It’s finally getting close to election season, which just happens to be my favorite time of year. Lucky for me, it comes around a few times each year. However, locally, the April elections are the cherry on top of my election-time sundae.

This April, I don’t envy voters in Kansas City at all. Eleven candidates have thrown their hats into the election circus ring, which should prove to make for interesting news coverage, no doubt. However, it’ll be up to the voters to sift through the pool to find the candidates who really have what it takes. Personally, I’d be happy with a handful of those who are seeking KCMO’s highest office, but unfortunately, I don’t have the opportunity to make that decision.

The community where I do vote, though, has, for the first time in several years, some opposition for a real election. From school board candidates to Board of Aldermen hopefuls, we will finally be able to see some new ideas brought forth in Grandview. I’m happy to work with whomever wins, incumbent or otherwise, but I’m sure anxious to see what happens when some of our elected officials will have to, for the first time in some cases, run a real election.

With races also happening in Hickman Mills and Center school districts, our pages will likely be filled with all the information you could possibly need to make informed decisions come April 2.
I’m looking forward to getting to know each of the candidates, and I can’t wait to savor the cherries this spring.

In case you haven’t read it yet, my front-page story from Mayor’s State of the City address last week in Grandview refers to the reduction in crime in our beloved city. Not a slight reduction, either. Crime in Grandview has plummeted by 12 percent. This is huge. For a community that, for years, received a bad rap in the metro and was considered one of the fastest dying cities not all that long ago, Grandview has made tremendous strides.

It’s hard to sit through presentations, like the Mayor’s State of the City address, or Grandview school board meetings, or even a Chamber of Commerce networking event, and not get excited about the things happening in our town.

Grandview has a lot to be proud of. In recent years, plans have been implemented and dollars have been spent to help improve the image of this great city. Now, as Mayor Jones alluded to last week, it is in the hands of us, the citizens of Grandview, to keep the talk positive.

I’m proud to be from Grandview, and I’m even more proud to work alongside some of the metro’s finest men and women each day, telling the good stories of what is going on around here.
The Grandview School District’s leadership has dubbed this school year as a year of momentum.

Grandview Mayor Leonard Jones said that Grandview is a place where dreams can begin and come true for those who live here. If I had to sum up my thoughts on Grandview for the foreseeable future, I think I’d say we are pursuing hope - not just in planning for the future, but in preserving our rich community history.

President Harry S Truman walked the streets of Grandview, the same streets we frequent today. He cultivated the family farm and dreams of his own during his time here. He helped to create a momentum for this city to prosper, and despite our ups and downs, we continue to walk down his path.

He was quoted once as saying, “Prosperous farmers make for a prosperous nation, and when farmers are in trouble, the nation is in trouble.”

When Grandview is successful and thriving, the community benefits in many ways. We can thank the police department, city leadership, and others for the reduction in crime in our city. And, I do. Very much so. However, I think we also need to look inward, and pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. It truly does take a village, and I’m lucky to be a part of this one.

Many years ago, when Michael (now 13) was just barely walking, I remember making him snow ice cream for the very first time. I sent him outside, bundled up like the little brother from A Christmas Story, with a wooden spoon in one hand and a big, plastic bowl in the other, telling him to find the cleanest snow he could find.

The first time he did this, I remember how excited he was to make something out of the snow in our yard. And, I’m sure, he was thrilled that I was actually allowing him to put something from the ground in his mouth.

Of course, while he was young, I had to pick dried leaves and sticks out of the bowl before I deemed it edible. Michael would help pour in the ingredients, and I let him think he was doing most of the mixing while I went behind him and stirred it up.

Snow ice cream is a simple treat. We make it with a can of sweetened condensed milk and a little bit of vanilla extract. As time has passed, I have made sure to keep the ingredients on hand every winter.
This last snow, I though, would surely be the one where Michael didn’t ask for his snow ice cream.
But, sure enough, as soon as the forecast showed snow early last week, Michael asked if we’d be carrying on the tradition.

“Of course,” I told him, checking the cabinet to ensure nothing was expired (past-date sweetened condensed milk is no good; trust us on this). My teenage son, armed with bowl and spoon, headed out to scoop up some white snow for our treat. I watched from the window, remembering when he was just a little bitty thing, and was reminded that while he has grown and so much has changed, some things have remained the same.

“It’s not as good as I remember it being,” he told me, after we’d mixed and put the latest batch of snow ice cream in our bowls.

“It’s not the flavor of the ice cream, but the novelty of it, that you remember being so good,” I told him. He nodded, and took his bowl of snow ice cream with him to his room to continue playing video games.

Alone I sat, in my living room with the blinds open, watching as snow continued to fall last Saturday, with the sound of Fortnite coming from the other room, the taste of cold, sweet vanilla on my tongue, and a warmth in my heart for ongoing traditions with my son.

Last year, around this time, I had a lot of hope for 2018. I looked forward to closing some doors, and opening others wide open to see what was on the other side. I glimpsed back on 2017 with a smile, knowing I gave it my all, and looked at 2018 with eagerness and joy. And, 2019 looks to be full of the same hopes and dreams, and a little more love for me.

I found new love, and new dreams, in 2018. Back in April, I met a guy online (because, that’s simply how you have to meet people nowadays, though it certainly wasn’t my favorite, and I could probably write a book on my online dating experiences). However, immediately, I knew that he was different. I could tell from the first time I met him that this was going to be something special.

Over the next several months, we went out as often as possible. In the beginning, it was tough, because dating with kids and jobs and responsibilities proved to be a challenge. But, we continued to make time for each other and get to know one another as much as possible. Somewhere along the way, we both fell in love.

We went through the motions of introducing our kids, first to us, then to one another. Then we met the parents on both sides. It all seemed natural, exciting, and as each day and week passed, I found myself caring more and more about this man.

He is a true gentleman, handsome, caring and funny. He makes me smile all the time and he truly feels like home. So, it was inevitable, then, that on December 22, eight months after our first date, he asked me to marry him. It wasn’t a surprise to me, because we had talked about our future since the beginning, and I got to a point where I couldn’t imagine one without him in it.

In 2018, this Mary found her Joseph, quite literally. I’m heading into 2019 with a lot of love in my heart, a beautiful ring on my hand, and the promise of forever from a man who will hold my hand through whatever life throws my way. It’s going to be a Happy New Year for me, indeed.

As we head toward Christmas and the end of 2018, I’m reminded of all that we have to be grateful for in this community. Mostly, I recognize how lucky I am to be a part of your lives each week, even if through just a few snapshots or words. The end of the year, for me, always signifies a reflection on the past, and hope for what the future might bring.

It is my hope that 2019 will be a year of greatness for many of us. Be it new things, or continuing on with whatever already brings us joy, I can’t wait to see what the next year holds. This past year has had it’s own ups and downs, just like any year, but I have focused on finding my own happiness in whatever life throws my way. I hope you have, too.

So, as we sit with family and friends over the next few weeks and reminisce, I personally will keep each of you in my thoughts. Our family is incredibly proud of the work that we do here at the Advocate, and we take our job seriously while not forgetting to have a little fun along the way.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, from our family, to yours. My parents and I hope that the season brings you joy, the cookies will be plentiful, the friends will be laughing and the family will be loving. Thank you for a successful and fun 2018.

When I was young, Christmas Eve always meant heading over to my grandparents’ house where my dad’s side of the family would gather. For many years, we’d head out to eat at a Chinese buffet or cafeteria. Then, we’d head back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, where we’d be in for a long night of gift exchanging.

Somewhere along the way, a “white elephant” of sorts was added to the mix. What began as a small bag of odd gifts quickly grew to an hours-long game of “what on earth IS this?” As our family grew over the years, so did Christmas Eve. It was something the children looked forward to, while the adults put a lot of money, thought and effort into making sure each child had their fair share of presents.

My grandparents are gone now, and sadly, so is this family tradition. Though, I can still hear my grandma telling my grandpa which present to give so-and-so.

“Schatz!” she’d yell, her term of endearment for my grandpa (it’s like saying “honey” or “dear” in German). “Why don’t you give Mary that gift. No, not that one. THAT one.” And, of course, my poor grandpa had no clue which one she was referring to. But, that didn’t matter to me, because I just loved to hear them bicker lovingly.

The two of them were a big part of my Christmas memories growing up. They gave and gave, and I was surely spoiled but grateful. It was my grandparents who got me my first CD player, some gorgeous porcelain dolls for my collection, the coolest clothes and the latest toys. But, it wasn’t the things I received that I remember most. It’s the memories we made of being together, celebrating Christmas and sharing our love for one another.

Though traditions have come and gone for our family, and the holidays just aren’t the same without them, my grandparents taught me what it means to give with love and generosity. Christmas Eve, for me, has been quiet the last few years, but the memories will always be a part of my new traditions.

From the time I was a little girl, probably before I could even speak, I knew I wanted to be a mom. I remember taking care of my baby dolls, feeding them, clothing them, cutting their hair (sorry mom), and imagining what kind of mother I’d be when I had children of my own. Like many little girls, I had their names picked out and loved them long before it was even possible for any children of mine to exist.

I became a mom 13 years ago this Friday. It’s hard to believe that my little five-pound baby boy will be a teenager now. Of course, he’s been looking forward to this day for the last 365, but his mom is a little reluctant to watch him grow up.

Not all that long ago, I remember laying on the couch with him in his baby swing next to me, completely exhausted and overwhelmed, but so full of pride and love as I looked at this perfect little human who refused to go to sleep. For 13 years, I’ve kissed hundreds of boo-boos, cleaned up more vomit than I ever thought could come out of such a small being, changed diapers, been spit on and bitten, felt my heart drop more times than I can count, but despite it all, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kids really make you grow up. Of course, when I was 21 and expecting Michael, I thought I knew everything there was to know about the world and I could handle anything that came my way. Boy was I wrong. 13 years into this whole parenthood thing, and I’m still figuring things out along the way.

I only had one kid, though my little-girl imagination would have loved to have a dozen or so. But, that one boy takes up all of my heart. The older he gets, the more I see the man he’ll be (soon, too, as it certainly goes by so fast like they say it does). He is witty, athletic, compassionate, handsome and smart. He makes me laugh all the time, and I am constantly thankful that I have the opportunity to be his mom.

So, happy 13th birthday to my Michael. I hope his year is full of happiness and love, and that he continues to view the world through his kind eyes and that the world is kind right back to him. He may be my only kid, but the love he receives from his mom is enough for those dozen or so siblings I once imagined.