Los Angeles and finally Seattle. Guess you could say I was “looking for love in all the wrong places.” I definitely kissed more than my fair share of toads and frogs. (A toad is a frog with attitude.) Then I met Scott Coplan and the rest is a fairy tale complete with happy endings and evil witches, a house made of bricks and house made of sticks…. To my husband of 20 years: Once and for all, I want to set the record straight. I did not marry you for your money or your body. I married you for your sense of humor (and the way you look in a suit and tie). It seems like yesterday. It seems like always. It seems like forever! ILYMADLY, E ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.233 2007-10-31T18:04:56Z 2007-10-31T18:36:03Z

I’m making chili for dinner. (Don’t ask for the recipe. I’m from Texas. There is no recipe.) Why am I making chili you ask? Good question. Spencer, almost 18, won’t be here to eat it. He’s celebrating Halloween with his...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com In Honor First I want to honor my parents-in-law Virginia and Robert Coplan for sharing their love. Eighty and eighty-one now and still going strong. This February they will celebrate 60 years of marriage. Scott and I want to be just like you when we grow up! To my sister Mary: With our eight year age difference, you and I were not close growing up. But, through tragedy, our “sisterness” grew stronger and I consider you my best friend. Whether you like it or not. After all, I'm the bossy big sister. To my sister-in-law Claudia: Thanks for becoming a friend-like-a-sister. To my sister-in-law Wendie: Oh my gosh, you don’t look a day older than you did 20 years ago! Keep it up girl! To my brother-in-law Arne: Thank you for your calming influence as a fellow “outlaw.” To my cousin Myra: All these years and your personality is as bubbly and joyous as always. Glad you found another love to call you “sweetheart.” To long-time good friends Chuck and Liz Knapp: Can’t believe I’ve known you for 40 years! Thanks for coming up to visit a couple of weeks ago. I enjoy sharing our lives and the lives of our children, the ups and the downs. To my 30-year friends Julie Madonia and Jennifer Klein: What a treat to visit with both of you in the past year. Julie: Thanks for spending Sunday with us in Beverly Hills last November. Brought back some good old memories of my younger years, dining on Rodeo Drive! Paris Hilton and her friends have nothing on the two of us! Or were we more like Lucy & Ethel? Jennifer: What a stroke of luck for me when you “retired” to Spokane after 7 years of sailing the coast of Mexico. I feel so fortunate to visit you this past weekend in your new home town. And thanks for joining us at Alexander’s soccer game on that beautiful fall day in the Spokane Valley. In Memory Since the chili party: Carl Iserman, my cousin Myra’s husband and official Coplan wedding photographer, died of lung cancer. A man of great integrity, loved by his family, friends and students. A man of class, culture, and humor. Elizabeth Pohlmann died in 2001. Robert Pohlmann died in 1996. Mom and Dad, I enjoy looking at the photographs of your healthier days. Mom, that night at the chili party, you sat on the floor with the rest of us “young” folk, years before Parkinson’s took away that ability. Dad, I can’t find any pictures of you from that night. Is that because you were the party photographer? That’s so you. Oh, how I miss you two! I think the tears just overwhelmed the smiles...at least for now. ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.203 2007-09-05T16:08:12Z 2007-09-05T22:10:01Z

Spencer drove off early this morning. One of the humanities teachers asked a few seniors to prepare an opening ceremony. This is a special day for Spence (and for me). Today is the first day of his high school...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com Spencer drove off early this morning. One of the humanities teachers asked a few seniors to prepare an opening ceremony. This is a special day for Spence (and for me). Today is the first day of his high school senior year at West Sound Academy. According to Wikipedia, “Senioritis is a term used colloquially in the United States and Canada to describe a decreased motivation toward studies….Many high school and college students find themselves in a type of lame duck situation: their plans are made and a new chapter in their life is about to begin, so finishing the current chapter becomes just a formality or holding pattern." Funny, that’s how I feel as a parent, like a lame duck in a holding pattern. Not that my job is over. Far from it. But the day-to-day job of parenting, or better stated nagging, is winding down. I’ve turned my nag-o-meter off. My son has perfected the fine teenage art of ignoring 95% of what I say and blowing off the rest. So I save my breath and only nag when safety is at issue (at least that's my goal). Last night I attended the Back to School meeting. I sat near the back of the Commons with a couple of other senior moms. During the question and answer period, a man in the front row asked if the homework Web site was available to parents for checking up on their child’s assignments. I quietly (and respectfully) chuckled. One of my fellow senior moms turned to me and whispered, “Must be a middle school parent.” I nodded in agreement. It’s taken me 11 years to finally realize Spencer’s schoolwork is his own. I must trust him to know the importance of the senior year when applying for scholarships, the value of an on-time record at work, and the significance of following-through on his commitments. I’ve also come to realize that what I say can do more harm than good. Stifle it is my self-directed motto for Spencer’s senior year. Don’t get me wrong. Spence and I enjoy a wonderful mother-son relationship. I can’t wait to visit him in college. (He’s leaning toward colleges in the east. Great excuse for me to take a trip to New York or Boston. Visit family and friends I rarely see.) And, once he leaves home, I promise to keep his room somewhat intact. Photo of Spence in Nicaragua, December 2006. ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.184 2007-08-07T01:45:32Z 2007-08-07T14:37:06Z

Last Thursday night I attended the KOMO-TV/Blogger Meet Up in Seattle. My first clue that only the young and the restless attend such events was the Evite. The electronic invitation displayed an artistic interpretation of possible attendees -- two painfully...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com A Wild Ride, and so I went. The elevator escort at the television station led five of us (four men and me) to the fifth floor of the Fisher Plaza, the party already in full swing. (Bloggers are punctual. I like that.) For strength, I grabbed a glass of red wine from the bar and quickly surveyed the room (ah, old marketing habits never die) where at least 70 people milled and mingled. Whoa! I’m the oldest person in a room dominated by cool, glib, definitely with-it, 20-something men. Then my eyes landed on a table with two women I hoped were at least close to my age. But it must have been the dim lights. The first woman could have been by daughter. The other woman? Maybe 40. And then I saw her across the room. She wore a t-shirt, Stay-at-home Blogger, a dead giveaway that she’s a MOM. Our eyes met. “You’re a Mom,” I shouted over the cocktail party din. Her name is Jen Zug and she writes a Blog: The Pile I’m Standing in. Sinking Deeper Every Day. She lives near Seattle with her husband, two kids, and a dog named Scout. Jen writes: “Recently, within a year’s time I had lost a close family member to cancer, given birth to my second child, plunged into a depression, discovered I had a rage problem, nearly left my husband, and came THIS close to abandoning my children at Wal-Mart. I also rediscovered my love for writing, which may have saved my sanity.” Read more of Jen's bio. Jen’s site is crisp, clean and honest. Funny. A bit of dark humor. I personally relate to her sense of reality, desperation, and the need for self-care. I believe other mothers will too. Her essay Dragonfly Green illustrates how even the most difficult child, the “one who must destroy,” can transcend her normal frenetic state and stop to exam the beauty of the dragonfly. In another piece, Please-secure-your-own-mask-before assisting others , Jen writes: “I find that when I’m not getting small pockets of time to recharge my energy, I start obsessing about being alone. I get grouchy with my kids just for standing in the room, I show disappointment that they are awake from their naps, I’m gruff as I rush them off to bed, and I find myself wishing Bryan was still in San Jose. I scratch and claw at anyone who asks something of me. I’m not excusing my behavior, but I am becoming more aware of what triggers it." Now this is someone I can relate to! Check out her site. ~ Elizabeth]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.151 2007-08-01T15:41:00Z 2007-08-02T05:10:14Z

My other Web site, A Wild Ride, occupies my "free" time these days. I plan to return here soon with more musings from a mature mother. In the meantime, check out A Wild Ride and its related Blog. Happy summer!...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com A Wild Ride, occupies my "free" time these days. I plan to return here soon with more musings from a mature mother. In the meantime, check out A Wild Ride and its related Blog. Happy summer! ~ Elizabeth ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.127 2007-05-22T19:52:09Z 2007-05-22T19:53:18Z

Photo by my sister, Mary Pohlmann...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com Photo by my sister, Mary Pohlmann ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.98 2007-05-16T14:51:44Z 2007-05-16T17:14:41Z

I searched the crowd for my son Spencer. First, I saw the signature baseball cap, and then I noticed the familiar walk, a proud, self-confident walk that reminds me of my father. Finally I saw Spencer’s face happily talking with...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com my son Spencer. First, I saw the signature baseball cap, and then I noticed the familiar walk, a proud, self-confident walk that reminds me of my father. Finally I saw Spencer’s face happily talking with a fellow traveler, and I felt a surge of excitement. When Spencer saw me, he beamed with the look of a man glad to be home yet proud of his accomplishments. As one of twenty high school students and six chaperones, Spencer spent the last two weeks on Ometepe, a remote island in Nicaragua. At that moment I realized that I had indeed missed him and his always-smiling face. However, I did not feel the desperate longing reserved for those who had gone to war or moved away from home, greatly missed and rarely forgotten. Tears trickled down my face as I gave my son a long hug. After a few moments, he pulled away, looked at my tear-stained face and said, “What’s your problem?” Cut! Rewind the scene twenty minutes. Just as the plane from Houston landed at Sea-Tac airport, we parents of the Ometepe delegates began collecting at the entrance to baggage claim. We discussed our excitement to see our children, and the improbable possibility of catching the next ferryboat back to our own island -- the end of Spring Break/Friday traffic already slowed to a crawl. I stood talking with one mom and then another dad. We shared stories of time alone and how quiet our homes were without at least one of our children. We described how that quiet felt both lonely and peaceful. At the plane’s scheduled arrival time, the number of anxious parents swelled. The collective excitement created an infectious hum while off to the right I noticed another group forming. This group did not represent parents of children on a cultural exchange program. Here people of all ages carried red, white & blue balloons, and Mylar balloons shaped as American flags. Some carried roll-up banners. Their excitement reverberated throughout the waiting area, building to an even stronger crescendo than our parent group. These people exuded an energy of relief, mixed with giddiness and held-back tears. Unable to control their anticipation, the children in the group bounced up and down. And then they saw them. Down the corridor and toward the waiting group, a young man walked, somber in expression, proud in his uniform. At his side another soldier, older more weary looking, walked, also somber, also proud. The frenzy of their welcoming party climaxed as the children shouted their names and the tears were held-back no longer. One boy opened his banner: Welcome Home Uncle Joe! Without slowing his pace, the younger soldier moved to his wife, gave her a quick kiss then fell into a long embrace, a desperate, I’ll-never-leave-you-again-if-I-can-help-it embrace. Minutes ticked by, but the clock had stopped. The not-to-be-forgotten baby in the stroller began to cry. The soldier scooped up the child and held him close in one arm, his other arm around his wife’s waist as she put her head on his chest. Not a word was said. The baby choked back the sobs while he studied the face of this unknown man. I turned away feeling the moment was too private. My gaze turned momentarily to the older soldier who held a man and a woman close to him. A brother and his wife? His parents? No one spoke. Clearly no words came easily at a homecoming such as this. What do you say to someone who has seen too much? Has experienced unimaginable traumatic events? Now the frenzied anticipation gave way to measured interaction. Other family members holding back came forward for their turn to show their love of the returning soldiers. What lay before them only time would tell. For now, everyone was glad the soldiers were home. When I saw my son walking towards me, I still felt the combination of love and sadness from the soldiers and their families. To them, I wanted to add my “thank you.” I wanted to surround them with white light, a protective light that would keep them from harm. They had come so far. My own son did not look particularly excited to see me. I am sure I represented the end of an amazing journey. He had a new family now, one in a tiny village on Ometepe in Nicaragua. During the past two weeks, he witnessed a birth and dug fence pole holes with sticks that only remotely resembled shovels. He built piñatas and entertained the village children. He climbed a volcano, fought off colonies of ants, ate rice and beans at every meal. He lived in a shack without water or electricity. He saw the smiling faces of children with so little and yet so much. Indeed, it was the happiest place on earth. Spencer, glad to be home, could not wait to go back. What’s my problem? Sorry Spencer. These tears are not for you. I predict you will travel to other amazing places, winning friends wherever you go. Today “my problem” lies in the feeling that my motherhood does not begin and end with raising my own two sons. It continues indefinitely as other mothers’ children go off to war, experience debilitating disease or illness, starve, remain uneducated, die. My heart feels full with love. I close my eyes and send this love to these children of the world. What’s my problem? I appreciate now that I have no problems. In fact, as you chat amongst your friends, unwilling to let the trip end just yet, I realize that I’m the one standing at “the happiest place on earth.” ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.113 2007-05-11T16:41:35Z 2007-06-04T04:10:56Z

Photo of Aunt Grace with Alexander in June 2006 Last week, as Aunt Grace lay in her hospital bed, I had an opportunity to talk with her one last time -- to tell her I loved her. She told...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com Photo of Aunt Grace with Alexander in June 2006 Last week, as Aunt Grace lay in her hospital bed, I had an opportunity to talk with her one last time -- to tell her I loved her. She told me she loved me too, and I choked back the tears because I knew I was losing someone very important in my life. I also knew that this was the opportunity to say good-bye that I never had with my own father. I felt as if Grace spoke for him too. As the week went on, I imagined my dad, with that deep-dimpled grin of his, smiling down on his oldest sister. In my mind, I saw him motioning Grace to join him in a place where there was no pain, where they could enjoy the view and eternal peace. Now the eight brothers and sisters are together again. And we are left with our memories. My first memory of Aunt Grace was when I was a child of seven or eight. Grace rescued me from my cousins who excluded me from whatever game they were playing. I hold no grudge Mary and Kathy, for you see, Aunt Grace took me into the kitchen and together we made chocolate chip cookies. And I got to lick the bowl! My most recent memory is of my last visit to St. Charles less than a year ago. How lucid Grace was as she re-told tales of life in the city at Aunt Mame’s and on the farm in Millwood. I never tired of hearing the story of how she and Ralph would take my dad, just a toddler at the time, wherever they went. Hearing the details of her life, I realized that she held a moral strength that few ever know. In years to come, I’ll remember Grace’s sweet nature, soft skin, and gentle voice. I’ll remember the special bond she shared with Alexander. Aunt Grace was like a grandma to him, the type of grandma who never got mad, even when he spilled lemonade all over the clean kitchen floor. I am sure that other family members have different memories than I do. But to me, Aunt Grace demonstrated an elegance of manner and motion. She truly lived up to her name. ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.106 2007-05-08T20:21:23Z 2007-05-08T20:37:24Z

The assignment this week on Mamasaysom is to “watch your kid(s) for a day or two, pay attention to little details and habits that you find particularly endearing or humorous” then write about those observations. At first, I misunderstood the...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com were here, I would probably tell you that he has an adorable dimple that he inherited from his grandfather and his aunt, that he plays classical piano extraordinarily well though he’s the last to admit it. I’d also tell you that he sports the most beautiful smile when he feels good about himself, or he might just as easily say “Mommy, I feel sad and I don’t know why.” So observe your other son, you might say. Well, he’s seventeen (need I say more). He’s not home long enough for me to observe anything other than the trail of dirty laundry. If he were home today, I might watch him in awe as he created a gourmet meal from whatever was left in the refrigerator. If he were home, I’d enjoy the hugs he still loves to give me. If he were home, I’d get a charge out of the ease in which he socializes with both young children and the elderly. But he’s not home. He drove the carpool to school today. Later he’ll do homework, teach a saxophone lesson, then watch his girlfriend play softball. Tomorrow he’ll play ultimate Frisbee after school with his best friends. Friday and Saturday, he works at the finest restaurant on Bainbridge Island, a job he adores. At three a.m. Sunday morning, he leaves for a ten day white water river rafting trip. Perhaps I can’t observe my children in person today, tomorrow or even the next day. But Mamasaysom’s writing assignment gave me opportunity to observe in my own mind just how wonderful my children are. One last note: Today, May 8, is Childhood Depression Awareness Day. Please remember that not all children exhibit a cheerful personality or a willfulness that is endearing. Not every word they utter is “cute”, “sweet”, or “precocious.” According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) “Clinical depression goes beyond sadness. It's more than having a bad day or coping with a major loss such as the death of a parent, grandparent, or even a favorite pet. It's also not a personal weakness or a character flaw. Youth suffering from clinical depression cannot simply snap out of it." For more information about Childhood Depression, visit NAMI. ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.99 2007-05-07T14:54:40Z 2007-05-07T14:58:59Z

One of my favorite literary sites for mothers is Mamasaysom. The design of the site is stunning with its white space and extraordinary photos. Each week they post a theme and great "mom" writers respond. Visit Mamasaysom often for the...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com Mamasaysom. The design of the site is stunning with its white space and extraordinary photos. Each week they post a theme and great "mom" writers respond. Visit Mamasaysom often for the latest in a variety of mother musings.]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.91 2007-04-27T23:03:41Z 2007-04-27T23:04:59Z

As we wind down from Turn Off the TV Week, I want to share my own “Turn Off” story. I am proud to say that I did not go to the airport this week and therefore I was not bombarded...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com As we wind down from Turn Off the TV Week, I want to share my own “Turn Off” story. I am proud to say that I did not go to the airport this week and therefore I was not bombarded by the televisions throughout the concourse or on the planes. I also did not treat myself to a nice lunch in a fancy department store like Saks or Neiman’s where there are multiple screens to entertain diners. Nor did I go to the gym, which is unfortunate in a lot of ways, but I was spared visions of the Food Network while working off that dessert from the night before. My children did not watch television because of their homework and after school activities. Saturday morning cartoons remain to be seen (pun intended). We’ve listened on the radio as the Mariners won three games in a row! The sound of the announcer's voice brought back memories of my childhood listening to the Houston Astros on the family's transistor radio. As for my own Internet use, I kept my promise and used the Internet sparingly, though I was tempted on many levels to just “check” a few of my favorite sites. To my fellow mothers: Whether you honored Turn Off the TV week or not, you deserve a pat on back for simply making it through another week. tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.84 2007-04-21T04:16:16Z 2007-04-21T04:17:07Z

The word is out -- Autism. Labeled as autistic, Virginia Tech shooter Cho Seung-Hui murdered 32 people. In my work, I meet numerous mothers and autistic children. Not one would I describe as "murderous." I believe that Cho's feelings of...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com http://www.mymotherlode.com/News/article/id/D8OK31NO0 In addition to being mistreated and bullied (as if that isn't bad enough), Cho exhibited classic signs of depression. He felt isolated, and his writings showed a troubled mind. As many people strive to point blame or isolate a cause, I worry about all the mothers of atypical children who must deal with a suspicious society. ]]> tag:www.elizabethcoplan.com,2007://1.73 2007-04-18T09:14:09Z 2007-04-18T00:17:02Z

According to CNN and the New York Times, two handguns were used “a 9-millimeter handgun and 22-caliber handgun were recovered from Norris Hall.” http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/17/us/17virginia.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin If you are like me, you find the availability of handguns in this country nauseating. Want...

Elizabeth http://www.elizabethcoplan.com New York Times, two handguns were used “a 9-millimeter handgun and 22-caliber handgun were recovered from Norris Hall.” http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/17/us/17virginia.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin If you are like me, you find the availability of handguns in this country nauseating. Want to do something? Support Sarah Brady’s Campaign to Support Gun Violence. http://www.bradycampaign.org/]]>