Punkin

 

Frog

 

Perfect shots if only the extraneous body parts weren't there.

 

Fall in Utah

 

One more thing that happened this week that I forgot to mention.

 

In the last week...

... my internet has been inaccessible due to a number of reasons which has kept me from posting and has kept me from reading.

...my throat has become sore and swollen. I have searing pains when I cough and occasionally when I swallow. A low grade fever overcomes me off and on most days. Since I put in my resignation, I am not allowed to take any sick days.

...work has gone into overdrive. I have five days left and I highly doubt I will finish everything I need to.

...Harrison won the "Fish" award at school. We don't know what it's for, or how he won it, but his name was announced over the P.A. and he came home with a large super ball. We think it has to do with helping out another student. Have I mentioned that Harrison is not my verbal child?

...we received information about the Kindergarten programming that Ella is in at her Montessori. She is in a 3-4-and 5-year old classroom. I truly think that her teachers think she is five, instead of four. I'm thinking I'll just let this go and see how she does in her "accelerated" environment.

...Harry got into a bit of an altercation at school (in my UNFAVORITE after care program) and the worker wrote a discipline report on him. The next day he got scratched between the eyes by another boy and the scabs are still here six days later. No discipline report was filed on this boy. I cannot wait to get him out of there!

...Harry has decided to be a pirate for Halloween and Ella wants to be a witch, "..but I don't want to wear the hat, Mom...it's really annoying."

...I still can't figure out how to download some of my pictures back into my computer since it had to be completely erased a few weeks ago. I will probably have time this weekend, but wonder if I should bother since I have to give back my computer next Wednesday.

...my dad has been noticed by a "hottie" (yes, he used this word) at church, but he's not sure he wants to pursue her or not. "Carol - she's really into the Twins, and I just can't understand that. Who likes baseball?"

From the backseat today

Me: “Hey you guys - look over there at the mountains. Aren’t they beautiful with all the snow on the tops?”

Harry: “Yea! We can go skiing!”

Me: “Not yet, dear. There is snow up there because of all the rain we’ve had lately. The higher up the mountain, the colder it gets. That’s when the rain turns to snow. There still isn’t enough snow for skiing.”

This turned into a large discussion about rain, snow and ice – a little science lesson on the road that suddenly turned into something else.

Harry: “The snow comes from the sky, and we come from Heaven. We come down from Heaven. Live and then go back to Heaven when we die.”

Me: “Who taught you that, Harrison?”

Harry: “Mom, that’s just the way it is.”

Me: “Of course.”

Ella, not wanting to stay out of the conversation, shouts out: “God made us.”

Harry: “He made everyone, but I wanna know who made God? Could he have made hisself?”

Ella: “Yeah? Who made God?”

How did the conversation turn to this? I just wanted them to appreciate the view!

The Reason Why

Summer break went so well this year that I began to think about staying home full time. I was less than thrilled with my job and washing dishes looked absolutely idyllic. This faded after the first month, however, but I still wished that the kids could be home more. Chris and I looked into getting some help - someone to prepare lunches and get the kids off in the morning. We even considered having that person retrieve the kids from their schools so that they could be home at a more decent hour. After checking Craig’s list, the newspaper and asking around, we even interviewed someone. She gave us her hourly rate and we quickly fell to the ground in shock. There is a reason that only rich people employ nannies.

I crunched the numbers over and over and found that even with a more reasonably priced “helper”, we really couldn’t afford this luxurious service. Chris and I coaxed ourselves into accepting that we would have to wait one more year before considering this option again. Our debt is unusually large due to losing so much money on the house we sold in Green Bay. Couple that with a primary mortgage, child support payments, car payments (reasonable, but still there), Ella’s preschool tuition, and day-to-day expenses and it adds up to one thing - we are STRAPPED.

As the school year began, my feelings were mixed. I was enjoying my job much more than the previous two years, but still felt that the kids deserved to be home more - like I was. My mother was always home. She did raise a feminist, though. The pop psychology movement of the ‘70s had a large effect on me and my mother. She was reading I’m O.K., You’re O.K., and I had teachers showing me commercials that stereotyped female roles. I distinctly remember analyzing a commercial for a stain remover, “Wisk” I think. Its slogan had something to do with getting rid of “ring around the collar”. A man would be wearing a dress shirt and someone would notice the stains around his collar – immediately the camera would focus in on his wife as if she were a criminal. The premise being, of course, that if she used their product to pre-treat the stains on her husband’s collar, they would come out in the wash and she would never be shamed again for not keeping her husband presentable. I think since that moment, I have always avoided becoming that woman. I was raised to do it all – work, marriage, career. Lately, however, I’ve begun to wonder if it is all worth it.

Harrison’s Kindergarten year went extremely well. We entered with trepidation and exited with confidence. He became an emergent reader, he never bored of entering Mr. P’s classroom and he bonded with an accepting adult other than a parent. His report cards showed progress and achievement. His behavior remained in check and there were no trips to the office for misconduct. As first grade began, we had no reason to worry. We assumed that things would go as smoothly as they did last year. Unfortunately we were wrong.

Harry’s new teacher is extremely experienced. She has been teaching for over 20 years and still seems to truly love teaching six year olds. One thing she isn’t, though, is Mr. P – Harry’s Kindergarten teacher - the man who single-handedly got my son to enjoy school and learning, while accepting him wholly as the smart, yet wildly immature little boy that he is. Harry felt this acceptance immediately and flourished. Ms. B. doesn’t have this connection to him. I understand that the kind of teacher-student relationship we experienced last year is rare. I just don’t think we realized how special it was until we didn’t have it anymore.

First grade started well. We experienced a three week honeymoon period. Harrison skipped to school each morning and behaved well. Things weren’t going as well after the regular school day, though. Each afternoon, after school is dismissed, he goes to the gym for an after school program. It has too many kids and not enough experienced staff. Harry loves all the playing, but the lack of structure is not good. One day I came to pick him up, but had trouble finding him. I didn’t see any familiar adults and as I was scouring the playground, I noticed that the gate surrounding the playfields was open. I went back inside and looked for Harrison. After re-visiting the playground, I found him on the jungle gym. After asking him about his day, he recounted an episode with another boy which ended with Harry getting bonked on the head with a rock. He came with me, but there were no adults that seemed to notice. The gate was still open and my discomfort was rising.

Later that evening, Chris and I had a long talk about priorities and our family. I flipped open my laptop and searched for part time counselor position. I was stunned to find two openings in the area. We spent a few days discussing the realities of this option and decided that I should apply and think about the rest if I received an offer.

I worked for days on updating my resume, writing a cover letter and contacting old supervisors as references. About a week and a half later, my stress level went through the ceiling when I was contacted to schedule an interview. After making it through that process, I was asked to come back for a second meeting – they wanted me to teach a lesson to a “live” classroom of students. I passed that test and was offered the position a little over a week ago. The minute I told my husband, it all came clear – we knew the answer I needed to give. Financial sacrifices aside, my children need me to be home more often. They need me to take them to school each morning, and pick them up each afternoon. They deserve more time in the evening in their home. Due to my long commute, and their varied school locations, we don’t get home until almost 6 pm. Dinner is thrown together, homework is hurried through, baths are taken, and books are read. It would be palatable if it didn’t feel as if a stopwatch were running. The stress during our weeknights is always high.

After six years of trying to do it all, I have finally given up. I can’t do it all well, so I have decided to take the half-time counseling position in another school. I start the beginning of next month. I told my fellow staff members, and my students, today. It was bittersweet. They completely understand, but we are all sad. I feel an unusual closeness to most of the people I encounter at work each day. I was one of the original staff that opened our school. This is our third year in existence. We are very small and very close. I sometimes compare how our school is run to a family business. We all do a little of everything. There are pros and cons to that. One of the main cons is the extra hours that most public school educators don’t have to put in. I just can’t give that much anymore.

My mother has been on my mind so much during all of this. I have imagined how she would have reacted each step of the process. What questions she would have asked and the comments she probably would have made. I know she would be proud of me. She was always my biggest supporter. She would probably tell me that the more I take care of myself – the better mother I’ll be for my two babies.

Ironically, I think her death may have had everything to do with this. I compare my parenting style to hers so much more since she has died. She wasn’t perfect, but she was pretty darn good. And she was always there. I rarely remember her not being at home. I guess I just want to give my kids a little more of that.

Still here

Just when you all were starting to think I had fallen off the planet - here I am! Although - I do have to admit I am a bit disappointed - not one concerned email or phone call came my way over the last two + weeks since I last posted! My faithful readers know me well. They all figured I was an overstressed, working mom who hasn't had time to write. Yup! that's me. Throw in a wigged-out computer that completely collapsed and it all adds up to a posting vacation.

I have TONS to write about, but the timing is poor. Stay tuned - if you're still there - and I'll let you in on the new excitement in my little world in the next couple of days.

A sign

One of my absolute favorite times of the week is Sunday morning. I love the smell of the coffee brewing, the look of my dining room, with the sun shining in the windows across the wood floors, and the big Sunday newspaper.

I start with the front page. Just a quick glance. Then I go right to the ads. I used to save the Target and Dayton’s ads for last. A weird idiosyncrasy I’ve had since my twenties. Now that Dayton’s is defunct, I still savor the Target ad. Before Weight Watchers, I would eat a still-warm scone from the little local market two blocks away, but now I down my dry Kashi GoLean with my coffee. After the ads, I go back to the available sections (Chris is usually reading across the table from me.) The Arts, Money, Opinion and Travel are my first choices.

Yesterday, in the Money section of the Salt Lake Tribune, there was a fluff piece on employment - “Employment: The worst jobs”. Underneath the title, and before the brief article, was a list. Number one was “Flatulence analyst”, number fourteen was Blue cheese factory worker and then near the bottom – right after “Slaughterhouse worker”- was “High school guidance counselor”.

I kind of wish I had seen this list before I invested two years full time into grad school, one year of internship and 14 years on the job.

I don't know if I should be worried, or gleeful with pride.

Me, yelling from one room into another to Chris: "I need to go to the liquor store today."

Ella, responding from the other room: "Yea!"

Photo Friday - Theme: Boy

I think they're finally ready for the black tight shorts

Chris has been riding bikes for years. We came into this relationship with a bike a piece, and now we have about eight total.

Chris got into mountain bike racing a few years ago and needed an upgrade. Moving to real mountain country required a third upgrade. He now also owns two road bikes (one was a hand me down from his brother) to keep him in better shape for his racing.

Our wedding gift to each other was a tandem. (We heard that it was great for a relationship because you were literally stuck together on them therefore having deeper and more meaningful "discussions.") It's great except that when you add a Burley, the rig gets a bit long.

Last fall, I gave up my circa 1987 steel "mountain" bike (that is heavier than our tandem) and bought myself my own road bike. It's been a slow learning curve, but I truly love having my own. I have mastered the clip pedals and can even turn my head, to watch for traffic, without falling over.

We take the kids on rides, occasionally. Harrison on the tag-along and Ella in the Burley. Usually, however, Chris and I ride separately for exercise. A few times we've hired a sitter so that we could ride together, but not nearly as much as we would like.

You'd think with all the bicycle enthusiasm around here that the kids would be little biking machines, but alas they are products of us. Their athleticism is doomed to be mediocre to non-existant until they are older. Ella is quite content on the small tricycle we bought Harry when he was two, and Harrison has shown zero interest in donning a bike that doesn't have four wheels.

During the Tour de France, the Outdoor Life Network coverage was broadcast for hours in our house. The kids knew that Lance had retired and that Floyd was the man of the hour. It was fun to see their sincere excitement about the bike race - although they usually could only handle it in five minute increments.

With Chris in his cast since July, biking has not been a main attraction around here, but obviously it's still on their minds....



Ella (to me and Harrison): Hey – we never got to go on a bike ride yesterday. (We were going to try a family ride, but I was pretty nervous about Chris attempting to ride with his cast.)

Harrison: Do you want to do a pretend Tour day France in the driveway with our bikes?

Ella: Sure. What number do you want to be?

Harrison: Ten

Ella: I want to be twelve.


Chris, we may have some racers in our future yet!

Found on the ground at a neighborhood park

Throughout my career I have “happened upon” a large number of notes written by one adolescent to another. My nine years at the middle/junior high produced, by far, the most entertaining notes. Often, however, the swearing or vulgarity just got to the stupid level and stripped away most of their entertainment factor.

I found this a couple of weeks ago and laughed out loud. I truly think it is in my top five as one of the best notes I’ve ever read: (words in italics are mine)

“Reasons why Parker is a RETARD! (double underlined)

1. says I wear too much make-up :( (the actual frown face also had a “v” mark above the eyes for extra effect)

2. his laugh is gay

3. breaks up through an e-mail. HOW RUDE + MEAN!!!

4. breaks up w/ me before I break up w/ him. (can you believe the audacity!)

5. immature around his friends (wouldn’t you love to know the depth of the conversations she and Parker had when he wasn’t with his friends??)

6. too much in common w/ Mike.

7. talks too much about kissing.

8. fools around (I’m guessing she’s not referring to him as a class clown)

9. BOSSY!

10. Never calls back…

11. tells family everything. Underlined five times

12. nosy. underlined twice followed by another frown face with a furrowed brow

13. talks about Catlin BIG frown face

14. is a shithead.”

Well, that just about sums it all up.

It's going to be a long year

Mrs. X: “Carol? This is (Harry’s teacher). How are you?”

Me: (tentatively) “Okay, and you?”

Mrs. X: “Just wanted to let you know that there was a little incident today during Art. The scissors were out and Harry cut G’s hair (adorable little girl down the street).

Me: “Oh my god.”

Mrs. X: “I have to give him credit. G came up to report it and I called Harry up. I asked him what happened and he said, ‘I cut G’s hair.’ I told him that it was completely unacceptable to cut hair in this classroom (somehow I think he already knows that), and asked him why he did it. He said, ‘I don’t know.’”

Me: “I truly believe that. He does things without thinking quite a bit. He has a bit of an impulsive streak.” (Just check out most of my archives from the last school year!)

Mrs. X: “Well, I think a note of apology to G would be nice.”

Me: “Of course.”

Mrs. X: “I haven’t had any other problems with him (IT’S ONLY THE 4th DAY OF SCHOOL!!!) I just thought you should know and now I am going to call G’s parents.”

Me: “Do you have to? I’m already on thin ice with them – I really don’t think her mom likes me.” (yes…I actually said all of that.) "Can you tell where he cut it?"

Mrs. X: nervous laugh “No, but I still think a note of apology would be nice.”

Yes, ma’am.

Should I quit my job tomorrow or just wait till Monday?

After becoming "comfortable" with the new routine - two sitters rotating in and out of the house as I started back at work two weeks ago - the kids had change in that routine on Wednesday. Harrison started school and Ella had a friend from preschool over for most of the day. Ella had fun, but a seven hour play date is too much for anyone. Today, while Harry got to run off to school again, giddy and excited, Ella went to the neighbors' for the day. Normally, this would be quite a treat. She loves the mother of this family and they have a girl about her age and a year and a half old baby. It's Ella's dream house - real baby paraphenalia all over the place!

Today, however, she was tentative to leave the house. She woke up a bit late and didn't have enough time to just wake up in her own surroundings. I left for work knowing that she was in excellent care and tried to brush off her clingy-ness.

Nine and a half hours later, my two beautiful kids bound into the kitchen. Tonight was Back to School Night for parents only. We had 45 minutes to make dinner, eat and catch up on everyone's day before they were going back to the neighbors' to share their sitter. Both of them were amazingly resilient to my hurriedness. They peeled their own corn on the cob and didn't squabble as they normally do.

Harrison left the room for some reason and Ella declared her thoughts:

Ella: "Mama, I didn't handle things too good today."

Me: Amazed that she was using this expression, I made her repeat herself. "What? What did you say?"

Ella: "I didn't HANDLE things very good today."

Me: I had visions of her not sharing with her friend, or using poor manners at lunch. "What do you mean?"

Ella: "I couldn't handle that you were gone all day. I really missed you."

You only have one chance to make a first impression

Harrison met his teacher today. He chose not to speak to her at all. Not once. He did a great job of giving her a refresher from the non-verbal unit in her college Communications course.

Sideways glances = I'm listening, but I'd rather go over here and look at all your books.

Hiding behind Mom's leg = Didn't they tell you that I'm shy?

Slow and thoughtful nods = Yes, that sounds good, but don't think I'm going to show you any excitement until at least October.

Grabbing and wiggling front tooth for 95% of the visit = my tooth is loose and I am determined to be the first name of the year on your "Lost a Tooth" chart

My little boy is growing up

Here it is – two days before the first day of first grade. It’s post-bath time and I’m logging in my Weight Watcher points for the 153rd day (seriously, I just counted) while Harrison is behind me loudly slurping from his straw the remains of his homemade smoothie. We just had a great mother-son discussion that I wanted to write down so that I never forget the ever-changing dreams of my first-born.

Me: “That was really nice of you to teach Ella some words in the bath just now.”

Harry: “I put the letters “e” and “t” together and then put different letters in front of them to make words.”

Me: “I know, dear, that was really great. She was really learning. Are you going to be a teacher when you grow up?”

Harry: “NOOOOOoooooo!!!! I want to be a firefighter, (pause) and an army guy (pause) and a police officer.”

Me: “All at the same time?”

Harry: “Yup.”

Ramblings of an overtired working mom

I had a week "off" between the three weeks of house guests and my first day back at work. I had great aspirations of finishing all the projects I mentally had set up for myself back in June.

Didn't happen.

So here I sit, exhausted after only three days back in the working-mommy-grind, trying to at least record a bit of our life of late.

These pictures wer taken the other day. I attempted to take four kids to a professional soccer team practice. The parking was a nightmare so we didn't get to go. Harrison, however, made the best of it by playing soccer at the park with his best buddy. She is the proud owner of the original "baby Seal". Grandma sent a new baby Seal a few months ago from Wisconsin. I don't get the obsession, but it is somewhat comforting to know that there is another child affixed to a large white stuffed seal just a few doors down.

Going back to work has been tough. I'm not sure if this is the best profession for me anymore. My empathy for adolescents has waned over the past 14 years. Starting Year 15 seems a bit overwhelming. I worry that I won't be able to give any more of myself.

Finding sitters for the 12 day gap, before the kids' schools start, has been an even tougher challenge than going back to work. We found a former nanny, who is GREAT, but extremely expensive. I'm paying her almost more than I'm making. I also worry about what is going on all day. She was recommended through someone we know, but she is still a stranger. Due to her high hourly rate, I've pieced together an extremely complex schedule that slips in three other adults to cover this time period. The kids are starting to ask - "who is watching us tomorrow??"

Guilt, and more guilt. Motherhood.

Chris' birthday was yesterday. He worked late and I didn't do as much in the present department as I would have liked. The kids got him another Johnny Cash CD (Chris loves to crank "Burning Ring of Fire"on the minivan's AWESOME stereo for them.) His wrist is slowly healing. He can do a few more things, but still can't write at all. He never complains. I can't even imagine how frustrating it must be.

Harrison starts first grade next Wednesday. The anticipation looms for Friday at 4:00 when they post the class lists. Harry is excited for school to begin. That, to me, is the best gift his Kindergarten teacher could have given him.

Ella's preschool is changing locations and will be closer and have a much better facility. She doesn't really understand how great this is - all she wants to know is if she'll have a locker. Where do four year olds pick up stuff like that?

Still dieting and exercising like mad. Not happy with the results (of course) - really wish I was. I write all the time about appreciating what I have - not worrying about the "little" stuff - seizing the day, etc. Even as I sit here in some pants I bought for my mom, right before she died and was pretty little, and all I can think is that I wish they fit looser. OH. MY. GOD. WHO CARES??? I want to yell at myself some days. Your mother DIED, for god sakes. Did you not learn anything from that?

I have. Chris and I try to remember this often. In fact, he is almost better at this than I am. His feelings of loss are also strong.

These ramblings are all over the place. It's hard for me to sit down and write about one of these at a time because I over analyze and then think it will take too much emotional (and physical) energy. Overall, I'm good. Chris and I are happier than we've been in a long time. The kids are happy and becoming easier to parent every day. The other stuff will come with time.

Oh - did I mention....I still really miss my mom.

Photo Friday: "Four"

Another entry in the Photo Friday series. Film shot before I had even touched a digital camera. It's a picture of my favorite spot, the turret, in my old Victorian house back in Wisconsin.

These four windows were just a few of the over 50 in the house.

Getting along

I’ve decided that there are few truly easy relationships.

At work, you are never able to truly be yourself. There is always a professionalism and certain decorum that needs to be maintained.

Friendships are complex. I have a friend from elementary school. I never forget her birthday and feel as if I could call her day or night with any problem, but we live 1000 miles apart and that leaves many limitations. She doesn’t know my day-to-day stuff, so that leaves the superficial topics for our rare phone conversations.

Because I’ve moved a lot, I don’t have many longtime friends. I just don’t have the desire/time to keep up friendships I’ve met along the way as well as I should.

New friends are great. They don’t know all your crap, so you can totally start over. Hold back showing all your insecurities. Reinvent yourself if you will. The bad part is, though, that because they don’t know all your crap there is no true glue that holds it all together. Hope is always there, though. Hope that it will develop into more. However, at this time in my life (kids/work/marriage/house) I don’t really make it a priority to deepen friendships.

Family is just plain weird. Having my dad and brother here for three weeks was eye-opening. First of all it was like having my mom’s absence thrown in my face over and over again. My brother and dad have started turning to me in uncomfortable ways. My dad is meta-morphing into a desperate single retiree who is on the prowl and my brother is … well, just difficult. He has always been Mom’s project. She did all his clothes shopping. She was who he talked to about problems. She was his staunch supporter when he made loads of mistakes in his teens and twenties. She is no longer around and he has chosen me to replace her. But I don’t really want to. My dad has also chosen me to replace my mom as his new confidant. I like it at times, but know I will be replaced when he hooks up with some hot widow at grief group.

The relationship of marriage? Where does one begin? Ups and downs. Highs and lows. Compromise and reward. Complex and yet very simple. Chris and I are best friends, but also our toughest critics. When nurtured, our marriage is amazing. When neglected, it can turn my world upside down.

That leaves the relationship between a parent and her kids. This summer off began simply. I loved being home with the kids. They responded with good behavior and wonderful energy. As the weeks went on, we struggled. Then the guests began. The break in our routine was actually good. However, not all of our guests agreed with my parenting style. My dad believes that children should be seen and not heard.  My brother, on the other hand, is a completely content parent. He loves being a dad to the core of his soul. At first I was skeptical. As siblings, we have little in common besides sharing an upbringing. I couldn’t accept his style. He brings his kids everywhere. For example, one morning we were short on milk. I quickly volunteered to run and get a gallon. He began to gather the kids and tell them to get dressed. I interjected that I was going alone as he was there to watch the FIVE children. He sincerely stared with disbelief that I didn’t want to take him and the children with. “It will be fun!” was his remark.

Now that he is gone, it is easier to look back on the week he was here. Even though he still drives me batty – due to our cavernous differences – he taught me a lot. He reminded me what parenting should be all about. It SHOULD be about enjoying my children – not about getting through the day. There have been several days this summer that I did not like being a mom at all. Several that I liked it for a few hours, but very few that I can say I truly LOVED parenting my two amazing little people. Since he’s been gone, though, that has changed. I look at them differently. I understand the root of their behaviors with more patience. I have returned to playing with them – not just working/cleaning/reading around them.

Thanks, Mark. Who would’ve thought that my little brother could teach me a thing or two?

Hiking in Alta, UT

 

 

 

 

 

Girl cousins

 

Photo Friday - Theme: "Common"

 

Life has a way of forcing you to stop and recognize things - even when you didn't know they needed to be recognized.

Today is our 7th wedding anniversary. Seven years ago I married a man willfully and without ANY reservations. No small feat for me. This is a second marriage for me and follows an engagement to a third person in between. Chris was, and still is, the embodiment of everything I was looking for in a man: intelligent, supermodel looks (ok, maybe not internationally, but he was in print ads for the local farm supply store at the time), ambitious, caring, sensitive, laid back, open minded, non-judgemental and physically active.

Over the years we’ve had a high amount of stress and change. Our first year was filled with pregnancy and adjusting to a small town. The second year brought a colicky baby and a new house that needed extensive remodeling. The next three years brought two new jobs, another baby, more do-it-yourself hell and Chris finished his undergraduate degree after starting it 22 years prior. Year six we moved across the country and waited 18 months for our house in Wisconsin to sell. Oh – and two more new jobs. Year seven the house sold and both kids were out of diapers.

Through all this “stuff”, one thing has been clear. Chris and I did not have enough time to fully establish “us” as a couple before we became “we” as a family. The kids have always been our number one priority and that has caused a lot of strain on our marriage. I’m not saying that kids have undermined us – I just mean that because they are so needy, and completely change the focus of your life, that the strengthening of our relationship has often taken a back seat to all the other events/priorities that have occurred.

Coming to Salt Lake has helped tremendously. Things have slowed down a bit. The kids are getting easier and we try to have a date at least once a month. Still we know that things could be better between us and that what we probably need to focus more concerted energy on our marriage to make it better.

Since my dad is visiting, we were thinking of taking advantage of the free babysitting and going out to dinner tonight. However, things happen sometimes that free you up for more “together” time than you planned.

Yesterday morning, Chris and his brother drove up to Park City to go mountain biking. Chris has entered a series of races and was going to check out a route that he would be riding in a 100 mile relay race this upcoming Saturday. After riding well for over two hours, he encountered a patch of rocky gravel. He slowed down and tried to safely maneuver through it as there was a drop off on one side of the trail. For one reason, or another, he was unable to avoid falling. Since his feet were clipped securely to his pedals, and he couldn’t get his left foot clipped out fast enough, he put his left arm out to stop the fall. He fell down the drop off a bit with his bike on top of himself. He did get himself unclipped, but as picked himself up he knew right away that something bad had happened to his left wrist. Things didn’t look like they were in the right places. His brother, a weekend ski patrol during the winter with lots of first aid knowledge, immediately dropped to the ground and grabbed some sticks for a splint wrapping Chris’ wrist with a bike tube. They walked down to a chair lift and the operator radioed for help. Two EMTs drove up the mountain in a Suburban and gave him a better splint. I was already on my way to Park City as he was getting this help. He had called and from the tone in his voice I knew it was pretty serious. Or maybe it was because he was telling me that it hurt like a mother f*@#er and that he needed to get the emergency room right away.

After giving the EMTs some information for their reports, and loading Chris’ bike into the already fully loaded trunk of my Passat, we drove straight to the hospital. This took about 25 minutes and then we had to wait about 40 minutes to be seen. Watching Chris in so much pain was one of the hardest things I have ever done. He was given a couple pain killers and then taken to X-ray. The positions that the technician had to put his wrist in were so painful for him that we both started crying. He told me that it was the most pain he had ever felt.

Around 3:45 pm, five and half hours after the accident, the orthopedic doctor numbed his arm and moved the broken off end of his radius bone back into place. This was the culminating procedure in an afternoon of prodding and poking (he had to have an IV put into the back of both hands – THREE attempts to insert had failed.) To numb his arm, the doctor cuffed his arm at the bicep and administered 20 mg of Lidacaine. Thirty mg. of this is lethal – it stops your heart. The ortho, a nice Norwegian boy from Minnesota, assured us that he knew what he was doing. I tried to give him my complete trust since we share the same home and heritage, but it was hard. As Chris was given the Lidacaine, we exchanged a stare. One of those stares that needs no words, but the two people know exactly what is being said. He was telling me that he was scared, that he loved me and that everthing was going to be fine. I was telling him that I loved him too and that I was also scared.

Around 5 pm we finally arrived home. My father had tried to keep the kids occupied and fed for the entire day – no small task. My brother-in-law, and his wife, went over to our house to assist for a few hours as our house guest didn't really know what to do with kids for an entire day.

After I dropped off Chris, I ran to Walgreen’s for his prescription. I ran over to the grocery store for chicken to grill while I was waiting for his pills and then ran home to make dinner. I was pretty weak from all the stress, and my lack of food most of the day. As my sister-in-law continued to pitch in, I expressed my guilt over leaving the kids all day. I felt badly that they hadn’t had the entertaining family day we had originally planned. I also was upset that I had been away in general.

She then sarcastically said something that stopped me in my tracks, “Yeah, you were just busy being an attentive wife all day – you should feel guilty.” I just found that so thought provoking. I know I wouldn’t have felt any guilt about spending the day with Harry or Ella if they had been in an accident.

As I think about my anniversary, I hope that this reminds me of how important nurturing a marriage is to keep it going and making it better. I need to spend as much time working on that as much as I do worrying about which teacher I want to request for Harry or if Ella has worked on learning her phonics enough.

Not one of my better shots, but it gets the point across. Chris was still in his bike unitard when they took off his jersey to put on his cast. Have you seen those things? They're not pretty. We "borrowed" this gown. Check out his legs. That is not hair (he shaves his legs for biking) - it's dirt. He was covered head to toe through the entire ordeal.

Mommie Dearest

No coat hangers were used in the child rearing of my two children today, but I sure thought about it. Chalk today up as bad. That's as creative as my vocabulary can get. My throat is sore. Literally. From yelling.

It's dark outside. Chris is quietly reading them to sleep and I'm exhausted. Suddenly I feel better. Oh yeah - THEY'RE NOT TALKING, or fighting or teasing.

I spent the day trying to get some last minute cleaning and organizing done, for the arrival of our houseguest, in between the constant poor behavior of a certain pair of young blonds. My dad arrives tomorrow late morning for two weeks. (At this point, I feel the need to remind anyone who cares that we only have one bathroom.)

In the morning I have my permanent crown put on my tooth, and then pick up my dad.  My two youngest will be in a three-hour art/music workshop.  I don't remember thinking that having painful dental work done during this time was a great idea.

The planning and cleaning have been hard, but now the really difficult stuff begins. How do I keep my dad occupied and unfrettered? He doesn't really like kids. Good thing we only have two

UPDATE - Thurs. 8:40 AM: Amazing what a little rest and a great spinning class can do to a person. I feel much better and more patient. Can't WAIT to see my dad!!!!

A picture to move that other picture down.

I've been struck with stomach crap and some stay-at-home blues. Throw in a little insomnia and I officially have little to no energy to post.

Thank you, by the way, for all the kind words. I was overwhelmed, embarassed and touched. 

For you, my dear Meg

I've always had a problem with pictures of myself. Now that I'm in my forties, the wrinkles and aged skin bother me even more.

At my good friend's request, I asked Chris to take a photo of me in my cowboy hat. He was goofing around and turned it into a bit of a photo shoot with the multiple picture feature on. The flash couldn't keep up and I actually like this one the best.

This one doesn't show how badly I need an eyebrow wax, nor does it show my age. Take it or leave it. 

A new kind of Utah for us

I’m pretty lucky. Harry and Ella are close enough in age, 22 months, that finding activities, TV shows or books that they both like is fairly easy. Gender issues get in the way at times as Ella wants to play “babies” day and night, while Harrison is content to create with Legos or Playmobil. They generally come to the middle and compromise with a game of “picnic”, “fire station” or by working on art projects. Even though they have extremely different personalities and demeanors, I am often blind to the differences until we are in a new setting.

Last night we joined Chris’ brother, and his wife’s family, at a popular annual professional rodeo. It was an entirely new experience for the four of us. Even though I worked at the Horse Barn at the Minnesota State Fair one summer in my early 20s, I don’t remember much about the performances in the attached arena. Beer was on my mind and I was more focused on how cool it was that the Budweiser Clydesdales were in my barn. Held up in the mountains, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I assumed (correctly) that the new cowboy hat I bought to wear to outdoor concerts this summer would probably help me fit in.

We found our way to our bleacher seats and hunkered down for the TWO AND A HALF HOUR show. The rodeo had a clown who immediately started talking about the “queens”. I TRULY thought he was referring to gay men and couldn’t believe how far out in the country we were! I learned that there is a queen, and attendants, elected for this rodeo and others for for various other regional and national levels. They wave EXACTLY like the queens on parade floats except they are racing by you on horses. Instead of a tiara, they wear fancy cowboy hats. Sequined chaps instead of gowns. All of them had one thing in common – hot roller curls billowing down their backs. It was quite a spectacle.

Harrison got really tired about an hour into it and BEGGED to go home. I pulled every distracting comment and game I could muster out of my head to keep him occupied. We had driven about 45 minutes to get to this wonder family event – dammit, we were staying to the bitter end. He mainly did not want to stay due to his fear of fireworks. Immediately following the rodeo they had a 10 minute show. Harry wanted no part of that and tried with all his might to convince us to leave. It was hard to not just wrap him in my arms and bring him to the car. However, the car was parked across a large parking lot, over dirt and grass (with piles of attack ants) and then down a short road. I wasn’t sure I could find it without Chris.

Ella had trouble staying focused as well, but loves fireworks and knew that if she patiently waited, she would get to see a wonderful display. She liked the barrel racing mid-way through the show because all the competitors were female. It was enough to hold her interest – as long as she received Swedish fish and licorice from my sister-in-law’s mother at each five-minute increment.

As the fireworks show got closer and closer, Harrison’s anxiety rose and rose. He was really coming up with great reasons why we should leave. It was heart breaking because as much as he wanted to leave, Ella wanted to stay. I promised him that I would plug his ears during the show and as we were continuing our negotiations, the lights went dark and it began. Harry’s head dove into my lap. I finally asked him what it was that scared him so much. He said he was afraid that the explosions are going to fall on top of him. No amount of discussion, explanation, cajoling could get him to watch.

Distracted by my Mother Lion responsibilities with Harrison, I didn’t notice Ella’s reaction to the very same situation. The fireworks were to my right, and as I turned to my left to talk to her, I was struck by her expression. She had put her “fireworks” hat (a denim hat with stars all over it) back on and her face was bright with joy and the light from the show. She was smiling and in awe. She didn’t shudder from the loud noise, nor turn away at all in fear. She loved all the colors and shapes. It was so endearing to watch her.

As soon as the display was over, Harrison popped up and was back to his happy self. The anxiety had disappeared and he started chattering on about the clown and the bull riding. Ella immediately wanted to be carried and whined the whole way back to the car. (Her new favorite expression is “I caaannn’tt waallkk!” It’s a multi-faceted expression that can be used in situations similar to last night, as well as when she doesn’t want to pick up a toy, or turn the television off.)

Two minutes down the road, they were both sound asleep. I was thankful they both came together on that one.

Photo Friday

I submitted the picture below to a weekly Photo Friday thingy. I've been thinking of doing this for months, but never got the nerve. Here goes.... www.PhotoFriday.com

Happiness is....

your own bottle of bubbles.

I'm not quite as enamored with my children as I was during my first week at home..

Why is it that kids are so precious when they're asleep or just out of the tub?

June: Ellastyle

If you want to punish this one - don't let her have a time out in her room. With access to her closet. That I just completely reorganized and cleaned. So that the clothes are much easier to see. And mix. And match.

So long, Pauline.

My dad just called. He thanked me for his Father’s Day card. He was very touched by all the things I wrote. He even joked and asked if it had been sent to the right father. I guess, in the past, I didn’t usually write much in his cards. I saved my sentimentality for my mom’s. Dad’s cards were often an after thought. He said over and over how much he appreciated the kind thoughts and knew that he was a “poor substitute for Mom.” I didn’t know how to react to that. I don’t think of him as a substitute. I just think of things as being different now. He agreed with me.

We then lightened the conversation with talk of summer plans when he changed the subject to talk about his “friend”, Pauline. My dad is back in Minnesota now, and after one dinner together in Florida, he and Pauline had agreed to have a second date back in the Midwest. He left a message on her machine this morning and she called back this afternoon. “She was very impersonal with me and told me that she just couldn’t see herself dating anyone but her husband.” (He’s been dead for seven years.) Disappointed, my dad expressed how surprised he was. “I told her that I understood as long as she was happy, but she told me that she wasn’t happy. Carol, I just don’t understand that kind of thinking.” I tried to explain to my dad that grief has no timetable. That Pauline is still devastated by the sudden loss of her life partner, but he just couldn’t quite grasp it. “I’m not upset,” he told me, “just a little surprised that someone could put their life on hold like that.” I reminded him that she is just as confused by his response to Mom’s death. Pauline doesn’t know what it’s like to watch someone live with a deadly disease for years on end.

We then talked about friends and neighbors in Minnesota. Some people have gotten sick. Helen has “anxieties – her depression is back.” Karl can’t join my dad on his morning two-mile walk because his hip is bad. And some people have died. Mr. B passed away from cancer last month. My dad expressed how grateful he was for his health, but he also expressed concerns. Everything is different, he commented. Everywhere he looks, there are reminders of my mom and the things that were so important to her. “Now none of those things matter anymore. It’s all meaningless.” As I wept he continued, “How can I make sense of that? What does it mean?” I think I knew what he was talking about. It wasn’t just the little things, like the fact that she insisted on certain sizes of glasses for different types of drinks, or the color of the fabric for the window coverings (that took weeks to decide on). It was the bigger things…the house they had worked on fixing up for over 35 years, or the pile of 5-year diaries she had faithfully put entries in a few times a week since they were married 45 years ago.

Then poof! One day changed all that. I think about that often. It is hard to comprehend the effect that one human being has on so many lives. Yesterday, in particular, was a hard day. I really missed her. I was sick. I had a terrible stomachache that turned into fatigue that left me unable to keep up with my two little ones. It was a long day that I hope will not permanently affect my children’s development. Summary: too much TV, not enough reading or imagination stretching, and more yelling than usual. At one point in the afternoon, I laid down in utter exhaustion and started to cry. I wasn’t particularly frustrated with parenting – that usually hits about early July – they were tears of frustration because I couldn’t call my mom. I couldn’t call her to tell her I was sick. She was always a great one for sympathy. No matter how insignificant my “pain”, she honored it and gave me complete support. But yesterday I couldn’t get that from her. It seemed inconceivable because I can totally remember her. I can hear her and see her. How can it be that I can’t call her? She has not faded from my brain at all, but she is completely gone.

It doesn’t make sense.

My call with my dad ended with talk of Christmas plans and cultural events in Minneapolis. He wants to explore new places, try new things and be open minded about everything. He completely appreciates his health and the new opportunity he has to live his life in any way he chooses. I’m really proud of him. He knows he has options. He can grieve and close himself off from others, like Pauline, or he can change direction.

He has not forgotten her – he just knows that he can’t change what has happened.

Healing old wounds

I am not my mother. My mom was excellent about the details. She gave great dinner parties. She got us into all the necessary lessons and organizations and never missed a deadline. And every six months we went to the dentist.

I remember every fluoride treatment, every filling and every x-ray. I didn’t like it at all. Dr. Larkin was not a fun-loving guy. He didn’t have toys or stickers for us if we were well-behaved. He didn’t have movies playing over the chair. No – there was one poster of Snoopy on the ceiling. Take it or leave it. Almost all of my baby teeth had cavities and needed to be filled. Then, as my permanent teeth emerged, they too seemed to be full of decay. Around the age of 13, I put my foot down. I couldn’t stand the Novocain shots, so I stopped getting them. For about 4 years I had at least 6 or 7 cavities filled au natural. I remember feeling very strong and powerful. Take that, big doc! What a stupid kid I was. Dr. Larkin didn’t care one way or the other. All I proved was that I could handle lots and lots of pain.

When I entered my twenties, I decided that I’d had enough dental care for quite awhile and I stopped going. I remember my first visit after about a four-year gap. No cavities. Coincidentally, it was a different dentist, however I’m sure there was no room left in my teeth for decay. There is so much silver in my mouth that when I laugh really hard, and throw my head back, small children ask me what is in my mouth. Seriously.

I’ve been a few times in the past 15 years and haven’t had any cavities, but did have to get one crown. In February, I bit a candy heart the wrong way and it cracked off a chunk of my tooth. It didn’t leave any residual pain, so I put off a visit to the dentist until a couple of weeks ago. Near the end of the appointment, unscathed, I shyly asked the dentist about my kids. I wanted to know how terrible it was that neither of them have had been to the dentist. Ever. He was wonderfully non-judgmental and told me that everything was fine – just to get them in soon.

Tuesday was the day. The kids were actually excited. We had read The Berenstein Bears Visit the Dentist a couple of hundred times and they were looking forward to seeing all the equipment. When they got there, however, things quickly changed. After much cajoling, Harrison got into the chair first. As soon as the hygienist started to lower the chair back, he freaked and I saw something in his eyes that I recognized. I remember the look well. It’s a fear I first saw when he was an infant and I would put him in an infant swing. That swing, guaranteed by our friends to cure his colic, just made Harry nauseous. He sat right up in the dental chair and there was no convincing him to stay in it. The hygienist had offered him sunglasses, to prevent the glare from the light from bothering him, but even that couldn’t keep him on his back. She quickly came up with Plan B. “Would you like to stand up, Harrison?” YES. That was the answer. It was quite the scene watching Harry stand, in his shades, getting his teeth “counted” and polished with Ella peering around the hygienist to watch every detail.

Ella did a little better. I’m sure it helped to be able to watch everything the first time through Harry’s experience. She chose to stay in the chair, but was cautious and shy about opening her mouth for the dentist. Plan C – sit on Mom’s lap.

The appointment ended with success. My children have all the teeth they are supposed to have and there were no cavities. My jaw was a little sore, though, from stretching it open every time one of the dental professionals asked my kids to open wide!

A room with a view

Since Chris and I have been married, we have been drawn to older homes. We started in an apartment that was built in the forties. Our first house was built in 1895, and now this home was built in 1927. After our Victorian behemoth, we feel like we are living in a brand new place at times. It has air conditioning, fairly flat floors and an updated kitchen.

There is one thing, though, that our two oldest homes have in common – bad windows. This house has newer glass at least. The last one had that really old glass in the windows that was kind of wobbly and Fun House-ish when you looked at it just right. The Victorian also had ropes and weights that controlled the windows. Many of those were broken. This house just has different issues. For the first year, we couldn’t open the windows. I was home with the kids and met a lot of the neighbors right away. I complained about my windows to my next door neighbor and he kindly came over with his hammer, chisel and anything else he could think of, to help me unstick my kitchen window. No luck. We worked on it for one hour. ONE HOUR. Over the sink, of course. Did I mention he’s Japanese and very short? It was hard. So I just gave up and we started opening the doors. Front and back for that cross breeze. Every day about 2:00 PM I would succumb to the “dry” heat and close the doors. I’d fire up the A/C. I couldn’t wait for the sun to start to set, so that the heat would subside a bit, and then I’d open the doors again.

Last year (our second summer), we finally discovered that the windows were painted shut from the inside AND the outside. Seems fairly easy to discover, but we usually skip the easy route. Most of our windows open now, but we realized (after a second drafty cold winter in our living room) that our windows were taken out in lieu of decorative plantation-type shutters. The storm windows were left on. No screens in sight. So the front half of our house gets pretty warm in the summer and we have continued to keep the front door open often. No screen door – just wide open. We have two little Crate & Barrel patio café chairs out there and it is the official “popsicle eating area”. I like to think of this as an extra room. We did lose about 3,000 square feet when we moved from Wisconsin. I will try any positive thinking I can grasp on to.

Two days and not only am I still alive, I'm actually smiling.

The kids keep asking, when they wake up, “Is today a school day or a family day?” No matter how many times I tell them – they cannot fathom the reality of nine weeks at home without Mom going to work.


I am having a blast staying home.

I think the stay-at-home-mom is already oozing out of me and I still have three days of work left!
Hey Susie! Are you proud of me????

Kindergarten Graduation

Today is the day. Today is when my oldest truly starts to become old. He - the one who adores his older brother so much he wears his skateboard helmet everywhere. He - the one who creates drawings, maps, and flags for every occasion. He - who would rather wear his pajamas ALL day more than anything else in the world. He - the one who still gets into more mischief than I'm comfortable with. He - the one who now goes up to the person he has hurt/left out/called a name/bothered - to apologize to their face instead of running in the other direction. Yes, Harry is growing up and it feels strangely okay.

My wish for these elementary years is that he never stops wanting to hold my hand when we walk somewhere. 

One more week

Except for a few cool days, we’ve had an amazing spring. The weather has been warm and everything is lush and blooming. The roses in my front gardens are growing without any help from me.

We went on a great family hike on Memorial Day. I don’t think I’ve seen so much foliage and greenery in this high desert since we moved here. The kids had a blast just running down the trails. The highlight for them, though, was throwing rocks into a reservoir. It reminded me of how simple it can be to entertain them.

As I look to the beginning of my summer next week, I hope I keep this in mind. The transition to full-time mom can be hard, but I know that it’s nothing I can’t handle. Hell, “school days” are over – I can have happy hour every day.