The Opposite of June

Biker Babe

2009-08-04T12:31:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-24T08:22:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-13T22:16:00.002-05:00

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.

2009-02-02T17:53:00.002-06:00

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

2009-01-27T10:01:00.003-06:00

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

2009-01-21T12:27:00.002-06:00

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

2009-01-14T23:53:00.003-06:00

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

2008-12-23T08:29:00.005-06:00

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!

2008-12-17T07:33:00.002-06:00

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?

2008-12-01T09:17:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-20T08:02:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-13T08:21:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-07T21:23:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-04T22:35:00.002-06:00

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...

2008-10-29T09:15:00.003-05:00

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

2008-10-04T07:39:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-18T17:04:00.006-05:00

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

2008-09-17T11:34:00.002-05:00

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

2008-09-08T15:52:00.002-05:00

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?

2008-08-29T16:27:00.003-05:00

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

2008-08-19T11:53:00.005-05:00

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

2008-08-15T15:45:00.003-05:00

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

2008-08-13T18:52:00.002-05:00

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

2008-08-07T11:41:00.004-05:00

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

2008-08-04T08:22:00.003-05:00

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.

Questions without answers

2008-07-28T10:23:00.001-05:00

When I was in high school, our newspaper had a weekly column of questions that were basically inside jokes about what happened with people over the weekend, or what was going on between the couples that were dating. Most people, myself included, couldn't wait to see if we'd made it into the latest issue because it validated what we all needed most: to feel like somebody cared about our lives.

When it came time to write this entry, that entire crazy column that once meant so much to me (because if your name was mentioned in it, it meant you were awesomely cool) came back to my mind. This time it isn't for a fun reason, it's because my oldest son, who is 11, has been faced with a lot of questions without answers. As his mom, it's difficult to see.

I have a really sensitive son. He's not a mama's boy, a wuss, a pansy, or any of the other terms that society likes to label sensitive males, but he really wears his heart on his sleeve. He's been like this since he was very little. When we see a homeless person, he worries about what led up to that person living on the street and how he or she will survive. He has a soft heart for animals--even the annoying raccoons that are trying to take over our backyard. Unfortunately, over the past year, it seems his little heart has just been overwhelmed by the injustices in the world.

One of his best friends has a sister who disappeared after leaving home for a party. She was 20 years old. Nobody has seen or heard from her since. The FBI can't even seem to find a trail that leads to her. J has watched his friend's family struggle with the grief and he often asks me, "They'll find her, right? She just probably ran away, right?" He wants so desperately to believe she's o.k.

About a week and a half ago, another friend of his was on his way home from vacation with his mom, dad and sister. They'd taken a family trip to Alaska and as they were driving home from the airport, they were hit by a drunk driver. The mom and dad were fine, but B, and his sister were both seriously injured. They thought B was even going to die and although he's still in intensive care, he is improving slowly. However, the doctors aren't sure he'll ever be 100% again.

Everything that has been bothering J, seemed to come to a head the other evening. I need to preface this with a little background. In second grade, J became friends with a boy named Amos. I can't say what drew him to Amos except maybe Amos' stuttering problem. J used to stutter and had to get some speech intervention for it, but, thank God, he grew out of it. As a result, he's always very sensitive to those who stutter and he felt sorry for Amos. Amos has a very poor family life, he lives with his mom and step-dad, his step-dad is a child molester (still haven't figured out why he's allowed to be around Amos and his siblings), they never have any money and he usually smells like stale smoke and dirty feet, oh and to top it off, he still stutters. Jonah has always invited Amos to his birthday parties and included him in recess games of basketball much to the horror of many of their classmates. I'm not saying this to make my son sound like a hero, but because of J's stubbornness that no matter what Amos was going to be treated like everyone else most of the boys at school include him and look past his dirty clothes, his stuttering, and his shoes that are 2 sizes too big.

Now, flash forward to this summer, J and Amos haven't seen each other much. Amos wasn't allowed to play baseball this summer because his parents couldn't afford it, but Amos hung out at the ball field a lot and watched the boys play. We've been receiving phone calls that are hang ups on the answering machine. I didn't recognize the name or number of the person that was calling, so I figured that it was a wrong number. Then the other day there was a message, it was Amos, mumbling something in his broken speech pattern that we couldn't really understand. What we thought he said was, "Could you drop J off at my house next Friday?"

I immediately told J that under no circumstances would he be going to Amos' house and he got really upset with me. He told me it wasn't fair I punished Amos because he was poor and so I had a talk with him about how it had nothing to do with how much money he did or didn't have, and then went on to explain what a child molester is and that I would not knowingly send him into a situation where he'd be in the claws of one. He understood and called Amos back to instead invite him over to our house, but had to leave a message. (This phone and answering machine was actually their neighbor's because Amos' family doesn't have a phone.)

A few hours passed and the phone rang. I answered and it was a man's voice mumbling something about money. I couldn't understand him and asked him to repeat himself two or three times. I quickly realized it was Amos' step-father and he was calling to ask me for, "Five or ten bucks to buy some medicine for Amos by Friday."

This certainly wasn't what I was expecting and all at once I had feelings of sadness and anger. I was sad that this poor kid has to grow up in a family like this and angry, oh so angry, that he has to be the one to suffer while his mom and dad are chain smokers and that's where their money goes. They don't care if the child is clean, if he's well supplied for school, if he does his homework. They don't care that he wants desperately to be involved in extra-curricular activities, but can't because they won't pay for it. I'm all for helping, and we've helped Amos in a lot of different ways, but I could not in god conscience hand over money to this creep on the phone who would most likely not spend it on medication anyway.

After hanging up the phone, J asked me what happened, and he could tell by the look on my face that I was upset. I told him and he started crying--not little silent tears, but big, body shaking sobs. He listened to the message on our answering machine again and through his tears said, "He wasn't asking for me to come over! He was asking for money! Why would they make him do that?"

For the next 45 minutes we sat at the kitchen table, he was crying as I tried to answer questions for which I had no answers. His friendship with Amos has been his first up close exposure to poverty, child abuse, and the overwhelming reality that life isn't fair. His view of his narrow 11 year old world has been broadened significantly which can be a good thing, but in the process he's had his heart broken and his eyes opened and I know that he'll never be the same.

Party Pooper

2008-07-23T08:53:00.000-05:00

Since the beginning of my married life, I've been plagued with a problem. It seems to pop up every few months at the very least and every two weeks in certain situations. It puzzles me. I become frustrated about it and I don't know how to remedy the situation.

I am sick and tired of in home product sale parties.

Over the course of the last 13 years, I've been invited to a plethora of these including, but not limited to, Home Interior, candles ranging from Party Light to Scentsy, gourmet food items that I'll never eat, ugly jewelry that is overpriced, scrapbooking, pretty jewelry that is overpriced, jewelry making parties, Tupperware, "romance" items (ewwww and yuck), baskets that are trying to be Longaberger but aren't, Mary Kay, actual Longaberger, Uppercase Living Wall Rubbings and the obligatory Pampered Chef.

I don't begrudge the women who do these parties to make a living or to make supplemental income, I sold Pampered Chef for a time for that very reason (my career with that had an abrupt ending that can best be explained in another blog entry). I don't even mind people occasionally asking me to have a party even though I usually say no. What really drives me crazy is the fact that I have gotten enough of these stupid invitations that I could probably wall paper a room in my house with them.

In my circle of friends and acquaintances, nobody ever seems to branch out in the invitation world which means that the first week of the month a person might receive a Scentsy invite, the second week an Uppercase Living, and the fourth a Tupperware party. Then, the following month after each woman has attended said parties and scheduled a party for herself, the entire deluge of invitations comes again!

I moved past feeling obligated to go to these parties a long time ago because a person can be expected to spend at least $40 at one of these money sucking fests, and when the invitations are coming in triplicate, that's a lot of money put towards earrings, wall crap, or a contraption with so many blades I could slice an entire salad, or all 10 of my fingers.

I love the marketing ploys these consultants use to lure hostesses in--let me spoil you, it's time away for you, when's the last time you had an evening away with you friends?

These are all valid statements for women who are trying to parent, work, clean a house, do laundry, remember to brush their teeth, and trying to find 6.5 hours to sleep. However, I would like to go on record as saying I'd just like to get together with my friends for a real party. This would be a party with fun and conversation and food that doesn't revolve around what the consultant has pulled out of the back of her van and placed on lovely display in my friend's living room.

I got to thinking about this and I think that what I should do is invite everyone over and tell each woman to bring $50 and a really good snack. We'd all sit around a bowl with each woman's name in it. I would draw out a name and let's say I chose Michele, then Michele would give me her $50. Then Michele would draw and if she drew Kim's name, then Kim would give her $50.

The whole evening would be us eating, laughing, and passing around 50's because this is essentially what we've been doing at all these dumb parties. I spend at yours, you spend at hers, then she comes and spends at mine.

SOMEONE MUST STOP THE MADNESS!

Adventures with goats and other fun stories

2008-07-19T14:57:00.001-05:00

Whenever we have to make a trip to St. Louis for an appointment for O, we try and combine it with something fun. This takes the sting out of the long drive, the long wait in the office, and the prodding that O has to endure. So, for her yearly cleft team visit, we decided to stay in St. Louis for a couple of days and have some fun.

The first day, we decided to go to The City Museum. This place had been recommended to us by several people and we went in not really knowing what to expect--partially because nobody really knew how to explain and describe it to us. It's in an old factory in downtown St. Louis. It's a little part museum and a big part of playground. It's really cool for people of all ages and I would recommend it. The only thing that might hold an adult back is his or her size because if you are too big or not very limber, you aren't going to last long. There were caves, scaffolds, ramps, slides, an actual circus, and a host of other things. The best way to describe it is what would happen if Dr. Seuss, an architect, and a hippie all got together and made something. The City Museum would be the product of their efforts.

We explored the inside and then headed for the outside structure that made me wonder how in the world it ever passed a safety code. There we were--all 6 of us climbing on this metal structure into an abandoned airplane when the thought crossed my mind, "Why am I doing this?" We decided to head up to a slide that was really, really high in the air when L decided that he doesn't like heights. We suspected this before due to an unfortunate playground incident, but this time was really bad. O decided she didn't want to climb up that far, so she stayed with Mike on a lower level. J took off like some kind of monkey-child which left me with L and K. We were climbing on metal rods that had been soldered together into the shape of a triangle. At the top of the triangle, I was supposed to encourage (translation: push) L and K through a hole after which they would climb up a few more soldered metal objects to get to the slide. Easy, right?

Three year old K took it in stride. She wasn't afraid at all. L decided to look down at this point and suddenly froze. There he stood on the peak of the triangle, with his hands grasping the hole above him and he started to cry. Really, he started to scream--LOUDLY. I tried to coax him down, but he wouldn't let go. People were trying to get around him and couldn't. Monkey-child was long gone, Mike was down below with O who is now crying because she thinks her brother is going to become a permanent fixture in the museum, K is crying because I can't lead her onward to the slide, and L frozen in fear. I first had to remove K from the triangular mess and give her strict instructions to hold onto a pole and not move, then in my best "don't worry Mommy is here" voice, I talked Landon into squatting down and grabbing onto my neck. Once we were free from the triangle of terror, he started to sob and say rather loudly, "This place is so dangerous for children! Why isn't this illegal!"

The next day, after O's appointment, we decided to head to Grant's Farm thinking that a calm, laid back day seeing animals is just what the kids needed after spending the day before climbing and screaming in fear. Our first stop was the petting zoo. This area was filled with ducks and chickens where for a quarter you could purchase corn to feed them. There were parrots, rabbits and turtles to see and in the largest pen there were goats.

I don't know how many goats there were, but once we stepped foot inside their domain there seemed to be at least 100--although I'm sure it was more like 20 or something. I should preface this by saying that before we went to Grant's Farm, we stopped for lunch at Taco Bell where O spilled her taco down the front of her dress, the major portion of it being just at goat's eye level. So, before entering the pen, we bought two bottles of milk from the milk stand people who gleefully took our money and said, "Have fun!" They should've said, "BEWARE! OUR GOATS ARE PSYCHOTIC GLUTTONS!"

J entered through the turnstile first with a bottle. Immediately goats started leaping and pawing at him. He wasn't sure which mouth he should place the bottle into and instead of picking a goat, he just held the bottle above his head. This sent the goats into a frantic fit as they started nudging him to bring that bottle down lower. Next, Mike went in with L and O at his side. I followed behind with K and the camera. What Mike didn't realize is that somehow, two goats had made their way into the turnstile with them and not only were they blocking his path to get out, they had suddenly discovered that O smelled deliciously like a taco, so they started chewing on her dress. As he pushed his way through the gate, L took off running. Goats chased him since he was with taco girl and they thought he might be tasty, too. Mike was trying to protect O from becoming goat food with one hand and in the other he held a bottle. The goats, seeing the bottle and the delicious taco flavored girl, didn't know which side was better and I guess that's why they decided to divide and conquer. Some were chewing on O while the others were leaping onto Mike. O was screaming, so Mike flung the bottle at me which caused the goats to come after me and knock K over. L began to scream because these goats were finding his shorts quite tasty. There we stood in a mass of crazy goats, dripping bottles and screaming children and I looked around--not one single family in the pen was having this problem. Everywhere around us, children were giggling and giving out little shrieks of delight. Parents were taking videos and pictures and here was our family being tortured by this gang of goats!

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but somehow, we got Mike and the three younger ones out of goat hell and J and I fed what remained of our bottles to a couple of the more polite, subdued customers. We walked away from that pen feeling slightly violated and very exhausted. O summed it up best, "I don't know why those disgusting creatures are even allowed in this place."

The rest of our day was good. We had a great time and came home fully worn out. After such a long day, I think I lost my ability to parent effectively because at bedtime when L and K had a MMP (meltdown of mass proportions) and O, having had enough of their crying and whining came out of her room and kicked them both, I actually fell onto the hallway floor and laughed until I cried. I couldn't help myself and the more they cried, the harder I laughed. Suddenly, they stopped crying about bedtime snacks and uncomfortable panties and looked at me like I had completely lost my mind.

It was an effective way to squelch a MMP. I think I'll try it more often.

If you'd like to see pictures of our St. Louis adventure, click on the flickr badge at the top of the page.

Getting Mayerweed

2008-07-15T16:17:00.000-05:00

The other day, L came up to me and said rapidlywithoutabreathinacompleterunonsentence, "When I have to gwhoa up and get mayerweed I am going to miss evweebody so much and I'll miss this house and you and Daddy, so I was finking that I could just get mayerweed and tell my wife that we have to wive here. I fink that Oyivia, and evweebody else could also get mayerweed and wive here too that way I won't be so sad. We could all wive with YOU, Mommy!"

Me: "Um, no."

Him (nearly starting to cry): "But, why?"

Me: "Because that's not normal."

Him: "It's called togetherness!" (I have no idea where he gets these things.)

Me: "No, it's called disfunction. You need your own house."

Worry Wart

2008-06-28T19:20:00.000-05:00

This summer has been a time of change and growing in many respects for our family. I've given the kids a more active role in keeping the house clean by doing a magnetic chore list that hangs on the side of the frig and we rotate the chores weekly. For the most part, they've really done well with that. It's funny to see the joy on the face of the person assigned to water the flowers when it rains three days in a row. And, I've been desperately trying to keep up with never ending the cycle of sorting, washing, drying, and putting away the endless amounts of laundry. But, the biggest changes and growing have to do with my oldest.

He's 11 now and will be in junior high in the fall. While he used to be content to just hang out with the family all summer, I can see that he's starting to sprout small wings and wants to do things with his friends. Since he still seems to like us and does still enjoy family time, it makes me happy to see him develop close friendships--all a part of growing up! However, through these friendships we've realized that while J likes to have fun with his friends, he's really a homebody. He likes his routine; he likes his bed; he likes what is familiar. This causes a tremendous problem when someone asks him to spend the night.

He's been like this in the past, but he was younger. There was a time period about 3 years ago where a couple of his friends really wanted him to spend the night and he just couldn't. He knew his friends' families well, but he was terrified to spend the night away from home. I chalked it up to him being young and figured that within a couple of years we'd be begging HIM to stay home with us. But that hasn't been the case and it's starting to concern me.

This summer he's been asked to spend the night with people several times. A few times it wouldn't work out due to our schedule, a few times he begged me to make an excuse so he wouldn't have to go, and a couple of times he's actually done it. He survived, but not without incident. He either convinces himself that he's injured in some bizarre way, or that his "stomach hurts". Each time this has happened, we've received a call from him and we've told him to gut up and just stay.

Last weekend, he went to a sleep over and didn't call!! Mike and I looked at each other at 11:30 that night and said, "Do we dare even think that he's actually going to do it without a phone call?" And, he did it. I thought he was cured and then last night he did it again and I totally lost my cool.

He was supposed to spend the night with his friend who lives about 2 minutes away from our house if you're driving. This friend had been with Mike and J at a baseball game, the boys were having fun and when Mike went to drop him off, he had developed this mysterious stomach ache. Mike said he was doubled over and in tears, so his friend was very understanding and told him to not worry about it. Mike said J actually looked like he was going to throw up, so this friend was probably worried J was going to throw up on him.

So, when he came home and told me why he wasn't at his friend's house, I just wanted to shake him. I listed all kinds of reasons why this fear of his is totally ridiculous. Next summer he very well might have to go away for 3 days to a basketball camp. How in the world will he handle that? I was disgusted with him and after I told him to go to bed in a tone that really wasn't very loving, I lay in bed trying to figure out why I was so angry. Did it really matter if he didn't spend the night with his friend? It didn't. I realized that my anger was based out of fear. I don't want him to be afraid of life because if he is, he's going to miss out on so much.

I lived most of my childhood in fear and worry. I was worried something would happen to my mom, I was terrified of my first step-father, I put way too much thought into what people at school felt about me because I wanted so much to be liked. Although my mom always meant well, she put so much fear on me because she was afraid something terrible would happen to me. I was a paranoid mess and as a result, I don't think I enjoyed things enough. I think I grew up too fast. Not in the respect that I was chasing boys or drinking at 9 years old, but I could not just sit back and take things for face value. My life was always over analyzing, deep thinking, and anxiety. Even in the midst of something as fun, there was always a part of me that held back.

I don't want this for any of my children and I feel like out of the four of them, J has inherited this awful trait from me. He went to bed last night feeling like he had disappointed me and I went to bed feeling like a jerk. Later when I couldn't sleep, I crept into his room and he was still awake and I told him what I was feeling. He listened intently and replied quietly, "Ok."

I hugged him and said in an aside sort of way, "Besides, if you keep this worrying up, you'll give yourself an ulcer."

"What's an ulcer?" he asked.

So, I spent the next 10 minutes explaining what an ulcer was before I left his room. A few minutes later I heard him say softly, "Can you come here? Do you think I have an ulcer? Has the worrying I've been doing made me have one? Will my stomach get a hole in it? Will I have to go to the doctor?"

"STOP!" I nearly shouted. Now I realize that I should've never introduced Mr. Worry to the wonderful world of ulcers.

Birthday Reflections

2008-06-16T18:40:00.002-05:00

Well, it's official. I'm now one year closer to 40.

It was a great birthday. My kids were wonderful. Have I ever said that I have the greatest kids in the entire world?

Mike was gone for most of the day because he had to coach his soccer team in a tournament, so I decided to mow the lawn in the morning. Yeah, I know that doesn't sound like thrilling birthday material, but I actually like mowing the lawn. I have time to think or pray or sing to myself and I find great satisfaction watching the lawn go from shaggy to trimmed.

While I was playing gardener, the kids were all making me cards. I love, love, love homemade cards. I hope they will all still make me homemade cards when they're adults.

In the evening, it was off for dinner with friends. We ate at my favorite restaurant. After that, we went to our friends' house for dessert and a rousing game of Mafia.

The day was perfect. Perfect weather, perfect food, perfect conversation. I hope my 35th year is as perfect.

My friend, Kelli, got me a bracelet that says, "Live, Laugh, Love" on it. I've seen that before written on stones, jewelry, needle pointed pillows, etc., but now that I can wear it around my wrist it reminds me that that's what life is about. We need to live and enjoy life, remember to laugh, and don't forget to show love to the people in your lives.

There are new pictures on Flickr. Click on the badge to see them.

Independence

2008-06-10T11:50:00.000-05:00

The following conversation took place yesterday evening before I took the kids to Bible School.

K: Mommy, when you leave me at Bible School, I'm going to cry and cry.

Me: Why would you do that? You're excited for Bible School.

K: I don't care. I'm going to cry very hard. I will be sad.

Me: Don't you want to go? It's going to be lots of fun.

K: Yes, but I will be very sad for awhile.

But, she didn't cry. She sat on my lap for a couple of minutes while she watched the other kids. Then she hopped off, told me goodbye, and without so much as a kiss or a small hug, she was off.

And she wasn't very sad. At all.

Looking forward

2008-06-09T15:10:00.000-05:00

I'm going to be 35 on Saturday and I don't really know how I feel about that.

I am thankful that I'm healthy and strong and that I don't have a terrible disease. I feel like I hear more and more about so many women my age getting breast cancer. I am very thankful I'm healthy.

I'm not taking my life for granted, but I guess I feel sort of blah.

It isn't the actual age--really it isn't. It's the feeling of looking ahead that freaks me out. That's typical me. Instead of basking in the moment, I'm worrying about the future.

But here are the thoughts that have gone through my head the past few weeks...

1. Many of my friends have been working steadily since we got out of college. That gives them 12 years of retirement stowed away. I only worked 7 years full time and then started staying home. I've been staying home since L and O were 2. I don't have any plans to go back to teaching full time until K is in Kindergarten. So, by doing these calculations, I'll be several years behind people my age. When they're all retiring to Florida, I'll still be grading papers and teaching kids what adjectives are.

2. Although I have no plans for this, if I were to get pregnant today, I would be considered a high risk pregnancy. I was graced with this label when I was pregnant with L and O, but now it would be because of my age. I'm a geriatric in the ob/gyn world.

3. This one seems to be bothering me the most. My mom started having horrible period issues in her late 30's. I remember this vividly because while she was coming to the end of her periods, I was starting mine. The problems she had resulted in first having her uterus removed, then a few years later one ovary, then a few years after that, her other ovary. I watched as she struggled and still struggles with menopause. Yuck. I would rather have a period until I'm 90 than not have any natural hormones in my body.

So, it's not about growing older, really. It's about what is happening to my body. It's really about anticipating the changes.

I don't know what I'm going to do to celebrate my 35th year, but I do know that I'm very grateful for my family, I'm grateful for my health, and I need to just stop looking forward with hesitation otherwise I'm going to miss out on something great.

Rabid guests not welcome

2008-06-05T09:37:00.002-05:00

As some of you know, my backyard tends to be virtual wild kingdom--and I'm not talking about crazy kids running around. I'm talking about critters of the four legged variety.

Usually, they keep their activities to the nighttime hours, but we had an unexpected surprise this past Tuesday.

I was cleaning up after lunch and I heard the girls yell in a kind of sing-songy voice, "Mommy, there's a raccoon on the deck." Followed by several rounds of giggling.

I naturally thought they were kidding. Kind of like when they say that a squirrel winked at them or something. I was wrong.

As I approached the deck, I could see the massive, furry animal sitting with his hind legs on the railing and his front legs on the deck table. He was drinking rain water off the table. Upon seeing me, he looked up all bleary-eyed and then I started to scream.

I don't know why I screamed except I all of the sudden it hit me that if a raccoon was out in the day time, it probably had rabies or something and the reality of a rabid animal this close to my children (even though they were safely inside the house looking at it through glass) made me panic.

My scream did nothing to deter him from his refreshing beverage and he continued to lap up the water. Then I started banging on the window and this startled him, he tried to walk on the railing, but was obviously so ill that he swayed back and forth and then KERPLUNK, fell into the bushes.

I watched as he lay there in a weird kind of stunned, rabid stupor. He tried to get up, but couldn't. I called our wonderful town's (this is to be said dripping with sarcasm) animal control office and was told that, "The animal control guy really only deals in certain domesticated animal situations."

"Great," I tell them, "maybe he can come over and get rid of the Eddie the peeing machine who lives across the street from me and uses my bushes as his litter box."

The lady, not appreciating my tone, told me to call the police.

The police!! Yes, let's pull our officers away from pressing matters to come deal with my raccoon issue.

But, I tell you what, they were on the ball. Maybe it's because we live in a small town and they're bored. Or, maybe they really do take potential rabid animals very seriously. Whatever the reason, within 10 minutes two officers were at my door. Both had guns and were ready to shoot at first sight.

And then we couldn't find the stupid raccoon. Somehow the rabid little idiot managed to pull his stupid self out of the bushes and wander away. I hope he didn't wander under my deck to die, cause a stink and attract maggots.

Probably the worst part of this is that I'm afraid to let the kids play outside. It's summer and that's where they want to be, but we have to worry about wild animals. We live in town for pete's sake. Something just isn't right about this picture.

Friends

2008-06-03T11:04:00.001-05:00

I always tell the kids to be nice to everyone. They know they're supposed to try and include everyone, but I understand that there are times when they are around kids they just don't care to hang around. Maybe the kid isn't nice, maybe they don't have anything in common, or in the case of my oldest, maybe the kid is getting involved in stuff he shouldn't be and thankfully my child is smart enough to stay away.

However, I don't know how to handle a problem we have with annoying friends. These are kids who aren't bad kids necessarily, but they're irritating in a variety of ways.

When they're little, it's easy to avoid because at that point, parents are still arranging play dates. As they get older it becomes a little more challenging. For example, J has a friend who I used to think was o.k. He's polite and funny and J seemed to have a good time with him.

I commented on this to J and he said, "Yeah, well, he knows when to turn on the niceness and manners around parents."

Oh boy.

It didn't take me long to realize that his politeness was a front, his funny personality was funny to a point--until he started being obnoxious, and J isn't finding him so entertaining anymore.

He was invited to J's birthday party back in February and as we were coming back into town, this kid, I'll call him C, proceeded to roll down the van window, stick out his head and yell at people walking. I had to lock the van windows to keep him restrained. Then he pops out his stupid cell phone and says, "Yeah...I gotta call my girlfriend."

Girlfriend? You are 10. How can you have a girlfriend?

This is just a small sample of what life with C is like.

Now that summer is here, we have a new problem. He always wants to come over. He calls incessantly and it doesn't matter what excuse J gives him, he doesn't get the hint. J even said one day, "My entire family is actually home together and I'd rather hang out with them," but this didn't discourage him enough to not call the next day--several times.

While this kid annoys the heck out of me, I do feel sorry for him. He gets very little attention at home. He has a great step-father, but the relationship between step-dad and C's mom isn't wonderful, so there is a lot of fighting. It's obvious that C craves an adult male's attention because he loves to come over and play baseball with Mike and J.

I feel like maybe our family could really help him, but at what expense? Do I tolerate him or do I tell him to take a hike? J is feeling the same way.

We just don't know what to do. Advice welcome...

Seeing Myself

2008-05-31T08:58:00.001-05:00

We spent Wednesday at the hospital while O had surgery. She finally had the rotten stent removed and her doctor did some work to the underside of her lip. It was a pretty easy surgery without any complications. It was good.

What wasn't so good was O's behavior pretty much the entire time we were in the hospital. It ranged from uncontrollable sobbing out of fear before surgery (completely understandable) to utter nastiness after surgery.

The nurses were trying to be kind and tactful when they said, "Oh, this is a girl who likes her glasses," after she woke up in recovery without them, couldn't see, and began barking orders for them to, "GET MY GLASSES!". (As a side note--why wouldn't you let a person take her glasses with her into surgery so she could see and not be scared out of her mind afterwards?)

The nurse who was very graciously trying to offer her anything under the sun to drink was rather taken aback when O sat up and yelled at her, "I need loneliness! Leave me alone!!!!!!!!!"

One could blame this hostile behavior on the trauma of surgery, or the anaesthetic, but the thing is, O is like this in a lot of different situations in her life. She's extreme. She always has been extreme. From the moment she came into this world, she was very strong willed and determined. These two qualities served her well when she was struggling to breathe and survive in the NICU, but at 5 1/2 years old, these two qualities transfer into B-R-A-T.

I'm not calling her a brat. She isn't a brat. She's usually a very nice little girl, but she reminds me of that nursery rhyme, "When she was good, she was very, very good and when she was bad, she was very, very bad..."

The startling realization I made at the hospital the other day is that she acts pretty much like I did when I was pregnant with her and L. I was extreme. When I was nauseous, I was very, very nauseous. From my constant moaning about trying not to vomit, to my utter breakdown while lying on the cot in the school office (I was teaching at the time) about how I couldn't possibly go through life so sick, to my emotional breakdown at my doctor when he put me in the hospital on bedrest indefinitely because L was having issues with his cord.

It wasn't pretty, folks, just ask my husband.

Seeing this mirror of myself is uncomfortable. I'd like to say my emotional regurgitations are few and far between, but that would be lying. I'm not quite so extreme, but I still have a tendency to lean towards the passionate side--shall we say?

Does passionate sound any better than, "over-dramatic emotional mess?"

Watching O have one of her outbursts is difficult. However, I can totally understand WHY she's feeling what she is feeling. My husband shakes in head in utter disbelief when she gets upset because of something small, and while it irritates me beyond belief when she acts this way, I get her.

What I don't know is how this will translate into teen years. Will I be a more understanding mother, or will I just become caught up in all the emotion and cause more of an issue?

This is why parenting is the hardest job on earth and why I need to pray hard and often.

Goodbye Grade School

2008-05-27T11:13:00.000-05:00

This morning I wrestled everyone up and out to be at J's school by 8:30. Today is J's very last day of grade school and there were awards given out today at his school. I've never gone to this ceremony before since the majority of awards are for 5th graders and I've never had a 5th grader before. And really, after today, I don't have a 5th grader anymore. I have a 6th grader. A junior high student.

Where did the last seven years of my life go? I remember holding his sweaty hand as I walked him to his classroom on the first day of preschool. I remember how he looked up at me with his big blue eyes filled with tears as he whispered, "Please don't make me go, Mommy."

Today I watched proudly as he walked across the gym to get his Presidential Academic Award. There he was in his shorts, t-shirt and ever-present black Sambas and I realized that in another seven years I'll see him walk across a stage again, but that time he'll be dressed up and wearing a cap and gown because he will be graduating from high school.

I feel like I have so little time left with him. I want him to be little for just one more day so I can hold his sweaty hand again and walk to the park. I want to smell his little newborn head again as I sit and cozily rock him while the rain falls outside. But, I know that I can't go back and instead of wishing for what once was, I'm trying to be thankful for what happened and happily anticipate what the future will hold.

So, in celebration of this, we will be making our annual last day of school trip to Dairy Queen to rejoice at the beginning of summer and close out the end of yet another school year that just went by way too fast.

I can't believe you said that

2008-05-26T11:36:00.002-05:00

My parents were over for dinner the other night and after we had eaten, L and my mom were cuddling on the couch. He hugged her arm and said, "Yam, your arm is like Jello. Squishy, soft, brown Jello."

I was horrified and he could tell by the look on my face. "But!" he protested, "I like Jello. Jello is good!!"

**************************************

On Mother's Day, while we were eating lunch, my dad made a comment about how great is was to have moms, grandmas and a great-grandma all together.

K looked around the table and then straight at my Nana and said, "Well, my great-grandma is DEAD."

Silence. I guess she really does pay attention to what we tell her when she looks at pictures of Mike's grandma--who has passed away.

Then Nana gently reminded K that she was Kate's great-grandma to which Kate replied, "My great-grandma is dead. You're just Nana."

Happiness

2008-05-21T18:40:00.006-05:00

This little two year old face makes me feel so many different things. However, when this little mouth sings, I want to just bottle the feeling I have in my heart and remember it forever. That is why I made this video. I was making dinner, and there she was just minding her own business coloring pictures of Elmo and singing.

I must apologize for the background noise. My neighbor was mowing his lawn, but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to video this.

Untitled from June Clever on Vimeo.

O's Nose

2008-05-19T08:51:00.000-05:00

You know how when you have a place in your mouth where you've bitten it and then every time you eat anything you end up biting that area again and again? It's painful and oddly unavoidable. That area becomes a magnet for pain. This is what has happened to O's nose.

For being born with a cleft lip, her nose sure is what seems to drive all the issues in her life. First her nose was somewhat non-existent and then she had her first repair. Then her nose was flat. Then she had reconstructive surgery which did great things, but required her to wear stents. They were supposed to be left alone for 8 weeks which was fine until her twin brother accidentally stepped over her face and kicked her in the nose. Pain. crying. blood. tears. awful.

That was about two years ago. Since then we've had another surgery to try and correct the damage done by L's foot. This second round with a stent was going fine until she bumped her own nose. Pain. crying. blood. tears. awful.

Now, here we are on yet the 3rd round with with a stent. This one is unlike anything she's had before because it isn't for nasal reconstruction, but instead to keep her sinus cavity open. Back in March, her doctor cleaned out her sinus cavity of scar tissue that was blocking her airway and in order to make sure it heals in the correct form, he placed a 4 inch stent in there. It's been a long haul filled with blood, gunk, puss, stink and a sinus infection. We had reached a sort of "tolerance" mode with the stupid thing. Things were good. It wasn't draining crap. She was finally getting used to it and it's coming out next week. And then, yesterday happened...

We were at my parents' house having dinner. We had roasted hotdogs and marshmallows and as my mom and I were cleaning things up, the boys were playing in the front yard. J and L had gotten some tennis balls and a plastic bat and were playing baseball. The girls decided to walk to the very far end of the yard to play. This is the arrangement they have nearly every time we're all outside at their house. So, L was batting and K and O were happily playing at the opposite end when L hits a freakishly long ball. It sailed up into the air a very long way; J ran to catch it. It was much too high, so it went into the trees, bounced off of a few branches and once it emerged it hit O's glasses, making a large mark on her face, her nose and then caused to glasses to fly off into the bushes. The next thing we heard were screams of terror and all of her siblings running to her asking if she was o.k.

Now, you may say, "It's your own stupid fault for letting her play where someone was playing ball." Or, "How can you be so careless?"

But, I wasn't being careless. Under normal circumstances, there is no way that L could ever hit a ball that far. I don't know how he hit it as well as he did. Since my parents' yard is big, there is never a danger of anyone getting hit with anything unless the two people are right next to each other. I simply don't understand what force of nature causes everything to hit her nose.

It didn't bleed at first, but later it started dripping blood. This means that the stent was bumped and has caused some damage. Next week when she goes in for surgery to remove the stent if the passageway hasn't healed enough, they'll have to do a skin graft. I'm just so tired of this. I'm tired of all the complications. I'm tired of one simple thing never being enough. I'm tired of having to explain how all this medical junk is "for her own good" and how "it will make things so much better".

I know I have to be positive. I know that my attitude will directly influence O's interpretation of her birth defect, but right now I want to tell her, "I'm mad that you had to be born with a birth defect. It's unfair. It's painful in more ways than one and sometimes I want to slap the faces of parents who don't see their children's normal faces as a blessing from God and I sure don't have any patience for anyone who looks at you to get a double take as they try to figure out what is wrong. My heart hurts for you, sweet O, because our society is too superficial to ever see past anything but perfection."

But, I won't say that. I can't say that. I have to pretend that it's all smooth sailing. For right now, she believes me and I dread the day when someone comments on her appearance in a way that crushes her heart and then she realizes that life isn't smooth sailing and that some people can have poison in their hearts.

A Saturday

2008-05-18T15:19:00.000-05:00

I'm not writing this to impress readers with my hectic schedule. One of my biggest purposes in keeping a blog is to remember the mundane in my life. Five years from now, I will have forgotten what life was like with an 11 year old, two 5 year olds, and a 2 year old and I want to be able to look back and shake my head in disbelief.

This was my Saturday. My day off. My day to relax. My day to take it easy. Yeah, right.

8:00--wake up, eat bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch

8:15--start doing laundry

8:45--make cinnamon rolls and feed family

9:15--send husband off to referee a soccer game

9:30--get out of pajamas and make myself look presentable

10:30--make four PBJ's to take to soccer games

10:45--direction children towards their clothing; hopefully get them to put them on correctly

10:55--search for L's missing shinguard and his missing socks

11:05--find said items, fight with tangles in the girls' hair as I try to pull it back and out of their faces

11:15--leave for soccer game; drop Jonah off at soccer fields to referee a little kids' soccer game and take the rest of the kids to the store to buy snacks

12:45--arrive back at soccer field, get L's team warmed up for game

1:00--coach soccer game for 5 year olds that resemble deaf kittens on speed (they don't listen, they run in 10 different directions very fast)

2:00--soccer is done, stop to check on our friends' cat since they're out of town. Cannot find cat anywhere, assume she is dead, go home to do more laundry

3:00--husband is home, so now I head to Wal-Mart to buy flowers to plant. I take a very long time as I'm alone and no one is calling "Mommy!"

5:00--arrive home, notice lawn needs mowing, but since husband would rather cook dinner, I decide to mow the lawn

6:00--recruit children to help pull weeds

6:30--eat dinner

7:00--go to playground with girls while Mike, J and L spend some time in the batting cage

7:30--unable to get rid of the nagging feeling that our friends' cat is dead somewhere in their house, I go and search again. Find her in their attic. Stupid cat.

8:00--go to Dairy Queen with Mike and kids, eat hot fudge sundae, feel guilty for eating hot fudge sundae, laugh at how O and K eat ice cream cones.

8:30--put kids in bathtub, get their pj's on, put them in bed. Then head downstairs to play Mario Party 8 with Mike and J on the Wii.

10:00--send J to bed, watch old episode of Women's Murder Club that's been sitting on the DVR for 2 weeks--fall asleep several times during the show

11:40--wake up from uncomfortable position on couch, wash face, brush teeth, go to bed.

That was my Saturday. How was yours?

Robots

2008-05-14T09:46:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed by all the stuff that needs to be done around my house.

1. paint deck
2. plant flowers
3. spruce up the landscaping by blowing out leaves, getting more rock, etc.
4. touch up the scratches and dings to the walls that four children have caused
5. get new flooring in the living and dining rooms
6. clean out attic
7. clean garage

Yuck. It really makes me just want to hide under the covers. That's pretty much how I handle a list of tasks that make me feel like I'm preparing to climb a mountain instead of just doing routine house junk.

What is wrong with me?

Oh, but you have a husband to help you, you say. You aren't doing it by yourself!

Oh, silly, silly you. Yes, I do have a husband who in THEORY should be helping, but he's in a very busy time at work now which requires long hours. If he isn't there, he's coaching a time sucking, family-time robbing team U16 boys' soccer team, or he's helping coach Jonah's baseball team. Yes, there are all kind of tangents I could take on that subject, but I'm choosing not to because then I'd get all angry which wouldn't help my latest state of feeling overwhelmed.

Could I just rent a husband somewhere for these jobs around the house? Actually, I'd like to rent a robot husband. A robot husband wouldn't have to stop to rest, eat, pee, or watch t.v. A robot husband wouldn't put things off. A robot husband wouldn't complain or question. He would just do. While I'm at it, I'd like some robot children to help my robot husband. They would pick up sticks in the yard without turning the sticks into swords and reenacting scenes from Pirates of the Caribbean.

And while my robot husband and robot children were doing their jobs, my real family and I would go do something fun and then I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed.

It's good...if you're on Mars

2008-05-12T11:56:00.000-05:00

As a gift to the little ones left behind when we made our trek to D.C., I decided to buy them some astronaut food at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum because come on, what is cooler than freeze dried ice cream?

After weighing our choices, J and I decided to buy two bags of neopolitan ice cream, two cookies and cream ice cream sandwich things, and a bag of strawberries.

The first night we were home, we whipped out the ice cream sandwich. It was interesting to say the least...the taste of the ice cream was there, but the cookie portion was not to far from what it would be like if you went out and munched on your sidewalk. Dairy Queen, it was not.

Next, we tried the strawberries. Imagine small pebbles that you might find in landscape design, paint them red, flavor them like strawberry, and then inject the pucker power of 50 lemons. "WOW!" Was just about all we could say as our faces went into a dozen different contortions. K, the eater of nothing, was the only person who liked them. She must not have taste buds.

When I asked L for his opinion he said, "I don't konw about these. I think they must taste better in space."

Having been revolted by the first two items, we haven't even tried the neopolitan ice cream. And, I don't think that any of my children will ever be knocking on NASA's door wanting to be astronauts.

Home Sweet Home

2008-05-09T16:10:00.001-05:00

Plane ride survived! The ride out there was absolutely perfect. Couldn't have asked for a more smooth, more uneventful flight; however, the ride back wasn't so great. It all started in Reagan National Airport when the security guard who obviously never learned manners decided to treat my son like he was Osama Bin Laden because he had a souvenir containing liquid in his backpack. I understand that we all must be respectful of the policies that are put into place to keep our nation and citizens safe, but let's use manners when we do it, shall we? And when the person is an 11 year old child, let's be nice.

I wish we would've worn pedometers because I'm sure we walked at least 20 miles this week--the majority of which was done on our first evening there when J and I got lost in Dupont Circle trying to get back to our hotel. Dupon Circle is like a spider. The center of the spider is a park and all of the street shooting off of the park are the spider's legs. When two small town people get turned around getting off the Metro, look out. We walked and turned and walked some more. Then we retraced steps and I almost started to cry, but figured a 34 year old woman standing on the street with her 11 year old son holding her hand trying to comfort her might be cause for alarm.

I will say that I have one very brave and calm son. He wasn't in a state of panic until he saw a homeless lady walking barefoot while talking to her shoes. That kind of alarmed him, but just for a minute. The next thing I knew he asked if he could go watch, "all those guys playing chess in the park" while I went to ask directions. I told him in my shreiking mother voice, "NO! ARE YOU NUTS? THOSE MEN ARE HOMELESS. I'M NOT LEAVING YOU WITH HOMELESS MEN WHILE I GO ASK FOR DIRECTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO YOU WANT SOMETHING TERRIBLE TO HAPPEN TO YOU?"

Yeah, I overreacted just a bit.

Here's a picture of us on our visit to Mt. Vernon. We took the "National Treasure" segment of the tour. It showed us where things were taped for "National Treasure 2" and gave behind the scenes info and places. Lots of fun and well worth the extra $5.00 a ticket. So, here we are. Yes, my husband wore a suit to walk the dusty hills of Mt. Vernon and no he doesn't normally walk around like that on vacation, but he had just come from a meeting with a senator and he didn't think waltzing into a meeting with important politician wearing shorts and a polo would be very appropriate.

Feet firmly on the ground, thank you.

2008-05-03T23:35:00.000-05:00

Early Monday morning, I'm leaving my house while it's still dark in order to catch a flight to Washington D.C.

I'm not looking forward to it--the flight, that is. The trip will be wonderful. Mike has to go to a conference out there and we decided it would be a great opportunity to take our oldest on a trip to D.C. He's wanted to go for a long time, but the thought of carting four children, three of which are under the age of 6, around D.C. didn't seem like a very good idea. How do you get the point across to people the historical value of seeing the Declaration of Independence when all they want to do is go swim in the hotel pool?

So, the trip was planned and we're all excited except I'm having horrible anxiety about the flight out there. I've disliked flying for my entire life because it makes me nauseous. I don't throw up or anything, but I just feel blah. As I've grown older, I've been afraid of planes crashing. I realize all the stats about cars being more dangerous than planes, etc. etc., but it's a fear of mine. The potential nausea coupled with the fear of crashing added to the fact that I haven't flown since 9/11 and now I'll be paranoid about terroists makes me want to drive to D.C., or take a bus, a train, or hitchhike, or ride a skateboard. ANYTHING BUT FLY!!!!

The root of this fear is leaving the three little ones orphaned. My parents are watching them for us and I would hate to leave my parents with three children should our plane crash. Yes, I know, paranoia will do nothing for me.

That aside, I'll miss them terribly and hearing their little voices on the phone each day will make my heart break and then I'll lament that we should've brought them with us and all the pushing in strollers, taking 20 potty breaks, and listening to the whining would all be worth it because we'd all be there together.

On the other hand, it will be awesome to be with J by ourselves and give him some undivided attention and just let him be a kid instead of the "big brother/3rd parent" role he's often forced to play.

So if you think about it Monday morning and then Thursday afternoon, pray for me and my plane and my pilot, and the mechanics who worked on the plane, and that there won't be any psycho people on my plane, and that there won't be any turbulance, and that I won't be one big raw nerve by the time I get done with this trip.

Thanks.

The Scent of a Mother

2008-04-25T11:39:00.003-05:00

There are certain smells that can send me back into the years of my childhood--my grandma's southern cooking, lasagna baking, the smell of tinsel at Christmas, to name a few. But nothing stands out so vividly or can transport me to a different time and place than my mother's perfume.

It hasn't been one constant smell throughout the years. Instead, my mother has several signature scents that have permeated the hands of time and can literally create a time capsule of what was happening at the time she wore a particular perfume--a "soundtrack of smells" you might say. These scents remind me of comfort when I had the flu, a tight hug before I went to school, a delicate spray on my own neck when I was playing dress up.

For example, there were the "Coppertone years". Yes, technically this isn't a perfume, but for the years we lived in Charleston, South Carolina while my dad was in the Navy, this was what was slathered all over my mother's body nearly every day. These days were marked with trips to the beach, digging in the sand, dodging hungry seagulls, and just soaking up every bit of sun we could get. Ah, the days before we knew the damages sun could cause. Now as I spray Coppertone all over my four very fair-skinned children's skin I am transported back to days when life was relaxed. I don't remember every detail of living in South Carolina, but that smell always makes me think of the times there with my mother.

Next came the days of "Joy" by Jean Patou. On my mother's dresser sat a smallish bottle of this beloved scent. My dad had bought it for my mom as a gift. She cherished it and used it sparingly since money was tight in those years. It was saved for special occasions or Sundays. Whenever she wore it, I always felt like my mom looked a little more "fancy" and even more beautiful than she usually did. The cruel joke in all of this is that the smell also reminds me of when my dad died suddenly in a car accident. "Joy" seems like such an ironic name for something that can make me relive such sadness. But, as my mother hugged me in those days and weeks that followed his death, I remember breathing deeply and smelling her perfume. The smell that reminded her of happier times.

Around the time that I was 12 or 13, Mom began to wear "Beautiful" by Estee Lauder. She was just coming out of a terrible marriage to a horrible man. We were on the cusp of finding our way out of a nightmare and this smell seemed to represent a new path and fun! It was time to put the past behind us and these times were ones I remember fondly. My mom had a whole new outlook on life. We went places, had fun, went shopping. The world was ours.

Over the next few years my mom met and married again. My step-dad is truly a dad to me in every sense of the word and loves my mother very much. One of his gifts to her at Christmas one year was a bottle of "Knowing". This is the scent that took me through high school and college. I think that if you ever want to feel like a teenager again, just go cover yourself in a scent that you were around a lot during that time. One whiff of this and I'm back in high school. Every morning I would hug her and the scent would linger on my clothes as I went about my day. If I was having a particularly bad day like many teenagers do, I could just breathe in the faint scent and I knew that at least at home, there was someone who loved me--even if a stupid boy or a mean friend didn't. As I went away to college and struggled so terribly my Freshman year with home sickness, I would sit in my dorm room and sniff my clean clothes that I had washed when I was at home over the weekend. Invariably, my mom would fold them and leave her mark. I wanted so much to be independent at that point in my life, but I just didn't know how. I knew it was time to grow up, but I couldn't figure out how to do it.

Throughout the years and all the different smells, what has remained constant is the way my mother's scent has comforted me. Now I have four children of my own and I wonder what kind of memories are being branded into their minds by smells. Will it be the Pine Sol that I use to mop the floors? Will it be baked chicken since I so often cook those to get meat for casseroles and other dishes? Or, will it be one of my many perfumes that I love so much? Whatever it is, I hope it brings back memories of love, of being cherished more than anything else on this earth because that is the greatest feeling in the world.

Write your own mom story and enter it here.

The Rope

2008-04-21T07:59:00.000-05:00

Right now I'm trying to make sense of life. I'm trying to suck in all the good things about my kids, savor them, and store them in my memory bank. I'm trying not to take anything they say or do for granted.

The other night we were all lying on the family room floor watching a movie and during it, it hit me that I was so blessed. I began thinking of J and how he's 11 years old and by the time K is his age, he'll be in college. He'll be an adult. And that's hard for me to think about because I remember when he was 2 1/2 and life truly has flown past.

The delicate balance of wanting your kids to grow up and at the same time, feeling emotional about it was driven home even harder this weekend with the situation of a family we know. Their 15 year old son is very ill. He had leukemia and is in remission, but his body has just been weakened by viruses and infections and right now, he's not doing so well. It is heartbreaking for his family, and for our community because we all want so desperately for him to be well. We all want to see him be a regular teenager with homework complaints, playing baseball, hanging out with his friends being goofy, navigating the bizarre world of dating.

It's situations like these that give me a slap in the face and make me stop and realize that I'm so, so, so, so blessed. My children are healthy. My problems with a messy house, lots of laundry, a harried schedule, and never feeling like I have a minute to myself are because of them. If I didn't have them, my house would be clean. If I didn't have them, I'd only have laundry for two people. If I didn't have them, life would go at a more leisurely pace and I'd have time to do whatever I wanted. However, I'd never trade them for all the money in the world. I love my life and I thank God every day for it. Life is a rope that we've all been given and when it starts to unravel, then it's really hard to hang on. I'm very thankful for my rope. Today my prayers are ones of gratitude and prayers for a 15 year old boy in the hospital who wants so desperately to live a long life.

Going to the chapel...

2008-04-15T08:05:00.000-05:00

If you are a person who thinks that what is on t.v. doesn't influence kids, then let me try to persuade you to think otherwise...

Sunday evening, we were watching Father of the Bride. K was sitting on my lap at the end when it gets all sentimental and I started to hold her a little bit tighter as I thought about her someday getting married. Then, I looked around our family room at the other kids and started to tear up realizing that in a flash, they'd be old enough to get married, too. K asked me what was wrong and I told her, "Mommy is just thinking about how someday you'll be a grown-up and you'll get married, too."

Well, that was the WRONG think it say because for the rest of the evening and most of yesterday she kept reminding her siblings and me that, "Someday, I'm going to be a grown-up and I'll get married."

Obviously, she thinks that this grown-up, married thing is coming soon because now she's started making wedding plans. She's two.

She informed us last night at dinner that she'll be having a, "pretty dress" at her wedding. She'll also have a "carriage and a mean prince who she'll turn into a nice prince or a mouse" with her magic wand. Her 5 year old brother then tried to offer her advice.

"K," he said, "I know who you should marry."

"Who?" she asked.

"It's a great choice. Michael Jackson."

I almost choked on my sloppy joe. First at the thought of my daughter marrying that creature and second because how did L know about Michael Jackson? So I said through my laughter, "Why would she want to marry Michael Jackson? How do you even know who Michael Jackson is?"

"Because Mommy," he explained as though I'd just crawled out from under a rock, "Michael Jackson is an awesome basketball player. He's the best ever. Daddy told me so."

Oh yes, this was all making sense now.

"Did you mean Michael JORDAN, maybe?" I asked him.

"Yes! I meant Michael Jordan. K should marry Michael Jordan so he can give me basketball lessons."

"Yes, that's great advice. We'll be sure to let Michael Jordan know he's betrothed to marry your baby sister in 20 years. I'm sure he'll be very agreeable to that."

Yes, it does get better

2008-04-11T17:59:00.001-05:00

Six years ago this month I was struggling with 24 hour a day progesterone poisoning while my twins happily gestated and kicked each other. My biggest concerns at that point were:

A. Would our house ever sell, so we could move out of our two bedroom cracker box?

B. Would I ever stop puking?

My good friend, Jodi, was also pregnant at the time. We've been friends since we were 14 and have been through many life milestones together. It seemed fitting that we were pregnant with at least one of our children at the same time. It was her third child, another boy, and we were both blissfully unaware of what was lurking around the corner for us.

By the end of that year we had both had children with birth defects and we were both facing a world of unknown experiences.

Now, here we are 5 1/2 years later and ironically, we're both muddling through surgery recovery with our children. We've joked that some day O and G (her son) will probably end up falling in love and will get married while we sit and wring our hands with worry over the genetic nightmare of two people with birth defects coming together to procreate.

The truth of the matter is right now, we'd like to send O and G off to their own private vacation destination. We'd call it, "The land of the 5 year old insomniacs" or "The isle of children who are hungry in the middle of the night." We think they would get along there splendidly.

The good news is that life is 100% better than it was. O is recovering from her painful surgery and we are recovering from sleep deprivation and emotional exhaustion.

What a difference a few days makes.

When will it get better?

2008-04-08T16:05:00.000-05:00

What they told me about my daughter's recovery after a tonsillectomy:

"It is a bit rough. She'll have a very sore throat for about 7-10 days."

What they should've told me about my daughter's recovery after a tonsillectomy:

"She will become like Joan Crawford's character in Mommy Dearest. There is nothing she will be able to eat more than once. Chicken noodle soup? One time only. Mashed potatoes? One time only. Ice cream? One time only. After that, she'll hate the taste of everything. She will have to survive on smoothies, milk, water and Sprite. You will be sleep deprived because she'll hate the taste of Tylenol 3 and she won't appreciate the razor-like feeling in her throat when she's forced to ingest it, and as a result, she'll do very little sleeping during the nighttime hours. It will be like having a newborn again."

In fact, I feel like I've been thrust back in time 5 1/2 years. When L and O were babies, she was most unpleasant. She had colic. She had reflux. She only liked my husband. Meanwhile, L was very agreeable and happy. It's a lot like that now. She cries a lot, not much makes her happy for a long period of time and although sometimes she wants me, she'd rather have her dad.

The poor girl needs a new throat.

Melts my heart

2008-04-07T08:55:00.000-05:00

Sometimes we do things for our children and feel like they take it all for granted. Then every once in awhile there's a payoff so rich that it makes all the times you've wiped puke off their faces worth it.

Yesterday evening was particularly rough for O. She ws in a lot of pain and was pretty miserable. I had tried everything to make her feel more comfortable--medicine, drinks, hugs, rubbing her back, singing, praying, and then I put her to bed because she told me she wanted to sleep.

After about an hour, I heard her creeping down the steps. I was sitting on the couch and she walked over to me and sat on my lap. She sat there for a minute or two, got up, turned around, grabbed my face and kissed me on the forehead. And with a little, "Goodnight, Mommy," she was off to bed.

My heart melted a little.

Life's unexpected turns

2008-04-04T09:06:00.000-05:00

In my last post, I talked about how O was going in for surgery. The surgery itself went well; however, when they took out her breathing tube in recovery, she started couldn't breathe on her own. They ended up having to re-intubate her and then she went to intensive care.

The last time she was in intensive care with a machine to help her breathe, she was a premature newborn. At that time, it was upsetting, but the whole process seemed expected. She was a preemie and of course she'd need help breathing. Nothing that happened on Monday was expected and I had a hard time dealing with it.

With lots of prayers and her very strong determination, things started improving and we got to come home on Wednesday. We were all so thankful she was o.k. and that we got to come home.

While we were in the ICU, it made me realize yet again how quickly life can change and how we should all be thankful for what we have and who we have in our lives. Not only did our situation drive this point home, but also the situations of other families in the ICU. One family was there with a sick teenaged boy. Nobody could really figure out what was wrong with him, but he was very ill. His family was terrified.

So, go hug everyone you love and tell them how much you appreciate them. Life is short.

Monday

2008-03-29T14:15:00.000-05:00

On Monday, my 5 year old daughter, O, will be having surgery. She'll be having a pharyngeal flap surgery.

I don't even really know what to write about this except that every time we approach a surgery, it makes me rethink the day she was born and how terribly sad I was that she was born with a birth defect that would consume her life for many years.

Although she knows that she is having surgery, she is blissfully unaware of how much pain she'll probably be in afterwards. She is also unaware that this isn't the last surgery for her.

My wish for her is that she will have a normal life. We all want that for our children. We don't want them to be singled out for any reason, and so, this is why I look at each surgery with hope and dread at the same time. This surgery will hopefully help her speech and that will be great for her. People will be better able to understand her.

This hope is what will get me through the long hours of sitting in the waiting room praying that everything is going perfectly in the operating room.

Me Want Cookie...and a glass of cold milk

2008-03-24T16:56:00.002-05:00

I took this quiz and was startled by the results. Obviously, I love cookies--remember my post around Christmas when I had devoured a couple dozen Snickerdoodles? Somehow I thought I'd end up being more like Bert--uptight, serious, but minus the unibrow.

The results are in:

You Are Cookie Monster

Misunderstood as a primal monster, you're a true hedonist with a huge sweet tooth.

You are usually feeling: Hungry. Cookies are preferred, but you'll eat anything if cookies aren't around.

You are famous for: Your slightly crazy eyes and usual way of speaking

How you life your life: In the moment. "Me want COOKIE!"

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

What are you?

So much for good intentions

2008-03-23T17:16:00.000-05:00

I had such high hopes for the sugar content of our Easter.

I had purchased each child a small chocolate rabbit, a very small amount of candy to be put in eggs and then gave each child a big egg with a five dollar bill in it. Yeah, me!

Then "The attack of the sugared grandparents" happened.

Now we have so much chocolate that we're going to have to freeze it; otherwise, we'll all be sick.

So much for good intentions.

Thoughts

2008-03-17T14:32:00.003-05:00

Growing up, St. Patrick's Day was the day my grandma made corned beef and cabbage and forced me to eat the vile concoction. As I got older, I never thought much about it. I always made sure I wore green in high school so I didn't get pinched, but that was about it. And then, I met my husband...

I didn't realize until I met Mike's dad what an EVENT!!!! March 17th was. Mike's family is Irish and his dad always took St. Patrick's Day very seriously. It seemed bigger than Christmas, or even his own birthday. He loved a good party, or a good reason to party, and therefore, St. Patrick's Day was perfect for him.

In January of 2006, my husband's step-mom gave us a call with news that my father-in-law wasn't doing well. He was in the hospital with pretty severe intestinal issues and wasn't expected to live. We rushed to Kansas City to see him, knowing that every minute things were getting worse and that we may very well never see him alive again.

However, when we arrived, he was still alive--unconscious, but alive. His liver and kidneys were failing due to the large amount of poisons that had spilled into his blood from the intestinal problems. The prognosis was grim, he was on life support, and after a couple of days, Mike and his step-mom were forced to make the decision to take him off life support.

You see, my father-in-law loved two things in his life: alcohol and his family. Unfortunately, he couldn't see that the alcohol was alienating him from his family and he missed out on a lot of things in my husband's life because of that. The alcohol that he loved so much ended up being his demise because it has damaged his liver so much, his body couldn't help him recover from the intestinal problems.

As we stood next to his bed watching his last breaths of life, I watched my husband sob as he grieved the loss of a man that he loved and wanted so much more from. Not more materially, but more in the area of a relationship. I prayed silently that God would spare my children the grief of ever having to watch me die and that he would take Mike's dad quickly because I wasn't sure if Mike could watch this for very long. And, within 10 minutes, with everyone he loved surrounding his bed, my father-in-law passed away.

My relationship with him was cordial, but not close. Until recently, I didn't realize how angry I was with him for letting his son down. All Mike ever wanted was a close relationship with his dad and he didn't have that.

I am a terrible packrat, which Mike hates, but the other day as I was going through old cards that I'd saved, I ran across the card his dad had given him when we graduated from college. I opened it and there was his precise, all capital lettered handwriting stating how proud he was of Mike and that even though he hadn't been the best dad, Mike was the best son in the world. My heart hurt as I read it and I was so thankful that it wasn't ever thrown away. Because that proclamation is all my husband has to know how his dad felt about him.

So, here I sit on a rainy St. Patrick's Day and I think of my silly, crazy, frustrating, but incredibly kind father-in-law. I want my children to know the good about their grandpa. I won't sugar coat his addiction because I want them to know that the need to be careful since it runs in both mine and Mike's families. But, today, on what was their grandpa's favorite day, we're having a party. I've made Irish stew (no corned beef for me, thanks), we're having green kool aid mixed with 7 up and mint-chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.

I think my father-in-law would be proud.

God likes tacos!

2008-03-12T21:39:00.000-05:00

We ate lunch in shifts today.

L ate two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a glass of milk after we dropped O off at speech and had exactly 29.2 minutes at home to do something productive before we had to go back and get her.

K nibbled on half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while we were at home for 29.2 minutes then declared, "Me done."

Once we picked O back up, arrived home, and I had throughly scoured her hands with soap and warm water so she doesn't contract some horrific disease before her surgery in the 31st, I settled into making lunch ROUND 2!

O sat happily munching on her lunch of leftover tacos while K sat and chatted with her then all of the sudden she stopped talking to her sister and said to me, "Mommy, L is here, O is here and you are here and so is God." She said "so is God" like she was sharing the most amazing news with me.

"That's right," I replied, "God is here. He's everywhere anytime you need Him."

"Uh, Mommy?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"He's sitting right here next to me and He wants a taco."

Apparently, God's really into Mexican cuisine.

Hurray for Paula Deen, y'all!

2008-03-09T14:48:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the fact that our food sources aren't reliably safe anymore. I hadn't had anything terrible happen to me with food, I was just appalled by what was being talked about on the news about sick cows. What is scary is that many times it isn't necessarily meat that is the problem; it can be anything.

Take, for example, what happened at our house last night.

Mike was gone around dinner time which means that we did what we often do when he's not here and had something he doesn't really care to eat for dinner--pancakes and bacon.

I grabbed my box of pancake mix out of the cabinet and I vaguely remembered hearing that there was a recall on Aunt Jemima pancake mix. I had two of these boxes in the cabinet (must've been on sale at some point) and so just on a whim, I decided to check online to see if I had any of the tainted mix. Well, sure enough, I had not only ONE salmonella tainted box, but TWO salmonella tainted boxes of pancake mix. What is this world coming to? Salmonella in our pancakes now?

Anyway, I trashed the boxes, and listened to the boys moan because they couldn't have pancakes. Then, I remembered that I could probably GASP! MAKE THEM FROM SCRATCH.

Having never done this before, I sought out my favorite television cook, Paula Deen. Her recipe for pancakes was online and let me tell you they were DELICIOUS! So, here's a challenge for actually making pancakes from scratch. You can do this. Here's the recipe. I slightly modified to with adding more milk because I like my batter a little more runny. And, I also added the vanilla--her recipe didn't include it, everything tastes better with vanilla, don't you think?

Paula Deen's Chocolate Chip Pancakes:
1 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 cups milk
2 large eggs separated (this is easy to do, just crack the egg over a bowl and pass the insides from one shell to the other until the white falls into the bowl)
3 tablespoons butter, melted
1/2 cup miniature semi-sweet chocolate chips

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in large bowl. In a small bowl, combine milk, egg yolks, and melted butter. Gradually add to the flour mix and stir until smooth.

Beat egg whites in a small bowl with an electric mixer until they are fluffy and they form peaks when you dab at them with the mixer. Fold beaten whites into the other mixture. Fold in chocolate chips.

Use about 1/4 c. of batter for each pancake on a very hot, buttered pan or griddle. Cook about 1-2 minutes on each side or until they look done.

Prepare to eat the most delicious, fluffy, non-salmonella infected pancakes you've ever had.

My boys each ate seven a piece! I won't tell you how many I ate. It was less than seven, but let's just say I was very full.

The past three days

2008-03-05T16:21:00.001-06:00

In the past three days, I have registered K for preschool and registered L and O for Kindergarten.

In the past three days, I have tried not to hyperventilate when I think about J going to Junior High next year while L and O enter the land of school and K leaves me for two and a half hours twice a week.

In the past three days, I've have teared up many times and grabbed my children to hug them and smell their heads and say a little prayer that God will slow the time down.

When I was in grad school, I became friends with a girl whose mother unexpectedly got pregnant late in life--with twins, no less. Since there was a rather large age gap between the twins and the other children in the family, the twins because the center of their mother's universe. Then, the day came for them to go to school.

People asked my friend's mom if she was sad to see them go and how much she cried on the first few days of school. Her answer is what is keeping me from turning into a complete puddle of mush who needs a Prozac cocktail to go on living. She said, "I see so many people who are heartbroken because either their children have died, or their children have such severe disabilities that their lives will never be what a parent dreams will happen for their children. I'm just happy that my girls are able to go to school. They have nothing wrong with them, and they are healthy. God has blessed me and for me to sit around crying because they're "normal" is just a slap in His face."

Amen.

Now pass me a Kleenex, please.

Black Kitty

2008-03-03T21:29:00.001-06:00

As many of you know, my house is Wild Kingdom because my backyard is filled with critters galore. In addition to the horrible skunks, we’ve had possums roaming around; raccoons that used our baby pool as their own personal play land, and we also have three cats who think the bushes around our deck are the PERFECT place in which to pee.

I’ve tried snapping pictures of these three stooges, but every time I try to run and get my camera, they’ve vanished. Instead you’ll have to use your imagination.

Culprit #1:
A.K.A. “Peeping Tom”
Favorite pastime: Looking at Molly (our cat) through the deck door. He’s a voyeur and it makes Molly very uncomfortable.

Culprit #2:
A.K.A. “Pee Cat”
Favorite pastimes: Urinating in our bushes at least 10 times a day, marking his territory on every tree in our yard. HELLO Stupid Pee Cat? Can you not tell that the ‘ol Moll-ster doesn’t have her baby making parts anymore? You are meowing up the wrong tree.

Culprit #3:
A.K.A. “Black Kitty”
Favorite pastimes: Sitting on our air conditioner outside the kitchen window, sitting on our front steps, sleeping in our driveway. He thinks he lives here.

Until this point, all three of these feline fools haven’t caused much of an issue around here other than the inconvenient odor they leave when they’ve peed in the bushes. They aren’t scroungy looking strays either. They’re obviously well fed cats who don’t wear collars which means that we can’t find their owners to tell them KEEP YOUR DUMB CATS INSIDE!

The other day; however, we were returning from getting J from school and as we pulled into the driveway Black Kitty sauntered out from behind a tree. Actually, he sort of limped and then he hopped on three legs and then my kids started in with, “WE MUST HELP BLACK KITTY! HE’S HURT! LET’S TAKE HIM TO THE VET AND PAY A SMALL FORTUNE TO HAVE HIM FIXED!!”

I pulled into the garage and told them absolutely not and then they all looked like they were about to cry. So, I got out of the van, pulled on my “Motherhood Cloak of Guilt” and proceeded to walk calmly to Black Kitty. My plan once I got to him? I don’t know. It didn’t matter because then he started to hobble away. I kept walking. He continued to hobble as he was looking over his shoulder at me in fear. So, I started in with a sing-songy voice, “Don’t worry Black Kitty. I won’t hurt you!!!”

At this point he started to run. So I began walking fast down the ice covered street. My children were in the driveway cheering me on. The cat ran faster and then he took off into my neighbor’s yard. I followed as the snow crushed into my Birkenstock clog wearing feet. This chase continued until he disappeared into the bushes. I wasn’t going there.

That evening when Mike got home, I told him about the plight of Black Kitty and how we needed to help him. My husband is a true animal lover. He will literally cry if he sees anything on t.v. about animal cruelty, so I figured he would totally agree with me that we needed to help Black Kitty. Our conversation went like this:

Me: We have to help Black Kitty. I think his paw is broken or something.

Mike: He’s fine.

Me: No, he’s not. He’s limping and it’s sad and I’m worried even though I hate that he thinks he lives here and takes naps in our driveway.

Mike: He’s faking.

Me: He’s FAKING? Are you serious?

Mike: Yes, he’s playing on your sympathy. He’s a con artist.

Me: You are nuts.

The next morning, he went into work later than usual and while the kids and I were upstairs doing our morning routine of straightening up which usually consists of me griping because my oldest son and Mike have both left their underwear behind the bathroom door after their morning showers, O shouts, “BLACK KITTY IS BACK!!! MOMMY GO GET HIM!”

Mike and I rushed into her room to look out her window and sure enough, there he was hobbling down the street and I kid you not, he was hobbling from the tree at the edge of our driveway, in front of our house and would stop at the corner. Then, he turned around and hobbled back in front of our house and stopped at the tree.

Mike said, “See I told you. He’s faking. He knows we’re watching. Ignore him.”

We haven’t seen him in days.

Either he has gone home where he belongs or he’s dead somewhere.

Poor Black Kitty

They'll never be winners of a spelling bee

2008-02-29T16:05:00.000-06:00

Today I was subbing at J's school in a 3rd grade class. Because of this, I had the amazing privilege (note sarcasm) of attending the all-school assembly the last 30 minutes of the day. It was to close our their "Kindness Month". There is something sad about having to designate a specific time of the school year to be kind, instead of incorporating it into the entire year's theme. Also, why do they wait until February to talk about kindness? Shouldn't this be addressed on the first day of school? But, I digress...

Part of the month's festivities was a contest for the students in 5th grade. They could create a cheer which would be judged by teachers and the cheerleaders from our local high school. The winner would receive a pizza party for his/her class and a $100 donation to the charity of the winner's choice. The charity donation was a really good idea. If that wasn't enough, the two runners up and the grand prize winner got to actually hear the cheerleaders perform the cheer, like, that is sooooooooooo cool. (again, note sarcasm)

This really was exciting for the winners and we all sat there politely listening and watching as the cheerleaders performed. The more we watched, the more disturbed we became. It quickly became evident that the back row of cheerleaders could not spell. When the cheer was to chant "K-I-N-D-N-E-S-S" I was appalled as I watched some of the girls just totally shut down after K-I-N. They couldn't remember the rest?

It was worse with "R-E-S-P-E-C-T-F-U-L". The back row didn't even try to attempt it. How sad is that? These are high school girls that should be able to spell and clap and stomp their feet all at the same time--otherwise they shouldn't be cheerleaders!

You could argue that maybe they were confused, they lost their place in the cheer, or othe cheer was so quickly created they did not know it, but wouldn't you catch on after the 3rd or 4th time through?

Some cheerleaders (obviously not the ones in our district) work really hard to bring an attitude of R-E-S-P-E-C-T to the act of cheering, but the ones who are more interested in looking cute and shaking their hineys make me realize that I really hope my girls are more interested in PLAYING sports instead of standing on the sidelines with a fake tan and a mini-skirt.

I've given birth to Mike Sever

2008-02-26T21:46:00.002-06:00

I've been homeschooling L and O, and I guess inadvertently, K this entire school year. I started out homeschooling L and O because of the sorry excuse for preschools in our area and since K wants to do everything they do, she's learning right along with them.

In the beginning of the school year, things were great, fun, exciting, thrilling--they were swell. And, for the most part, as far as O is concerned, things are still swell. L is another story...

Now, we are the complete opposite of swell. If swell were a food it would be a big, giant piece of chocolate cake dripping in luscious chocolate frosting. Right now folks, we're enduring the homeschooling equivalent of liver and onions.

These are the things he doesn't want to do ever in his little 5 year old life:
1. learn to tie his shoes
2. say the Lord's Prayer with his sisters and me. He'd rather sit like a mute even though he knows all the words. I make them say this every day because for every funeral and wedding they attend on my husband's side of the family, they'll be saying it and I want them to know what to say. Plus, I want them to learn Bible versus while we homeschool, so this is killing two birds, you might say.
3. say the Pledge of Allegiance. Again, he's mute.
4. learn to read three letter words.
5. sit still unless he's actually in a chair. How will he ever survive Kindergarten if he can't sit still on carpet?

Here is what he wants to do:
1. learn math
2. bark like a dog
3. write his first name--but not his last. He won't even include a last initial which will possibly be problematic seeing as we live in a small town and there is another boy with his same name entering Kindergarten this fall.
4. play Lego Starwars on the computer
5. talk to his sisters during story time
6. do ridiculous things to make his sisters laugh and then when corrected says, "But Mommy, I'm just trying to make them joyful!" Then he shoots me that GRIN.

It was today that I realized who he reminds me of: Mike Sever. Remember Mike from Growing Pains fame? Cute, fun loving, kind, crazy, silly Mike. It makes a great t.v. character, but a very frustrating little five year old.

Part of the problem is that I'm realizing more and more I am a perfectionist. And, although I don't voice this out loud to my children, in my mind I am comparing L to his brother J who since the moment he arrived on this earth, has been the epitome of compliant.

It's all a challenge and it's teaching me a lot of patience and I'm learning to see the positives and praise him for those instead of being a bothersome nag. I've known many people who have home schooled and none of them have ever said how frustrating it was. Either I'm doing something wrong, or they weren't being completely honest because homeschooling is hard. Sometimes it's not fun and if I had to do it indefinitely, I'm not sure I could.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying this time I have with them. In a few months they'll be off to "real" school. The house will be quiet. And I will miss L's barking and his silly jokes like crazy.

But don't talk back to Darth Vader...

2008-02-24T20:58:00.000-06:00

This little girl is so cute I want to eat her up. Judging from the amount of Star Wars watched, reinacted, and Lego Star Wars played at our house, K will be doing this pretty soon.

Safe food?

2008-02-23T12:09:00.001-06:00

While shopping at our local, small town grocery store the other day, I walked past the meat department and spotted at huge sign with bold letters stating, "WE CARRY NO MEAT INVOLVED IN THE RECALL."

I breathed a little sigh of relief since I frequently buy meat from our local store, but at the same time, I was completely saddened that this is what the state of our food has come to.

It used to be that people had to be worried about contracting an illness from poor handling of food in their own kitchens. We all have been paranoid about washing properly after preparing poultry, and making sure our mayo stays cold at picnics. But now, we have to fear an even bigger problem and that is the safety of our food supply seems to be more and more in question. And it's not just meat. I remember a few years ago that people were getting sick from Malt-o-Meal brand dry cereal. Dry cereal? Then there's the whole spinach fiasco of not so long ago. It seemed like forever before it was back on grocery store shelves and even then, I think people were hesitant to buy it.

It's enough to make me want to move to the country, grab a big floppy hat and some overalls, and start growing my own food. For as far as we have come as a society, we should have reliable safety measures and inspection processes in place so that the welfare of the American people isn't put in jeopardy for eating a bowl of cereal.

Why just four?

2008-02-20T17:38:00.000-06:00

"Mommy, why don't we have five kids?" L asked me the other day.

"Because we have four," I answered. (real profound, huh?)

"But, I want five. We need five. I want a brother and I will be very nice to him. I will play with him and Mommy, you won't even have to do much because I'll change his diapers," he sounded like he was pleading his case to buy a puppy.

"We have four kids because that's what God wants us to have." There, I thought, let's push this off on GOD because I don't want to get into birth control with my five year old son.

"Please, Mommy!" he begged. "Please, I want a brother, please, please."

"You already have a brother and there would be no guarantee you'd get another one. So, I suggest if you really want another baby in our house, then you pray and ask God for one and if He thinks we need one, then He'll give us one."

A few moments passed as there was complete silence from L. I could tell he was thinking and then he said, "You know what. I just prayed and stuff and I think I don't need one anymore. Four is good."

Yes, it is my dear child. FOUR IS GREAT!

Skunk Tale

2008-02-16T00:07:00.001-06:00

I realized at about 1:00 this afternoon when my friend stopped by, and then again at 5:00 this evening when Mike came home from work that my feeble attempts to rid the house of foul odor did nothing. Granted the smell wasn't as strong, but it definitely wasn't gone. The kids and I had become immune to it.

So, I made a trip to good old Bath and Body Works to buy a wallflower refill. I was pretty angry as I made my way into the store thinking about how some stupid creature was really messing up my home and the more I thought about it the more enraged I became until the poor gentleman who tried to help me in the store was accosted with more information than he had bargained for. (As a side note--what kind of guy wants to work at Bath and Body Works?)

Our conversation went like this:

BBW GUY: Can I help you find something?

ME WITH DESPERATION IN VOICE: Yes, I need a lot of Blissful Blackberry wallflower refills because my home has been invaded by skunk smell and it won't go away.

BBW GUY: Oooooo, so sorry, we've discontinued that scent.

ME WITH LOOK OF ARE YOU KIDDING ME ON MY FACE: NO!!!!!!!!! You don't understand. That's the smell I like and it will hopefully overpower the skunk smell. We are all going to start to stink and it will be embarrassing.

BBW GUY: You're telling me you have a skunk IN YOUR HOUSE? Why don't you get rid of it?

ME WITH SARCASM: How exactly can I get rid of them? Nobody seems to be able to help me and now everything stinks and I need blissful blackberrry!

He went on to suggest a variety of nauseating smells that I hated until I decided to settle with some raspberry vanilla concoction that is growing on me as I sit here while it permeates the house.

In an effort to nicely "ask" the skunks to leave, Mike set up a light under the deck that is so bright I think it could alert ships in New England. The theory behind this being they will be offended by the light and then quietly pack up and leave peacefully.

These skunks probably have sunglasses and are enjoying the lamp for the heat it gives off. Mr. Skunk and his brothel are probably out there throwing a party for all the neighborhood critters. We have the Hugh Hefner of the skunk world living under our deck and I have a husband who won't tear the stupid thing down.

I hate skunks

2008-02-15T07:41:00.000-06:00

If you are a person who ponders deep questions and hopes to one day ask God these questions, then please put the following one on your list because it's going to be on mine.

WHY DID GOD MAKE SKUNKS?

Last year--almost exactly at this time, we realized there was a skunk brothel under our deck. Then when we tried to trap them, we realized there was a virtual wild kingdom out there as we ended up catching raccoons, possums, and squirrels all before catching the skunks that we ended up shooting.

This capital punishment was what most of my posts on my previous blog were about a year ago because we were in the midst of a horrible time; however, some psychopath who must wear skunk perfume and invite them over for dinner wrote me threatening emails for killing said animals.

What this crazy nut didn't realize is that the smell had infiltrated our house, we were going out in public smelling of skunk, and the only way to completely rid our house of the odor was to open all windows, turn on the ceiling fans, and shut off the heat while the house aired out. Living in the Midwest is not conducive to open windows in February! The kicker was when J went to school smelling like skunk. His locker smelled from his coat, his books and notebooks smelled, and he was embarrassed.

We did some research last year and realized that February and March is mating season and the males often spray other males when they're fighting over their overabundance of females. Yes, they have harems! Life is just grand.

I'm not failing to see the irony in all of this. Last night was Valentine's Day and if anyone tells you that skunks don't celebrate, they are wrong because there was a whole lot of lovin' going on and I guess our little harem didn't want to be disturbed because I was awakened to the foul smell as it penetrated our house and moved through the heating ducts.

We're now sitting in a house that is a refrigerator, candles are burning, Febreze has been sprayed everywhere and I'm making plans to remove our deck as I design what our new patio will look like. Meanwhile, I'm plotting their death and no nutty skunk lover is going to deter me from my quest to rid my backyard if these disgusting animals.

Skunks must die.

Tantrums. I think I'd like to have one of my own.

2008-02-12T08:32:00.000-06:00

There are times that as a parent, I don't know what to do in situations and I want to throw up my hands and run away in defeat. I feel like this almost daily as I try to get through days with O without losing my mind. She's been throwing the worst temper tantrums and not only are Mike and I sick of them, but her siblings are to the point where they just start crying or retreating somewhere quiet when she begins one of her unpleasant spells.

I don't know why this is happening other than the fact she is 100% stubborn 99% of her life. When that 1% of compliance makes an appearance, we all just stop and look at each other amazed because we know that it is a miracle. What is most frustrating is that we have the same disciplinary boundaries for her as we do for the other three. Sure, they do defy us sometimes, but the respect for authority is there. The desire to please outweighs the desire to push the limits. But not with O.

I've read books about strong willed children and most of them say that this strong will that is inherent in a child is present from birth and what the parents to do channel this will makes all the difference. Right now, I don't even know how to begin to channel this horrendous strong will in the correct direction because the battles are so close together with her that I don't have the energy to direct anything. All I do is discipline. There is very little "molding" time.

Then again, maybe the discipline is the molding? I don't know. To me, I feel that if molding were actually taking place then there would be less tantrums.

Part of me feels like the girl has lived to voice her independence since her conception. Before I even was pregnant. I knew there were two potential follicles there, but the fertility specialist told me that, "The one on the right won't fertilize because it isn't big enough." And then six weeks later we found out that "the one on the right" did indeed fertilize. At that point, we were told that there was a 70% chance one would miscarry and since the right sided follicle was the lesser developed, it would probably be that one. She proved them wrong and went on develop quite a personality!

Take for example, when I was pregnant with her. I was in the hospital on bedrest and was on a monitor 30 minutes at a time, four times a day. L would stay put--right underneath the monitor pad, but O would roll around, do jumping jacks, swing from my ribs, and terrorize her brother while I chased her little rolling body through my skin in hopes to actually trick her into thinking I wasn't trying to actually monitor her.

When the doctor tried to do an ultrasound, she would roll around constantly. Part of the reason we didn't know about her cleft was that she wouldn't ever show her face. It was much more fun for her to hide.

After she was born this stubbornness was probably what helped her be such a little fighter in the NICU, but she drove the nurses crazy. She would manage to take off her little booties, remove the protectors they had on her eyes to shield them from the bili-light, take off her heart monitor, and scoot to the end of her bed and get into a big ball of wires and mess. It became a joke amongst the nurses that whoever had O on their shift was in for constant action because she kept them on their toes. She didn't like the first cleft palate bottle (the Haberman) they tried to give her and refused to eat if it was used. It wasn't until out of desperation a nurse used a Mead-Johnson that she actually would eat from a bottle. We were prepared to go home feeding her with an NG tube. Again--everything was on her terms.

I don't know what do to anymore. I've prayed, read books, implemented enough Supernanny techniques that I swear I could start speaking with an English accent, and I'm still at a loss for what to do. I'm frustrated and most of all, I'm afraid this will never get better.

Adding insult to injury

2008-02-09T09:03:00.000-06:00

Last night I decided to take K with me while I was shopping for some birthday presents for J. It seemed like a good idea when we left the house, but then, of course, it started raining as soon as we decided to start getting in and out of the car to go into various stores. We've had so much rain around here that I'm starting to think Noah is going to show up with an ark or, the scientists will announce that for some freakish reason, the Midwest's climate is now turning into Seattle's.

On our exit from Target, the rain was particularly strong. The drops were big and they were blowing sideways. I wrapped K up as best I could, grabbed my purse and bags and headed for the door. After the other night's events in the bathroom, I realized that K has a new love of the word HUGE. Everything is HUGE. Her grapes are HUGE. Her glass of milk is HUGE. Her hair, which is growing rapidly, isn't long, it's HUGE.

So, she says as we get ready to hit the sidewalk, "Mommy, these raindrops are HUGE!"

Then she giggled ever so slightly and continued, "They're HUGE like your panties!!!!"

At this point, she threw her head back and laughed like she was the funniest commedianne in the world. Behind me, I could hear laughter. It was a couple who were probably in their late 60's or early 70's. The man had his hand over his mouth trying to hide his smile, and his wife was doing something similar. She was wearing one of those old lady plastic hairbonnets and a sparkly red sweatshirt that said, "TGIF: THIS GRANNY IS FUN."

They apologized for laughing, but said it was one of the funniest things they've heard such a little person say.

I had to agree and anyone who will be seen with, or actually wear that gawdy of a sweatshirt out of love for their grandchildren, is allowed to laugh.

Confidence booster

2008-02-07T06:33:00.000-06:00

Last night as I was getting ready for bed, K decided to barge into my bathroom. You know, because that's just what she does. She's two, she's independent, and she has no respect for others' privacy.

She announced she had to go to the bathroom, so while I brushed my teeth, she went and then she said, "You go, Mommy."

So, I went. I think this was all part of her devious little plan to insult me because the next thing she said was, "You have a HUGE bottom!"

I looked at her stunned and then started to laugh.

Next she looked at my underware, which were now down around my ankles, and said, "Your panties are so HUGE, Mommy!"

And then I laughed so hard that I cried.

Compromise

2008-02-03T21:55:00.000-06:00

Dear, sweet, ultra-independent, winter-pajama hating K had a solution to the never ending saga of, "No you cannot wear a summer nightgown when our house is chilly because then your feet are like ice cubes."

She thought she'd show me.

She put the summer nightgown over the winter pj's.

Two year olds can be so challenging, but so fun.

She has her own translator

2008-01-30T15:51:00.000-06:00

Mornings around our house can either be completely organized, or completely insane. There is no in between. By insane, I mean chaotic, temper tantrum throwing, don't know where your socks are type of mornings.

And I only have to get one kid out the door for school at this point. Next year I'll really be in trouble.

This morning was a good one until J left for school. Then things got ugly.

L wanted eggs for breakfast, but O wanted cereal. K didn't want anything, as usual, because that child can survive on three sips of milk and a grape.

O had gotten herself dressed, but was angry with her jeans because they weren't staying up on her minuscule waist. I tightened the adjustable elastic waistband to the point that anymore adjusting might just very well saw the girl in half.

Since I hit snooze on my alarm way too many times, I didn't get up early enough to exercise and that was making me grumpy since I knew I'd never get it done later in the day, so I wasn't too patient with requests from little people who seemed to think they were in a diner waiting on their waitress, Edna, to bring them some food.

Then, K walked into the kitchen half moaning, half whining a question, "Where is blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh?"

I couldn't tell what blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh meant this morning and I can't tell you what it means right now. All I know is that she wanted something.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"Where is Wawa's (that's what she calls her sister) princess blahhhhhhhhhhh?"

Even though I knew this would send her into a tailspin, I had to ask, "Where is Wawa's princess WHAT?"

"CAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed.

Now I was really in a state of confusion because I knew we didn't have a princess cake in the house, but I quickly remembered that O had a Tinkerbell cake at her birthday in September and since K sometimes calls Tinkerbell a princess AND since she has an uncanny ability to remember bizarre things for months and months and months that maybe she was wondering what happened to the cake. So I answered her.

"Honey, we ate it."

She looked at me horrified and yelled, "YOU ATE IT? WHY WOULD YOU EAT IT? WAWA! MOMMY ATE YOUR CAKE!!!!!!!"

This was followed by uncontrollable sobs from her two year old little body. At this point I was thinking the girl really needed to get a grip because she was obviously overreacting and that's when O looked at me confused and said, "Why would you eat my princess cape?"

I looked back at her very confused. Cape? Why would I eat a cape? What in the heck was she talking about? And then my five year old very calmly explained to me that K wasn't asking where the princess CAKE was, she wanted to know where the princess CAPE was that they use for dress up.

It all finally made sense. K was relieved that her mother wasn't a cape eating monster and I realized that I either need to learn to speak two year old, or else I need to have O around all the time.

The irony of this hasn't escaped me. Here O is the one whose speech is constantly being scrutinized because of her cleft palate. She gets therapy; she's even having surgery in March to improve her speech. Now she's translating for someone else. Somehow maybe she just "gets it" better than I do and she can understand the misunderstood.

Here's a video clip of J's basketball game a couple of weeks ago. He's the one shooting.

J's Basketball from June Clever on Vimeo.

My Bucket List

2008-01-27T22:00:00.000-06:00

The lovely Karla prompted me to do this meme. Why are they called "memes"? I don't think I like that word--meme. It's icky kind of like moist, and hygiene, and slacks. But, I digress.

Here they are in no particular order:

1. Write a children's book and get it published.
This is something I've wanted to do since I was a child. In fact, I used to write positively terrible knock offs of my favorite authors Beverly Cleary and Judy Blume.

2. Drink a glass of Dom Perignon champagne.
I don't even like champagne, but something in my head says that if the champagne is that expensive then it must taste fabulous. Most alcohol doesn't taste real fabulous, so I'm probably kidding myself.

3. Have a big family.
Cross this baby off!! This has also been on my "must do" list since I was very young. Being an only child, I always longed for a big, chaotic family with lots of noise. Be careful what you wish for...

4. Go on a vacation to Colonial Williamsburg.
This has to be done before the kids are grown and gone because it just wouldn't be any fun without them.

5. Meet somebody famous.
I don't really who I'd like this to be. I just want it to be a person that is famous for a good reason and not like someone who is a serial killer or something.

6. Take the girls to Chicago for a day at American Girl.
This will probably require as much money saving as our trip to Disney. This is a total money drainer, but it's a little girl's dream.

7. Go with Mike and the boys to Lawrence, Kansas to see a Jayhawks basketball game.
I'm not a huge sports fan, but being with a displaced Jayhawk for the past 16 years has caused me to like KU basketball. The boys would be thrilled to actually go to a game and the looks on their faces would be awesome.

8. Learn to play the cello.
Another childhood dream here. I always said I'd do this when I was pregnant. What was I thinking? How in the heck can you play the cello with a big belly in the way?

9. Take a trip to Italy.
This would be purely for the cuisine. I would eat my way through every kind of pasta and pizza I could find and then I'd return to the U.S. 20 pounds heavier.

10. Learn to decorate cakes.
I'm a pitiful cake decorator. I'm lucky to spread frosting on smoothly, so I have a huge admiration for anyone who can do even the simplest of decorating.

11. Go to a fancy schmansy spa where I'd get to stay for a few days.
This would be the ultimate in relaxation. I wouldn't ever want to leave.

12. Own a convertible.
This might have to wait until the kids are grown--and out of college--and we've paid for weddings. I might be 70, but by golly, I'm going to have a convertible to drive my grandchildren around in!

13. Meet my friend, Colleen, face to face.
We've been emailing and calling each other for the past 3 years and she knows me probably just as well, if not better, than most of my friends who see me on a regular basis. Oh the fun we would have talking and talking and talking and talking and talking...

14. Go to Mackinaw Island.
Ever since I saw "Somewhere in Time" the place has intrigued me.

So, there it is. I'm tagging YOU, dear readers! Go make your lists and report back.

Another reason the writers' strike needs to end

2008-01-22T13:40:00.000-06:00

Last night I was trying to find something worthwhile to watch on television. There is, of course, nothing to watch thanks to this writers' strike that will probably never end. I guess there are benefits to this. We definitely watch less t.v. However, last night, I really wanted to just be entertained without having to think.

And so, I watched the "20 Greatest Redneck Moments" on CMT. And, I found it oddly entertaining and intriguing.

This strike as got to end.

Alarm Clock

2008-01-19T19:20:00.000-06:00

A glorious Saturday morning with nowhere to go. What a great day to sleep in. I was warm and cozy in my bed. My quilt was all around me and my soft pillow was so, so comfortable.

Suddenly, I felt a presence next to my bed. Then I realized through my tightly closed eyelids that a light was shining right in my face. I heard money jingling. Was this a bizarre dream?

No, this wasn't a dream. It was my five year old, human alarm clock.

I opened my eyes reluctantly to see him standing next to my bed, flashlight in hand, examining loose change.

"What in the world are you doing?" I asked in a sleepy whisper.

"Yooking at money very carefully," he answered.

"I can see that, but why are you doing it next to my bed? Why don't you go in your room or better yet, since the sun is out go downstairs," I begged wanting to sleep.

"I have to do it here because your room is dark and if I go where the sunshine is, I won't be able to see the flashlight light."

Oh yes, it all makes perfect sense...

to a five year old.

Wearing a different hat this week

2008-01-17T16:18:00.001-06:00

I've worked every day this week as a sub in 3rd grade.

I am tired.

No, I do not want a cookie or some other similar award for doing this because I know that the entire world works and right now someone who lives in Texas is probably reading this and wanting to throw something at their computer screen because I'm moaning about having had worked four whole days.

But, here's the thing, I'm not used to this type of work. There was a time a mere four years ago when I was teaching full time and being the mom to three children--two of which were twins who decided that sleep was not a necessity. And, I survived it, so I know that I'll survive this too.

This working arragement has really put my kids in a state of annoyance--particularly O. She keeps asking me in exasperated tones, "How many more days are you doing this? We need you here."

The kids are being very lovingly cared for by my mom. It's not like they're with a stranger.

It just makes me appreciate my time at home with my kids. Is staying home easy? Heck NO! There are days that being home and trying to juggle arguments, playing, housework, and laundry is more exhausting than a classroom full of talkative 3rd graders.

But today, I'm very thankful that tomorrow is Friday and next week I get to go back to being, Mommy.

Wearing a different hat this week

2008-01-17T16:18:00.000-06:00

What not to say to a parent of twins

2008-01-13T16:23:00.000-06:00

When the twins were born, we received a lot of unsolicited advice and commentary. Some of it was helpful, while some of it made me look away and roll my eyes. After a few months, I decided that I was going to make a list of things not to say to a parent of twins--particularly if you do not know the family well. Here are a few, just in case you're wondering.

1. Are they twins? How I wanted to answer, but I was too polite: Well, they're exactly the same size, they're in matching car seats and both my husband and I look like we haven't slept in weeks. What do you think?

2. Oh, a boy and a girl. Are they identical? How I wanted to answer, but I was too polite to make people feel like idiots: Um, let's see...one of them has a penis and one does not. Gee, I guess that makes them identical!

3. Twins (insert sinister laugh here) that's double trouble. How I actually did respond: Actually, it's a double blessing since we had a heck of a time getting them here.

4. Are they "real twins" or did you have to take drugs to get them? How I actually answered because I was tired of perfect strangers inquiring about my gynecological history: Real compared to WHAT? Fake babies? They are indeed real babies. The three feedings in the middle of the night and countless diaper changes wouldn't be happening if they weren't real.

Here are some of the comments many well meaning people would say that made me shake my head.

"If I had twins I would dress them alike all the time."
No you wouldn't. You'd dress them in whatever is clean.

"Oh, a boy and a girl. Now you have the perfect family."
What?? Because any other combination of children isn't perfect???????

"My grandma/aunt/uncle/cousin twice removed was a twin, but his/her twin died when he/she was three months old."
Thank you for sharing that bit of info, bearer of doom and gloom.

In today's society where more and more multiples are being born, one would think that it would be commonplace and that the public would be used to seeing multiples, but really, multiples are attention getters anywhere and everywhere they go. Quite frankly, I'm more amazed at huge families with children of varying ages. Wow. First of all, how did they decide to have that many and how do they ever get out of the house on time? I have trouble enough with my four!

Now when we go in public, nobody asks us if L and O are twins. We do; however, get this question a lot in reference to them, "Oh, they must be very close in age. How far apart are they."

I love to see the looks on faces when we say, "One minute."

It takes awhile for people to figure it out.

On behalf of all women

2008-01-08T15:57:00.000-06:00

Dear Whoever Makes The Universal Rules For Men,

I have been married to a man for almost 13 years. I have been with the same said man for nearly 16 years and I have some complaints to you, maker of the MAN RULES. Listen up.

If the wife, significant other, possible girlfriend, friend, or helpless female acquaintance should happen to call a man during his lunch hour when he is eating a very casual lunch with co-workers and tell him that the back gate of her nearly new van is not shutting properly again thereby putting her children at risk of flying out or being hit with a flying object that might be sailing through the sky as she drives down the road, the proper response to this information should not be, "I'll call the dealership later and make an appointment."

I ask you, oh maker of the universal rules for men, what is this female supposed to do in the mean time when she need to go somewhere? Should she, as her husband once did, make their four year old son hold it shut by using the rope to his sister's hand-held princess fan?

The correct response to this plea for help by a female should also not be, "Get a screw driver and while you're holding up on the handle, move the latch around until it clicks."

This would be sound advice if the woman were:

A. 7 feet tall or had an arm span that rivaled a jet airplane's wings because it is nearly impossible for a 5' 6" person to do this.

OR

B. Able to understand what "move the latch around until it clicks" means. Does this mean that she should hear a loud click? What if the click isn't a good click? What if she breaks something and she's forced to use the male's vehicle which smells of sweaty shin guards and feet?

And while I'm at it, Mr. Maker of Man Rules, (because I know you are a Mr. and not a Ms. or Mrs.) why must men leave their underwear behind the bathroom door instead of putting them in the dirty clothes?

I don't expect you to answer me because I'm sure you don't know. And really getting you to admit that you don't know something would be a travesty.

Sincerely,

A Woman Who Nearly Beat Her Van To Death With a Screwdriver

Soccer Widow

2008-01-02T16:10:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I was feeling all warm and fuzzy about life and then today I realized that we had to start the dreaded soccer season. J loves to play soccer and I don't want to take that from him. I love going to his games and it's so much fun to see how excited he is about the game. What I don't enjoy is the practices that are 35 minutes away from our house two nights a week, 9 months out of the year, using port-a-potties at games, tournaments in far off cities where I not only have to pack for a family of 6, but then entertain J's three very bored siblings during the tournaments.

I'm essentially on my own during tournaments because Mike is the assistant coach to J's team and the assistant to another U16 boys team. And while he knows how to set limits on his "regular" job and knows when to say when, he doesn't know how to set limits for soccer. He has gotten better at cutting back, but it still isn't great.

So, today I sent Mike and J off to begin another season of running. Another season of shoving a snack in J's mouth as he runs off to practice or a game. Another season of cringing every time J goes down in a game and hurts his ankle. Another season of hauling three whining kids, a blanket, a bag of snacks, crayons, coloring books, and a few chairs across 17 soccer fields because J invariably plays on the field farthest from our van--no matter where we park.

I should've asked for a golf cart and a person assistant for Christmas to help me get through another soccer season.

Looking forward

2008-01-01T19:53:00.000-06:00

The last 11 days have truly been a vacation for our family. We didn't go anywhere exotic or warm. We stayed here, played, ate, slept, and just relaxed. Mike's last day of work was the 21st of December and then he took the rest of the month off. He goes back to work tomorrow and I have to say, I'm sad to see this all end.

The past, nearly two weeks, has really taught me to be thankful. I'm thankful that I have a husband who is really good at his job, but isn't a work-a-holic. He understands the importance of being with his family and he absolutely loves playing with the kids. I'm thankful that he understands that I need a break every now and then. I'm thankful that he isn't afraid to clean a toilet or vacuum a floor.

I'm thankful that my kids are still young enough to want to be with us. They don't crave their friends every moment of every day. J isn't involved in school sports yet so that we aren't consumed with practices and games over Christmas Break. I know that this break was a very special one because by next year, he'll be in junior high and this could all change.

I have a friend who has four children. Her youngest is a junior in high school and the other three are in college. The love she has for her kids just radiates from her and whenever I talk to her, I think God is using her to show me and remind me that these precious years I have with my kids are fleeting. There are days when I feel like I'm running in circles and I can't get everything done that I need to. Thoughts run through my mind on those days such as, "If I could just be alone in this house for two hours, I could get so much done!"

And then I have a stab of guilt in my heart because I know that one day, I will be alone in this house and I will be so very sad. I see Kirsten as she puts her daughter on a plane to another country to visit the love of her life and I don't know how she does it. I listen to her tell me about how her oldest son has met a girl he deeply loves and if he does marry her, they'll move several states away and I don't know how she doesn't try to talk him out of it! It's not because her children are making poor decisions because they aren't, it's because she has to let go and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to do that.

For right now, I'm glad I can still grab them all and cuddle on the couch. I'm thankful for their warm, slobbery kisses and tight hugs. And I'm so, so, so thankful to God that he allowed me to be their mother.

And his name just happens to start with the letter L. How "yucky" for him.

2007-12-28T16:00:00.000-06:00

On Christmas Day, my sweet, patient cousin, Christine, was physically attacked by my children. They all decided that what Chrissy needed most for Christmas was some serious love and they gave it to her. If one of them wasn't sitting on her lap, one was asking her to play with them, or showing her their bedrooms, or shoving toys in her face. As a mother, I see it as payback for all the times my little cousins attacked me when I was 16. Chrissy was one of those cousins, but as a little girl, she never attacked. She was sweet and calm and I loved her little chubby cheeks.

As you might expect, there was a little issue when it came time to eat because L, O and K all wanted to sit next to her. L was the winner. As he finished his food, he leaned over and put his arm around Chrissy's shoulder and said, "This is the yucky seat because it's next to you."

Chrissy's face was a little confused and I could hear the confusion in her voice as she said, "Why?"

"Because," he answered, "It's next to you and you are great."

"But, you told me I'm yucky."

I was listening to this conversation and I was ready to pull Mr. L off his chair and into the other room to have a chat about polite behavior.

L shook his head, "No, not yucky I said yucky!

And then it hit me, he didn't say yucky, he was trying to say, "lucky."

I explained to Christine and she laughed, but L shook his head and said, "I don't yike it when everybody says I say one thing when I'm not saying that thing at all. Don't you yisten to me?"

Yes, I think it might be time for some speech therapy.

and how was your Christmas?

2007-12-25T21:10:00.000-06:00

Can you hear it? It's the sound of silence as we all fall into a too much food, too much rushing, too much wrapping paper, too much Wii coma.

Ahhhhhhh. Sweet Christmas.

It all started last night. We went to church, but first I wanted a Christmas picture of them in all their finery. Of course it didn't go so well because my children are incapable of all looking at the camera at the same time without doing something strange.

And later, a Christmas miracle occurred. They actually posed with my parents and you can see them all looking at the camera!! With eyes wide open!! Nobody is doing anything weird with his or her mouth, finger, nose, or any other body part. But, you'll have to go over to Flickr to see the rest of the pictures since I've used up my allotted monthly picture download for Blogger and now I'm realizing that what I really should've asked for for Christmas was an advanced account where I can download to my heart's content. So, you'll have to venture over to Flickr. But I digress...

After church we went to my parents' to feast on nachos, shrimp cocktail and other yummy treats and somehow at the end of the evening, we wrestled four children into the van to go home, into pj's with teeth brushed, potty breaks taken and into bed. It was now close to 11:00 and we still had to get their gifts together. And that's when Mike and I discovered the Wii. He was getting it set up for the boys' suprise for the morning, but it's just so darn fun. Close to two hours later, I made it to bed. Just for the record, I beat my ultra competitive, athletic, husband's patootie in boxing AND bowling.

Today was just pure fun. We had all of my family over and it was a blast. My cousin's husband, Paul, looks an awful lot like Santa Claus if Santa was in his mid-40's, and had red hair. Yes, I realize in your mind he probably doesn't look much at all like Santa, but to my two year old daughter, that was another story. When I opened the door to greet them, Paul said in his jolly voice, "Ho, Ho, Ho!" just for fun since he was standing on my porch with gifts. As soon as he walked into the house, she ran to me yelling, "Mommy! Santa is here!" Although she was afraid to actually sit on his lap, she walked around the house all day saying, "My cousin is Santa Claus." She was in pure awe.

Everything was going great until an unfortunate occurrance with Molly, our cat. Molly is 12 years old. She's a qwerky little feline, but we love her. For example, she likes to play in her water bowl, get her paws wet and then wipe them on the side of the refrigerator so she can watch the water drops slide down. She also likes to snoop and nose into things which is where the unfortunate occurrance comes in. My Nana's purse was in the living room unsupervised as everyone was either in the kitchen, or in the family room exhausting themselves by playing on the Wii. I walked into the living room once to see Molly's body inside Nana's purse sniffing and licking her chops. Upon hearing me, she ran away. I just chalked it up to Molly being weird until a few minutes later when Nana went into the living room to "get something out of her purse." In our family, we all know this is code for, "I'm going to get a dip of snuff, but I don't want you to know because even though the entire family knows I'm a rampant snuff user, I like to pretend that nobody knows." Ahem. (My Nana grew up in the south in an era where it was perfectly acceptable for ladies to dip as long as they were discrete about it and by golly, this almost 88 year old lady isn't going to change her ways just because it's 2007 and she now lives life as a Yankee!)

As Nana walked into the living room she hollared, "Heather! Your cat is sick. She is sick to her stomach."

Sick to her stomach? Can a cat be sick to her stomach?

The answer is yes, yes a cat can indeed be sick to her stomach and she was being sick to her stomach all over the living room floor only FEET away from where I had a very long table set up and decorated for Christmas dinner.

What made Molly so sick? It certainly wasn't a furball judging from the amount of yuck that was on my carpet. I suspect, and keep in mind that I have no proof, that it was a wee bit 'o snuff that she might've gotten out of Nana's purse. If that was indeed what she was on a search and destroy mission for in Nana's purse, let it be known here, Internet, that cats and snuff do not mix. Please don't let your cat dip. If you have a cat that is heading down the wrong path into the world of addictive substances, steer them away from the snuff!

We're all resting peacefully now after our day of presents, food, laughter, Wii, and cat vomit--even Molly who now is sleeping on the back of the family room couch. Go over to Flickr and see some pictures. Click on my flickr badge at the top until it takes you there.

Christmas Entertainment

2007-12-19T11:24:00.000-06:00

Last night marked a milestone for J. It was his last grade school Christmas Concert because next year he'll be in 6th grade which means junior high. No more songs about snowmen, reindeer or Santa. My Mommy Heart hurts when I think about it.

Here's a picture of him singing his very last grade school choir song. The girl on the end dressed as a mail carrier is Sydney for whom J has a serious case of "I know I'm too young, but I like you away." She's only about 1 1/2 feet taller than he is. She likes him too, or so I'm told by half the
5th grade when I am subbing at his school.

Here's another picture when Sydney looked our way as Mike was taking a close up picture of her to show J's wife someday. Look at her expression. She's saying, "Oh my gosh. J's dad is totally zooming in on my face!"

It also was his first band concert. He began playing the trombone this year and has done a really good job. Of course, it would be easier for him if his arms were a little bit longer, but hey, having notes in 6th position be in tune is highly overrated, don't you think? I realize that probably only family members will truly care to see and hear what we endured, I mean, listened to last night, but here's a little clip for you. J's the one on the right wearing a cream colored sweater. His poor friend who was sitting next to him will appear to be lost during this song and that's because he couldn't see the music, so he was essentially playing by ear. The band is playing a "round" in this piece. Please be understanding if the clarinets and oboes make you want to shoot your computer. You'll also have to ignore the man's head in front of us. Obviously, Mike does not have a future in film making since he cannot see the large hill of graying hair in front of the camera lens. Click below on Christmas Concert. Once the picture comes up, click on it and turn up the sound!

Christmas Concert from June Clever on Vimeo.

Reasons to buy the Beach Boys Christmas album

2007-12-15T13:00:00.001-06:00

Each year between Thanksgiving and New Years I either read at least one article in the paper, or see something on t.v. regarding seasonal depression. Maybe it's gloomy weather, a lack of finances, missing a friend or relative, but this time of year can really be hard on people. I consider myself very blessed. I'm healthy, my family and friends are healthy, I'm not living in a box on the street. I have a loving husband and goofy children that make me laugh. For these things, I thank God daily because I know that I am really blessed. Even though I understand in my head how fortunate I am, the other day I was hit with a big case of the BLAHS. I was standing in the kitchen making dinner, the kids were quietly playing, and the radio was on playing Christmas music. And then I heard it. The song that opened the door to the BLAHS.

It was, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" and Judy Garland was singing it. For the first time, I really paused to listen to it. Her warbly voice oozing all over the words, "Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow..." I felt a lump in my throat, my eyes were tearing up (and it wasn't because I was cutting onions either) and I thought to myself how that has to be the most depressing Christmas song ever. Suddenly, I was thinking about Christmas when I was little, when my dad was alive, going to my grandparents with all of my extended family--many of whom are dead now. I thought about my grandparents' Christmas tree decked out entirely with mercury glass ornaments, eating nuts and candy, playing games, acting silly. Was that really nearly 30 years ago? Before I knew it, I was thinking about the day when my kids are grown with families of their own. Would they come home for Christmas? Would they want me with them at Christmas or would their spouses ask to have me locked up in a nursing home somewhere. Would Mike and I just sit wrapped in afghans on Christmas holding hands like two pathetic little skeletons? STOP! I wanted to scream. Stop the time from going so quickly. Let me enjoy my babies!

Can you say overreacting?

I decided to try and give a different version of that song a chance, but really, I found that it doesn't really matter who is singing it, it's a depressing song. There are other Christmas songs that I find depressing as well.

Take "I'll be home for Christmas" for example. Can't you just picture the poor soul who so desperately wants to be home for Christmas, but can't? And what about his or her family or friends? They're sad!! They want their loved one to be with them and either war or money or work or distance isn't letting them. It's unfair!

This next song should just come with a bottle of Prozac because if you can handle listening to the entire thing without changing the channel, sobbing uncontrollably into a tissue or turning off the radio all together, you will certainly be mopey and sad afterwards and either medication, or a dozen Christmas cookies will probably be needed. It's "Christmas Shoes."

Oh my gosh, I cannot express how much I detest this song. I also detested the email with the same name that went around a couple of years before this song was written. Now, I'm forced to hear it almost daily on any number of radio stations that are supposed to be playing "festive" Christmas music. This song is not festive. It's the complete opposite of festive. It makes me think about being a little girl and how I wouldn't have been able to go on if my mother would've died. It also makes me picture my boys standing in a store buying me the grown-up of equivalent of Dorothy's ruby slippers for my death. NO! NO! NO! This is a horrible song.

Bring on Bobby Helms singing, "Jingle Bell Rock" "White Christmas" by the Drifters, or "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree" by Brenda Lee, these make me happy!

So, if too much Christmas sugar or Judy Garland has got you down, go rent the movie Elf to cheer you up.

A cry for help!

2007-12-14T11:48:00.000-06:00

Will someone please remove all Christmas cookies from my home? My husband made 11 dozen Snickerdoodles for his work cookie exchange. Only problem is he left 3 dozen here.

I am addicted.

I need help.

Making a list

2007-12-11T09:43:00.000-06:00

As we were sitting down to dinner last night, the Food Critic, a.k.a. my youngest son, decided to voice his opinions on the menu.

Spelling errors are done to interpret his speech.
"Quesadillas? I don't know if I yike deese. Do I yike them?"

"Yes, I've made them lots of times. Eat. now. You must eat."

Whining, moaning, some more whining. More moaning. More whining.

And then his father says, "You better eat. Santa is still making his list."

To which his 2 year old sister replied as she sat munching happily in her high chair, "And he's checking it TWICE! You hear me? He's checking it TWICE!!"

Did it help motivate him to eat? Not really.

This morning he informed me, "Mommy, Santa doesn't really care what you eat. He just eats cookies and not quesadillas."

Think before you throw

2007-12-06T08:39:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I do things without thinking. It can be a case of opening my big mouth too soon, or making a rash decision without pausing first to consider the ramifications of my actions. Last night, I had one of these moments.

My friend, Julie, and I went shopping. Julie has been through hell the past 10 months. 2007 has not been gracious to her. In a nutshell, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, went through chemo, ended up having a "preventative" double mastectomy and hysterectomy, and now she's in the process of regrowing hair. In fact, today is the day she plans to shed (pun intended) her dear friend Ms. Wig, to go for a short, sassy hair style a la Alyssa Milano. But, I digress.

So, last night, Julie was doing some much deserved shopping for herself. And I, because I love shopping for anything or anyone, was helping her pick out stuff. She was trying on a super cute sweater and turtleneck in the dressing room while I waited amongst the racks. I realized that the size of sweater she had picked up was probably going to be too large for her, so I took a smaller one back to the dressing room.

There were two doors closed in this dressing room as I said, "Julie, I think that sweater is too big. Try this one."

"Yes," she replied, "I think so too. Can you get me another one?" (I thought I heard her voice coming from the room on the left.)

"Actually, I have one. Here, let me throw it over."

"Thanks, I'm in--"

I didn't give her a chance to finish her statement. And then, as the sweater left my hand, as it sailed up, up into the air over the very tall door, I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. Julie was not in the one on the left. She was in the one on the right.

I threw a sweater at a stranger. Before it hit said stranger I yelled, "I think I made a mistake!"

There was silence except for Julie's hysterical laughter. Since I'm real mature and all, instead of apologizing right away, I started laughing. I laughed so hard I cried. The lady who had been attacked by a flying sweater slowly opened the door and here's where it got weird.

She was wearing a winter coat with the hood pulled tightly over her head. She handed me the sweater and I apologized profusely. When Julie got out of the dressing room, I told her about how strange I thought it was that the woman went into the dressing room to try on a winter coat. Who does that? Why not just try it on in the middle of the store over your clothes? Then, the lady walked out of the dressing room and Julie got a good look at her.

As we walked away she said, "That woman is wearing a wig. I can tell because I can see where it is pushed up in the back and you can see her scalp. She wasn't trying on a coat in there, she had to take off her wig to try on clothes. I have to do that all the time. When you sent the sweater flying at her she probably didn't have time to get her wig back on, so she put her coat and hood on so that she could give the sweater back to you!"

After that, I felt really bad because I had assaulted a bald woman with merchandise. I'm glad Julie gave me permission to laugh.

When your diet consist entirely of American food...

2007-12-03T08:21:00.000-06:00

While eating Chinese food, L said to me:

"Mommy, can I have this cracker?"

"It's not a cracker, it's a cookie, but you can have it."

He carefully opens the package, smells it, and then breaks it open in preparation to feast.

Suddenly, he says in a voice full of disappointment, "Oh man, mine has a tag in it. Here you go, Mommy."

"Honey," I explained, "It's not a tag, it's a fortune because it's a fortune cookie.

"Oh," he replied surprised, "Well, they shouldn't be putting paper in food. Someone might eat it."

My, what big adenoids you have...

2007-12-01T08:44:00.001-06:00

As parents, we see a lot of things.

We see our children all goopy and gunky right after birth. We see their first smile, steps, laugh. I always carefully examined every part of my babies during the first hours after their births because I wanted to know them in every way. And, I felt like I really did know everything about my children until yesterday.

I got to see the inside of O's nose and throat. Was it interesting? Yes. Was it fascinating? Yes. Was it gross? Yes.

One thing the "non-cleft affected" world doesn't think about when a baby is born with a cleft palate is how much more involved the cleft is beyond the outward appearance. Appearance is important, but so are other things like speaking, eating, and breathing. Yesterday we were able to see very up close and personal the ramifications of O's cleft palate.

The doctor put a camera up her nose, carefully sent it on a mission to the back of her throat, and then had her talk. She's five and took it like a champ. I'm not five and can't say that I would've been nearly as pleasant as she was. This was a mini miracle seeing as how an off glance from one of her siblings can send her into a tirade that warrants punishment. It took a lot of prayer to have her be so cooperative and agreeable for this test.

While the camera made its journey, we were able to find out that she has extremely small nasal passages. They are so small that for a couple of seconds, the doctor didn't know if he'd be able to even get the spaghetti-like camera tube to actually go through there. We were able to see buggers up close and personal. (Insert dry heave here.)We also found out that her palate is only closing about 50% when she talks. This means air is escaping which causes her to sound nasal when she speaks. Everyone is always so amazed at how good she sounds for having had a cleft palate. Truly, she does sound pretty good. It's kind of been a puzzling experience of wondering why she sounds so good if she has palate closure issues and yesterday we found out why.

My daughter has GINORMOUS adenoids.

They are so big that they are helping her speak because they're taking up the room where her palate doesn't close all of the way. They also cause her to snore loud snores that rival a grown man. But if we take them out and do nothing else to her palate, her speech will become terrible. Her narrow nasal passages are also helping her to speak because they, too, are blocking this air.

So what now, you ask? We have to wait for her plastic surgeon to review the results, and the cleft team will get together and decide what kind of surgery she needs. She's already had a repair on her palate when she was 13 months, and a palatoplasty done in the fall of 2006, so the next step is either pharyngeal flap surgery, or sphincter surgery. These would require adenoids and tonsils to be removed prior to surgery, but the surgery would then help her speech. However, I'm scared of these surgeries. I've heard so many people talk about how this very stage of surgery is what caused their child to have sleep apnea. While it helped the speech aspect tremendously, the child couldn't go through life not breathing during sleep, so the surgery would have to be "undone" which means speech regresses.

As I expressed my concerns to our wonderful, wonderful speech therapist, Loretta, she said it's all in the skill of the surgeon and she said ours, Dr. Carstens, happens to be amazing at both of these surgeries. THANK YOU, GOD!!!!!

It was an informative day. It was also a scary day as reality once again hits us like a truck and makes us realize that being born with a cleft is like a seeping leak that invades every corner, every crevice, of our lives.

Reason #589 why you never leave a toddler unsupervised

2007-11-29T22:03:00.001-06:00

And she didn't think we were watching.

Not Edible

2007-11-28T10:39:00.001-06:00

Last year, a Christmas ornament almost caused a hospital visit. Right after we had put up the Christmas tree, L decided to do something not very smart. We were all in the living room admiring the tree, but then it was bedtime. As we tried to corral everyone up the steps, L started jumping around doing a dance somewhat reminiscent to Michael Flatley of Riverdance.

As he was dancing about, he was singing, "Candy cane, candy cane, candy cane." We all stood there watching him entertain us, but then he horrified us as he danced his jig over to the Christmas tree and bit an ornament exactly like this one:

What followed were lots of tears and us digging shards of glass out of his mouth. They were everywhere from the roof of his mouth, to underneath his tongue. After he was cleaned up he warned his siblings, "That's not a candy cane! Don't eat them!"

What was your first clue, oh wise one?

How I almost ruined Thanksgiving

2007-11-25T17:54:00.000-06:00

My parents have two kitchens in their house. One is upstairs in the main living area and another is in the basement. This makes cooking for an army, or Thanksgiving, especially easy. The disadvantage to the two kitchen house is running up and down the steps repeatedly to check on things. This was my job on Thanksgiving. Up the steps, down the steps I went checking, stirring, and rearranging.

On one of my trips downstairs, L and K decided to see what I was doing. We were almost finished with everything, but I was waiting for the marshmallows to brown and turn into their lovely goo before taking them upstairs. They had puffed up so nicely, kind of like a marshmallow atomic bomb cloud right there in the oven. The timing was perfect and now I needed to get them out; however, there weren't any oven mitts downstairs. Part of me thought to ask L to run upstairs and get some, but then I spotted a dish towel and decided to improvise.

Carefully, I opened the oven and pulled out the rack trying hard not to deflate my marshmallow cloud. So focused on the beauty of the marshmallows was I that I failed to realize what was happening to the dish towel until I heard L say...

"Uh, Mommy? There's a fire."

Looking back now, I know that I heard him because I remember him saying it, but instead of asking where the fire was, I was salivating over marshmallows.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed. "There's a FIRE!!!"

My hand was feeling warm. In fact, it was very hot. The dish towel I had so carefully placed around the sweet potatoes was now on fire. The oven being an electric one, had coils on the bottom which had ignited the towel's edge when I inadvertently touched it to the coils. The fire was quickly moving towards my arm and my sleeve. All I could say was, "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh." Poor little K started to scream. I stood there frozen like an idiot trying to figure out what to do.

So, I did what any person who obviously has forgotten all fire safety lessons from grade school would do. I ran around the kitchen waving the now rapidly fire consumed towel above my head. That is until my very wise five year old son should, "Mommy! The sink. Put the towel in the sink and turn the water on."

And so, I did just that.

My heart was beating hard and smoke was coming up from the sink as I heard the loud sssssssssss of the fire being put out. I decided to go upstairs, get the oven mitts and do it the right way. As we went upstairs, L announced, "Mommy started a fire in the basement!"

And the sweet potatoes? The loveliness of the marshmallows didn't survive the turmoil and they ended up all over the sides of the dish, but they still tasted good.

This Thanksgiving I learned two things: never use a towel as an oven mitt and that five year old boys are smarter than 34 year old women.

Freaky Me

2007-11-19T09:44:00.000-06:00

I've been tagged to tell seven freaky facts about myself. Well, technically, they don't have to be freaky, but I can't see discussing the plain, obvious things. That wouldn't be any fun at all. Here we go...

1. When I was a senior in high school, I learned to play several Van Halen songs on the piano. Until this point, my piano pieces were along the lines of "Claire de lune" by Claude Debussey and not "Jump" by Mr. Eddie Van Halen, or my personal favorite, "Dreams". But, I did it as a favor to my band teacher who needed someone to play in the crazy "rock band" created by a few boys who thought they were the next big thing. They played during half time of basketball games. They needed a keyboard player in the worst way and my teacher was pregnant and didn't want to do it. So, because she was one of my favorite teachers, I agreed to it. It also helped that I kind of had a thing for the drummer. We had a brief dating experience two years before that ended disastrously with my mom calling his mom on the phone and telling her, "Keep your son away from my daughter." It's hard to get a boy to like you after that.

2. I still wear my retainers to bed every night. I also wear them when I nap (which with four kids is a rare occasion). Literally, I cannot sleep well if I do not have them in my mouth. My braces have been off for 17 years and I still wear retainers. If I do happen to fall asleep without them, I wake up in a panic because I'm convinced my teeth have moved.

3. My favorite snack in the world is peanut butter on graham crackers. They have to be Nabisco graham crackers and I have to have a BIG glass of cold milk with them. Sometimes, for a bit of variation, I have Nutella and graham crackers. Honestly, I eat this most every night. Sometimes I even eat them for lunch.

4. I like shoveling snow. In fact, I'm a little OCD about it. This drives my husband nuts. He would rather go out in one big shoveling fest and get everything that has fallen. I would rather put on and take off 25 layers many times throughout the snow storm and get it as it falls. Something about the instant gratification of cleaning the sidewalk and driveway thrills me. I'm sure if I lived in an area that received several feet of snow on a regular basis, I wouldn't enjoy this activity nearly as much.

5. No one alert the loony bin on this one, but I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that our family met an angel. This angel's name was Charlie and he was a six foot five black man. Stop laughing. When O was four years old, she had to have major craniofacial surgery. We were at a new hospital, with new doctors, and I was nervous. The surgery she had at a different hospital, with different doctors prior to this upcoming one, didn't go well. She was given too much anesthetic or something and had problems with her heart rate. So, the night before the impending surgery, I was a mess. It was the evening before her surgery and we were going out to dinner with some friends, my parents and my mother-in-law. Behind my brave facade for O, I wanted to sit and cry. As we got ready to walk into the restaurant, Charlie the angel (no, not Charlie's angel) approached us, pointed at O and said, "God wants me to tell you that everything is going to be just fine tomorrow with your daughter. God is all around her, even right now, so you guys just go have dinner, relax, and pretend you're going on vacation because it's all going to be ok."

I almost fainted. How did he know? He couldn't have known and that's why I know he was an angel. After that, I had no choice but to relax because really, who can argue with God and a big angel named Charlie?

6. I wanted to be a podiatrist when I was in high school. I had it all planned out until Mr. Evil, my principal at the time, told me there was no possible way I could make it through medical school because I wasn't that good in math. After that, I completely shut that dream out of my mind. Words. They are powerful, powerful things. I see this former principal around town from time to time and I have to resist the urge yell, "DREAM KILLER!"

7. My twins were grown on lemon/lime Gatorade, Sprees, grilled cheese, and ramen noodles. These were the only things that did make me throw up. Gee, and people wonder why they were born with clefts. Hmmm, could it be that I was eating like a five year old?

So, that's me wrapped up in seven facts. Whew, I'm done.

Shakespeare Anyone?

2007-11-15T09:25:00.000-06:00

I ran across this fun little gadget and have been having just the best time putting off mopping my floor by playing with it. It's so fun I need to share. The inner English nerd in me loves Shakespeare, so this could keep me occupied for hours.

You just insert whatever you'd like into the box, and VOILA! your own Shakespearean quote.

Here was my first one...

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever.
One foot in June Clever, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

I don't know if I like this one. A foot in me? Ouch.

Away, you scullion! You rampallion! You fustilarian!
I'll tickle your June Clever!

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Well, gee, shouldn't we be properly introduced first?

Let's carve him as a dish fit for the June Clever,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Yes, me thinks I am befit for some royal dining. My tongue doth long for something better than a PBJ or fish sticks.

Thou canst not say I did it: never shake
Thy gory June Clever at me.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

I can be pretty scarey. Just ask Mr. Clever.

June Clever, June Clever! Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say June Clever till it be morrow.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

On that note, I'm outta here!

Public Service Announcement

2007-11-14T08:12:00.000-06:00

Wondering how many children should be in your family?

Contemplating having more than two children? Does four sound just perfect?

Before having four or more children, ask yourself the following question:

"How much do I like doing laundry?"

Is it this much...

Does the sight of this many "darks" make your heart skip a beat?

If viewing these pictures makes you have cold sweats, nightmares, or nausea, I suggest you continue using birth control.

Otherwise, stock up on detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets.

It's a wonder I get clean at all

2007-11-05T07:59:00.000-06:00

I always love hearing about the lives of stay-at-home mothers on t.v. talk shows. My particular favorite is when they're on Oprah because she acts horrified, mystified, and amazed all at the same time. Usually this reaction is elicited from her when she hears about the hygienic practices of mothers. Some women only take the time to pee twice a day. GASP! Others forget to brush their teeth. OH THE HORROR! Still some choose to wear sweatpants and a ponytail in lieu of showering. ALERT THE MEDIA ON THIS OFFENSE AGAINST THE UNIVERSE.

Oprah always acts like it's the poor woman's fault that she does these things. It's not her fault. No one in her right mind would choose to only pee twice a day or live with fuzz on her teeth. She must do this because she has children. I'd like to share my experience with Oprah to illustrate exactly why most mothers feel the need to forget the shower entirely.

It was Friday afternoon. I had been cleaning the house all day in yoga pants, a t-shirt, hair in a ponytail, but I did have clean teeth. J had just gotten home from school and I needed to shower and get ready to go shopping with a friend that night.
O was taking a nap, and so J, L and K were downstairs watching PBS Kids. Looking back, I should've just snuck off because they wouldn't have realized I was gone, but I made the stupid mistake of saying, "I'll be in the shower."

This is code to children for, "Please come into the bathroom 40 times in a 15 minute period and interrogate me with questions."

So, I'm showering, life is good. I hear someone shuffling outside the door. I'm pretty sure it's J because while he doesn't mind bombarding me with questions while I'm showering, he does try to be polite about it. Then I hear:

"Um, can L and I go outside and play baseball?"

"Yes."

Door shuts. I return to showering.

Door opens.

"Mommy? (this time it's L) J wanted me to go outside. Do I have to wear a coat?

"Yes."

Door shuts.

Door opens.

"I have a question (J is now back) I need to practice my trombone, but should I do it now, or should I wait until I get done playing outside."

Getting mildly annoyed at this point, I tell him to go outside and take his brother with him.

Several moments of peace and quiet elapse and then the door opens. Now K has entered the show.

"MOMMY!?" (she's yelling to be heard over the water)

"Yes, K."

"MOMMY!?"

"Yes, K."

"Mommy, me want to watch t.v."

"I want to watch t.v," I reply, stressing the correct pronoun.

"Silly Mommy, you can't watch t.v., you're in the shower."

Insert scream of frustration here.

"K, isn't the t.v. already on?"

"J turned it off when went he went outside."

I had two choices at this point. Either have her wait for me to get out of the shower which would mean that she would stand in the bathroom asking me if I was done over and over again, or I could send her on a mission to find her brother. So, I told her, "Open the front door and ask J to turn on the t.v."

A few minutes pass and I think I'm in the clear when I hear footsteps.

"Mommy? K told me that she wanted to watch t.v. Is that ok?"

This is really too much I say to myself. There should not be a revolving door on my bathroom! I stuck my head out of the curtain and hissed, "Yes, it is ok. Why wouldn't it be ok? You all were watching t.v. just a few minutes ago and it was ok! You turned the t.v. off when you went outside and now your sister wants to watch it, so please, please, please turn it back on!"

"Sorry," he says in a sad voice.

Great, now I have guilt.

"Mommy?" (now L is back)

"What could you possibly need?"

The following will be written phonetically the way L talks because it's much more effective that way.

"Mommy, I don't want to pway outside with J anymore because I'm a yiddle cold. Ok? It's a yiddle cold outside. Why didn't you tell me it was a yiddle cold? I wore my jacket, but it was the one Grandma Leah got me for Cwismas yast year and that one isn't vaywee warm. I need my blue one out of the closet, but J told me that I would be fine in my other one. J is going to pwactice his trombone now, so should I watch him or can I pway on the computer for a yiddle bit? If it's ok, can I pway golf?

Right now, having soap drip into my eye would be less torture than this constant interruption.

"L, you can play on the computer. In fact, please don't even bother your brother because he doesn't like it when you sing along with him as he plays his trombone. And no standing in the hallway dancing either. Just go downstairs and play golf."

"Thank you, Mommy. You're nice. When we go to Yuke and Yora's house (translation: Luke and Laura's house) tonight, will you be there? Nope, that's right you and Yora are going shopping. I'm going to play with Yuke and Daddy. I haven't seen Yuke in a yong yong (long, long) time and I can't wait to play with him."

"L?"

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Please go play on the computer now."

"Ok, Mommy."

Finally, I got out of the shower only to discover I had only one leg shaved. Funny, since I distinctly remembered shaving twice and then it hit me.

I had shaved the same leg twice.

And Oprah wonders why stay-at-home mothers don't shower. Come spend a day with me, Oprah, and it will all be crystal clear.

Temperature Shock

2007-10-29T08:35:00.000-05:00

As I sit here in my cozy pj pants, my favorite long sleeved t-shirt, and my very big, soft sweatshirt, I am asking myself for the millionth time, "Why do I live in the Midwest?"

Coming back from Florida where warm weather and sunshine warmed my soul makes tolerating this cool fall weather even worse than it normally is.

We're back from our long awaited, much anticipated, vacation to Florida. I literally have hundreds of pictures to download, so I'll have to sort through those. Some of them will appear on this blog and the rest will be on Flickr, so make sure you click on the Flickr badge to see the rest. Meanwhile, I'm trying to get all of the important "returning home" stuff done. Stuff like laundry, reading the 76 emails that are in my inbox, and trying to figure out what the peculiar smell is coming from our refrigerator. I think something might be dead in there. I know it's not our cat since she is sitting at my feet right now.

Our trip was wonderful. Our house was wonderful. The kids loved swimming right in their own backyard whenever they wanted. I loved lying in my comfy bed upstairs being able to see the Disney fireworks perfectly without having to rush through a crowd of madness when they were over while I tried to not lose my children. Nope, when the show was over, I rolled over and went to sleep. Wonderful.

On Tuesday we went to Cocoa Beach. We were fortunate enough to see the Space Shuttle launch before filling every orifice of our bodies with sand. I love the beach. It is probably my most favorite place on earth; however, the sand, oh the sand. We have a miniature beach in our van now and I'm literally still getting sand out from the kids' ears. Just when I think I have it all--SURPRISE the sand is back. It was a great day. The kids loved it so much that it made me wish we lived near the coast.

Of course, Disney was a hit. As a surprise for O, we took her to the Bippity Boppidy Boutique for a makeover and then that same day we went to Cinderella's Castle for lunch. The look on her face was priceless and I got a lump in my throat several times that day when I thought about where we were in life five years ago at this time. L and O were just born, we were sleep deprived, O was chronically unhappy and we were scared out of our minds when we thought about all of the surgeries she would have to endure. Now, here she is, just a regular little girl who had the time of her life.

It's good to be home, even though the weather is cool. Check out the pictures on Flickr. I'm off to investigate possible death in my frig.

Airhorns: You bring out the worst in me

2007-10-15T07:38:00.000-05:00

I don't like airhorns. You know the annoying noisemaker that obnoxious, overconfident parents bring to sporting events in order to humiliate and brag all in one, HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK?

I've been on both sides of the air horn. J was once on an All Star Baseball team with a boy whose father seemed to blow an air horn each time he breathed. Oh! My son caught the ball! HONK. Oh! My son hit a double! HONK. Oh! My son took a drink of water! HONK. Our team was doing very well, which everyone who had eyes could see. We did not need Father Goose and his honking to inform the crowd.

Once, and I'm almost afraid to admit this, I was involved in a verbal "spat" of sorts during one of J's soccer games with a group of parents from a snotty soccer club. They all had air horns and alcohol. Yes, this is a great combo. Intoxicated people do not know how to exercise restraint in pushing the button. So, I nicely asked them to put their air horns away since they were beating us 9-0, taunting our goalie, and laughing at the boys. They did not respond nicely to my request. Fortunately, the referee glared at all of them and they realized it didn't matter how great and wonderful their soccer club was, they better quiet down.

So, this past weekend we were at our home tournament. Our boys made it to the championship. This was a miracle of sorts since we've had a really rough season. It's easy to size up the opposing team by watching their fans before the game. Sometimes the parents line their chairs up in a perfectly straight line and speak in hushed tones. Their boys don't goof around during warm ups, they have their game faces on, and they beat the tar out of us. Some parents are social, they come down and talk with our parents. Their teams are usually like us--friendly and fun. Then some teams' fans look pretty harmless and normal, but really, they're not. Such was the case yesterday when we realized that the team we were playing had air horns.

Suddenly, we all were in panic mode. Did we have anything noisy, too? Would jingling our keys count? This team was out for blood. They fully believed they were going to win. They had dads coaching from the sidelines just in case their actual coach's words weren't enough.

Fortunately, our boys never gave that team a chance to blow their horns. We won 1-0.

We were all pretty excited to say the least and after all of my hooping and hollering and celebrating, I know that I too, should never be given a noise making device at a game because if I had one, I'd make too much of a spectacle of myself. My noisy mouth is quite enough.

Milestone in the life of O

2007-10-09T18:19:00.000-05:00

My little girl made her first official "big girl" decision this past weekend.

She decided she wanted to get her ears pierced.

Who planted this seed of piercing desire? Well, that would be her Nana, of course. Nana, who is my grandmother, has told O since she was about 3 years old that when she got her ears pierced, Nana would give her a pair of diamond earrings. This meant nothing to O. In fact, after a lot of asking from Nana, and once she realized piercing meant putting holes in your ears, she decided that she would be five before any piercings would occur. To a three year old, five seems awfully far away. On her 5th birthday, Nana asked her again when she was getting her ears pierced and O replied that she would need to be 6 before going forward with this idea of sticking something sharp in her skin.

As parents, we didn't really have an issue with it. I know that sometimes people want their daughters to be 12 or 13. Some people disagree withdoing it at all. All we wanted was for her to actually want to do it, so we didn't feel like we were torturing her. And so, one day soon after she hit the big FIVE, she decided it was time. Waiting another year until she turned six was just out of the question.

So, while the boys were at a football game last Saturday, I took O and K to the mall for a trip to Claire's and a pretzel. In anticipation of this grand event, O had decked herself out in every single solitary item of costume jewelry she owned. She drew quite a bit of attention parading through the mall like a star going to the Oscars. Gaudy does not even begin to describe how she looked.

She climbed up in the chair, chose her earrings (pink crystal flowers, of course), held my hands and closed her eyes. All the while I kept asking her, "Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to do this. Are you sure you want to do this?"

KACHUNK KACHUNK is the next thing I heard followed by,

"MOMMY! OUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And then, as quickly as the tears began, they stopped. It was off to get a pretzel, but not before paying $38.00 to the cashier. Since when did ear piercing get so expensive? I distinctly remember my mom paying $5.00 back in 1978 when I got my ears pierced.

Now my girly girl has sparkly ears and she's just so very excited.

Oh, see that Flickr badge up there to your right? Here are some instructions to see pictures:

Click on the actual pictures you see--not the www.flickr.com
Once you are at my site, click on "June Clever's Photostream" and this will show you all the pictures I have uploaded.