The Opposite of June

Biker Babe

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 17:31:00 +0000

The indecisiveness gene runs rampant in my side of the family much like skin that doesn't tan well, long eyelashes, and the ability to stand on one leg at the kitchen counter while resting the other foot on the inner thigh of the standing leg--just a little trait that I've inherited from my mother and grandma.

Kate has inherited the inability to decide what she wants and so when Mike's mom handed her a wad of cash to buy herself a bike for her 4th birthday present, Kate deliberated long and hard.

Every store we went into for the past month she has tried out the bikes, riding each and every one. In the world of bikes, especially those designed for children, there really isn't much variation, but apparently Kate was holding out for the one that had a massaging seat, a microwave and surround sound.

It wasn't until this past weekend that she finally purchased the bike and that was only becuase after we left church I announced, "Kate, today you are buying your bike." At this point it was like the heavens opened for her declaring it THE DAY to buy one and she exclaimed loudly, "Daddy! Take me to Toys R Us!"

For the 900th time in the past 30 days, she rode each and every bike in the store that was designed for small people. She zoomed around the bike section with ease. I was ready to urge the purchase along when her father who thinks it's perfectly fine to do dangerous activities like fish on a dock with no lifejacket, eat hard candy, and ride BIG bikes when you're 4 years old, said to her, "Hey Kate...look at THAT bike. It's princess and it's BIG. You're a BIG kid and you can ride a BIG bike."

Insert gasps of horror here from my mouth. I protested! She couldn't ride a big bike! She would fall! She would break a bone!

She did though. She zoomed around the bike section like she was on a tricycle. And later, once it was home and put together, she zoomed down our driveway, breaking like an expert.

With her helmet on, her tennis shoe clad feet peddled away from me quickly. She laughed as she rode off laughing at her silly mother who was trying to jog to keep up with her in Birkenstocks.

"Stay to the left!" I cautioned.

"Don't turn too fast!" I warned.

It didn't take much watching to realize that she didn't really need me to bark orders. She was good. My baby was taking off with one more step towards independance.

Today it's riding with training wheels. Down the road it will be riding bikes to Dairy Queen with a friend. Then going to a school dance...then a date...then college.

She is my baby and when she hopped on that bike I realized that although I've known she isn't a baby anymore, she really isn't even a toddler anymore, either. She's a little girl. And she's growing up...too quickly.

Lifeguard

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 13:22:00 +0000

There are a few constants that I've always known about my mother.

1. She never likes to go anywhere without full hair and makeup done.

2. She's a vitamin, organic, anything health related fanatic.

and

3. She cannot swim, is terrified of water, and can barely stand water on her head in the shower.

So, imagine my surprise yesterday after I told her we were going to go swimming at our neighbor's pool, she said, "I think I'll come with you."

Now, our neighbor's pool is all one depth across. The water only comes to my mom's stomach, but last summer, this caused her great anxiety. The kids even tried to reason with her that should she accidentally be put under water SHE COULD STAND UP. This did nothing to console her.

And if the fear of water isn't enough, my mom worries about sunscreen, sunburn, the kids needing a snack, the kids needing a drink. Making sure the kids don't swallow pool water, making sure I know that The Early Show told everyone that showering immediately after swimming in a pool is a necessity because of all the chemicals that are on your skin.

Hello, anxiety personified!

This summer L and O have become very comfortable in the water. They're always jumping in and have almost gotten the hang of swimming underwater. They also like to get on rafts and then fall off and bob back up to the top. This all causes my mom to hyperventilate at the sight since she knows that she would drown if she were pushed off a raft...you know, because she'd forget to stand up.

Olivia was floating along on a tube and was near the ladder. My mom happened to be standing next to the ladder and Olivia flipped herself over off the raft. Half way across the pool, I had Kate on a raft pushing her around. She saw Olivia fall off and started screaming because Kate isn't a fan of going underwater and so she thinks everyone else must be afraid, too.

Suddenly, my mom slips into panic mode where she says, "Oh my gosh!" and then throws her hands up in the air. I'm still trying to figure out why my mom is freaking out when she reaches into the water and pulls Olivia out of the water by her hair.

Um, really? Is this how the Red Cross wants people to save swimmers? Hair pulling?

Olivia came out of the water SCREAMING because her grandmother was pulling her hair out by the roots.

Trying to figure out what was going through my mom's head at this point, I ask her why she would pull Olivia's hair and she answered, "Because Olivia was screaming for help. She was drowning."

I pointed out that Olivia had fallen off on purpose, was underwater on purpose, and wasn't screaming. If she were screaming, would we have heard her? The screamer was her sister who decided to be terrified for no reason.

My mom's reply? "Ooops."

That's all--just ooops.

Ironically, with all this fear of water, my parents live on a lake. I don't know how she lives that close to deep water every day. She says it's peaceful. Go figure.

36 years

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 03:16:00 +0000

Tomorrow is my 36th birthday.

It may sound cliche, but I truly do not feel 36. I don't know what age I do feel exactly, but in my mind it's a lot younger than what I am. Most of the time I forget how old I am until one of my kids ask me, or if I'm at the doctor's office and someone asks me.

This birthday I'm feeling a bit melancholy and it's not because I'm getting older. I'm dreading this next year, but it isn't because it brings me one year closer to turning 40. I'm just afraid that this next year will take people away from me that I love--specifically my grandpa and my best friend, Julie.

As I write this, my grandpa is in the hospital with a heart condition that so far hasn't been brought consistently under control. He is 83 and I know that is a very long time to live, but it isn't enough for me. My grandpa has always been there first for my mom, then for me, and now for my kids. I want to hold on to him and I want him to live forever. When I think of the future, I don't picture him not there for my kids' graduations, their years of college and their weddings. In reality, I know that the odds of him being here for all of that are slim, but it hurts my heart to think of a big family event happening without him. I am praying hard that God will just give us few more years with him.

My friend, Julie, is fighting cancer right now with every inch of her being. Today we celebrated her daughter's birthday and while I was enjoying the day, the shadow of cancer was ever-present in my mind. Will she be here next year to celebrate another birthday? Will her husband and daughter be forced to go on without her? How will I go on if she isn't here? I feel like cancer is slowly taking her away from us. It consumes her thoughts, it consumes her emotions, and it has very unfairly decided to consume her body. Every minute with her is precious. I've gone through this cancer journey with her for the past 2 years and until today, I have never thought about how I will react to her not being here. She can't leave. I feel like shaking my fist at God and screaming, "IT'S NOT FAIR!"

But, life isn't fair. Nobody gives us any guarantees. I'm so blessed with my family and with health, but I know now more than ever what I've been given is fragile. I know I don't appreciate it enough and I know I can never fully express to God my thankfulness for it all.

My prayer is that my 36th year is filled with good things. I want to bask in the joy of my life more. I want to stop and look with wonder at my children and how they're growing into wonderful people. Most of all, I want to keep everyone that I love in my life circle. If one of them were to be gone, it would leave a giant hole that I could never fill.

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 23:53:00 +0000

When I took a CPR class, I really never expected to use it. It's kind of like an insurance policy that you have just in case, but hope to never actually need it.

Today was a hectic day. Landon and Olivia don't go to Kindergarten until noon and today we'd had a very unstructured morning. These are great in some ways, but in others they can be bad. I end up puttering around the house like a turtle and don't realize that I need to get my rear in gear.

At 11:25, I was rushing the kids to finish their lunches, brush teeth and get dressed for school. I wasn't really paying attention when Olivia asked if she could have a "peppermint". I thought she was talking about the Hershey kisses we still have from Christmas time that have little bits of peppermint in them. What she was really talking about was a hard, round, peppermint.

I called her into the bathroom to do her hair and heard something rattling around in her mouth. I asked her what she was sucking on and she opened her mouth to reveal the slobbery white disc. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I don't let my kids have hard candy. Seriously, Jonah will be 12 in 10 days and I just started letting him have hard candy about 2 years ago. It scares me.

I almost made her spit it out, but figured she was being careful. She was standing in front of the mirror explaining to me how she'd like her hair today when suddenly, her mouth opened wide and she looked like she was trying to scream, only nothing was coming out. Then she pointed down her throat. I realized she was choking on the candy.

My brain when all fuzzy and crazy and I did the first thing I remembered from CPR which was smacking someone on the back. Later, I realized this is what I learned for INFANTS who are choking and not 6 year old children, but it didn't matter. I whacked her on the back so hard I'm surprised I didn't leave a bruise and the candy went flying out of her mouth, hit the bathroom mirror, and fell into the sink.

Her eyes were watering, she started to cry and I couldn't stop asking her if she was o.k. I was a mess, but she assured me she was fine and then said, "Please stop talking about it. I don't want to think about it anymore. I'm done with hard candy."

AMEN!

You gotta have goals in life

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 16:01:00 +0000

The other day as we were sitting in the parking lot at Jonah's school, Kate began counting school buses. She counted them about 5 times in a row and then declared, "When I grow up, I want to be a beautiful princess and a bus driver. I will drive a bus and wear huge panties."

I guess all that constant sitting on the bus causes your butt to get large!

Just a week

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 18:27:00 +0000

It's unsettling how fast things can change in just a week.

Last Wednesday, I was at home trying to entertain the kids while we the first of 3 in a row snow days. Things were right in my world.

Within 24 hours, it was like someone put me in a blender and messed everything up. Thursday night I found out that on of my best friend's cancer has returned. She was diagnosed almost 2 years ago with breast cancer and with her usual determination, kicked it rather easily considering all she had to go through. And now, she's facing an even bigger challenge and is fighting for her right to watch her daughter grow up.

I've gone through all sorts of emotions and feelings and thoughts and what keeps coming back to me is, "How to I cope with losing someone who has been a constant in my life for the last 11 years?"

I hate cancer. I hate what it does to people and I hate how it hurts families. I hate it so much that the other night I was alone in my house and I screamed and cried so long that I didn't really have a voice anymore.

I've always known that life is fragile, but this has made an impression on me that will never go away.

Today, her church as declared to be a "prayer vigil" for her. Please pray for Julie. She needs a miracle.

Reality

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 05:53:00 +0000

Today it really hit me that my kids have no idea how good they have it. It's not that we have a lot of money, or that they get every single thing they could ever want because that is not the case. What they don't realize is the reality of how so many other kids in the world--kids that they go to school with, have to live.

On more than one occasion recently, I've been talking with two of my friends about how sad the conditions are for children who live literally right under our noses. All I have to do is walk into my children's school and the reality hits me like a brick.

There are kids who are dirty. These are little kids who don't know to hop in the tub or shower on their own. They're at the mercy of their parents who don't make sure their hair and bodies are clean and don't worry about washing their clothes. There are kids that are hungry whose families don't have enough money to buy food.

One friend of mine was telling me about the living conditions of a little girl she and her husband had befriended because this little girl just seemed sad all the time. Her living conditions were despicable...trash everywhere, dishes everywhere, constant lice, and only a bare mattress and pillow with a wadded up blanket to cuddle with at night.

What kind of future do kids who have to grow up like this really have? Can they possibly ever get ahead in life? It breaks my heart that at such a young age their futures are bleak.

I'm not saying that these kids aren't loved. Many times the parents just don't know any other way. It's sad that the cycle seems to continue generation after generation.

Tonight when I tucked my kids in and said prayers with them, I asked them, "Do you know how blessed you are to have a warm, clean, cozy bed?" They told me that they did, but I don't really know if they truly get it. Their innocence, in some ways, is keeping them from realizing what life for some can be like.

So, I guess in many ways, I am torn. Do I want my children to fully appreciate their lives and be thankful? Yes. However, do I want to remove the veil of innocence from their eyes so they can truly grasp what life can be like? No.

In the meantime, I guess I'll just have to keep giving them gentle reminders to be thankful and be ready for questions that I really can't answer when they wonder why someone has to live like that.

This stroller stops for noone

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 14:29:00 +0000

So, over the weekend, I decided it would be a good idea to finish wrapping gifts and going through stocking stuffers since last year, at the last minute, I realized that I was missing some stuff that I had hid somewhere in the house and then I was all grumpy and mad at myself. Upon doing this task, I realized that not only did I really not have much at all for Jonah, but I also had a total of 2 things for Jonah and Kate's stockings--that's 2 combined, not 2 each.

This was going to require more shopping.

Then yesterday my mom told me that she didn't feel like she had very much for Jonah in the way of gifts either (even though that's probably false since grandmas never think they buy enough). She asked if I wanted to go shopping with her. Usually, I love shopping, but I don't love shopping with four children in tow and I don't love shopping 3 days before Christmas with a stroller in the mall. Plus, the temperature was a balmy 18 degrees. Wahoo! Let's whip out the tank tops!

At the mere though of shopping, Jonah was repulsed as though stepping into a mall would cause his skin to peel off his body. He graciously volunteered to stay home with Landon for a couple of hours until my dad could come and pick them up. I took him up on this offer, grabbed the girls, and hit the road.

As we arrived at the mall and I unloaded the stoller, I realized that my days of stoller useage are numbered. It won't be too long before Kate is too big for it and then not only will I have whining children following me through the mall with tired legs, but I'll also not have any place to store my coat, purse and packages. Yuck.

The mall was crowded, of course, but the girls were great. They were great little shoppers and never batted an eyelash when I had to run over slow moving shoppers with the stroller. They held on tight and enjoyed the ride over the large speed bump wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.

Now, I'm DONE shopping. I'm thrilled about this and cannot wait to see everyone's faces on Christmas morning. I love this time of the year! Merry Christmas!

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 13:33:00 +0000

I can remember a time when Jonah was young having a conversation with someone I worked with about how a person "knows" she is done having kids. I, being someone who was desperately trying to have another baby, couldn't imagine ever knowing this for sure. However, after asking other women who had deemed themselves "done," I wondered if this would be true of me, too.

When I was pregnant with the twins, I was often asked (usually by complete strangers), "So, will you be done now?" My answer, "I don't know...for awhile I guess?"

I didn't have THE FEELING. And, I assumed I would never get the feeling.

A couple of years after Landon and Olivia, I got pregnant with Kate. It was a complete surprise, but still, we were happy. I was excited and kept waiting to get the THE FEELING that so many talked about. I still didn't know 100% that I was done.

The day came for her to be born and the nurse who was prepping me for my c-section asked, "Will this be your last baby?" My answer, "Um...I guess so? I have no plans for another." I couldn't say for sure.

Later that day when I was holding her and cuddling her, I kept thinking, "How could anyone say definitively that they never want to have this experience again? Either I'm a crazy person who could have 50 kids, or everyone else in the world who claims to just "know" are heartless rocks who don't really know how to enjoy the greatness of a baby."

Then, the wonderful pain and nausea set in that I get after c-sections. It hurt to walk. I was dizzy from the medication in my spinal. I was throwing up on nurses. It bothered me to look at my mom and Mike's mom talk to each other in my room because moving my head back and forth to see each of them made me feeling like I was spinning out of control. I began to think, "Maybe I'm done with this." I thought it was the pain and medication talking.

The next morning the nurse came in to help me to the shower. She remembered me from my lengthy hospital stay with Landon and Olivia. We began chatting and she asked me if we planned to have any more kids. I stopped for a moment to think and then realized that WHAM--the feeling was there.

For the first time, I was able to really think about what I was feeling in my heart and say, "I'm done."

It wasn't based on hating the pain or the nausea I was feeling. I would go through that in a heartbeat to have all my kids again. The only way I can explain it was a peace in my heart.

Over time, I have thought that this feeling would go away and that the nagging sensation of wanting another baby would come back. It hasn't. Sure I would welcome another baby into our home, but I have no desire to be pregnant again. I often tell people that if I could hatch a baby from an egg, I'd be more than happy to have another child. The pregnancy craving has left my body.

As people around me have had babies, I expected the pains of, not jealousy per say, but longing to come back. They haven't. Someone told me that once one of my best friends got pregnant again, I would want another. Well, that happened and recently I was with her to go shopping. We were talking a lot about pregnancy and babies and even went into a maternity clothes store. While she was trying on some stuff, I started looking around. Before, I would look around those stores and think about wearing the stuff. I would get a little excited at the thought of going through that again. My reaction this time? "Wow, how nice is it to never have to worry about whether or not my pants are going to fit me in a week. That shirt is really pretty ugly. Why do pregnant women have to wear polyester? I'm really over this pregnancy thing."

After years of being told I would get it, I finally can say that without a doubt, I have the DONE feeling.

Do I still get nostalgic for the times when my kids were babies? Yes. Do I wish I could go back in time and kiss their fuzzy heads? Yes. Do I miss the feeling of having a baby roll around in my belly? Yes. Do I get a little teary thinking about never nursing a baby again? Most definiately.

I also know that I have those memories forever in my mind. Nothing can take that away from me. I will always remember hearing them cry for the first time. I'll never forget what it felt like to hold them for the first time and place my cheek next to theirs.

Now, I'm the one explaining to people that I just have this feeling that our family is complete. I know that younger women probably don't understand from a feeling aspect. Most people just look at our family and think that since we have 4 kids, we NEED to be done. I think that if two people feel like their family isn't complete until they have 7 or 8 or even 12 kids, then that is what they need to do...as long as they can afford them.

But for us, we feel complete. We feel thankful and I'm so grateful to have had been blessed with four great babies.

And, I'm thankful to not feel that pregnancy nausea again.

it was fine, and yours?

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 15:17:00 +0000

Thanksgiving is now over and we're officially into the Christmas swing of things. My house is decorated and some presents are even wrapped. Amazing for this procrastinator.

I really love Thanksgiving. I love the food. I love hanging out with my family. And, I love that the next day is Black Friday which is probably my MOST FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR. My Black Friday was incredible. I got pretty much all of the kids' gifts purchased and I didn't feel like stomping on anyone's toes in line for being snotty and hateful--always a plus.

My big purchase of the day was something for myself. Mike's mom sent us each money for Christmas and I decided to buy myself some boots. I tried on many pairs. I wanted some that were casual and warm. I knew I didn't want fur all over the place like a snowbeast and I didn't want ones that tied with big pom-poms on the strings. It's hard to find simple, warm, comfortable boots.

And so I did it. I bought Uggs.

I realize that many people thing they are ugly and I'm o.k. with that. I'm kind of notorious for liking "ugly" shoes.

Finding the stupid things was the hardest part. I went into a store at the mall only to be (not) helped by irritated workers who didn't want to be there only to find out that, "No, we don't have an 8 in anything except the camo short classic, so you'll have to go somewhere else."

All I wanted to do was a try a pair on so that I could order them, but obviously, these people weren't in the trying-on business.

So, I ventured to an army surplus store where not only did they have a big selection, but they were NICE! and HELPFUL! and FRIENDLY!

Now, I am the proud owner of a pair of chocolate Uggs and I love them. I probably won't be wearing my pants tucked into them much, and I 100% for sure will NOT be wearing them with a mini-skirt, but for this very cold footed mama of four, they are perfect.

I wore them to our town's Christmas parade since Kate had to ride on her preschool's float and it was a cold day. Everything was cold on me until you reached my knees. From there on down, I was completely toasty. I think be like Under Armor and go into the buisness of making everything. I would like Uggs gloves, a coat and a hat.

Maybe then I'd be able to get through winter without being miserable.

The Pink Ladies

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 14:02:00 +0000

We all remember "The Pink Ladies" in the movie Grease. They walked around strutting their stuff, trying to make everyone else feel inferior. After an encounter I had yesterday, I'm thinking that a new gang of Pink Ladies has started to take over the land--Mary Kay people.

If you are a Mary Kay person, or love their products, I'm sorry if this offends you, but after you read of my experience, I think you will understand.

Over the years, I've been approached by many people who sell Mary Kay and want me to use their products, or be a consultant. I used to use the products and liked them well enough, but have NO desire to sell the stuff no matter what kind of discount I would get. In all my encounters in the past, I have never been made to feel so uncomfortable by a Pink Lady as I did yesterday.

I was at TJ Maxx--alone. J, L and O were at school, and K was with my mom. So, I was browsing through the shoes when I noticed this woman staring at me. Thinking that maybe I knew her from somewhere and just didn't remember, I sort of smiled to be polite and moved on. She followed me into the next aisle of shoes. "Is she following me?" I wondered. Then I thought that maybe I was making too much of it.

So, I walked to the sale section where everything is just weird leftovers from summer in sizes like 6 or 11 and THERE SHE WAS AGAIN.

She turned her back and I darted into the little girls' section and pretty soon, THERE SHE WAS AGAIN. This time she started staring at me a little more and I clutched my purse close to me, had my hand on my cell phone and was getting ready to kick her and call 911.

Then she spoke in her big smiley voice, "Hi," she gushed. "I love your coat. Where did you get your coat if you don't mind me asking?"

I mumbled something about getting it for Christmas a couple years ago and scooted away from her. She kept smiling at me through perfectly lined lips. I was officially freaked out and thought about running to the front of the store, jumping in my van and driving away, but I was afraid she was a psychopath that would just follow me. I decided to find a place where there were more people so if she tried to attack me, there would at least be witnesses. I made my way into the boys' section and tried to keep an eye out for her. Within about 30 sections, THERE SHE WAS AGAIN.

I saw her walking towards me this time in her very high heeled boots, purse held like she was going to open it with her perfectly manicured fingernails. She flipped her ponytail, batted her very well made up eyes and said, "I'm just going to ask you this...would you consider being a face model for me?"

While I'm not sure what look I had on my face at this point, I'm pretty sure it was something between, "Get away from me you weirdo" and "What the heck are you talking about."

She went on to explain while she thrusted a business card at me, "I'm annoying Mary Kay woman who likes to stalk people in stores (she actually gave me her name at this point)and I like the way your skin looks. And, I would really like a fair skinned model at my next..."

At this point, I tuned her out and was trying to think of a way to reach in my pocket and make my cell phone magically ring. I have no idea how she finished her sentence because all I could think was, "You've got to be kidding me?????? Who chases people around stores??????? I will NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER sell Mary Kay. I would rather work at McDonald's than be a PINK LADY."

Then I remembered from my neighbor who is the least pushy Mary Kay person in the world, that if you mention you already know someone in Mary Kay to a consultant, she should back off since you technically have a consultant already. The stalker lady wasn't going to back down and she continued to ramble on and on when I decided to pull out the big guns.

I know one of the national sales directors for THE PINK LADIES because her son used to play on Jonah's soccer team. I figured mentioning her name to Stalker Lady would make her go away--but it didn't...because she knew her...on a personal level...and she is going to the national sales director's house in Florida for Thanksgiving! All this did was prolong our conversation and cause me to have to explain how I knew her and that took us into a conversation about children. Oh, it was endless and I just wanted to shop in peace.

After finally freeing myself, I headed straight for the door, ran to my van, and drove off fast.

I don't understand how this is good salesmanship. It is NOT o.k. to follow a person around a store. It's weird. The worst part about this is that now that she knows that I know the national sales director chick, she can find out my phone number and something tells me that if she's the type of person to follow someone around a store, she won't be a bit shy about getting my number and calling.

Thank goodness for caller ID.

Fall 2004

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 14:21:00 +0000

This time of year, with the cold and the falling leaves, always reminds me of the fall of 2004. That fall was hard for me and then suddenly became filled with one of the biggest blessings in my life.

In March of 2004, I found out, rather unexpectedly, that I was pregnant. At this time, Landon and Olivia were only 18 months old and the prospect of having three children so close together was kind of daunting. But, after the initial shock wore off, I was happy. At the same time; however, I had a good friend trying to get pregnant. Sharing the news of my pregnancy with her wasn't easy. She was very gracious about it and was happy for me, but at the same time, I knew it was probably hard for her.

A couple weeks after finding out I was pregnant, I felt something was wrong. I didn't "feel pregnant". After going to the doctor for some blood work, then an ultrasound, we found out that there was no baby. The sac was completely intact, but the baby just wasn't there. I was angry. I felt like my body was defective since this same thing had happened to me before I had Jonah. It just didn't seem fair. I ended up having an D & C during spring break. It was good that I had the entire break to recover since I was teaching junior high at the time.

During all of this mess with me, my friend, Tracy, the one trying to get pregnant, found out that she was pregnant. It was a very hard time for her, I'm sure, me recovering from a miscarriage while she was trying to spread the good news of her own. The fact that we taught together at the same school made everyone feel awkward. More than once I walked into the office to have people congratulating her and then turning to me to say, "Sorry".

What amazed me about this time is that first of all, I genuinely was happy for Tracy and her husband. I wanted them to have a baby and I was glad she was pregnant. What I was angry about was the careless words people said to me during this time. On more than one occasion I got the following:

"After all you went through to have the twins. You really wanted to do that to yourself again?"

"You have your hands full enough right now. This is a blessing in disguise."

"What if you have another baby with a cleft? Do you really want that?"

My answers to these questions were always:

"Yes, I think babies are worth every bit of trouble."

"A miscarriage is never a blessing. It's an emotion upheaval and to suggest that God made this happen is sick."

"No, I would never wish a birth defect on a child, but I would love them all the same--cleft or no cleft."

Finally, I broke down one day at school, and a mom of one of my students said, "Heather, these people are nuts. If you made a cake mix and put it in the oven expecting a cake, only to realize that something was wrong and it didn't bake correctly, would it make that cake any less of a cake? Of course it wouldn't. A baby is still a baby and whatever the circumstances, when it doesn't come out of the 'oven' like it should, it's devastating."

At that point, instead of crying about the baby that was gone, I started praying for another one. I asked God to take the desire for a baby away if I wasn't going to have any more kids because at that point, the desire was very strong.

Meanwhile, I decided to stay home with Landon and Olivia, so I quit teaching during the day, but that fall I started teaching English classes for a community college about 45 minutes away. Two of my closest friends were now pregnant. My friend, Tracy, and my friend Laura. I was happy for them, but handled it o.k. The closer we got to November 15th, which was to be my due date, the more sad I became.

Then one evening, Laura called to tell me that she'd been talking to Tracy on the phone when Tracy's water broke. She was about 3 weeks early and was quickly going to the hospital. Parker was born not very long after she arrived at the hospital. He was in perfect health despite being a little early. The next day, I went to visit her in the hospital. I got to hold the tiny bundle and touch Parker's sweet litte hands and then all of the sudden it hit me. I was sitting in a hospital room ON NOVEMBER 15th (what should've been my due date), at the very hospital I was supposed to deliver my baby, and I was holding a baby that wasn't mine. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I couldn't believe that Tracy had Parker the day before my due date. What were the odds?

I thought about the irony of the situation all day long. I cried a few tears that night on the way to teach my class. While I was teaching that night, I realized I didn't feel so great. Thinking it was due to the stress of the day, I put it from my mind. Then I started thinking about the fact that my period was late. I figured it was too big a coincidence, but went to Wal-Mart after class and bought a pregnancy test. Since I had a 45 minute drive home, the suspense was killing me, so I pulled into a Casey's, went to the restroom and took a deep breath.

What were the odds of finding out I was pregnant on the very day I was supposed to have had a baby? Fulling expecting to see the NEGATIVE sign on the stick, I nearly passed out when it said POSITIVE. I looked into the mirror and started laughing like a maniac. How could this be happening?

At that point, I slipped into zombie mode. I could not believe this was happening. I got back into my car, turned on the radio and Lionel Richie was singing "Ballerina Girl". Was it a sign, I wondered? Was I having another girl? Something told me I was.

Mike was just as shocked at the news. We had not been trying for another baby and now, faced with the reality of the situation, we were a little scared. What if I had another miscarriage? What if I had a difficult pregnancy like with the twins? What if the baby had a cleft?

We got through all those what if's and really enjoyed the pregnancy. I felt pretty good considering I was pregnant and chasing after 2 two-year-olds and a 2nd grader. Our attitude when people asked us how we were going to do it was always the same: after handling premature twins, one baby was a walk in the park.

And you know what? It was. Other than using the umbilical cord as a jump rope and wrapping it around her neck 3 times while she was inside me, all things with Kate were pretty uneventful. Easy pregnancy. Easy delivery. Easy recovery from the c-section and an easy-going baby in the end.

I never take any of my children for granted, but when I look at Kate, I'm constantly reminded of the amazingness of how God works things out. She was a wonderful little present given to me on what could've been one a very sad and depressing day.

Even though our house is loud and crazy sometimes and the laundry is never ending, I feel blessed beyond belief to have four children and I'm so thankful that God felt I could handle the craziness.

Poison

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 03:23:00 +0000

I really hate talking about politics. I know that I just did on Tuesday and here I am about ready to do it again, but something happened today that really just infuriated me.

I was subbing in a 4th grade classroom. The kids were taking an English quiz and a little boy approached me with his finger pointed at one of the sentences. The sentence talked about the rose gardens at the White House and this little boy, with a confused look on his face asked me, "Why are they talking about rose bushes at the White House? They don't have roses there anymore."

Thinking he was referring to the time of year when everything dies, I said, "Well, there aren't roses there right now but in the spring and summer, they're back again."

He shook his head and looked at me like I was ignorant and told me, "No! Obama got rid of all of them."

I then went on to explain to him that Barack Obama is still a senator until January and right now he's just the president-elect and isn't making decision about roses in the White House flower garden.

And then, here's where I almost lost it on this 9 year old who is obviously been horribly misguided. He said to me without a smile, grin, laugh, or anything else to indicate he was telling me a joke (this would be a truly horrific joke if he were trying to tell it as a joke), "Obama ripped out all the rose gardens to make a watermelon patch. That's what his kind like."

For a moment, I thought that all the air had been sucked out of the room. I couldn't breathe. Here I was...faced with a 9 year old bigot who had been taught to be a bigot by someone, somewhere that he trusted.

My first reaction was to yell at him or shake him and scream, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!!!???????"

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that God would show me what to do because I wasn't sure where to go with this. Then I heard this little voice in my heart that said, "He doesn't know any different. This is what he's been taught."

So, for the next several minutes, bigot boy and I had a very serious conversation on racism, racial slurs, and the choices we make with our words. He never would tell me where exactly he had heard it, but I have a pretty good guess. While I don't know his parents, I suspect that the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. I told him things like that were poison and type of poison is what has caused violence against human beings for hundreds of years.

I was bothered by what the little boy said, but I was also horrified and embarrassed by my community. People in ours and surrounding communities aren't really open minded when it comes to other races. The closest thing to any kind of racial exposure our town gets is when people go into the Chinese restaurant downtown. I felt compelled to make sure my children know how lucky they are to live in a country where literally, anyone can be whatever he or she wants to be if that person works hard enough.

So, while we were driving to our nearest "real" town about 30 miles away to go out for dinner, I began lecturing them on the evils of racism and how it has no purpose. Jonah then told me that kids at school were saying that if a person didn't like Barack Obama, then that person was a racist. See how ignorant our community is? Children don't even realize that an individual can disagree with another person's political point of view and still respect that individual as a human being. It's an all or nothing situation with so many of them. Many kids don't even realize what racism truly is.

As I've said before, I have always voted Republican and I don't know if I'm going to be very happy with all the policies our new president is endorsing. I don't know if I believe everything he says, but this has nothing to do with the color of his skin; it's just the nature of politics.

Meanwhile, today's situation has made me realize that Mike and I have a our work cut out for us. We need to make sure our kids are going to be the ones to set the ignorant straight in our community. I want my children to root for the underdog (which in our community means anyone that isn't popular and white) and reach out to help them and not make stupid, insensitive comments based on a person's color, looks, economic status, or intelligence.

Sometimes I think our country has come so far and then an incident like today happens and suddenly, it feels like we're going backwards and nobody seems to care.

Politics Shmolotics

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 04:35:00 +0000

I'm sitting here on this fine Election Day evening listening to and reading on the internet everyone's reactions to the events of the day. The more I listen, the more annoyed I become. I'm annoyed by the left and the right. I think that both sides have the potential to be the biggest whiners and complainers on the face of the earth.

First of all, let it be known, that I seriously did not have a deep down conviction on who I felt should be elected president. What does this say about me as a person? I don't know and really, I don't care. That's the glory of living in America. You can be unsure and it's OK. It's called FREEDOM.

Also, it should be known that historically, I have always voted Republican--except for the unfortunate mistake of voting for our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad current governor. But hey, everyone makes mistakes, right? I just hope he doesn't run the state so far into the ground that my dad loses his job!

I guess when it comes down to it, I was pulling for McCain. Although tonight while I was washing dishes I began to wonder why exactly was I pulling for McCain? Then I came up with some thoughts.

Growing up, my family was not very politically minded. Our dinner conversation was not one that contained political chit-chat. Did we care about the state of our country? Yes. However, we weren't going to debate the current state of affairs while passing the potatoes because that did two things. 1. It caused people to get upset and 2. It caused indigestion.

I was; however, raised in a very conservative Christian family and although nobody came out and said it, it was assumed that a vote for a Republican was a vote that would "please God" because Republicans were considered "Christians" and Democrats were deemed those who "needed to know Jesus." The reason behind this belief seemed to be based on the abortion issue. If you were anti-abortion then you should vote Republican even though no Republican president since the inception of Roe vs. Wade has been able to abolish abortion! There are other issues, but many times, people fail to see them.

I was raised to believe I should be a Republican because a vote for Republican was a vote for GOD and really, I still do consider myself a Republican, but I think that there are many Democrats that would call themselves Christian. What bothers me so much about politics is that too many Christians get wrapped up in the party labels and they stop looking at the actual candidates. Then, once their candidate doesn't win, they assume that our country is going to be destroyed and that God is not pleased with the current state of affairs.

My point is this: GOD KNOWS EVERYTHING THAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN. It's all part of His plan and to shake your head and point fingers, and worry about what is going to happen in the world based on who the President of the United States is really like doubting God. It doesn't really matter who the President is...God is the one truly in control. People lie, they disappoint, laws don't get passed, or laws do get passed and all of these things shape our way of life, but God is still the one calling the shots.

My biggest disappointment in this election is the way that so many Christians look down with distain at Democrats--whether it be a person running for office or just a person going to vote. I don't know what is going to happen with the state of our country, but I do know that anyone has the potential to do something great or do something awful with the power that is given to him. It doesn't matter what the party affiliation is.

I don't know what is going to happen now that we have a new leader. My prayer is that everything goes smoothly and that people on both sides of the party lines can see the positives and that the President can listen to the people and the voice of God in his decision making.

Just some random ramblings...

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 14:15:00 +0000

So, eye patch that Landon has been wearing is going well. It's doing its job and Monday when we went back for a check-up, we found out that instead of seeing at 20/400 out of his right eye, he can now see 20/100. Yahoo! Improvement! I wish I could say the contact situation has been as easy. What a pain in the butt contacts are! I don't wear them, so I'm going into unchartered territory, but Mike wears them. However, he's been having a horrible time getting the contact in Landon's eye. It's at least a 15 minute ordeal every morning. It shouldn't be this difficult. I'm getting better at it and now Landon prays loudly every morning before it's time to put it in, "Please God, don't let this take forever!!!!!"

I'm being attacked by Kindergarten clutter. Geez louise, the papers that a Kindergartener can generate is astounding! They both come home with several papers and then they do these art projects around the house. I'm forever finding scraps of paper, drawings, and crayons. I love that they're creative, but I wish they'd clean up their creations without being reminded. And, they want to save everything. I'm pretty sentimental, but I know that I don't need 50 sheets of paper where they've practiced writing the letter B over and over again. Convincing them of that is another story.

Lately the girls have been fighting a lot. I don't understand this. I can't understand why one minute two little girls could be so happy and content with each other and then the next minute, they're out for blood. I'm lacking experience in this area since I was an only child. People with sisters--please explain why best friends become gladiators over a Barbie. Thanks.

And finally, I started teaching Olivia to play the piano. She's really into it, but she insists on playing the same 2 songs over and over again. This is where a piano teacher that isn't ME would come in handy--she needs to be urged onto bigger and better things so that her family doesn't have to wear earplugs.

Lucky

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 12:39:00 +0000

The other day while we were driving, Olivia and I were talking about her upcoming eardrum surgery and that while she's asleep, they're going to be taking pictures and impressions of her mouth to make her new teeth. I always feel it necessary to let her know exactly what is going on with regards to her cleft related stuff. I'm direct. Maybe that isn't good in some ways, but she appreciates knowing. Olivia does not like the unexpected.

So, a few minutes after our conversation, she says to me, "Mommy, I'm so lucky."

After I asked her why she was so lucky, she replied, "Because I get great teeth and I don't have to wait for them to come in. I don't have to worry about them getting loose and pulled. I'm lucky."

I never thought about it that way.

From the day she was born, I knew we would have a conversation similar to this one-- one where we talked about the differences between her and other kids her age. But, I'd always invisioned it to be on the opposite end of the continum. You know, where she was crying and saying, "Why can't I just be like everybody else? Why do I have to do this?"

There have been other times recently where I've experienced moments of relief when it comes to Olivia. The only way to explain it is to think about having a backpack on with big, heavy rocks in it. I put this on the day she was born and have been wearing it for the past 6 years. It was really heavy that day, and over the first year of her life as we reached milestones and came through surgeries, little by little rocks disappeared from my backpack. The ones deep down in the bottom are the ones that hold my fear of whether or not she'll be made fun of, if she'll like herself, if she will be able to answer questions about all she's been through with confidence instead of being a shrinking violet.

I'm not saying that all of my big, heavy rocks are gone. As her mother, I don't know if they'll ever be gone. I think they'll always remain--even as small pebbles, but when I see her making friends in Kindergarten, it becomes lighter. When she can look on the bright side about a surgery or procedure, I'm able to breathe a little better.

What I want for Olivia is what every parents wants for a child. I want her to be happy, successful, content, and self-confident. Unlike other children, she's going to have a harder road at times, but my prayer is that I can make sure she never feels the burden of the rock filled backpack.

My job as her mother is to carry that for her--whether I feel like I can or not.

Puppet Luke

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 22:04:00 +0000

Luke, this one's for you.

Landon came home from school very excited to show me the puppet he made. He named it Luke. Luke the puppet is a platypus. Can you see his large platypus feet that Landon was so proud of? Luke the puppet is also a basketball player. Here he is:

But wait! What is that I see on Luke the Basketball Playing Platypus's chest?

Let's get a closer look, shall we?

Is he wearing a KU JERSEY? Gasp! Oh, the horror!

And just in case you wanted to see where Platypus Luke plays basketball, here's the back of his jersey, which happens to have a picture on it:

We always knew that somehow we'd make a KU fan out of you!

A Prayer

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 16:34:00 +0000

Last night at bedtime prayers, I asked the Landon, Olivia and Kate if there was anything they'd like to pray about. Olivia showed me her finger, which had a pretty sizeable stratch on it and then, Kate, the hypochrondriac, decided she had a scratch on her finger as well.

But, she didn't want to me to pray for it. She told me she could do herself and here was her prayer. I should add that this was SHOUTED heavenwards because evidentally, she thinks Jesus has a hearing problem.

"Jesus! Do you see my finger? (pointing upwards towards heaven so He can get a better look) It's hurting me! Do you see it? Do you? Do you? Jesus?!!!??!?!?! DO YOU SEE MY FINGER????? I need you to make it feel better!!!!! Amen."

Nostalgia

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 20:52:00 +0000

Recently, I've had the opportunity to get in contact with old friends--people I never would've dreamed I would find again. And, as one of my old friends said just today on Facebook, "There's nothing like talking with old friends to make you feel young again." So true.

Over the weekend, we celebrated Landon and Olivia's 6th birthday. I find this hard to believe for a few reasons, but the main one is that being six years old doesn't seem that long ago for me. When I was six, my life was pretty simple. I was a typical happy-go-lucky little girl whose main concern in life was playing and figuring out ways to stay up past my bedtime. That little girl is still inside me somewhere--the little girl who didn't know life could be harsh. The little girl who didn't know that within a year, her dad would die in a car accident and who didn't know that over the course of the next several years her life would take drastic turns that would forever change everything about her.

I think about the Heather that I was on September 5th, 2002, just a mere 24 hours before the twins were born, and I'm struck with the reality that was about to hit me smack dab in the face. I was going on with life completely oblivious to the fact that the babies I was carrying would change everything about my life. Oh sure, I knew that there would be times of panic, unbelievable tiredness, overloads of laundry, but I didn't know that they would be faced with birth defects. I didn't know how sick they would be just hours after being removed from inside me.

Having two children born with clefts isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I know that they don't know any other life than they one they have now, but it is probably one of the most life-changing things that happened to me. Before they were born, I didn't realize what beauty really is. Before they were born, I didn't know the pain of having someone whisper and point at my child while I pretended not to notice. Before they were born, I didn't truly know what a special gift speech can be. You never really know until you have a child who has difficulties with speaking.

Landon and Olivia are typical little kids in every way and I thank God all the time that they are happy, healthy children who love their friends and family. The long-term affects of their birth problems could've been so devastating and miraculously, they are fine. What their birth has done is given me a new outlook on life, on how to treat people, and more empathy towards others.

Before they were born, I don't think I knew what was truly important. They say we are our children's first teachers, but in this case, my children have been mine.

Does Speed Stick make a candle?

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 21:27:00 +0000

My house is in a current state of STALE, meaning that it smells like a combination of what we had for dinner last night and dog--only we don't have a dog, so it's in need of smelling fresh.

So, today after I dropped off L and O at school, K and I went candle shopping. I'm a big fan of Beanpod candles because not only do they smell great and last a long time, but they don't give off that black junk that makes my walls look like the inside of a chimney. As I was trying to figure out which one I wanted, I was letting Kate sniff a few.

I handed her one and she took a big whiff and then said, "Yuck! That's smells like Daddy's armpits."

Puzzled, since I don't think that Beanpod makes a candle in B.O., I said, "What are you talking about?"

"It smells like Daddy's armpits," she explained, "after he puts on his 'oderant. I don't like it."

And so, we bought very un-deodorant smelling candles because we can't have our house smelling like armpits.

Painted Shirts

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 16:53:00 +0000

Tomorrow, my babies will be starting Kindergarten.

My silly, smiley, smart, once "weighed less than a big roast" babies. Let's remember with a picture, shall we?

This was taken the day we were finally all going home from the hospital at the same time. What a wild ride we were about to begin.

One of the things they need for school is a paint shirt. Instead of buying a plastic smock, I bought big t-shirts. I did this with J as well and I decorated it with his name and designs, so that it was more fun. His paint shirt came home from Kindergarten with paint smudges and spots all over it. Now he has a wonderful reminder of his creations in Kindergarten because I'm a sentimentalist and cannot throw it away. So, here are L and O's t-shirts that will see them through this, their first year of school. These aren't great pictures because I stood on a chair to take them, hit my head on the light above me, felt woozy and almost fell off.

I love you both and I hope you feel that love every time you wear your shirt.

Big Girls Don't Cry

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 20:45:00 +0000

Last night while we were eating dinner, the subject of shots was brought up. More specifically, the fact that L and O were going to RECEIVE shots today at their doctor's appointment was discussed at length.

Immediately, O started crying so hard she couldn't eat. It was a mess. We all tried to comfort her by saying things like, "It only hurts for a minute!" or "Compared to all the surgeries you've had, this is nothing!"

She wasn't convinced. And then her baby sister chimes in, "Well, if I were going to have shots, I wouldn't cry. I would laugh. Remember that song Big Girls Don't Cry that Mommy makes us listen to in the van? You're a big girl."

Her wisdom at only three years old astounds me sometimes, but I figured a lot of her confidence was bolstered by the fact that I had told her she didn't need to have shots.

I was wrong.

Today we went to the appointment and the doctor first listed all the shots L and O would have. Then she paused for a moment and said, "Um, from my records, K is overdue on a couple as well."

Suddenly, I remembered my error. I had postponed her MMR and chicken pox because I was being a paranoid spaz and asked our doctor if we could wait until K was a little older to give them. That wasn't a problem until at the next check up she was sick, so she couldn't get the shots and then I forgot. Suddenly, I started to panic. THREE kids getting shots at the same time and I had no back-up help? Was I crazy?

So we broke the news to her and I expected tears and a lot of them. There tears, but they were all from O. K bravely sat on the table, stuck out her little, scrawny arm and said, "I won't cry."

And she didn't. Her sister; however, more than made up for it. She cowered in the corner and sobbed her eyes out claiming we were all "so mean" and we just "didn't understand how afraid she was". Oh, we understood alright, especially after it took the nurse and me to hold her down while the other nurse gave her the shots. She is currently walked around with her arms glued to her sides claiming she cannot move them to carry anything--specifically toys that need to go to her room, but she IS able to raise them to put food in her mouth. Interesting...

I don't know where she gets this dramatic behavior0--certainly not from moi.

It's been a long day. I think I would rather get all 10 shots myself than to take two 5 year olds and a 3 year old to get shots.

I need a nap.

Aging gracefully

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 23:52:00 +0000

Growing up, I had all girl cousins. There were seven of us and this was both the delight and torture of my Nana's life. She loved to brag to everyone about "her grandbabies," but since we were all girls, and she had a hard time keeping our names straight in a hurry, she would often just start at the top and work her way down to the person she needed.

It wasn't unusual for her to holler through the house, "Dorrell, Debbie, Dina, Heather, come to the table; the food's ready."

This is what we still continue to tease her about--well we also tend to tease her about her love for the word S@#%. Seriously, it's a hilarious topic of conversation in our family--how Nana, when she doesn't think anyone is listening and something doesn't go right she'll say, "Well, s$#% fire!"

I don't know the origin of such a phrase. Could it be her Alabama upbringing, or is this just an Evelyn creation? Either way, it's safe to say I've never seen anyone s@%$ fire and all I can say about that is OUCH.

This evening my sweet grandparents were here visiting. The older I get and the older they get, the more I appreciate each and every visit no matter how short it may be. I find myself watching out more and more protectively of them. The roles are reversing and I often caution them to drive carefully. When they got ready to leave, Nana missed the step in our garage and would've taken a nasty fall if she hadn't fallen into my mom who caught her. It's funny that at the beginning of our lives we fall a lot and everybody worries and once we're old, everybody worries that we'll fall a lot. Anyway, after she tried to laugh it off by saying that she was too busy talking to pay attention to the step, I noticed exactly why she almost fell. Was it the step? Probably, but it almost might've had something to do with the three inch heels on her sandals.

No, I'm not kidding. My 85 year old grandma was wearing sandals with three inch heels. Who does she think she is? Paris Hilton?

"Nana!" I said shocked, "Your shoes are so high! Don't you find them difficult to walk in?"

She looked back at me and smiled, "Oh, do you like them? I've noticed that it's the style now-a-days...heels with slacks, so I figured why not?" (side note: who still calls pants slacks, anyway?)

Why not? Can you say BROKEN HIP? TWISTED ANKLE? FRACTURED VERTEBRAE? That's why not!

AHHHH! This just adds to my list of worries. Why can't she be a granny who wears sensible shoes with gripping soles and laces?

But, I didn't say anything to her because I realized that part of the reason that Nana is still so active and with it is because she refuses to believe she's old. She calls people in their 70's old men and women! We've stopped pointing out to her that someone who is 70 could technically be her child because she loves to think young. And, I guess if wearing shoes that look like she bought them at Forever 21 make her feel young, then more power to her.

As long as she doesn't start wearing mini-skirts.

I see London, I see France, I see O's underpants

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 16:41:00 +0000

I discovered today that I had maggots in our outside trash cans. Yes, I said maggots. Excuse me while I throw up.

Anyway, while I was washing out the trash cans with bleach and then lots and lots of Pinesol, my dear daughter decided to come outside and join me. When I walked to the front yard for a minute, she decided to soak herself in the water from the hose. I didn't really care, but told her that once she was done giving herself a shower, she needed to go into the garage and take off her clothes before entering the house. "Sure!" she said.

I guess I never told her that she should put clothing back on and in her 5 1/2 year old mind, that meant it was perfectly fine to trapse around the neighborhood in her underware because a few minutes later when I was across the street talking to my neighbor, suddenly, my neighbor starts laughing. I turn around to see O running out the front door with nothing on but her High School Musical panties.

"Hi Mommy!" she yelled. "I took off my wet clothes!"

Fortunately, my neighbor has 4 grown children and now has 8 grandchildren, so she is not shocked at all by public nudity. In fact, last week her granddaughter ran down the driveway to wave at me without a stitch of clothing on at all. However, the lawn service that was at my OTHER neighbor's house was not quite so accustomed to seeing naked children running around. They literally stopped what they were doing and watched as O flashed the neighborhood. They didn't have the look of pervert written on their faces; they were genuinely horrified that this little girl was in her skivies.

Oh to me young again and not care if people see you in your underware. I'd be mortified if anyone saw me in mine.

The Piano

iaintjuneclever@yahoo.com (june clever) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 13:22:00 +0000

As a little girl, I wasn't naturally athletic. Maybe this was due to the fact that my dad died when I was 7, leaving my mother to navigate the world of t-ball and such, or more likely, it's because I have zero athletic genes in my body.

What I did long to do was play the piano and dance. For many years, I took lessons for both. Once my mom married my step-father and we moved to Smalltown USA where the nearest dance studio was 30 minutes away, I had to quit. I still kept up with piano and loved it.

I wasn't the type that needed to be hounded to practice. I love to practice and I love to play. Then one day in my junior year of high school, my parents decided I needed to be more challenged and sought out to find me a teacher who would groom me into the piano virtuoso they wanted me to be.

Yes, I said that THEY wanted me to be because while I loved to play and learn something new, I didn't really enjoy performing all that much. This was the source of much contention between my parents and me. They couldn't understand how someone who had this talent wouldn't want to show everyone, and I couldn't understand why I just couldn't play for my enjoyment. At any rate, I was signed up to take piano lessons from a man in our nearest big town who was interesting to say the least.

First of all, he was an excellent pianist. He played with a local symphony, played with well known musicians from around the world, and had an overwhelming desire to share his knowledge with his students. Because he was such a busy man, he had six only six or seven students at a time. Three were always adults that were his friends that had begged him to teach them and the other four were hand picked, fully auditioned, high school students.

I couldn't believe I had to audition for a piano teacher to see if I was "worthy" enough to learn from him, but I did it. His life was consumed by piano, his living room contained two grand pianos and an enormous stereo system on which to listen to various pieces of music during lessons. I sat down at this audition and played an entire movement of a Mozart sonata, a Beethoven sonata, and the ever popular Fur Elise. As I was playing, he was typing on his word processor notes and comments of what I was doing while I played. At the end of my audition he hit PRINT and the machine vomited out his thoughts on me.

My fingernails were too long and painted. That was a no-no.

I didn't "feel" the music as much as I should. I needed to work on being a performer and not just a player. (Duh, I didn't want to be a performer.)

My fingering was off in certain places.

There were other suggestions and things he didn't like, but you get the drift. I realized then that I didn't want to do this any more. It wasn't fun, but considering he didn't really seem to like me, I figured I was in the clear. Imagine my surprise when he told me, "I would pleased to have you as a student. Please come on Wednesdays at 5:00."

Barf.

And so it was for the next two years, I sat in his living room at a piano with my now short, unpainted fingernails while he sat at another with his trusty word processor at his side. I began hating piano. I would still play at home, but I tried to avoid the pieces he had given me to do. Finally, they would call to me and the thought of disappointing this man was too much for me to bear, so I would practice and practice and practice.

He began talking to my parents about setting up auditions for me at various universities into their music departments. I felt like throwing up. Still, I never said anything to my parents.

Then I became a senior and it all changed.

I broke up with my long time boyfriend that my parents loved and started dating around before finally beginning to seriously date a guy that they would've loved to run over. I wanted more freedom. I wanted to make my own decisions. Most of all, I wanted to stop playing the piano.

It was spring of 1991, and it was time for solo and ensemble contest at my school. I always did a piano solo and this year I was playing something by Grieg. I had practiced and was prepared and there was no reason why I shouldn't have received a first, but I tanked it. I didn't prepare my music with the measure numbers as was required. I rushed through the piece. I didn't perform, I just played--and not very well I might add. I literally hit wrong notes on purpose. It was embarrassing and I received a 4th.

I did all of this to prove a point. I wanted my parents to finally know that I didn't want to be a performer. I didn't want to major in music in college. My mom finally told me I could quit, but I had to be the one to tell my teacher. Not thinking twice about it, I called him up and told him I was done. He responded by sending me a 2 page letter on the many way I had wasted his time the past two years and how I was making the biggest mistake of my life by not continuing to persue my life with the piano.

I didn't feel any remorse about this decision until last night. My piano is still at my parents' house due to the act that we never have enough able bodied men around to move the crazy thing to our house, so last night I decided to play when we were at my parents' house. Maybe it's because I'm getting older, but it seemed really hard. Like an aging athlete, what was once so easy, was now difficult and I realized now, 18 years later, that I made a terrible mistake. I know I made a good decision to quit the lessons that I so hated, but I shouldn't have turned by back on the piano entirely. So, I told Mike last night that next weekend the piano is coming to our house. I will start playing again and I will teach my children to play the piano...but only on their terms.