Oh Snap, Funky Friday

Have you ever seen something completely idiotic and wondered "What kind of person would do that?!"

Last Friday I learned that kind of person is me.

Mark was in (completely awesome) training in Arizona.

My morning started in a rush, Sarina had to get to school at 7:45 am to work on the yearbook.  I had to get the other kids fed, dressed and on the school bus.

And it was a rare day I had to spend all day in training 40 minutes away.

Oh, add to it, my computer died the night before (which I needed for training).

Needless to say, I left the house flustered, breakfast dishes still out, no food in my belly or packed (except my mason jar full of almonds), and my head buzzing with all that needed to get done.

During my lunch break I went to get fuel (for the vehicle first) thinking I might even squeeze in a quick shop for a little gift for our babysitter.

As I was fueling up I zipped about finding all the garbage scattered about the suburban (it's what I do every time I fill up to prevent driving around in a garbage dump).

It was in the middle of the numerous trips to the trash can that I missed Mark's first call from his training.

I was dying to hear how the training was going for him, and I knew it was a sliver of a window I had to talk to him.

I'm not sure if it was the lack of nourishment or being flustered that I missed his call, but I hopped back into the car, started it up and drove about 20 feet.

I don't know why, but I stopped and reflected that I had no memory of replacing the nozzle.

One peek out the side view mirror and it was confirmed.

I

am

that

dumbass

who leaves the nozzle in the car and drives off.

FUCK!

Sorry, but that calls for the F word.

Thank God it was the kind of pump with the shut-off valve.

A very nice man (wearing a firefighter union sweatshirt) gently removed the nozzle and set it neatly beside the now naked pump.

Look at that blue sky!  Oh yeah the naked pump too...

I went in and told the people at the gas station who just looked at me stoically.

The man who owns the station tried valiantly to re-connect but to no avail.

I'll admit that as he was trying to make it work I was chanting (in my head) over and over, "Please work, I'm a good person.  Please work, I'm a good person."

Perhaps not quite good enough.

There's a lesson in here, I just have to find it.

$200 to replace the quick connect.

Add that to the $100 spent on fuel and that's one heck of an expensive tank of gas.

I kept thinking Christmas is on the horizon...

I provided my insurance info and drove off.  As I drove down the road I considered taking a left hand turn into Western State Hospital to see if they happened to have an extra bed.

Ok, not really... but it did occur to me how ironic it was that I drove past a mental hospital sobbing to my sister about how stupid I was.

After talking to her, and calming down, I went back to the gas station and wrote a check for the damage.

The owner seemed to warm up to me after seeing my tear stained face.

I must have looked like a wreck.

I made it through my training, came home in time to get the kids off the bus, went out to chop kindling and learned the hard way why you don't wear cute little flats to chop kindling- when those suckers fly they can really hurt a toe.

I love the little pop of red.

Once the fire was roaring I looked up at the kitchen and realized what a mess I'd left it.

And glanced down and my favorite sweater was unraveling.

I could kind of relate to that sweater.

I felt like I was unraveling a little bit too.

Clearly, I still need my mom.  She swooped in and provided a Papa Murphy's pizza for the kids.  At least I didn't have to prepare a proper meal.

The lesson in this Funky Friday, I think, is that I need to stop and breathe every now and then.

I've been so frantically busy for so long, I need to learn how to meander again.

Just the other day I was thinking about how I never walk slowly taking in everything around me.

I can't remember the last time I strolled about not feeling like I had to hurry.

It's coming.

My big projects for work will end in December.

I have high hopes that in January I can take a teeny tiny bit of me time.  To remember how to slow down and enjoy the moment.

Perhaps my lesson,

is that I've been so amped up,

for so many years,

that it took a nozzle ripping,

kindling bopping,

sweater unraveling,

messy house kind of day

to remind me there are more important things in life than crossing off the million things on my to-do list.

One day at a time.

Breathe in and breathe out.

And enjoy the beauty in this world.

Girl Clothes

The other night I was surprised by an article of clothing being worn in our house.

Funny thing is, I purchased the shirt myself.

But this isn't the kid I hoped would be the one to wear it...

At least he didn't pull on the red leggings to go with it.

The icing on the cake was watching the boys play with Elsa's doll house she received for her second birthday that was barely played with.

I love the constant surprises in parenting.

Inspiration

I recently learned that a young lady I've known since before she was even born, was diagnosed with ALL, a form of leukemia. 

She's the first person I know who has been diagnosed with this disease, that I think we all grew up dreading. 

She's a wonderful kid.  

Not to mention that I feel very confident she possesses more intelligence at the age of eight than I ever will. 

So advanced, that she must have been just 4-6 months old when I remember her raising her little arm addressing the world.  "Hi" she'd say whenever anyone walked into the room.  She was talking to people way before most little people are intelligibly verbal.

All you have to do is watch her and it's obvious that she is taking in every bit of her surroundings and figuring out how things work.

She's such a wonderfully inquisitive girl.

And I have no doubt that if she puts her mind to it, she'll find the cure for this awful blood cancer that she has to battle today.

Yesterday, I learned that she will lose her hair as part of her treatment and it inspired me to cut off 12 inches of my hair to donate.  

By 9am it was gone and in the mail by 2pm.

Long hair:

New short hair:

Selfies really are tough for me...  As are pictures of myself.

But you get the picture, right?

When you have to watch someone you care about go through something as awful as battling cancer, you find the little things you can do to help.

I've probably composed 10 cards to her and her family.

Not a single one written or sent.

I've thought of a few different meals I might make and bring to them.

But haven't followed through.

Partly because I'm swamped keeping up with everything going on in our lives.  Partly because I know they must overwhelmed with the outpouring of gifts and well wishes.  I don't want to overwhelm them in any way.

But I do want them to know that they are present in my thoughts, daily.

I'm praying for their sweet girl.  I'm pulling for her victory.  And I know that she's got to be the fiercest warrior cancer has ever seen.

I'm just so sorry she has to go through any of it yet, glad that she has such a full and strong community rallying for her.

I hope that my tiny little gift of hair will help someone out there to feel better about them self as they wage their own war on cancer.

Wishing everyone the gift of health and happy long lives.

Picking Teams

Today after school, the first thing out of Charlie's mouth was, "I got to have recess and play with Carl today."  He was beaming as he elaborated, " Carl was the captain and he picked his team.  He picked me, Carson, Ryder, and an 8th grader."

My heart swelled to think of my two boys choosing to play with each other when they have a whole playground of kids to play with.  I have to get out there and watch them playing football at recess.

There's something magical about team sports.  It brings such diverse people together and can build a beautiful comraderie  I've watched Mark playing basketball for over 20 years.  That guy knows every basketball hoop in town from apartment complexes to the armory to athletic clubs to schools elementary thru college.  And the variety of people he knows from it too constantly surprises me.

I see that starting with the boys too.  One of the principals goes out and throws the football with the kids at recess and he looks like the pied piper with all the kids following him.

I hope above all hope my kids will share in that sense of community their whole lives long.  And that they do it side by side pushing and supporting each other the whole time.

Full moon? Part 2

The day that keeps on giving.  It's 12:15am, I couldn't put down "Tell The Wolves I'm Home" but now it's done.  And I loved it.

And guess what?!  I forgot to set the clock on my coffee pot before I set it on auto brew.  I smell a fresh pot coffee downstairs.  If I were more daring I'd get up and work through the night.

But I'm not.  So I'll snuggle into my bed with visions of a beautiful story, smelling delicious coffee.

What a weird day.

Is it a full moon today?

I know it's not a full moon today but what a weird day it's been.

And it's only 2:17 pm (as I write).

I really should be spending my time doing the work I'm so worried about getting done.  The work that's been eating at me, like the feeling you get with a looming deadline you are unprepared for (remember finals anyone?)

The work I was supposed to get to do all day today with very little interruptions.

Let me start at the beginning...

5:58 am I am awoken by a LOUD boom.

Instantly a shrill, panicked shriek from Elsa's room, "Mama!?"

The power was out, all lights in the house off, and her smoke detector was chirping-loudly.

I grabbed her and tried to get her quiet and into my bed before she woke Sarina and the boys.

Ha!

Didn't work.

Pitch black, freezing, everyone awake and in my bed, wrestling about.

All I want to do is sleep, but I looked out the window and saw that a neighbor between me and the source of the noise had a porch light on.

Was it just my house?

Of course, a night when I'm home alone with the kids.

Yes, a scary movie where a bad guy cut the wires does cross my mind.

Then my adrenaline runs.

But, it's ok.

I can make it work.

I manage to get the kids up and ready for school- fed, dressed and lunches packed.

I get all my things packed in the suburban so I can head to my mom's house for a shower and I'll just work there.

I can salvage the day.

I pop the kids on the bus (it's the first day Elsa doesn't cry because she has to go to school-yay for that!).

I lock up the house and head into the garage.

Oops, no power = no garage door opener.

That's ok, I'm resourceful.  I consult my mom and brother-in-law.

I climb onto the slanted front bumper of the car and manage to pull the red handle to release the door.

I even slide the door up

once,

it slides back down,

twice,

it slides down again

huh,

I catch it on the down and slide it back up and look up at it to figure out how I can keep it up long enough to get the car out, when...

something falls off the door into my eye.

Awesome.

I turn away (toward the driveway)

boom,

down goes the door.

And you guessed it, locked out.

And the house locked up.

My cell phone in the garage.

It's ok, I have a neighbor.  I'll borrow her phone, call my mom to rescue me with a spare key she keeps (even though it's her birthday-happy birthday mom!).

No neighbor home, she was smart and got herself coffee at Starbucks.

So, not a huge deal, my sister lives 1.25mi away.  I needed to go for a walk anyway, just didn't feel I'd had the time to squeeze it in.

Got it God, I'll walk and enjoy this beautiful foggy fall morning, call my mom, it'll be ok.

Even better, my neighbor drives up, not only does the blessed soul give me nice hot Americano but she drives me to my mom's.

I get there, find her neighbor (like a favorite uncle to me) needs mom's truck.

Fine, I'll get a ride home, drive it to mom's clean it up and hand it over.  Really not how I'd planned my day but something that's been on the back burner far too long.  It's nice to have a reason to HAVE to get it done.

So I shower up, and I'll confess, I started to crack a teeny tiny bit without my own deodorant or eye make up remover.  Ok, it was the eye makeup remove that almost broke the camel's back.  Logically, not a huge deal.  And by itself just a blip.  But combined with everything, it was a set back on my glass-is-half-full attitude.

But deep breaths, and a little pondering on perspective.

It's ok.

I got it.

And now I'm home.

I am showered, I went to the bank, I helped my mom make some decisions about something, I vacuumed the last of my dearly departed puppy dog out of her truck.

Three things on my list of 100 accomplished on a day I was supposed to focus and be EFFICIENT.

I have an hour before the kids get home.

I'd better be REALLY EFFICIENT.

And it looks like subway for dinner on the way to football and cheer practice.

I wish I could have a do-over.  But Friday will be my day for efficiency.

Cross your fingers for me that the lights stay on and no clumps of dirt fall into my eye, please.

We Still Have Diapers

"We still have diapers."

Elsa said to her daddy the other day.

I think that may explain the scene I walked into, in her room.

She'd been playing in there pretty quietly for a while...

I really wish I knew what the story was in her head as she created this installation.

Why does the teddy need "diapers" on his face, down his neck, and on his belly?

Silly girl.

Fall Football Schedule

Saturday was a pretty busy day.

The only reason I'm documenting this is so that my future-quiet house, reflecting-on-raising-kids self can remember accurately (without embellishments) what a typical fall football Saturday consisted of...

Saturday morning started up trying to be a good mama making French Toast for breakfast for two kids and waffles for another (one kiddo had a sleepover the night before).  I wanted to fill their little bellies with homemade warm food before the big busy day.

At promptly 8:30am (I'd aimed for 8:00am knowing that I always seem to be running a 1/2 hour late) we departed for a 9am flag football game at Washington Middle School (a good 25 minute drive away) for Charlie and Elsa.

On the way, in COMPLETE seriousness, Charlie announced that someone had Beaver Fever (aka shart, poopy toot, you get the general picture...?).  Then pretty quickly he corrected himself, it sounded like he was  just talking to himself, "Oh no, it's just my breath."  I heard him say.

Ha!  Ha ha!

It was a fun game, aside form popping something in my mid back that left me nauseous and hard to breathe...  (It got better after a good, hot soak in Epsom salt).

Elsa tried her best and did a good job keeping up.  Charlie was a fantastic flag puller, ball running, touchdown scoring kiddo.  When he has the desire to play, he's really good, but I'm his mom and of course I think that...

Then we zipped home and picked up Sarina from her sleepover, I make some quick chicken noodle soup to warm them up and hope it helps with the sniffley, coughing kids.

Then off to Carl's 3:15pm game in Yelm.  We left at noon because the highlight of games in Yelm, for me, is getting to go to Van's- a DELICIOUS hamburger stand on the way.  It's so good that there's always a good line so you have to come with patience.  But it's soooo worth the wait.  And I consider myself a pretty good burger connoisseur.

We all contentedly polished off our burgers then headed to Yelm for the 1 hour warm up for the 3:15pm game.

After a rocky season, Carl did a good job of staying in the the whole time he was asked to play.  For some reason just into the season, we had a stretch where he didn't want to play.  He even told his coaches "no" when they asked him to play.  It was shocking for us, because Carl's such an easy going kid.  But he was scared of getting hurt.  I don't know if this is because we talked too much in front of him about how important it was that he stay in the lower league because he's only 56 pounds and he thought of himself as fragile.  Or maybe some kids in school got inside his head about how big some of the other teams are...  But we worked through that (I think) and directed him to picture the other team as a kid he isn't too terribly fond of in school.  I think that's been helpful, that and the promise of a day hunting with dad when the football season is over...

Because the game didn't start until late and the chorus of "I have to go pottys" the second we got to the car, we didn't leave Yelm until 5:15pm.

Sarina needed to be in Steilacoom at 5:00pm for warm-ups for cheer.  So much for the stop in DuPont for dinner en-route, we headed straight to Steilacoom.  It was a super fun game to cheer for, the 8th grade boys played hard and won.  I ended up coaching the last quarter (kids in tow).

Then, we made it to dinner at 8pm (they're used to eating at 4:30pm because of practice...).  We hit Happy Teriyaki in DuPont and the kids loved it.  They have a koi pond inside and the kids were fascinated by the friendly, big mouthed gold fish.  And the really friendly woman working let them feed the fish.  They filled their bellies with moderately healthy quick food then home to bed (after 9pm).

Mark's been hunting in the north Cascades since last Thursday and I'm not sure when he'll be home so it's been tricky navigating the schedule solo.  But I enjoy the challenge and it helps me to appreciate his help that much more when he's able to be home.

It was such a busy weekend.  It's no wonder the boys were out like a light (with the lights on) before I could tuck them in on Sunday.

Can you see the drool?!

I love football season and watching the kids play and cheer, but I'm really ready for the kids to have more down time, time to do their homework, and get to bed on time.

9-11

This date is for me,

what the day President Kennedy was assassinated,

is to my parents.

I will forever be able to close my eyes and see the images on TV the morning of 9-11.  I can hear our friend's voice calling, telling me to turn on the TV, picture myself sitting in disbelief as I watched the towers burn.

I know exactly where I was on I-5, when my little sister said, with panic in her voice,

"They keep going in those buildings!

Why do they keep going in?!"

I was newly wed to my high school sweetheart-a firefighter, pregnant with our first baby the world was a safe and beautiful place for us.

Every year I'm tempted to re-hash my version of where I was the day the towers fell.

The day that hundreds of firefighters entered those doomed buildings.

The day that rocked my world and many, many others.

I have been married to a firefighter for 12 years now.

In that time I have noticed a few common characteristics of firefighters.

Many choose the profession so they can make a difference in their communities.

They also choose the profession so that they can be home and help raise their children, so that they can take an active role in family life.

You know Mark was the primary care-giver, don't you?

These individuals are our communities coaches, leaders of nonprofit organizations, fundraisers for numerous worthy causes, and the people many turn to when they need help caring for a sick or injured loved one, help with a broken waterline, replacing broken things, all kinds of jobs.

They are motivated, self-driven individuals who learn quickly how to pitch in and do what is needed in their community- for friends, neighbors, and people in need.

They spend many holidays protecting our communities, missing that time with their own loved ones.

When I look at my husband, one of my favorite parts about him (aside from his wonderful humor, generous heart, and all around good guy-ness...) is his hands.

He has big strong hands.

I've always felt better when they're around my waist, on my shoulder, or holding my hand.

When I look at them, I see hands that have held our brand new babies, changed diapers, checked for fever, cleaned countless owies, built our house, and lead us through our blessed life.

Those hands have worked hard to make a good life for us.

Those hands have also carried our dying 92 year old neighbor, treated people injured and in their darkest hour, they have vented burning buildings, lead a fire hose through burning buildings, and cut people out of their cars.

They have gripped the steering wheel of the fire engine as it has gone to countless emergencies, waved to children staring at the fire engine passing by, maybe honked the horn a time or two at friends to make them jump, and guided a funeral procession for our sweet friend lost far too soon.

Those hands have corrected bat swings, caught more baseballs than anyone could count, tossed footballs, shot baskets and shepherded not only our children but many others as coach for many of our children's sporting events.

They make a mean jambalaya, chicken wings, and the best smoked beans you've ever tasted.

Those hands belong to my hero.

To a man I could never imagine not being my better half.  Those hands have held mine for over half our lives.

They belong to a husband, a father, a neighbor, a brother, a son, a coach, an artist, and a firefighter.

Those 343 firefighters lost on 9-11 were someone else's hero.

They were more than just firefighters.

They too, were husbands, fathers, neighbors, brothers, sons, coaches, artists, and firefighters.

That's what breaks my heart when I look at this photo.

Those 343+ brave souls marched right in those buildings to save lives.

They made a difference.

And I will never forget their sacrifice.

I count myself lucky that mine comes home after each shift, I pray that he will always be returned to us safely, so that he can continue his beautiful life that touches so many.

I'm proud to call him my husband and my hero.

Fighting Words

Ahh, I can tell it's the end of summer.

Long gone are any pretenses at teamwork (aka getting along in our house).

The other day in the car this was the discourse in the back seats...

Elsa: "Carl, did you know I was going to say I don't like Charlie?"
Charlie: "You know I can hear you right?"

Later in the day I heard this little gem:

Charlie to Elsa: "When I'm done with the xbox I'm going to slam you on the ground."
Elsa's response: "I'm going to jump on your tummy and knock the air out of you!"
Then Charlie's last word: "Well,I'm going to get a stick and poke your eye."

Nothing but hearts and flowers going down around here.

My plan was to take the kids swimming every day until school starts to keep them tired out.

They wouldn't stay still long enough for more than 2 photos...

But their time in the water is slowly shrinking.  I keep looking up to see their goose bumpy arms and dripping bodies hovering closer and closer, crowding around me like little zombies.

I guess this must be the natural course of events.

Those people who planned how long summer lasts were awfully smart.  They must have had multiple kids at home too because they seem to know with some wonderful accuracy how long the kids can be each others' playmates before all hell breaks loose.

We're on the edge, wouldn't take much from here...

Even though I dread the thought of homework, I look forward to a few hours to myself each day to gather strength and brace myself for the late afternoon/evening shift of mommyhood.

Little Surprises

I really don't know where it came from.

Night before last Elsa decided she was going to wear girl clothes.

Ok, girl clothes that are boy colors.

What?!

I thought she was tricking me, but that night she slept in a black lace skirt and sparkly Paris top.

Yesterday started with a fancy dress

then she wore a sweatshirt with a rainbow on it then changed into a black sparkly skirt and rainbow striped top.

As she pulled on her orange swim trunks she informed me that I "need" to buy her a girl swimsuit.

Today she has on an adorable girl running shorts and the most precious "Land of the Free" sweatshirt.  She's pretty camera shy lately, but I'll try to grab a photo to add later.

Hallelujah!

But, I'll say I can do without her coming home with a heart sticker on each nipple.

That almost gave me a heart attack!

Who?  What?  How?  I stuttered.

She didn't answer.

Maybe being a tomboy is better...?

Not Enough Fire & Brimstone In Our House

I know that every day brings some sort of stunning realization when you're a parent.

The other day, for me, it was that my kids had absolutely no concept of hell.

How the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks could these little buggers live years on this earth and have NO CLUE about hell?!

I'm failing as a parent!

Looks like I need to sing, "I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart" song WAY more often for their benefit.  So the devil can "sit on a tack (ow!) sit on a tack (ow!) sit on a tack to staaaayyyyyyy..."

Clearly there is not nearly enough fire and brimstone in their lives.

And that mini-dose of Jesus each summer isn't cutting it.

I knew it wasn't selfish of me to cart them off to VBS, they need to learn about the ultimate consequence in life!  Maybe we'll try TWO VBSs next summer.  (HA!)

But how do you describe hell and Satan without giving kids nightmares?

Apparently, I did not do it correctly because poor little Elsa had night terrors last night- the worst I've seen in the 11 years I've been parenting.

We've talked lots, and lots about Jesus and heaven.  They know the ins and outs (according my my conjectures) so I tried to explain that as wonderful as heaven is, that's how bad hell is.

Is that right?

I think we really need some professional guidance on this one.

My poor attempt to explain was that Jesus is the ultimate good guy (like an action hero) and the devil is the ultimate bad guy.  Heaven is where you get to do and be anything you want.  Hell is the biggest owies and the worst nightmares all day every day forever.

And if you're a good person, you treat people and animals well and with a good heart you'll get to go to heaven.  If you're bad and hurt people and animals then you'll go to hell.

Pretty simple, I think.

I hope I'm right...

Oh, and the kids know heaven is real because they saw a boy who's been there on the 700 Club.

What?!

My kids watch the 700 Club?

Enough to know the name of it?!

Crazytown!

I had no idea they were watching that show, to be honest it creeps me out a little bit- but I guess it's better than Law & Order or CSI.

Dirty Money

The other night, it was after bath time in our house.

I was laying with Elsa getting ready to read her stories when I noticed Charlie messing with the front of his undies.

Figuring he must be rearranging his parts I didn't think much of it...

Until he pulled a wad of $1 bills out of the special pocket only boys undies have. (And which I assume is the big draw for my little girl who loves wearing boy undies).

I guess strippers aren't the only ones who use undies as wallets.

I almost wonder what else be stores in there but I really don't want to know.

So don't forget, people, wash your hands after handling money.  

You never know where it's been...

Who's Out There

Sometimes I wish that I could tell who's read my blog.

It's a little weird to me that strangers might enjoy reading.

I like it, don't get me wrong.

But sometimes I think back to when I used to put youtube videos out there, until some guy messaged me and asked for more videos of Carl's feet.

Eeeewwww!

So, if you've seen me lately hobbling about here's the story.

Yes, I walk funny- there's some pressure on a nerve that runs down the back of my left leg.

To alleviate that pressure (I've had since the end of APRIL) I took an oral steroid.

Which didn't help.

But I did get shingles (ON MY FACE!!!), thanks to my suppressed immune system.

Likely combined with the insurmountable tasks of packing for a week camping,

48 hours home to do laundry

and re-pack the food and laundry,

off to a wedding

then another week in a toasty climate

with lots of family time

plus trying to do the work I have two grants for,

and conference calls,

and preparing for public hearings,

and agreeing to help coach my daughter's cheer squad,

and keeping 4 rapidly growing little people happy.

IT'S

SO

MUCH

TO

DO!

There,

that's off my chest.

The drugs are done for the shingles.

Yes this is my second time having them (I'm only 38).

At least they're starting to heal so my fingers are crossed the scabs are gone and I'll only have some lovely fresh pink skin on my cheek in time for my 20th high school reunion in less than 2 weeks.

Not to mention the 10 lbs I wanted to lose for the reunion, but I haven't been able to exercise since April...

It's good learning to be humble,

nasty wounds on my face,

softer than I'd like to be,

unable to do everything as well as I'd like,

I'm human.

I know that.

And I hope that it gives me patience to realize everyone else is human too.

No one's perfect, no matter how hard they pretend to be.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

Silver Stars

So, the other day I ran into Fred Meyer to let the kids blow a little of the money they earned and get a couple of groceries that Costco didn't have.

After the painful selection of what they could purchase with the few dollars they had burning a hole in their pockets (Charlie had $8 and Elsa had $6-we had lots of discussions about saving up to buy more expensive items instead of something that's just ok) I was waiting in line for a well-earned Americano.

Elsa spied a rounder full of back-to-school backpacks (at a screaming deal for $9.99).  She came up to me holding one that was black with glittery silver stars and metallic straps.

I was so overjoyed by her selection I said, "OK, you got it."

I even started to get out of line at Starbucks.

I think I spoke too quickly.

Or maybe it was too eagerly

because she instantly changed her mind and went back for another look.

She thought maybe a doggie one would be better (knowing Charlie would love it).

Then she came back with a black backpack with skulls and neon green.

Darn it!

Charlie tried to tell her how much cooler the star backpack was.

Her response?

It was classic Elsa.

"You guys are trying to trick me into being a girl."

Then the second metaphorical punch,

"It's not going to work."

So, my five year old little girl with the long toasted marshmallow colored hair, with curls, will head off to kindergarten carrying a black backpack with skulls and a neon green handle.

She certainly has her own sense of style.

Who am I to stifle that creative self-expression?

How Do I Get This Thing Off?!

Yesterday was my husband's cousin's wedding day.

We were all excited to celebrate with him and his fun family.

To get ready I bought Mark new shorts and shirt (it was a casual wedding), same for the boys- ok they wore their old khakis and new button shirts.

Sarina got a beautifully BRIGHT pink lace dress which was shorter in front and longer in back.  She was stunning in it with her brown skin from camping.

Then there's Elsa.

Seriously, I waffled in Target.

Boys section?

Girls section?

I physically walked back and forth a couple of times before I gave up and selected an outfit from each.

A dress just like her big sisters...

and shorts and polo shirt like her brothers would wear.

What do you think she chose?

Somehow we got the dress on her and Charlie INSTANTLY blurted, "Elsa you're BEAUTIFUL!"

Oops.

She started wiggling around then looked at me and said, "How do I get this thing off?!"

And the "thing" was said with such disdain.

You could see the hope fade from Sarina, Carl and Charlie's faces.

When Mark got home I was stunned he was able to get the dress back on her.

Then he tried bargaining.  The stakes were up to $20 and a new baseball hat, of her choosing.

She still refused.

And again she said, "How do I get this thing off me?!"

It was the shorts and polo.

I figured, it was way more important that she feel good about herself than we get our way and force a dress on her- even though Charlie was right, she was BEAUTIFUL in it.

But there's hope.

She told me the only day she'll wear a dress is when she marries Henry.

Sweetness.

Pure and simple.

Cleaning House & Youth Entitlement Day 1

Who hasn't heard of the Tiger Mom?

Well, I believe that I found the softer, American version that I find INSPIRATIONAL.

I don't think I have been shy about expressing my slight dread of the summer months.

Look at how excited they are for summer, I feel evil for dreading it.

The truth is I can barely handle the household with the majority (ok half) of the kids out of my hair during most of the day.

When everyone is home it's constantly like a bomb has gone off.

This is so painfully true in my house.

I don't like it, but I feel like everything is out of my control when they're all home and under foot.

But I think I just found some hope.

A teeny tiny little glimmer of hope.

This woman was interviewed on the Today Show a while back.

Out of sheer desperation I went and bought her book hoping it would guide me.

I think I might have found a magic method of feeling like my house isn't constantly spiraling out of control.

I am determined to make this summer a summer to love.

And give me a chance to look forward to summer again.

It is written by a woman with 5 children, so I have a slight advantage only having 4.

Right?

What really rang true for me with her description of how she parented on the playground (completely not helicopter parenting) and how she parents regarding chores (so much easier to do it yourself than nag others).

I wanted to frantically raise my hand- like in class- and say that's me!  That's me too!!

Last night Mark and I told Carl, Charlie, and Elsa the plan.  This morning (Saturday) Elsa made her bed and picked up her bedroom without being reminded.

Carl and Charlie spring into action the second they remembered.

Hallelujah!!

I think it helps that there's money involved.  One dollar for every day they make their beds and clean up their rooms.  It has to be done by 10am.  If I find they haven't done those two simple tasks they lose one dollar.

This is the first month.  Creating the clean room habit.  Next month will be something too, slowly increasing their productivity.

There still is the toughest critic, we'll see how that goes...

And today I had to add in that a certain someone has been saying "no" to me and throwing wicked temper tantrums far too often for my liking.  So, I took that someone's dollar for today after they wouldn't settle down.  That same someone can earn the dollar back by being a good listener for the rest of the day.

My breath is held and my fingers are crossed.

Please oh please oh PLEASE let this work!

If I could be crazy enough to attempt and succeed at that insane HCG diet, I sure as heck should be able to teach my kids responsibility.

And that I won't always be there to do everything for them.

Wish me luck, and a stronger will than the sum of the little souls I'm trying to shape in to productive beings.

I WILL not fail.

Now, who wants to join me?:)

Father's Day

This is only my reflections on my dad, I know that everyone had a unique relationship with him and my siblings may see things far differently than I do/did.  I don't believe that we've ever really talked about it before, aside from reminiscing.

With Father's Day coming up, lately, I can't help but think a lot about my dad.

Look how young and cute we all are.

Not to be completely biased, but I really do think that he was the best one out there.

He loved to each of his four children unconditionally

and with his whole heart.

He also loved many of our friends just as much- with all that unconditional love.

And cousins too.

And OF COURSE his precious grand babies- the ones he got to hold and love and know.

I tell the ones who didn't meet him that he held them and loved them in heaven for me before they came down to join our family.  I like to believe that is true.

I know that he loved Mark.

In the 8th grade, when I broke up with Mark (who hasn't heard that sad, sad story?)

I think my dad would have chosen him over me.

Have you ever noticed, when someone that you love is gone, you search for similarities for that person with the loved ones you are surrounded by?

Scanning their faces, stances, and expressions for little reminders of people gone?

I see it a lot in my Charlie.

Not just appearances, but in some personality traits too.

When he was graduating from high school, my dad was awarded a choral scholarship to Central Washington University.

I wish that I could remember what his voice sounded like before his injury, when he was able to sing beautifully.

Don't get me wrong, he always loved music, it was always playing whenever he was around, usually accompanied by his soft whistle or "bum bum bum" and some singing.

I swear I must have heard that darn Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt cassette in his jeep 10 million, billion times.

When I was eight years old, my dad injured his back at work.  During back surgery he was left without oxygen long enough to cause brain damage.  What I know about his condition may not be 100% accurate.  It's what I gleaned from him, which may not be the most reliable source...  Many times I don't know that he knew entirely what was going on with his health.

I wish I could remember him before his accident...

He was a proud man.

And very good and hiding what he didn't want others to know.

He had to work very hard to do tasks most of us take for granted.

He often saw things as either black or white- not a lot of middle ground on a multitude of issues.  I think that may be why I consciously try to keep an even keel, perhaps even to a fault.

Because of living so closely (yet maybe not closely enough) with his experiences, I think that's why this blog resonated so strongly for me.  (Please please read that blog, it's SO wonderful.)

Anyway,

he had a lot of time on his hands.

He couldn't work for the majority of the years I had with him.

So, he created "quality time" or "qt."  Really that was just spending a LOT of time with me and my younger sister.

Many, many (did I say many?) times it annoyed me.

And I think that delighted him.

He cultivated my love of all things old and quirky.  We spent countless hours together, driving all over the county oogling historic buildings which definitely fostered my curiosity of old buildings- eventually that interest grew into a profession for me.

He trained me to see the value in a wide variety of things others might cast aside as garbage.

Anyone who saw his car must have known he was a hoarder, though we didn't know that term at the time.

He was one.

And I was mortified by it.

I didn't know what hoarding was or why he was like that.

I didn't understand.

It was after he died that I watched a news story about hoarders on abc or nbc.  They had taken brain scans of someone throwing way seemingly useless things in a hoarder's possession- years old magazines or something like that. The person whose items were being tossed out had brain activity that was similar to a person being tortured. It was something along these lines or this.

I had gone to my dad's house and thrown away tons (literally) of garbage from his place.

I had tortured him.

Not out of evil intent, only good and loving intentions.

I didn't know.

Regret is a pretty awful feeling.

I regret that I threw away his possessions (truly it was trash not treasure-see?  I'm defending myself here?).

I regret the day I didn't answer the door when he tried to stop by to visit.

I regret that I wasn't more patient.

I regret that I didn't help him more.

I regret that I didn't advocate for him.

I regret that I didn't know that I should have advocated for him

I regret that I didn't hold his hand more often or snuggle him every chance I had.

I regret that he never got to attend one of my kids sporting events.

It dawned on me the other day that not only would my dad have attended every possible event.  He would have looked forward to it!  Pre-school and kindergarten graduations, football, basketball, and baseball games, cheerleading, concerts- all those things would have been the highlight of his day.

His grandchildren's schools would have been frequent halls for him to travel.

He was the most generous loving man you could imagine.

And I still miss him every single day.

An early happy father's day dad, I love you and know you feel me missing you.

*Shortly after writing this I spoke at a volunteer group meeting about my profession.  Afterwards I was approached by a woman who told me she used to sit across from my dad doing woodcarving.  It was an activity where he could be artistic and social in a safe group.  I was stunned and asked her how she knew I was his daughter.  She was very sweet but looked at me like she was thinking, "Duh" She kindly said he talked a lot about me.  I'm sure he talked a lot about all of us.  But I swear I felt like he was with me right then and there.  I wanted to hug her.  I don't know why I didn't- too reserved for my own good.  It's funny, they had asked me how I became interested in my profession and I almost answered- from hours and hours and hours of driving around with my dad (listening to Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt belt it out) looking at old buildings.  
"I don't know much, but I know I love you...  And that may be, all there is to know...."

Sleepytime

There's no better feeling, when you're a mama, than watching your babies drift off to sleep knowing that

they are content,

they feel secure,

and they are precious and perfect and loved beyond measure.

The Secret Pile

Lately, Elsa's been mounding up secrets to keep in her metaphorical "secret pile."

It started with a whispered one to Mark one day, "Daddy I have a secret but we have to keep it in the secret pile."

He claims he leaned close to hear, looking forward to what crazy comment she'd have.

"I love mommy more than you."

Ouch.

That stings.

I don't care who you are.

Then I got a secret from the secret pile.

"Sometimes us boys and girls pee in the shower."

Nice.

I kind of wish I didn't know that secret.

I wonder what else is lurking in that cesspool of a secret pile.

Though yesterday she did tell us (Mark and me) that we can call her "princess" but not in front of ANYONE and it "HAS TO STAY IN THE SECRET PILE."

There must be a little goodness in that pile after all.

I don't care if she wears boys clothes from head to toe,

has a swagger to rival any pro athlete,

and can spout profanity like a sailor...

she'll always be my little princess.

But I will respect her wishes and keep it in the secret pile.

One Plop

Today was Sarina's Pops Concert.

The music teacher at her school is phenomenal.  How that woman can manage to get those kids to produce sound that resembles real music is beyond me.

The kids even recognized some songs and were humming along with the bands.

Anyway, in the cozy gym with a million of our closest friends, and a balmy 100 degrees...

We're all settled in the bleachers-3 people deep when I keep smelling pure poop.

Not one blast

but a few.

Then Elsa's asking me to take her potty.

Her reasoning was pretty great.

"It's only poopoo.  One plop and it's done."

Maybe for you kid.

Here she is playing with the entertainment she packed for herself.

And yes, that's my big knee in the way, those bleachers leave NO PERSONAL SPACE!!!

Can you see the sweat running down my leg?

Well, it's there.

Summertime is just about here.

I'm sobbing and cheering all at the same time.

I choose this to be good luck

I know I've been pretty silent on here.

Sadly, that's because I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

End of school season.

It's a marathon at sprint pace.

Have you read this post?  It's SPOT ON!!!

But today this was too good to pass up.

After a morning of peace, an hour and forty minute long dr apt (I got cleared for an MRI-yay!) race to JUST make it on time for Sarina's POPs concert, back to town for rollers for Mark, pick up pizzas for easy dinner since we get to go back to school for an evening POPs concert.

I was psyching myself up to reach my hand into our sugar ant infested mailbox when I felt something hit the top of my head.

Thinking a cricket jumped REALLY high, I reached up to wipe it off.

Nope, not a cricket.

Bird poop.

Yup.  Story of my days lately.

But, you know they say it's a sign of good luck...

That's what I tell my unfortunate friends who seem to get pooped on far more often than I would think is normal (Kara).

Now it's what I'm telling myself.

It's good luck that my MRI will show something fixable with my ridiculous back/leg/whatever pain.

Good luck that the kids will coexist peacefully this summer.

Good luck that our aging puppy dog will kick around a few months longer.

Good luck that my not one but TWO historic tour brochures due this fall will go smoothly.

Good luck that Mark's business will continue to grow.

Good luck that Elsa will settle nicely into kindergarten in the fall.

Good luck that Charlie will transition beautifully into all day everyday school- first grade.

Good luck that Carl will continue to thrive in school.

Good luck that Sarina will grow into a mature, even tempered middle schooler.

Hmmmm, maybe I should go sit under the power lines with a loaf of bread so I can get pooped on 10 million more times.

And this is the shocker.  I actually contemplated just wiping my head with the diaper wipe I used to clean my poopy hand and call it good.

Pre-children Jen NEVER would have even considered that as an option.

It seems that at this point in my life I'm far too busy for OCD.

Darn bird poop.

I never saw it coming.

I look weird today

"I look weird today."

That's what I heard muttered in the backseat of the car today, when I drove Miss Elsa to school.

It was a little funny this morning.

She waffled between her new monster rain boots and snazzy new (to her) puma shoes.

At the last second, literally walking out the door, she fled back to the shoe closet and grabbed the pumas.

The time of the comment (riding in the car) her shoes were solid- after that quick change.

It wasn't the camo size 10 t-shirt from old navy or the size 5 cargo khaki shorts that were bothering her, it was the red Columbia fleece pull-over.

Huh.

It was an easy fix. 

We had a grey hoodie in the back that belongs to someone who rode in our car at some point in time.

Switched out weird Columbia fleece pull-over for generic too-big grey hoodie and she was be-boping into class ready to go.

Love her swagger.

Elsa's Fashion Blog #6

I don't know how she does it...

For some reason, she HAD to kick off the hiking boots that went with the ensemble.

I don't know why.

After putting the big kids on the bus she had a sneaky little smile on her face and said,

"People will think I'm Carl, won't they?"

Like she was pulling the wool over everyone's eyes by wearing his clothes, they will see him not her?

Funny, beautiful, baby girl.

Now off to snuggle a sick little boy.

Elsa's Fashion Blog #5

Yup, she wore that hat

ALL

DAY

LONG.

IN PUBLIC!

Then, because all day wasn't enough- she popped it back on after bath time to sleep in.

Too bad she lost her dreadlocks after swimming all spring break in a pool and very little hair brushing...

Dreads would nicely compliment the hat.

A Paranoid Runner

I realize this is true,  but I have a little story. I ran my best time today. 5 miles in 49 minutes (hey!  it's good for me...). I think it had something to do with listening to NPR's TED talk on "The Violence Within Us."  It was all well and good until I hit a more isolated section of the loop and passed a guy who could look a little rough, with tattoos on his hands. It left me feeling paranoid. And I'm pretty paranoid anyway. When I run alone I wear my hair in a bun (I've heard that rapists look for girls with ponytails because they're easy to grab). I only run during daylight, in public areas. But that combination of listening to violence and passing someone to seemed a little rough sure made me speedy (for me). Especially not knowing if he was coming up behind me until I worked up the courage (around a good string of oncoming cars) to look behind me and see that he was no where in sight. But, those TED talks are so great! I love that it's 50 minutes of a good story, well done in the fantastic NPR style. It's thought provoking and entertaining enough to keep me moving. It's my new favorite way to run. I highly recommend it.

Fart Noises

When I came home from Arizona late last year, I had the bright idea to buy the kids a book about farts.

And yes, it makes various fart noises to supplement the story.

Here's a picture, in case you think it would be fun too...

Anyway, on the way to school Elsa hit the sound buttons repeatedly.

Fart

after

fart

after

fart

after

fart.

She only stopped when we were at the stoplight at the off ramp of Hwy 101 and Black Lake Boulevard where the same boy often sits with a sign looking for a hand out.

He looks like he really, really loves his dog.

I always notice him when I see him.

Anyway, she stopped the fart noises long enough to look up to see the homeless guy and says, "Really?!  He still doesn't have any money?!  Where does he get his clothes?  Does he take his shirt off when its hot outside?" Such a random string of questions, thoughts and observations. A teeny tiny snippet of what's going on inside that little head. But good questions. With so many homeless people around our beautiful town, where do they come from?  Are they really needy and unable to care for themselves? And how telling that my 4 year old takes it all in. Do I encourage compassion? Or do I instill the need to learn to take care of yourself, and make good choices? I try to do all three.

Smile for the Camera

Today is class picture day for 3 of my kids.

Sarina's class decided (much to her chagrin) that they should all wear something sporty.  I think she ended up looking adorable.

I've been trying to convince Carl to wear jeans and something nice to school for over a year, but his beloved teacher talked about how important it was to wear something nice to school for class picture day.

So, this morning Carl came in wearing a blue oxford shirt and jeans.

WHAT?!

Yup, it's true- I have proof.

Charlie was just happy about it all and only needed long sleeves.

Elsa pulled out her very best (in her mind) go-to outfit.

I captured it.

So, on the way to school I told them they should imagine daddy tickling them when the photographer said, "smile!"

One of them suggested, instead, that they smile like when Elsa said, "Mommy said bull****!"

Humility smacked me in the face.

But those little faces sure do sparkle when they remember their baby sister shouting profanities.

Elsa Fashion Blog #4 (?)

Another beauty.

They're endless, those combinations from her brothers' dresser.

Elsa's Fashion Blog

Here's another beauty for you.

Land of the free, camo hat, brother's basket ball shorts, and brother's socks with the heel halfway up her calf.

Pretty awesome.

Correction.

Funkin' awesome.

Don't you just want to kiss those cheeks?

Each Day Can Bring A Surprise

Today, in the hustle and bustle of the first baseball games of the season, I looked up to behold this wonder of wonders...

Yes, she's wearing her brother's polo shirt, last year's baseball hat, and this year baseball pants.

BUT LOOK WHAT'S IN HER ARMS!

Yup, it's a baby doll and she asked me to play with her.

Here's a snippet of our conversation:

Me:  Are you the mama?

Elsa: No.

Me:  Are you the big sister?

Elsa:  No, I'm the big brother. Do you want to be a boy or a girl, mama?

I love that in her play she gets a choice.

It was a freezing, wet, windy day today but both boys played baseball.

Charlie wouldn't pose but I caught him lurking in the background.

I  love this sport.

It's the only one I understand.

I May Be Going Crazy

I know, I know, I say that a lot.

Today was a good illustration.

I started off the day with a "run" with my quick footed friends.  So, in reality I panted behind them for most of the 5 miles.  There are brief periods when I can hang, but it's not for long and not all too often...

That was all great, truly- I always feel so good after I've gone for a run.  I just need to do it more often.

It was a usual Monday morning, zipped to my mom's house for a quick shower, squeezed in an errand before picking up Elsa.

Two more errands on the way to a friend's house for her to play and me to hang out.

But on errand #2 I realized that my vision was like I'd just finished staring directly into the sun for too long and the blind spots wouldn't blink away.

I powered through a little more before it hit me that I was having a visual migraine.

I haven't had one of those in a good 6+ years.

My vision on my right size became completely swirly- like I was looking through a kaleidoscope.

So, I wrapped up the Safeway excursion and grabbed a coffee hoping caffeine would clear it up.

And it did.

Mostly.

At least I could see enough to get to the car and over to our friends house where I think the yummy lunch she had for us helped too.

It wasn't until after we came home that I realized that for tonight I'd booked not one but two babysitters.

Oops.

What kind of crazy lady does that?!

Me.

The good news is that out of guilt for cancelling on one I re-scheduled another night so Mark and I get a date night.

Woo hoo.

Maybe that was my subconscious way of getting a date night...

I was still feeling off tonight when I was getting ready for my meeting, so I used that garbled brain of mine and instead of picking up a protein box with my coffee like I usually do at Starbucks I went big.

In fact, I got a Big Mac,

and scarfed the whole thing down in the parking lot in probably two seconds flat.

I remember once in high school I had a male teacher who approached me laughing (in a rather mean way) because he'd watched me eat something in soc (sosh- for those of you not familiar with CHS) corner for lunch and I must have shoved it into my mouth rather quickly because he inferred that my manners were quite atrocious.  He's the same teacher who told my cheer squad my parents were divorcing before I could explain it to them{RUDE}

He would have been ROLLING to see me eat that Big Mac.

Which totally undid all the calorie burning of the 5 miles I panted behind my friends who are real runners.

Can't win them all, can you?

My Legs Are Burning Mama!

Yesterday, I'll admit- during the middle of the day-

I laid in my bed

I pulled the down comforter up really high

and I hoped that if the kids came up and down the stairs calling out my name they wouldn't notice me laying there

in my bed

so I could get a little nap in.

Then I heard poor little Elsa sound more and more frantic

saying her legs were burning.

Truthfully, it was with a little bit of reluctance that I finally got up and checked on her.

Poor thing had wet her pants because she was laughing so hard at some silly antics performed by her big brother.

She tried to take care of it herself in the downstairs powder room.

She took off her wet pants then started wiping herself down with the wipes in the bathroom.

Unfortunately, they were bleach wipes not diaper wipes.

I popped her into the bath, washed her lower half down with cera ve soap and coated her in triple paste from the waist down figuring that if that stuff worked magic on a diaper rash it had to work on bleach burns...

And I think it did.

Thank goodness I saved the big old tub of triple paste, you never know when that crazy kind of stuff might happen.