One-Sided Momma

My St. Theresa

2012-02-16T10:48:00.001-05:00

"There are dog people and there are those other unfortunate souls." - Author Unknown

For a couple of days, I've been under the weather. To protect myself from public ridicule and my own self loathing I will not admit to you what kind of weather I've been under. One clue is that I am currently looking into glasses. Even though I still have 20/20 vision.

So despite what kind of thing has ailed me, I have had one stoic reminder that no matter how idiotic I am, I have a constant caring soul who watches over me.

Her name is Sadie.

Sadie doesn't pick favorites. She is devoted to whomever needs her. This is evidenced by her letting Abby ring tutus around her neck and apply pink mango blush to her ears. And I do remember a certain canine fixture on Grayson's bed after his surgery in the summer.

Knowing this, I can only come to understand I was the one who needed her the last two days.

She didn't leave my side to go play outside with the kids and Daddy who came home early.

She didn't flinch when the door chirped with her family happily bounding inside.

She didn't even get up from her spot on my bed when it was her dinner time. Even though I could hear her stomach growling.

I shared my dinner with her and gently kissed the top of her sweet compassionate head in thanks.

If she were a people she'd be a nurse, a doctor, or a Mother Theresa.

But I'm so glad she's a Sadie instead.

P.S. Please forgive the blurry pictures. I couldn't see to focus well. There, I said it. I couldn't SEE. HeyZeus, I need a good ophthalmologist referral in the DC area. Also please note the silver gum wrappers under my bed. Not until downloading these pics did I discover Grayson's hiding spot for my (very much stolen) gum. Little Rat. Wonder what else is under there. Probably a city of candy wrappers or a small village of plastic Tic Tac containers. I shudder to think.

Impulse

2012-02-13T12:29:00.004-05:00

As grown ups we tend to think.

And think.

And think some more about everything.

Should we go organic?
Should open up the house, it's like spring out there today. Ugh, spring cleaning. No yard sale this year. But maybe Craigslist? Ew. So stalker-ey. I saw that Lifetime movie about crazy Craigslist guy who murdered girls and hid evidence under his own (marital) bed. Yeah, I'm just going to donate.
I really need to help Abby move beyond pink. Red is her new pink. But blue is good too. Green. Blondes looks great in green. She will never go for green.
When's the last time we ate pears?
Does Andy travel this week or is it next week?
This hermit crab is giving me an ulcer. No more creatures that dwell in naturally opposite environments. I'm sorry you're naked again, Sheldon. I cannot figure out if you need more pools of water, misting, or a long drive off a short beach pier.

And so on.

But on Saturday I didn't think. I just went for it.

And by "it" I mean chopped off all my hair. Or the five and a half inches it took me over one year to grow anyway.

It didn't turn out exactly how I'd hoped but I'm neither a hot blonde nor 18 so the picture I took into the hairstylist may have put her at an immediate disadvantage.

(Yeah, no I turned out nothing like this little vixen.)

Don't worry, it'll grow back.

This time I won't dye it, blow dry it, flat iron it, or talk about it behind its back. I want it to be healthy long, not angry emo mad damaged long.

I'm taking prenatals to help it along. And Super B12s. Avoiding caffeine, alcohol, and stress too. It's like I'm trying to have a baby without all that business about an actual baby at the finish line.

In the meantime, I will be chugging folic acid and leafy greens hoping to inspire some quick growth to at least cover my very chilly neck.

Playground Crew

2012-02-10T16:19:00.001-05:00

Choppy happy scattered talks

Go round and round around us.

Playground chats all week soak in

to settle light and steady.

We've made it here to this fine place

Sharing mother duties.

I wash yours, you pick up mine

We've sewn affections into time

We've squeezed the lemons into wine

And now I'm strong and ready.

Thank you for feeding me

Your kind words, your beatnik tea

Your fresh cut Costco strawberries

(Your everyday offerings.)

It's good to be together.

B12

2012-02-09T16:07:00.005-05:00

Since Abby was born my body has never regained the energy it once had. I just began to spell the word "once" with a "w" so it is leeching brain power as well.

Because I eat well and am not sedentary, I chalked this slump up to hormones changing and sorting themselves out.

It's been 3 years. Hormones done changed. Hormones done sorted.

It was time to investigate why all the slothy slothiness.

(Maybe someone should throw away all the sleepy gray clothes?)

Many of you may not know this about me (or care) but I'd rather write a 1,500 page paper instead of take pills. Even little slippery coated pills. Hate it. My throat closes, stomach heaves and before I know it I'm having flashbacks of Studio 54. Just kidding, I never dry heave.

But all the foggy tired was seriously getting on my nerves.

So I killed my inner pill hater and tried B12s.

Nirvana.

Just like that, I'm alive again.

Not sure what's in those things but you will see me on Dateline chasing down those B12 underground societies should the FDA ever decide they're naughty.

I'll be the blurred out shadowy figure saying, "I know it's wrong but....you have children, you understand, Chris Hansen...I need them. My family needs them."

For the record, I'm also working out three times a week and I'm sure that's helping too but I noticed the biggest difference immediately after taking the B12s.

I wonder what's next. Zinc? Iron supplements? Fish Oil?

Nah, I'm feeling so good these days thanks to my new little yellow friends that I think we'll stop here for now.

Why tweak the perfect recipe?

Pushing Forty

2012-02-08T08:04:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school a friend invited me to his party. As I showed up at the door a girl I didn't know very well was right in front of me. She insulted his dog; called his dog smelly and old. My friend (and owner of dog) did not miss a beat. "Oh yeah?" He asked through a big hungry grin, "He lives here. You don't. Buh bye."

She called him an a$!hole on her way out the door.

I was lost in a love bubble ready to propose marriage.

The beauty of this friend was that he really was an a-hole sometimes but he didn't care because he knew what was right by him and those he cared about. I loved this quality about him. He had a bravado and confidence I wouldn't know myself until two decades later.

Now that I'm pushing forty, I have it.

If someone insults my kid (or yes, my dog) I don't over explain and give our personal accounts or history, I simply show them the door. If someone insults my intelligence I don't blather on using big words, I will cut to the quick in five small words or less. If someone makes false assumptions about me based on their limited knowledge, I let them. In my younger years I would've done back flips and cartwheels so they understood where I was coming from. Now I walk away knowing that kind of work for that kind of person is a huge waste of time. I think it's understood if we meet as adults we are coming to each other as a history of evolving traits and characteristics not static personalities written in cement.

The beauty of pushing forty is that the veil is lifted. There is more reason to get to the point quickly and openly because there isn't an infinite amount of time in front of us to waste It's right for me to speak honestly while cutting through the bullsh*t. I wish I would've taken my friend's lead years ago.

Getting older is a necessary evil. And sometimes I've discovered, so is being an a-hole.

Bamboozled

2012-02-06T17:08:00.004-05:00

I've been bamboozled.

You see on the days I pick Grayson up after soccer he is spent. I usually get a nice quiet afternoon because he immediately needs to recharge. He doesn't typically sleep but it's so rare this child is physically depleted. I freaking love soccer class.

Today I asked him to recharge in the store while I shopped for tops that don't make me look like a caterpillar (all cotton Ts) or six months pregnant (the rest of the things I own).

He went for it at first. A shirtless Abby next to him (Don't ask, we're hoping Hooters gives scholarships.) agreed to shop too. Of course I had to bribe them with a promise of a new toy but hey, I will be happy to spend two dollars on a plastic aircraft carrier with a busted up Captain's chair. We were on our way to the thrift store. I know, lucky kids.

Three streets away Grayson decides he is just too tired. Major sleepy award winning yawns. Can he take a rest in the store? Will there be a chair on which he may rest his weary head?

You know of course the peanut gallery has to concur. She is suddenly so very very tired and must also find a bench on which to rest her weary weary head.

I'm sure Sadie would've chimed in with a heaving sigh of exhaustion too had she been...well...awake.

(I should probably test my car for radon.)

I give in. Thrift or not, this adventure will not end well if I force the constituents to participate against their will. And plus, who am I to argue about a little nap action at 3pm?

I should've seen it coming.

Nobody slept. Grayson did a Yeoman's job of pretending until I heard some sort of galactic showdown complete with soapy puddles in his bathroom. What the hell goes in in a boy's bathroom I will never know. My mom always said I would be surprised at how filthy a boy child can make a bathroom with nothing but a washcloth, Matchbox cars, and his own devices. She was right. Absolute domestic mayhem up in there. I honestly did not clean it up. Forced him to cease fire, retreat and close the door behind him.

Abby did rest somewhat though and we will all rue the minute I allowed that to happen come 9pm or so when she is doing a back handstand on the kitchen table screaming, "Give me Nonie crackers or give me death!"

Next time, we are going to the thrift store.

I will not buy the B.S. they are selling and I may just throw in a trip to the post office for screwing with me today.

Little baby manipulators, I fear you not.

You may be clever but I'm on to you now and will smell your performance chops a mile away.

Tabs

2012-02-03T22:03:00.000-05:00

Tabs are back on my radar.

I will try to update them more often than the every five month schedule I've been rocking.

If you have no idea what this is about, I'm sorry. I don't know the technical blogish name so I call them Tabs, Pages, Clicky Linky Things, Sh*t I've Ignored Out of Sheer Mental Fatigue, etc.

These Tabs can be found right above this post and are entitled: "He Said, She Said," "I'm Just a Girl," "Picture This," and "Song du Jour" in the exact opposite order I just wrote them. Bedlexia. Too tired to fix. G'night!

The Marine's Daughter

2012-02-03T19:07:00.003-05:00

Daddy is home and he is giving me ten minutes to myself. In Parent Speak that means I'm in Time Out because it's Friday and I have spent Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday using my nice person voice while the other person resurfaces spitting, cussing, and waving a pirate flag of crossbones and skeletons above her mohawk.

So while The Daddy bathes Abby he is also (simultaneously) checking on Grayson who is downstairs face down on the couch. Why face down on the couch, you may ask? Let me set the scene:

Tonight at 6:15 pm -

Husband knocks on the door. (He has a key. It's middle age flirt.)

while...

I open the door Pretend Sexy Ghost style which means I'm hiding behind for no apparent reason. (Again sadly, middle age flirt.)

while....

Abby runs of course butt naked toward the door yelling "Dadeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" at the tippy top of her lungs.

while...

Sadie runs break neck speed down the stairs like a herd of ninety small children trying to catch the Ice Cream Man.

where...

Grayson is sitting on the stairs and gets whapped in the face by Sadie's tail.

This is where I psychotically giggle while writing the words, IN THE EYEBALL HE WAS WHAPPED YOU GUYS.

and...

Pretend Sexy Ghost runs upstairs to her safe blog place where nobody: has scraped corneas, cries, runs around butt naked (exceptions please hush your mouth), needs me to cut up the chicken they won't eat anyway because somehow they are living off the gift of speech and pixie dust.

So Abby's now in the bath and I hear her say, "Daddy, I have to go potty. Daddy, I have to go potty. Daddy, I have to go potty." Apparently, three times the charm because Daddy came a running back to the bathroom to lift her to the potty. (Remember he was with the exorcist writhing between couch pillows downstairs.)

Back down to the moaning groaning Grayson he went.

A few minutes later from the bathroom, I hear: Daddy, wipe me! Daddy wipe me! Daddy, wipe me!

Nothing. No footsteps. Even I was rivited. Where was The Daddy? Who will have to wipe her? Will Pretend Sexy Ghost have to resurface and do the dirty deed? Will Grayson ever blink his eyes in time to avoid certain peril and Sadie tails? Will Madonna body surf everyone at Superbowl halftime show?

Then I hear this: Daddy, will you wipe me? Daddy will you wipe me, Daddy will you wipe me please now, Sir?

And the man came running.

Hoorah, Abby. You have figured out the impossible. You have figured out how to get a Marine to wipe your bum. Good job, Baby.

Geriatric Ruby

2012-02-02T14:50:00.000-05:00

Abby and Grayson are being forced into mandatory rest time today. I do this every couple of weeks to recalibrate them since neither one naps anymore.

Somehow Grayson got roped into telling stories about Max & Ruby.

Let's just say the macabre apple did not fall far....

Click here for what is my son's last go at story telling.

Do Over

2012-02-01T16:00:00.001-05:00

Ugh, that last post made me feel all black boots and heavy eyeliner.

Sorry about morose overdose.

Want to leave you with this image instead.

There, you can spend the rest of your day at work counting my fillings. Someone ate lots of chocolate bars in her early years. Well worth the lead, let me tell you.

We'll start all over tomorrow with our usual giddyup mundanities.

Playing Hookie

2012-02-01T09:48:00.017-05:00

I attended a funeral service last night.

Had planned on attending the memorial service this afternoon but decided last minute I needed to go to the funeral service first.

I'm so glad I did.

It was for a mom of three children, all under the age of five. She was battling brain cancer and had been cleared from her doctor as "all good" just Thursday.

She died Saturday of an undetected blood clot.

I don't tell you this to depress you. I tell you this so I can understand whythefreak things like this go on in a world that seems to otherwise make pretty good sense.

I ran into this mom two weeks ago at the kids' preschool. Wrapped my arms around her shoulders and whispered "I'm so glad to see you." By her smile I could see she knew I really meant it.

Two weeks later I'm staring at a slideshow of her life in a funeral home filled with forced smiles and wet eyes.

How is that even possible?

Our boys were friends in preschool last year. They played together with another little boy every other day. I knew his mom was sick last year and often prayed for her to a place I hope has powers stronger than I can imagine. I even wrote about it here but didn't publish.

She was so sick last year. But two Tuesdays ago? Not at all. I mean, not one speck of it filled her vibrant face and hopeful smile.

Why wait until she's so healthy just to take her away?

Why give her husband, her sweet gentle giant of a husband, the dream of more anniversaries, birthdays, Saturday mornings, an entire lifetime of summer family vacations just to have it all come to a horrible sudden crashing stop.

Just like that, she is no longer here to strap her kids in their carseats.

She's not here to choose or not choose a hot lunch for her son who starts kindergarten in the fall.

She's not here to hug her mom on Christmas.

She's not here to yell at her husband for coming home late when the kids are sick.

She's not here.

She's not here.

She's not %*#& here.

It infuriates me.

I stood and shook and shook like a disturbed volcano in the hallway of my kids' preschool when my friend gave me the news. I was shocked and so angry at the fact that she didn't even get to know what happened. All the preparing and knowledge of someone's passing doesn't make it easier but somehow, when kids are involved, it seems like it is the better option. She didn't even get to say goodbye.

Then I stewed on that for a while and thought, why would that be better?

We are the ones to build fairness into the equation. That's not at all what the world gives us. It's what we do in reaction to the world around us so we don't bump elbows or nuclear powers.

We organize time in minutes, hours, years, calendar pages to make sense of all the given chaos. These intangible files we make to organize memories are not given to us by the universe, and certainly not God. It's our own human language. In that respect, of course our system is flawed.

The way people die may seem inconceivably hard to process through a person's perspective but maybe, just maybe we are meant to squander in the limits of our own imaginations because the alternative is our reward. What happens when our bodies expire and our energies rise is beyond beautiful, amazing, open, immense, awe-inspiring, and too grand for our pattern of earthly thought to comprehend.

Or we witness nothing, are stopped completely, and dissolve into an air and space continuum like the steam above a hot spring.

Because energy doesn't just go away, I believe in the former. We will see when we get there what all the fuss is about.

It has to be.

Today I am keeping Grayson home from school.

For no other reason than to spend time with him and with Abby.

Time discovering clouds that look like Abe Lincoln pass over our heads.

Time finding tree fairies hanging out in the woods.

Time watching her watch him.

And when the shadows become larger than the sun?

We will try to work that to our advantage too.

Wild Woman

2012-01-29T09:14:00.001-05:00

"Oh Baby Baby it's a wild world....

"...It's hard to get by just upon a smile,"

"...Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world,"

"I'll always remember you like a child, girl."

Eye Can't Believe It

2012-01-25T07:25:00.005-05:00

Apparently we are a house of slow blinkers.

Grayson got the slow blinker gene from his mother.

He and Andy are in an Urgent Care right now seeing about a scratched cornea.

I wish I were kidding.

He is doing fine. Just can't move his eyeball or else seering hellfire bumblebee stings make him curl up into the fetal position. I remember that feeling all too well. If you've ever scratched your actual eyeball then your toes just curled at the mention too.

It happened last night. Grayson wasn't tired so was playing around in his room but happily so. He must've primed a plastic popper thingie (imagine half a rubber ball with no center) and then peered down on it to check its popping status.

Status ready.

Only things went awry and the thing popped up right into his face. His scream let both Andy and me know he wasn't joking. Seconds later out scuttled a freaked out Grayson clutching at his eye like an injured matey..

Ahoy vey.

Needless to say his parentals did what they always do. Andy paced back and forth while manically crunching on the rest of his bedtime snack. I Googled my ass off trying to find an open Urgent Care so as not to subject anyone to the ER.

One warm washcloth and three pep talks later, he was asleep in our bed. We thought maybe we dodged a bullet and it was a near miss afterall.

Until he woke up this morning. More hellfire and angry bumblebees. Poor thing.

They should be in the waiting room now. I'll give you an update later.

Grayson strongly recommended McDonald's pancakes on his way to the Urgent Care so I'm pretty sure our winky pirate is going to be okay.

Sticky with syrup but okay.

*Update: Grayson is okay! Our mighty Popeye does not have a scratch on his eyeball. The doctor said it looked good and probably had a little one that healed overnight. Andy said the drops they gave him in the ER made him buck like a bronco but took the sting off and he is now happily munching on pancakes on his way home.

Mercy.

Oh I Love a Rainy...Afternoon

2012-01-23T16:20:00.006-05:00

My bunnies are asleep. That's what I call the little hela monsters when their eyelids are closed.

It was one hela-va week (boo! Back to my day job).

It snowed just enough to get rosy cheeked and brush burned.

Not to mention assaulted with a blunt object. Stuff like this happened every 5 minutes or so. I swear our household thrives on an unhealthy abundance of bipolar convictions. Everyone's happy as possible one second then BAM! Abby gets hit on the noggin with her favorite babydoll. (Guess who threw it. Don't worry, he received a Masters Degree after listening to Abby's dissertation on being nice to his "big sister" and not throwing AbbyDoots.)

They made up over curbside snowcones. Delish.

I'm trying to get used to the ups and downs of raising young children but I swear this is why I quit teaching. Too much stress to keep things leveled all the time. Not one of my strong suits. I remember spending many a weepy hour in the office of the staff developer when I taught Special Ed, trying to get out of my contract.

Do they have mom developers? Did I sign a contract?

No? Oh well, I will just walk around and take pictures of pretty things instead:

Something pretty?

Something slightly out of focus.

Something left of center. Heh.

Something sweet but ohso sneaky.

Something purple.

Something pink!

Something with which to romp and play...

...to include arm nipping as I took a turn on the toboggan. Still unclear if she was trying to save me or ride shotgun.

And finally, one slightly disturbing view of things that should not be outside (Look away, Nonie).

All the while, Pop was a consummate rockstar.

I don't know how he was able to keep up with our chaotically active schedule and smile through it like he was getting paid. He was, if you consider stealing all his M&Ms and Swedish fish payment. Somehow, I believe he does.

But enough about Pop.

Just kidding. I won't embarrass him too much because he's been known to grace the Internets but I will add that today we are mournful he is not downstairs in our kitchen stirring his tea. His 75th cup of tea. I think he was cold here. I think I'm cold here, I'm on number 12th cup or so. It's so hard to say goodbye to any one of our parents when they come to visit. Hell, I'm pretty sure I get a little choked up when the Stanley Steamer guys leave. Attachment issues. Detachment too, evidenced by all the sad when I see brake lights headed away from here, the House of the Rising Delinquents.

So the bunnies are sleeping and I get to kick back and enjoy their presence without being their bellhop, take out chef, or referee.

Oh I love a rainy afternoon. It makes the bunnies so sleepy.

The Grandma

2012-01-20T14:05:00.001-05:00

This morning Abby and I were invited to a new mommy group. We were familiar with some of the moms and their children so introductions went well.

An hour later I was ready to go home. And not just because I had on real clothing. You know why I was all set to part ways?

Because I was the grandma.

And I was 100% okay with that. It's not that new babies don't interest me, I will hold one any time anywhere. It's just that new mom talk is for lack of a better term, history for me.

These moms were lovely young women. Some stayed at home and others worked outside the home. Some brought their children to an in-law for childcare, others sought help from an au pair or a coop preschool. Lifestyles were varied and conversation flowed easily. It's just that the conversation centered around teething, Ferberizing, sleep cycles, weight gain, percentiles, and baby carrots.

I literally played with the Yorkie almost the entire time.

Again, the ladies were great and their children (some even Abby's age) wonderful. I was simply out of place amongst a group of people who were still beginning their families. I've graduated that phase of my life and really don't wish to go back in time. It was okay while it lasted but having kids older, conversational, and able to exist away from my constant watchful eye is heavenly. I don't wish to go back to the way it was.

Give me a room filled with people chatting about arthritis, menopause, Pinot Noir, and presidential nominees and I'm all ears.

Until then, I'll be here ice skating with kids who have access to mobility and bad words should they so desire to use either one.

I am a grandma and honestly could not be more pleased.

Poor Pop

2012-01-19T16:58:00.001-05:00

Andy's on travel for a week so we shamelessly kidnapped Pop for several days.

Abby has been breaking him in ever since.

Pop has been a trooper and surviving ungodly early bugle calls (Grayson pounces) at 5:30 in the morning.

Last night I heard him tell Nam on the phone that the day was "a little crazy." I laughed out loud because I thought the day went swimmingly. I guess one person's smooth is another person's crazy.

Poor Pop.

Poor Pop's kneecaps.

Teacher Abby

2012-01-17T12:01:00.009-05:00

Here's the thing.

I hate playing with dolls.

Yes, hate is such an ugly word with iron black clouds and vampires hissing inside it yet I still declare: I hate playing with dolls.

Ah, there is such freedom in the truth.

The problem is my daughter loves playing with dolls. In fact, there are approximately 12 thousand new water stains on our carpet from all the tea parties she has had with her and her gaggle of children. She cannot get enough of the tea parties.

Abby is an active parent. She doesn't give them something "so fun!" to do and then run like hell to load the dishwasher. She sits with each bald headed baby and lovingly applies lipstick to their nostrils.

Abby has the patience of a saint with her children. She will gently rotate their stiff plastic limbs back and forth until they are the correct longitude and latitude for sitting on their own. No Boppy, pillows, or couch cushions needed. How does she do it?

She fondly and sweetly fawns over each of her babies to read with them, spoon feed them raisin soup, or place kazoos and recorders in their frozen grasp for "Music Class."

"Call me Teacher Abby," she corrects if I ask about the contrail of toilet paper leading to the living room classroom. In her world, every class needs a red carpet.

Abby has the mom thing down so well she even ~~screams at~~ disciplines her children when they misbehave. I find the same one, a hot mess of a doll, face down in a box of Forgotten Toys almost daily. It's a mouthy one. Time-out doesn't even make a dent. This one will most likely be the reason Abby will think she's going through menopause in her thirties (ahem). It will probably also make her cry when it tells her it forgives her for being so grumpy.

So you see, try as I might to do the right thing, I shamefully buck some requests to "change this one for me, Mommy" with every load of laundry, sweep of my broom or menu planning I can muster to take me away from more child rearing.

"I cannot love your children, my Dear," is probably what her 3 year old self hears when I busy myself with plucking feathers off my imaginary Derby hat. And tragically, worse is what I fear she feels, "I cannot love you."

I want to explain to her: It's just that I am chipped goods. Beautifully and unapologetically fractured from the heart up. You will be too one day and it will serve you well. But now you are soft, innocent, and vulnerable to the bruises the world will inevitably give you. Oh, how I want to protect you from those bruises but someday they will serve you well also. Enough bruises and you learn how to navigate (all by yourself) away from things that hurt you.

One day you will rather play in the rain, search for ladybugs, build forts out of old prom dresses, make cupcakes, play too many hours of soccer, walk the dog, do your taxes, or cut off your own arms but play with these silent wide eyed creatures that require something of you. Something of you that you no longer have to give.

But for now Teacher Abby, you show me the way back. You are the mommy I am striving to be. I had sound nurturing to give once but years, days, hours, cruel and interminable minutes between 4 o'clock and 2012 have filled me up with a labyrinth of survival tactics, brick walls, and empty coffee cups.

Today, if she asks?

I will do my best to hold her baby. Love on her baby. Play with her Sharpie faced baby.

And maybe, just maybe, she will know what a great teacher she has become.

Repeat

2012-01-16T10:49:00.002-05:00

Last night I happened on the show, "Cloning Your Pet," and of course I could not look away.

The premise was simple. Sad wealthy people paying to have the DNA of their beloved pet return to them by way of science. Somewhere, I think it might have been Korea, scientists spliced, diced, and mixed up deceased dog genes in a lab until years later (ten years in one case!) some sweet surrogate female boxer dog gave birth to a Doberman Pinscher. In other words, not her genetic offspring but instead the serial code of Eccentric Rich American's Beloved Late Pet.

What the who?

Who the what?

This really happens now?!?!?!

Where do I sign up?

Forget university Kids, there's a chance I could have my Sweet Sadie back in my arms when she passes!

Sorry Honey, you can't have the commuter car we have been saving up for because !hallelujah! we can someday have a puppy Sadie to generally never stop touching whenever she's within arm's reach.

(She's fine by the way, I'm just planning.)

Would you, could you?

(I could, I would, I would indeed. Remake a Sadie if we had money. Not with a fox, that would be mean. Nor in a box, that would be unclean.)

The whole show was outrageous yet compelling.

Sixty minutes were spent watching owners wring their hands over their broken hearts in prayer (?) the cloning procedure worked this time. It was heartbreaking to see the grief, the hope, the insanity, the overall boundless love these people had for their pets who had passed on.

But, I had to ask myself, is it right to synthesize an exact replica of a spirit who may not want to come back through the porthole of puppydom?

I don't know but let me tell you...

Only fifty THOUSAND dollars would be keeping me from doing it myself.

Another Mouth to Feed

2012-01-13T14:19:00.007-05:00

So we've entered some uncharted territory here at our house.

Grayson has an imaginary friend.

His name (today) is SignaMaForce and from what I can glean from conversation(s) SignaMaForce has the ability to fly, eats anything, and can shoot some sort of power lasers from his incredibly deft (maybe multiple?) arms.

Yesterday I heard Grayson chatting with someone in his room. I thought he was talking with Abby until I realized he wasn't. He was carrying on with someone who...umm....hello?.....was not there?

Uh oh.

I won't pretend I didn't look around the room for poltergeist or maybe Boompa in her little tan running suit.

Granted, all the studies (you know, the studies I've never read) say it's healthy for a young child to develop an imaginary friend. It's just that I'm not really sure what to do with all of that. Do I talk to him? Do I try to figure out where his eyes are to make eye contact? Do I shop for new bed linens in case he is mortal enemies with Spiderman?

Today, however, is a new day and I kind of like the guy and hope he joins us for dinner. Grayson says he likes broccoli.

Click here for an introduction to the world of That Which You Cannot See But is Entertaining as All Get Out.

In this video I had to put SignaMaForce in a time out for scaring Abby. After some minutes hugging my leg, Abby decided to bribe this fearsome new interloper with Graham crackers and dried cranberries. In this case, Mama taught her well. To woo any man, imaginary or not, you must first appeal to his stomach.

Airports

2012-01-12T11:21:00.003-05:00

As parents we are always trying to foster independence in our children.

Pick up your room.
Put on your shoes.
Brush your own teeth.
Empty your own wastebasket.
Dirty pajamas go in the hamper, not crammed behind the bathroom door and left for ruins.

Then the thought occurred to me. We know why we do this. But do they?

So this morning, before school, I asked the kids why they thought we wanted them to do more for themselves lately.

"Because you are so tired." Grayson blurts out automatically. Oy vey.

"Because I'm SIX now, Mommy!" Abby sings even though she just turned three.

"Because one day you will be bigger and you will need to know how to do these things for yourself. Mommy and Daddy won't be there to do it for you."

Silence.

You'd think they'd ask where we would be. Where they would be. What would happen to our little happy family when they grew up?

"I'm going to be a Marine," announces a very decisive little boy.

"And I'm going to be a DOCTOR!" Abby declares with two gummy vitamins crammed in one side of her face.

Good. Nobody wonders about the elusive aging process or why we, their parents, will not be still tying shoes on the stairwell or harping on jackets in the doorway when they are bigger. Innately, they must get that they will eventually be in charge of themselves. Masters of their own bodies. Engineers of their Own Fates. Decision Makers, Drivers, Conversation Starters, Zipper Pullers, Accountants, Cooks, Cleaner Uppers, Girlfriends, Boyfriends, Broken Hearted Souls, Home Owners, Victims of Internet Scams...

I think I need a paper bag.

No, this is good. I don't want them to worry.

Seconds later, in the car, Grayson asks if you can drive to San Diego.

"Yes, you can drive but it's faster to take a plane."

"Yeah, but where do you sleep?"

"Ummmm, sleep?"

"Yeah. When you go to San Diego, where do you sleep? Do they show you? How do you know where to go? Like, are there beds in the Air-O-ports or how do you know where to go? Does everyone get off the plane, you follow them, and I mean, what happens next?"

Okay, I finally get it.

"You mean like when DADDY goes to San Diego because he's a Marine, where does he sleep? "

"Yeah, I'm gonna need to know all of this if I'm going to be a Marine, Mom."

"Yes, I suppose you are right, Honey. But you will. You will learn all of this and we will show you an airport and Oh My God, I'm so sorry I made you clean up the mess in the kitchen before we left. There is time, Honey. There is plenty of time to learn so try not to worry about it all now."

So you see, Dear Mommy Who is Pushing Independence Like it's Happening Tomorrow, slow it down. There is time.

Don't rush them.

You will regret it if you do.

Frozen Windshield

2012-01-11T08:56:00.003-05:00

Before even stepping into Andy's slippers this morning (old habits die hard) I heard the barking seal downstairs and I knew. Grayson will stay home from school today. Not much temperature to speak of but that cough alone would warrant early pickup.

The windshield on my car is completely frosted over. Abby sleeps soundly on our bed half little girl half baby plump sweetness. Sadie is climbing on top of the couch five feet away avoiding complete eye contact with her ready maple eyes. She would spring to attention if I even whispered "squirrel" right now, so I won't.

I am sitting in my grandparents' old leather rocker in pjs and a favorite cowl neck sweater that has been somehow demoted to house robe. Cold coffee in a USMC mug I can't put in the dishwasher because the lip was dipped in gold or something.

The rocker I'm in is the only place left of my home. Not this home. Not our old PA home. The home I grew up in and memorized so well it's not worth missing because I am inside it when I close my eyes.

But the soft sticky leather crunching sound it makes when you first sit down is the reason I'll never throw it away. This sound is my earthly tie with peace. These creases darkened with years upon years of rocking, zenning out, meditating might as well be wrinkles on my face. This big ugly chair has its stubby little arms outstretched and this morning is as good as any morning to embrace what's good, so very good, in hopes to keep that spirit pumping through the day, the week, the clean new year.

Lawd knows, it cannot start out with an icy cold frosted over windshield.

Kyle Island

2012-01-10T08:26:00.001-05:00

The only plan this weekend was to not have a plan.

I'd say that idea went awry the third hour into Saturday.

Without direction the children become WFC wrestlers; our bed the ring. One take down, reversal and Half Nelson later someone has a smashed nose and the other one (Abby) is pointing her elbow north.

So we took Gentle Giant and Princess Powerhouse on a hike. When life gives you unruly children, you pack up the peanut butter sandwiches and walk their dogs off.

Momma didn't mind the view one bit.

And as long as there were trees around, Grayson and Abby thought they'd be on them.

This looks like a little sketch of a mushroom on a piece of bark. I have no idea what it is really so I'm going with elves.

Elves that live in these little Keebler houses.

Then we plopped a blanket down on the "beach" and enjoyed a very chilly lunch. Grayson found the letter "K" made of tree roots. In case you're wondering, it was K for his friend Kyle and therefore penned our lunch destination, Kyle Island.

(See the knotty K?)

Others had a swim afterward.

I'd say we wore them out but the reality is they could've gone on well into sunset.

(With one catnap and bouquet making between.)

This makes my husband, future Survivor contestant write-in, very proud.

Truth? I wanted hot cocoa in the worst way but probably could've snuggled down on Sadie's blanket to watch them play on for a couple more hours.

It was a very nice day on Kyle Island.

Lollipops

2012-01-06T11:58:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, between the shrieking, fighting, wrastlin', clothes yanking, arm pinching, hair pulling and sister tripping, there will suddenly and very surreptitiously be a quiet moment made of bunny ears and a mother's heartbeat.

It doesn't typically last long.

But when it does, I'm so glad Andy bought those awful, sticky, gross, end-up-on-the-windowsill-and-in-her-hair-every-time Tiger lollipops. (That I hid in the pantry. Behind the flour and ten year old flax seed bag.)

Because they take a while to finish.

Beautiful December

2012-01-03T17:53:00.010-05:00

December was a great month. We were so busy from Abby's birthday forward that I haven't had time to sit down and write. I miss you, my blog friends. Maybe soon we can connect again through stories, comments and our immeasurable desire for a bottomless carafe of something spiked and warm to drink.

For now, as I try to catch up with unpacking suitcases and repacking ornaments we wait all year to see, I leave with you snapshots of our December.

I hope the end of your 2011 was filled with all things cozy, fun, and memorable too.

Brother's Sweet Girlfriend and Brother, Matt.

Abby opening up a homemade blanket from Matt's Sweet Girlfriend. She made another one for Grayson. It took her hours to do both. This fact alone made me cry on her shoulder for two minutes straight. It was awkward at best but I think I love her as much as my brother does.

Santa brought Grayson a box of pranks for Christmas.

Santa did not bring Sadie a new bed.

(She was borrowing this one from my mom's chihuahua.)

Uncle Donnie and Uncle Alex spoil our kids completely rotten. And they love every second of it.

Daddy passing on his kitchen prowess.

Landon and Grayson beating the ever loving tar out of Spiderman.

Abby heals.

I made Eric sign The Tablecloth. He of course wrote in a perfect circle which made him both nauseous and dizzy for probably two hours following.

But I scored a pic with these two handsome fellas after he signed his eyeballs off his face.

And yes, I do look just a little like my mom.

The one on the right is my Uncle Jimmy. The one in the middle might have been photobombing.

And somewhere in between it all there was this delectable beauty. Poor house only lasted minutes before two candy hungry mouths devoured her shingles.

Look! New Year's Eve fingernails!

Look! Andy's got a new commuter vehicle.

SO much better than last year.

Abby bringing us tea at Nammy & Pop's house.

Tea Party Proper

Pop & me trying to talk the photographer down.

Rockin' New Year's Eve 2011 at Nam&Pop's. Exactly what we could all handle.

Night Night Nammy.

Six nights and five days of us will do that to a person.

An extremely relaxed husband.

An extremely puppified Sadie.

A blue ribbon on top of our Christmas tree for Anna's Jack.

"Peace on earth, good will toward men."

Merry Merry

2011-12-25T11:57:00.000-05:00

We hope you are enjoying a very merry Christmas and if that's not your holiday, at least some serious passionate dancing.

Here's some (click here) from our home to yours.

Merry Christmas!!

The Thought That Counts?

2011-12-23T14:07:00.005-05:00

Do you obsess over gifts? If you don't? You are so very much smarter than me. Tell me your secret and I'll mail you the first 5 pretty things I see in my house even if one of them is Abby.

I obsess. Every single year. And it's always a super bad idea.

This year I chose to obsess over teacher gifts. Teacher gifts that usually include one mini Yankee candle, 7 Hershey kisses in a Ziploc and a cute note like "Kisses to My Favorite Teacher for lighting my way" or something equally nauseating. (BTW, I loved gifts like this when I was teaching however I also loved getting mugs.) But no. I wouldn't settle for cute or normal this year. I had to go light years into Impossible to Achieve Given Your Lack of Skill in the General Area of Crafting, You Idiot.

And it lasted for about 14 days.

Just like the Indo-Pakistani war. Except with less Bangledesh and more chalkboard paint.

I had it in my mind to design and personalize something meaningful for each of the kids' teachers; there are four. (Hello, have you seen my house? It's designed by the total lack of design.)

Now, what kind of meaningful tabula rasa you can find in the aisle at A.C. Moore with a slightly feverish two year old is limited at best to four things:

wooden picture frame
wooden clipboard
wooden (hoopty) music box
wooden birdhouse

You'd think I'd choose the picture frame, right? You'd be giving me too much credit. I went with the clipboard. And then I had an AMAZING idea to make it not only personalized BUT ALSO a chalkboard!

It's what every Early Childhood graduate hopes to get when they're throwing their black caps high into the air. "If only my students would thank me in a decoupaged clipboard that doubles as a messy black half-assed chalkboard on which I will write my name because nothing else will fit!"

Yessss, obviously I should be paid in gold bars and chocolate dipped diamonds.

OMG you guys. Something is not right with my brain. There should exist a greeter at all craft stores that check your credentials for making stuff before you check out with 900 things you won't know how to put together because you failed Geometry. Twice. That greeter should say, "Hello, let me see inside your purse," and if that person does not find glitter glue, color coded brads, a bottle of Mod Podge, or antiqued craft paper, you should be escorted out of the building and sent directly to Starbucks to buy the damn gift card already.

So, yes, it nearly cost me a divorce but here is what I made for Abby and Grayson's teachers. Remind me to tell you the pen holder story. That one will make you think very highly of yourself and thank your lucky stars you're not Martha Stewart's drive trapped inside Pippi Longstocking's body.

Teacher One Clipboard/Chalkboard Nightmare

(Why yes, I did hand stamp paper because clearly I've stopped drinking the vodka.)

Teacher Two Clipboard/Chalkboard Monster

(It's ok. All the dogs made it back in the truck in the end. I wouldn't have it any other way.)

Teacher Three Just Clipboard by Day 12 Because God is Good

(Yes, I did hand stamp her paper too. I saved her the near dogs in the open truck bed crash. Hope she wasn't too disappointed.)

Teacher Four Pen Holder

Oh wait, that is Abby in a butterfly net. Well, the cupholder looked pretty similar only it was bright fuschia and maybe weighed 7.5 lbs of heavy glazed ceramic. Exactly what every preschool teacher needs in her room full of clumsy tissue-paper-for-flesh toddlers.

You know these teachers are amped for their end of the year gifts.

Let's all pray A.C. Moore hires purse checkers way before June.

Good Taste

2011-12-22T16:54:00.003-05:00

So you know how you tend to treat the people closest to you the worst?

Yeah. That.

It's happening to me. Only I'm on the receiving end this time.

Two examples. If you're a parent, be prepared to wince.

Example One:
A few days ago and completely out of the blue, Grayson asked who was going to die first: me or Daddy.

I told him that's not something he needs to worry about as a little boy. Then I told him we don't get to know those kinds of things. I know, I should've just said neither of us is ever going anywhere ever so please crawl back in your innocent little person happy meadow where bluebirds speak, Superman rewinds the hands of time, and only bad people get hurt.

But no, my kids got a realist for a mom who feels compelled to cushion the blow but still delivers the punch.

After listening to my remarks, Grayson then adds, "Well, I hope it's not Daddy."

Ha. Serves the realist right. Right back at me, Sunshine.

Example Number Dos:
Abby cupped her sweet little hands around my face last night and touched her nose to mine. While I melted in the warmth of the precious sentiment, she says...and I quote, "Mommy? I love you but I love Miss Tanya more than you. She is the best mommy."

"Is that so?" I ask.

"Yes, it is," she said without flinching.

"Why do you love Miss Tanya more than me?"

"Because she is gooder and I just love her so much I could live at her house but I would like to bring my brudda and my daddy."

"I see. Hm. Maybe I could keep Sadie then?"

"No, she loves Daddy more than you."

Wow, this just doesn't get any better for mom, does it?

So, in the end I've learned one thing.

I have very good taste in husbands and friends.

That and I can probably go back to work any time now. My damage is done here.

While Abby Naps...

2011-12-20T16:02:00.001-05:00

...the tired Christmas Carolers practice.

Press here for Frosty the Snowman.

I think we are ready to take it to the studio. And by studio, I mean living room floor concert when Abby wakes up.

Merry Five days before Christmas.

And Happy Hanukkah.

Videos on that soon.

Before you go? Here's one more to warm the cockles of your heart. Press here for his made up medley please.

You'll need to stick with it for a while before it becomes meaningful. I, of course, ruin the tender moment with an uberly unattractive yawn at the end. You don't have to stick around for that part. I think Mommy wants to hibernate for Christmas.

Alternate Holiday Card Picture

2011-12-16T22:28:00.001-05:00

It took everything in me not to order this one as our holiday card this year.

May joy fill your hearts and do funny things to your face this holiday season, my friends.

Happy Weekend Before The Big 25.

xoxo

Hallmark

2011-12-15T16:58:00.003-05:00

In case we haven't met, I'm the sentimental type. I love holiday cards. I save most things that have people's handwriting on them. For years. I don't throw away love notes from the husband. (P.S. My husband is the one to hide the Elf in the morning. And for some reason Clark is the Elf on the Shelf's new name. Grayson didn't think Elk was any good anymore. Also? The best part of this pic might be the tell tale 5am coffee stain.)

For a week or two the holiday cards have been showing up in the mailbox. It's like a visit from an old friend every time. I love the pictures, the sentiments, the color choices. This year's common thread is a throwblack classic look: red, black and white card with or without snowflakes. Each year I've noticed there is a popular choice for design and this year everyone seems to be feeling nostalgic and old school. I love them all.

What do you do with all these lovely cards once it's time to take them down? I thought of a collage but I don't even make the time to do that with my own family pics so I'm sure that will never happen.

What about some kind of Mod Podge coaster set or picture frame?

I'll be burning the late night HTML looking for ideas so send 'em if you got 'em.

By the way, at around midnight, this is what I found at the foot of our bed.

(He spread out Andy's long sleeve shirt to sleep on and climbed right in the oversized Santa stocking like a sleeping bag.)

Someone is very brave about Clark during the day but doesn't like the idea of him so much at night. All uncertainties are forgotten in the light of the early morning, however, and Grayson is on the search for him before Andy defrosts his car at O Dark Thirty.

Abby has decided Clark is fake and wants no part of him because he "doesn't even have shoes on." Leave it to Abby to monitor his choice of footwear and judge him accordingly. Diva.

And finally, we are still searching for a blue Power Ranger that was lost on Saturday. Looking through a few pics to post here, I found a clue. I've checked the train cars but not inside the little plastic houses. Worth a shot since this is his last known whereabouts.

Happy Almost Friday, you guys. We're practically there.

Are you as wiped out as I am? What is that about? Holiday stress? Winter doldrums? Lack of vitamin A through E? I did a Zumba class this morning and felt great right up until 2pm at which time me and every single other mom in the parking lot looked like we just drank expired Egg Nog.

Maybe we need to get all dolled up and have ourselves a big girl Princess Party.

Where I'm from, they call that Book Club.

"Elk" the Shelf Elf

2011-12-14T09:01:00.000-05:00

Have you heard of The Elf on the Shelf?

It's a Christmas gimmick going around this year about a little stuffed elf that has magical powers. He is discovered somewhere in the house and watches over the kids in the house to make sure they are nice and not naughty. He then flies off at night to report back to Santa about his findings.

He is an adorable little narc found by Grayson in our kitchen this morning. Grayson was totally buying what the elf was selling.

Abby?

She is our in house skeptic.

Here's the video.

Abby is now wandering the house with a comforter over her head so the elf cannot see her. I guess naughty is not visible through a cotton and nylon blend.

All Aboard

2011-12-13T13:47:00.000-05:00

Now boarding....The Christmas Train (click here.)

Heap Two

2011-12-09T17:37:00.005-05:00

Life is chunky.

It comes in large heaps of time that shape who we are and where we are going.

I feel as though lately I'm entering Heap Two.

Heap One was Youth.

Heap Two is Post Youth. It's the stage where you begin to differentiate from what you want to what you want your legacy to be. You are no longer existing on the top of the hourglass.

For me it was once all about figuring out who I am and now it is only about how I want to spend my time and what to impart to my children.

Every day I choose outside my comfort zone with the intent to show my children a little more of a big beautiful sometimes overwhelming world.

Because in life it is experience that breeds confidence. And confidence without fail gives you choices.

Sometimes our choices are limited. (I live in the D.C. area. All choices exist between the hours of 10am and 3pm or else you are defaulted to brake lights and NPR on the car stereo.) But within those limits, we are busy choosing as well as possible for Heap Two.

Heap Two doesn't try to keep up with the Joneses. Heap Two also doesn't give one poo about squaring up relationships that don't work. Heap Two is liberating this once devout People Pleaser to someone who puts her minivan in the way of an impatient BMW jacka** and the elderly driver who needs more time to make her three point turn. It's talking less and listening more. Heap Two is growing out bangs and opting for color instead of neutrals. Heap Two has priorities, bottom lines, and self worth.

So Cheers to you if you're heaping too. Heap One to Two, Two to Three or even Three to Four. None of it is without pitfalls but we all have the choices within our own city limits. And when you do find yourself in a place you're not happy with?

Heap again.

Maybe this will be the chunk of time that finds you looking at your world through different eyes.

Tradition

2011-12-07T11:56:00.008-05:00

(Handprint Turkey expertly crafted by my brother, Donnie)

Over Thanksgiving I decided to start a new tradition. I got this idea from a blog called A Soft Place to Land. It's a fantastic blog with so many thoughtful ideas that I can't wait to go back and see what she's got in the works for Christmas.

If you click on her link above in pink and scroll down a bit you'll see the Thanksgiving Tablecloth idea I borrowed. Basically you prepare by buying yourself a king size sheet and some fine point Sharpies. You're gonna need to throw in some gum so the cashier doesn't look at you sideways but whatever.

The idea is to then give every person attending Thanksgiving Dinner a Sharpie so they can write their name and a little message if they so desire. In large part, my family so desired. I am now supposed to embroider everyone's message so the tablecloth becomes a beautiful tapestry and one day an heirloom. Store it away for the winter and repeat next Thanksgiving on same bed sheet.

I have no idea how to embroider so I intend to hire out before next Thanksgiving.

The time was precious at my Dad and Chris' so I didn't get everyone's messages on film but I do have a few to show you. Not sure why I chose no flash for the last four. Remind me to keep the lights on.

I loved this idea so much and I'm tickled my brother Donnie went shopping at Wal-Mart with me for a sheet, Sharpies, and popcorn crunch. You know, instead of the gum.

This first one is from MiMi. It sums up the entire visit and (my overall life) experience.

This one's from my brother, Alex. Only I disagree with him. I happen to think that this turkey drawing is spectacular.

This one is from Pop-Pop. He's right, we did miss the rest of our family a lot and hopefully next year we can figure out a way to all be together in one huge warehouse with a bounce house, trampoline, paintball firing range, and all 72 of Eric's big boy toys (unicycle, remote control cars, wheelie trike things, etc.)

Here's mine. No wit but the heart bullets must count for something.

And lastly, here is some free flow from Abby.

That's gonna be a bear to embroider. I may be charged extra for her portion but the end product will be worth much more than the price of admission.

Hurray for Family Traditions, old and new!

The Not Grumpy List

2011-12-06T15:50:00.008-05:00

While getting kids ready for bed last night Grayson said to me, "Mommy, you've been grumpy since Bahrain."

Like I was the one who went.

Sad thing is he's right. I have been grumpy since Bahrain. Combination of two things: massive quantities of imbalance and ineffective self-care habits. Working on both.

What's ironic is that a friend whose husband is deployed is now reaching the halfway mark and has hit the wall. It's the same wall as when you run a marathon, only the cement that fills your legs fills your mind too and you are left chipping away at ossifying brain matter before it dries up, cast hard forever. She said she is scarred. I understand that feeling so well. You can be scarred by it all. You can have post traumatic stress. You may not heal entirely from it. While "being left behind" or working through a deployment is certainly not the worst thing in the world, it is draining and difficult to recover from if you don't make every effort to do so.

All that sounds dramatic but as I wrote her back (pleading with her to take every single shortcut available in effort to make her life easier), part of me was surprised to see how viscerally and easily it all comes rushing back. Part of me is still not quite over it and I'm not sure I will ever be the same mom/person/wife ever again. Maybe that's how it's just supposed to go down.

I will try though. I will fight to bring back the old fun me. If for no other reason, I don't want my children to remember me as the mean one (disciplinarian), the tired one (Want to take a nap, kids?), and the grumpy one
(I SAID STOP DOING THAT THING YOU'RE DOING THAT IS MAKING YOUR SISTER CRY!) as they grow up.

So in light of last night's revelation, I give to you things I am not grumpy about:

Hiring a babysitter who can possibly do 8 hours a week.
Egg Nog
Massage chairs
Reindeer
Holiday Party Invitations
Cupcake liners
Fitting in to prebaby clothes
Getting rid of them anyway because they are over 5 years unfashionable
Oversized Stockings from the North Pole
Soccer pick up because Grayson is the sweatiest one
Christmas lights
Witty small talk
Black & White photos
New Hairdos

What's on your Not Grumpy List this week?

Air Swimmers Shark - RC Blimp

2011-12-04T21:30:00.001-05:00

This is what Grayson wants for Christmas this year.

Air Swimmers Shark - RC Blimp

His sister will not allow it.

Neither will his daddy.

Sorry, Kid. No gigantic shark blimp under the Christmas tree this year.

It will be floating above your head on Christmas morning with Mommy at the control panel.

Merry Christmas, Baby!

Christmas Rocket

2011-12-02T11:52:00.001-05:00

Last Sunday the kids and I got a Christmas tree into the house by all means attainable.

We basically made a ladder from tall garbage cans and recycle bins

and rolled the tree onto them from the top of our van.

We then rolled the tree from those cans to a wagon.

The wagon was our transit system to the kitchen where we used a blanket to drag the poor thing to its final standing position.

And it's perfect...

for launching things to orbit.

We love our Christmas Rocket!

Sadie Wants a German Shepherd

2011-12-01T08:13:00.006-05:00

I'm about one coffee cup shy from freaking out once and for all. The Final Freakout. The Nervous Breakdown. The Last Neuron Standing.

Our house alarm went off at 4:40am Tuesday morning. Sirens blazing, chest pounding, child gathering, soul praying.

But let me back up.

As you know, Andy's job requires significant traveling. He was scheduled to be away on personal leave most of this week too. He came home early and unannounced Tuesday afternoon. I was confused, happy, confused, happy, and so on. To celebrate both our state of confusion and happiness we took the kids out to eat for dinner.

Abby got a balloon on our way out of the restaurant. Her (pink!) balloon snuck out and into the cold drizzly sky as soon as she was fastened in her car seat. Helium does fancy itself some elbow room.

Abby cried like her best friend just shot into the sky to live among the clouds and raindrops forevermore. Andy asked me to go back inside and ask for two more balloons. I returned with one green and one yellow. The only pink one they had was now airborne to the moon.

Later that night, we giddily did our bedtime routine and got the kids to sleep without promising them trampolines and twenty dollar bills. We all drifted into a sweet comfortable sleep. Until 4:40 a.m. when the siren in our home and my heart went off. I was the first one vertical followed by a bleary eyed Andy who had somehow reached for his pants and a firearm at the same time.

I ran down the hall to check if Grayson was maybe sleepwalking and turning doorknobs in his sleep. He wasn't. He was still sleeping like an angel in his bed. Abby was up and asking for cartoons. Sadie was blinking hard and wondering where her beauty sleep went. I was somewhere between losing my mind and bionic hearing.

It seemed like light years before the police arrived (it wasn't, it just felt that way).

They walked around to make sure whoever had been trying to get in was long gone. They saw no sign of forced entry. I was still shaking in my pjs. Sadie threw up three times. Grayson snored. Abigail was hungry.
We carried on with our morning as much as possible and the kids were none worse for the wear. I on the other hand? Seriously needed a margarita. Andy immediately went down the yellow brick road and assumed it must've been a malfunction of our alarm system. I am not such an optimist. The whole time we've been using this system it has not once malfunctioned or even so much as made a blip if it wasn't completely pilot error. So I find it near impossible to believe it decided to break at 4 in the morning on a clear skied windless night.

I spent the next 6 hours investigating, trying doors and windows, checking batteries, talking to the alarm tech support, recreating the imagined scene with Andy as the bad guy, etc. I nearly drove him back to his tree stand. You can see where my son gets his pervasive need to figure things out. I cannot let things go when they do not make logical sense.

So, after all that I have to admit two things: We still don't know whether or not it was an attempted burglary or perhaps a case of something....Christmas tree....the green and yellow balloons?....setting off motion sensors that were inadvertently set that night before going to bed.

The only problem with the motion sensor theory?

The balloons were tucked neatly into Grayson's laundry basket. All night long. I found them there at 7am. And the Christmas tree? I stared at that sucker for ten minutes straight and it did not even quiver.

So you see, it's time for a saber toothed German Shepherd to come live at our house. Sadie needs her beauty sleep.

(Can you spot her? Only her ears are visible. Look closely, you can almost see her royal crown.)

Thanksgiving

2011-11-29T12:17:00.004-05:00

As promised, here are some highlight shots of Thanksgiving weekend spent with my dad, step-mom, brothers, stepsister and her family.

This was the first Thanksgiving I've spent with my dad. Maybe there were a couple before my parents split up but I was too busy spitting up on someone's fancy blouse to remember.

My step sister, Dawna, hosted the dinner this year.

(I took this pic through the window from the outside, hence the eery steamy creepy aura going on here. Sometimes artsy works. Sometimes it's Freddy Kreuger. You decide.)

(These pictures do not due justice to her arresting blue eyes. She is one of those people you don't really listen to because you're too busy staring at how pretty she is while she's talking.)

And as is tradition my husband fried a bird.

I spent a little time outside jumping up and down with all the kids.

My brother, Alex, did too.

Cousin Tristan showed us all how it is properly done.

(look at all that air)

My other brother, Donnie, is a sight for sore eyes. He gives me the safest biggest hugs that make me feel like a Disney character for a few seconds: small, joyful, and forever young.

(Isn't he a cutie?)

My step-mom, Chris wasn't pictured much but she and I took a walk (almost) every morning which I enjoyed for more than just the exercise. She's easy to be around and I always hope her strength of character is contagious through the pavement.

(Chris is the pretty one next to Andy and in front of my dad. The configuration of this family photo is so funny for so many reasons that I love it for its oddity. From left to right: (Back row: Donnie, my head, Pop-Pop standing on a stool, Dale, Alex. Front row: Grayson, Abigail, Andy, Chris, Dawna, Tristan and in front of all is Grace.)

(Proof more than just my face was present and accounted for at Thanksgiving Dinner. That's me in the club outfit. I guess someone was ready to party the night away with her sparkling apple cider.)

The next day the big kids went Paintballing. It was a first for Andy and me. The other "kids" are veterans and this fact alone made me very nervous.

(SUPER tough in my purple gloves)

I tried to chicken out several times to no avail.

(These people were serious war mongers.)

(I learned later the opposing team yelled out "JEANS!" to identify me. At least it wasn't "Barney!")

Evidently, I had reason to be concerned about personal well being:

I might never do it again but I won't pretend I'm not a better sniper because of it. P.S. If anyone ever tells you paintball shots don't hurt, swell, and threaten your vital organs with a blood clot is not your friend. They are probably your family who is eager to hunt you down like a hapless chipmunk and shoot your knees off. Other than that? Totally fun.

Grayson and Abby had such a good time with Mimi, Pop-Pop, Uncle Donnie, Uncle Alex, Aunt Dawna, Uncle Dale, Cousin Tristan and Cousin Gracie that they both asked to stay longer.

They pleaded with me before bed, in fact, and while it was bittersweet to say goodbye to everyone the next morning we knew we'd be back again soon.

I'm afraid Abby will not take no for an answer.

Offline

2011-11-28T21:02:00.004-05:00

Hi Everyone,

Sorry for the holiday hiatus.

I hope you had a relaxing time wherever you were spending your Thanksgiving.

We had a blast visiting family at Dad & Chris' place.

(I will be posting pics soon but need to catch up on life here.)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas here, how about your place? I took the kids to pick out our tree this Sunday and they hit jackpot within fifteen minutes. May they always be so decisive. And I'm not kidding, the thing fits within millimeters of our ceiling. I guess all that measuring Grayson did with his measuring tape and tool belt (can you stand it?) paid off.

Last night, after much problem solving with the kids and I figuring how to get the scratchy pine off the roof of our van and into our living room, Grayson and Abby hung every single ornament on the same four branches so much so the tree began to lean east. I should've left it alone but me and my itchy fingers fixed it before nightfall.

So, with that paltry update, I bid you goodnight or good morning or good afternoon.

Pictures of paintballing with my family should go up tomorrow if both kids make it to preschool. Be sure to stay tuned for pics of impressive subsequent technicolor bruises on my legs. One looks like a smushed skin rainbow and the other a purple speckled hot air balloon protruding from my knee.

P.S. It's been over two weeks since Abigail's been to preschool. We're going to need to make introductions. She'll be "the new girl" with pine sap permanently affixed to her hair.

In the Pink

2011-11-22T07:33:00.002-05:00

My poor mom got a tomboy when I was born.

Not for lack of trying. When I was a baby she dressed me in sweet frilly dresses. She bought me dolls and Barbies. She curled my hair, shopped for pink things, and let me play with her make-up.

Somewhere along the way though I chose mud pies over dolls. Stuffed animals were lauded over Barbies never taken out of the box. I stopped wearing my hair in curls and sported a face full of stringy black hair most of my life because I could not be bothered with a brush or a barrette. My ultra stylish mom's dream of a feminine little girl who wore dresses, played with dolls, collected Barbies went down the rabbit hole the day I took over my brother's Adidas wardrobe. Including his knee high socks.

And then Abby was born.

The child who refuses to own anything if it's not pink. The one who makes us late to preschool because she is putting on yet another necklace or bracelet. She already knows which shoes are fall and which are summer. I have to ask her if it's okay to wear dangly earrings with yoga pants. (It's not.)

She does have a fearless tomboy streak running through her but if that football isn't pink she will not even consider trying to catch it.

So, Mom, You had to wait for it but here it is.

For Thanksgiving I present to you your girly girl. The girl you deserved to get thirty-some years ago. I present to your Princess who is now surrounded by an entire new Princess bedroom set. It is absolutely more pink than I can stomach but she loves it so.

This child is all girl and I have no idea what to do with it. I should've paid more attention when you were trying to teach me. I should've known I'd be blessed by a creature who requires lipgloss, tea parties, and Princess dress up all before 7am.

But don't worry, she is patiently teaching me everything she knows.

And I am learning slowly, how to embrace the girl in me too.

I guess Grayson will have to find another use for his Adidas socks. It does not appear we will have a use for them here.

Addict

2011-11-21T16:54:00.006-05:00

An hour ago I called my husband at work to let him know I caught the bug the kids have. I was sick in every way imaginable. Shakes, sweats, yuck here, yuck there, everywhere a yuck yuck. I put my kids to bed then myself and fell into a very deep leave-your-miserable-body-behind sleep.

The phone rang, I slammed head-on into a migraine to answer it and knocked over an empty coffee cup as a result.

Ah-HA!

I'm not sick.

Just incredibly...stupid.

I accidentally went cold turkey from coffee...again. Day 2 and I had no idea the headaches, general feeling of malaise and me faced voodoo dolls were actually withdrawal symptoms from caffeine. Who knew withdrawal symptoms would be so graphic with only one cuppa cup in my daily regimen? Not this jerky, that's who.

I've done this once before and stuck with it.

This time? Not one chance of sticking with it. It's Thanksgiving. I want to be thankful, not psychotic.

So, there's that.

I will hope to update later, after scurrying to Starbucks for my salted caramel latte like a heat seeking missile finding its target in the middle of the rueful night.

Happy Thanksgiving.

May you not flood your system with one smarmy little toxin this week.

At least wait until the week before Christmas. You'll likely already be feeling like hell from holiday stress and cold weather blues. Stack the plate is all I'm suggesting. With a few chocolate chips on the side as a reason to live another five minutes.

And please refuse my frantic pleas for coffee donations when I'm clanking my empty tin cup around in front of you at Macy's.

Walk on by.

Sick Bay

2011-11-18T16:37:00.005-05:00

Not much to report today.

Grayson officially has the yuck that poor Abby just can't shake. They seem to be passing the bug baton back and forth since Halloween. Pediatrician keeps calling it a virus therefore no antibiotics ergo we are at home fighting it with boiled toothbrushes, Clorox wipes, covered sneezes, and more OJ than the Florida Keys.

Having them huddled under covers at home reminds me of the days I would come home sick from living off of Egg Drop soup and Arizona tea in college. I'd drop my dirty laundry in a heap on the floor, curl up in blankets filled with years of lofty dreams and girlhood memories and hunker down in my twin bed for hours.

I can remember waking up not knowing what day it was or even what state it was until hearing my grandparents' voices somewhere down the hall. My grandfather carrying on a soliloquy about healthcare benefits and my grandmother daydreaming about Crystal Falls Michigan with a hot mug of coffee in her lap.

I'd resist the urge to get up and feed my growling stomach in lieu of another hour or two of free fall napping. Nowhere to be, nobody to answer to, and nothing in store.

Those "Creature Comfort" days are behind me now but there's something comforting knowing a new chapter of sick days are ahead.

It's not fun seeing the kids unwell but it is good to know they can hunker down under their covers that smell like shampoo, hear me typing away on the keyboard and fall back to sleep as long as they want just because they can.

God's Paintbrush

2011-11-17T16:47:00.007-05:00

At a book fair in my kids' preschool last week I bought an excellent book called, God's Paintbrush. Just pretend it's underlined, I don't know how to ask my keyboard that favor. We are only on page 12 or so but I had to post the kids' responses before I forget them.

(In this sweet story about friendship, love, and God there are questions designed to make your kids think on each page. Answering these questions is their favorite part. Scratch that. Talking over each other to get their response out first is their favorite part. I hope the next chapter is on patience.)

A few question and answers I wanted to share with you:

Question
What makes you afraid?

Answer
Abby: When it's 12:30 and Grayson comes home. (???? This is news to me.)
I am afraid of people walking under my door.
Grayson: When I'm alone (So NOT news to me.) or when the moon has a mean face and it looks angry at me. Oh, and screeching and scratching. I hear mouses at night.

Question
What makes you feel better?

Grayson: Snuggling up with Gray Wolf. Checking to see it's trees making noises. Calling Sadie to come in my room at night.
Abby: Taking my pillow and going in Mommy's room.

Question
What makes you cry and laugh?

Abby: Getting flu shots makes me cry. Squeaking noses makes me laugh.
Grayson: Getting a scrape on my legs and my hands and my arms makes me cry. Hugging and snuggling Mommy makes me feel better.

Question
What makes God cry or laugh?

Grayson: Getting him out of the sky, taking him to a restaurant and cooking him makes him cry. (Ummm, what the????) Feeling beautiful of nature makes him laugh.
Abby: Getting him out of the sky, taking him to a restaurant...(Hold it right there sister, it was sacrilegious enough the first time.) Happy whales makes him laugh!

Question
How can you be God's friend?

Abby: With a little girlfriend. (Good plan, Abs, the buddy system never hurts.)
Grayson: Think about him and asking him questions.

Question
How are you God's echo/What might he ask you to do?

Abby: Wash the sink.
Grayson: Help people out when they're really hurting or very sick.

Question
When do feel you don't belong?

Grayson: When somebody isn't my friend.
Abby: Scrub his hands.

Question
When do you feel safe and warm?

Grayson: When someone goes with me wherever I go.
Abby: Play-Doh!

Question
Where would you look for God?

Grayson: Rocketship, in a tree, in the sky, outer space.
Abby: In the snow and my juice box.

There you have it. According to my kids, I've been searching for God in all the wrong places when he's been in their Fruitables all along.

And as We Wind on Down the Road

2011-11-16T15:33:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel like we know what's ahead. Like all the planning we do will in fact result in something we planned to do.

Sometimes I feel we don't know a damn thing about what's ahead.

Both are valid. Both are scary. Both are true.

While there is no way to plan for the unforseeables, it's great to have some things concrete.

We get to stay in D.C. area one more year. There are mixed feelings in our family about what all this means but in short, it's a good thing. A very good thing if you ask Grayson and Abby who don't remember living anywhere else. They can't imagine a life without our neighbors, our hallways, our little spot here on this earth.

And sometimes neither can I.

Marine Corps Ball

2011-11-14T08:24:00.007-05:00

Saturday evening Andy and I had a very fancy date night.

We went to the Marine Corps Ball held at the Gaylord Center in D.C.

Trees were being dressed up in white lights as we drove toward the huge building. Car doors gave way to blue satin gowns, spit shined black patent leather shoes, and dress blues that could take your breath away.

For once, I did not feel nervous.

It was like walking into someone else's castle to enjoy a glass (or two) of wine, have a chat with strangers while waiting for the king to arrive to give his speech.

We arrived early. Andy bounced us up the parking garage in his big truck as if we were on our way to the dump and not a million dollar mansion. I opened my own door, hiked up my red gown and met a nervous Marine on his side of the truck. His collar kept popping which is the military equivalent to your fly being open. Somewhere people are drinking water with deadly bacteria in it yet there we were dealing with a wardrobe situation like our lives depended on it.

Being early birds, we were able to glide through pictures and drink registration without any delay.

We walked and took in the others arriving in full uniform, gowns, and shoulder wraps. Each woman had a tiny purse and each man had a tiny woman.

Unlike other Balls in years past, I didn't know a soul. It was absolutely liberating. While my husband had to shoulder all the social weight, I felt at ease and relaxed like that woman who knows nothing in an artsy film about power, love and money. Ignorance for me was total bliss.

So we had a couple of drinks, chatted with Andy's coworkers some, and checked our cellphones for messages from our darling children at home who missed us so much they had to call. (They never called.)

(Some of my friends on FB asked what the kids thought about us all dressed up. Here's the skinny: Before we left the house Abby cried because she thought I was going to steal her tiara. Grayson pushed me aside to check out Daddy's medals. Sadie never noticed we walked out the door.)

Back at the Ball: As we were waiting to sit down to watch the ceremony begin, I saw three Marines pushing themselves along in their wheelchairs. Three handsome Marines with three very pretty dates at their sides. Three Marines who had lost their leg or both legs at some point during their most recent "visit" overseas. They could not have been older than twenty.

The banquet hall looked regal: Marine Corps flag shown proudly center stage. All tables were set beautifully with soft white hydrangeas and deep maroon flowers at the center, reminding me the cost of peace and freedom will and does inevitably draw blood.

The Marine Corps Ball felt different for me this year. Not because I wasn't scraped in the cornea like the last time. Not because I didn't know anyone. This year's Ball was different for me this year because I was not distracted. I got to feel the bass drums in my stomach as the marching band took the stage. I listened to the words the Commandant spoke when he reminded us there were troops waking up in Fallujah as we sat there waiting for our Filet Mignon. I bowed my head during silent prayer time for those service members we know, don't know, see, don't see, read about in the news, don't read about in the news. This big fancy dance allowed me the chance to leave my small little life at home and remember the bigger lives of those past, present, and future.

It was one hell of a date night.

Doctor Doctor

2011-11-10T12:07:00.004-05:00

I am balls to the walls today, you guys. Taking both kids for their flu shots after they've both been to preschool (and one started a new activity this afternoon, Booyah!).

Annnnnnd, doctor's website indicates they are all out of the nasal, so we all know what that means. Tears, guilt, the innocent steadfast trust Abby has for me shattered to bits the second needle meets tender girl arm. Oh but I hope definitely a snugglefest on the couch when we get home too. If they'll have me. Which I'm sure Abby will not. She holds grudges. Fool her once....

Wish us luck.

Fevers by 5pm, what do you think? Probabaly ham steak is out of the question then. It'll be tea, cookies, and long naps for dinner.

I've done this for five years straight and it does not get any easier. It's like Bocce or Hip Hop class or something.

If you are looking for me tonight, I'll be the one kicking myself black and blue quietly in my closet. Let me be, it's better than seeing Abby's hurt eyebrows wondering if maybe she is being raised by wolves.

So tell me, because misery loves company, what is something unfun you must do today?

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

4:50pm Update

Click here to see what not to do to your children.

Tree College

2011-11-09T14:41:00.001-05:00

Last night I fell asleep before reaching for the remote. Oh BRAVO, you really aren't worth it, are you?

An accidental 8 hours of sleep. It felt like 5 minutes.

Doesn't it make you wonder just what the heck happens to your brain and body while you sleep? Don't you wish the more tired you were the longer your sleep felt? Sometimes I like to believe my mind is totally separate from my body. That I can abuse one without it having any negative recourse on the other. But it's universally untrue... You must pay homage to both, at the same time. Or at least the same week if you're snacking on edamame and carrot sticks while ignoring your electronics.

One way I keep a positive outlook when my body is feeling old and my mind is wearing bifocals is to go outside and look up. To physically walk my body outdoors and physically turn my head toward the sky.

It works every time.

During a minor mommy meltdown over silverware or something equally benign and projected upon, I forced myself outside on a cold fall night and brought my chin to the sky.

BOOM.

Just like that I was small again as were my problems. We both shrunk wee beneath black tree trunks towering: older, wiser, working tirelessly to keep roots firmly planted with nothing but a dark cloud as a blanket and a full moon as a nightlight.

I can learn a lot from a tree.

Hideaway Pics, Continued

2011-11-08T16:17:00.000-05:00

Sadie tried to trump update blog time by requiring a bath. She took a dip in some raw sewage pipe (at least that's exactly what it smelled like) and I just finished bathing the dirty dirty dawg. Hopefully you haven't eaten dinner yet and Sadie didn't make a liar out of me.

Here's Installment Two of the pictures:

Getaway II - Favorites

2011-11-08T12:37:00.001-05:00

Here are just a couple of my favorite pics from this last weekend at our Hideaway Camp. Tomorrow, I will graduate from last weekend and move forward in my posts. But today I live in the past, enjoying a few of things I hope won't be forgotten in our busy days ahead.

Okay, I lied...there are a few more I want to show you but my computer is so mega super pokey slow with pics lately so I'll do the rest when kids are powering down. Check back before dinner, they should be up by then!

Thanks for coming by to read and view, I hope you enjoyed the pictures as much I loved taking them.

Retreat

2011-11-07T07:54:00.001-05:00

This past weekend, we stayed in a cabin that was secluded, cozy, and so quiet the squirrels sounded like deer crashing through the woods, snapping twigs underneath their full stomachs.

I searched high and low online until we came upon this little retreat set deep into the woods. As in miles deep without cell coverage or neighbors. As in we had seven stream crossings to get there. At night. In the darker than dark. With sleeping babies in the backseat, a worried dog, concerned husband and one seriously renter's remorseful mom bug-eyed in the front.

Until we turned the key to get in. Then all was lovely, wintery, and comfy as a favorite pair of slippers.

Sorry this video is so dark. There's a better one in the daylight but I can't load it because Hubs said our home address and I can't figure out how to cut that part out. For now, here's a short snip of our time in The Cabin That Wasn't So Scary After All

Video clip here, Mom. Just click it Woman. :)

Treats and One Trick

2011-11-02T08:21:00.005-04:00

So many updates to give you, so little time. Abby's still sick, Grayson's struggling to get rid of his yuck for good and I'm somewhere in between. Such is life with little preschooler germ magnets.

I'll start with the Halloween update first. Then, if time and children allow, I will try to tell/show you about Grayson's Max & Ruby trap. Let's just say I was almost a little surprised to wake up and find they were not wound up in the soft snuggly nest of yarn, fast asleep.

This Halloween was boatloads better than last Halloween. Last Halloween was spent with me toting the children from house to house solo because Andy and 4 pieces of his largest suitcases had caught a plane to Bahrain just hours before. It's been one year since Andy left on his deployment. It's been five months since his return. I'll take a fever over Skype any day of the week.

Oh, but the one trick part of this Halloween? Because we weren't going to be home, I left out a bowl with candy in it on our front porch. In my last minute fever haze, I chose the nicest prettiest (most favoritest) mixing bowl to hold the candy. My thought process was that it would withstand a strong wind and hungry little hands. Also? It was a beloved wedding gift from a bridesmaid. Thug goes my heart. Well, it was G-O-N-E gone when we returned. The candy AND the bowl. I know, not a very nice trick but I should've known better.

So, with no further blah blah blahs, here's our Halloween cute. I went as an under the weather SAHM. Original, isn't it? Pretty convenient actually. Gave me a reason to follow my little family around in a heated minivan. Abby took refuge inside with me and an irritated TinkerBell Sadie on more than one occasion. I'd say Abby's favorite parts were the lollipops and power windows.

Happy Birthday(s)

2011-11-01T15:51:00.001-04:00

Happy Birthday to you Grandpa T, Pop Pop, and Uncle Alex!

This song (please click here) brought to you by me, Grayson and Abby as backup vocals because she has a fever and is saving her voice for the Opry some day.

We love you Birthday Boys!

Backfire

2011-10-31T11:43:00.000-04:00

This is so funny, you guys.

I am sitting down on a kitchen chair waiting for my kids to voluntarily clean their room so we can carry on with our day.

No, you read that right. To clean their room...voluntarily.

It's all about a new sticker chart we (okay fine, hair-brained yesterday I) implemented last night.

Pictures to follow soon. I'm too busy enjoying this natural prize induced phenomenon.

Grayson's working for silly Spiderman string.
Abby's working for a baby doll. Because 89 baby dolls just aren't enough for her.

Happy Halloween!

These are So Not My Children

2011-10-30T17:50:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I don't recognize my children when my husband is home.

They love having him home just like I do but they have a funny way of showing it.

He's still on that 50% work/travel schedule. Home for 2 weeks (not always consecutive) and gone for 2 weeks (again, not always consecutive). All in all, MUCH better than 100% gone.

So, he just returned from a week long trip to California and I have been looking forward to this weekend since he got on that plane to San Diego Monday morning. The kids and I even had a good (super busy, that's key) week at home without him. It was a lonely week and the house is totally haunted when he's gone, don't get me wrong, but I never once opened the Bacardi rum on top of the fridge and Abby walked away with only one new curse word (I'll save that one for another post).

It's just that I think the kids have bloodhound senses and they know that we (the adults) haven't gotten things figured out yet. We are all still adjusting to the adjustment, so to speak. What I mean is we're now over the post deployment thing and now we're fleshing out the next chapter of Back and Forthness. Along with so many families out there in this economy, we are doing the best we can and thankful for even one of us making a good living. One byproduct is simply having to hash out the rules and boundaries of both life with and without two parents in the house at any given time.

Since the deployment, I've gotten really good at handling the children and they in turn know how to handle me. We are a formidable tripod. Then, when Andy is here, suddenly we have to morph in to a square with four sides instead of our comfortable three. That sounds bad, it's not that I don't wish for a comfortable square, it's just not for any of us right now. I realize it will get better but OHMYGOD you guys, do they make it hard on him.

The whining, Oh, the alley cat in heat like whining.
The oppositional defiance, downright refusals of his requests.
The twisted glee they show when finally getting him to mutter up a blue streak under his breath.

The resentment I feel when I have to explain to the children that Mommy will have to wear a white jacket that holds all her limbs in place if they do not, in fact, allow their father to bathe them/feed them/play with them without making it the most miserable experience on the planet for all involved.

Do your kids do this? If you don't have kids, do your friends' kids do this? If you don't have friends with kids, just use your best single sighted preconceived notion judgy judgement here. What do you do? What do your friends do? Are they begging for stricter boundaries that exist no matter who is here when? Do I need a SuperNanny flowchart scotch taped to my kitchen door? Should I capitalize on all our pent up angst and sign all of us up for Muay Thai?

I think I'm up for that bottle of Bacardi now. Who's in?

Happy Friday!

2011-10-28T12:17:00.000-04:00

The Golden Rule

2011-10-25T17:57:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's the sun's last sweep over leaves in the afternoon.

Maybe it's the wintering of our Sweet Sadie.

Maybe it's the many more gray hairs on my head.

I'm not sure why but I believe all things go back to gold eventually.

Then and only then, when we can't see with our eyes or hear with our ears or touch with our hands will we understand the times we spent acting with love, out of compassion, only with heart was not time at all.

It was above earth, over habits, in the will of hummingbirds

We won't stop at the beginning of the dark tunnel,

we will go through and through and through the sun, the mind, the Holy Spirit until

Everything is gold again and hours are not spent but slept upon

in dreamy realms of understanding.

The Haunted Mansion

2011-10-21T11:39:00.002-04:00

As promised, here are the pics of yesterday's DIY project. I managed to actually accept the fact that this is for the kids, not their perfectionist mom. I even prepped myself beforehand. "This will get messy, broken, and probably pretty gross overall. Don't go all Matchstick Men on them." So me and my inner Nicholas Cage prepped and shuffled to the background to be audience members instead of center stage with a wet paper towel.

And the kids? They did amazingly well. They didn't bicker over candy balls. Abby took direction from her brother as to where exactly the gumdrops should go. Grayson took direction from me when I reminded him gumdrops weigh less when cut in half.

OK, here's what the Haunted Mansion was to look like:

This is what ours shaped up to be in stages:

(What? You thought she actually had pants on? Never.)

Some pumpkins and a rubber rat for effect....

Exactly like the first picture, right?

Not exactly, but I like our version better.

My favorite part? The arrows (not pictured, my computer is taking 30 min. to upload these images so I aborted the last one since I should probably get dressed some time today) that Grayson spent a good long time on. I love the way they add a little creep factor. Just a little though, the house, to me at least, is still pretty adorable. It will sting a bit when the kids decide it's time to eat it.

Not that Abby is waiting for that invitation.

DIY Spiderweb

2011-10-20T11:50:00.007-04:00

Tooling around the interweb last night, I found this site called, A Soft Place to Land. A wonderful find by a creative lady who fills her home with lots of Do-It-Yourself projects that look professionally done.

We thought we'd try our luck with this spiderweb idea that looks rather easy on first glance. I say first glance because second glance requires a trip to Home Depot, Michaels, and Chick Fil A because it'll be past lunchtime and the kids will be making you wish your purse was overflowing with Bento Boxes and pressed fruit.

So here's our version of the DIY Spiderweb:

Step One: Let the girl have her pink sparkly Vegas yarn.

Step Two: Allow the boy to choose sky blue yarn because black is too scary for his gentle soul.

Step Three: Stop obsessing over getting to Home Depot and buy the damn styrofoam board already. Make sure the girl gets her powder puff board to match the hooker pink flapper yarn.

Step Four: Make sure the children are out of the way while you push all the pins in the boards by yourself. This is when they will cry because you're not letting them do anything. This is when you realize you should have just taken them to the park.

Step Five: Show the girl how her yarn goes, let her try for 50 seconds when a pin comes loose and you freak out because she might prick her finger. Then go ahead and tell her not to touch because the pins will surely make her bleed out and earn everyone a wild ride to the ER.

Step Six: Do same for the boy.

Step Seven: Let the children add plastic spiders over their webs for heaven's sake. Whose memory is this, anyway?

Step Eight. Look at the back of the boards and kick yourself for not going to Home Depot like you were supposed to.

Step Nine: Smile anyway, you've decorated for Halloween!

(Right, that pic was taken a week ago but I think it illustrates the crazy I felt after yesterday's "DIY Spiderweb" quite well.)

Step Ten: Try your luck at a gingerbread Haunted House the next day. Because you just can't get enough of all this obsessing and micromanaging. If they are lucky, the children might get to actually frost a window. Oh yes, there are pictures soon to follow...

The Leaves I Love

2011-10-19T12:05:00.001-04:00

A big storm is its way.

The rumor of heavy rain shudders through hundreds of yellowing leaves, gossiping away out my window.

We must run to go get bread, butter, flour (for cookie dough yes, how did you know?), and probably tea. A house without tea might as well not have a roof.

Today will be inside for us chickens. We will cluck here with a hammer, cluck there with a paintbrush, and finally squawk for a hot cup of soup at lunchtime.

Yesterday was outdoors.

I love the way children see a pile of leaves as an invitation.

Adults (like me) have to work at forgetting the dirty bowls of oatmeal in the sink. We have to willfully ignore the 24 thousand toy pieces left for maybe later maybe not and so loudly out of context or the fact that we have not yet figured out dinner.

"Jump in with me, Mommy!"

My mind goes back inside to where I know the hermit crab's dish needs more water, the phone is ringing and Thank You notes for Grayson's birthday gifts go unwritten one more afternoon.

"Throw them up in the air like rain, Mommy!"

I sit down.

Consider my options.

And throw some leaves high into the air.

I am outside with them now.
Completely.

Important things can't wait. If they wait too long, they start going to sleepovers, high school, college, boot camp, the moon.

And as far as I know, there are no piles of leaves on the moon.

At least not the kind of leaves you will love.

Caramel Apple

2011-10-18T12:36:00.002-04:00

Over the weekend, we went to a faraway orchard for apple picking and fall activities with Nammy and Pop.

All those pictures are on Pop's camera because I wanted to live in the moment instead of behind a lens for once.

I'm so glad I did too because the day was simply beautiful.

The cloudless Shenandoah sky was big as Texas as we took in the afternoon.

Grayson's favorite thing was roping a plastic steer. He swung the lasso over his head like he was an understudy in Gunsmoke. He'd toss it over the steer's horns, catching one horn every time. Dropping the slack, he'd then meticulously walk the remaining rope away from the steer. Turning around, he'd give a solid yank of his line and smile like Hopalong Cassidy when the plastic beast hit the dirt with a heaving thunk. My son is a cowboy.

Abby preferred the mile long tunnel slide.

She ran up a steep hill of grass to get the to slide with the most determined uphill prance known to man. Even her daddy (a fast runner himself) was impressed with her fortitude. Andy watched at the top as she climbed into the tunnel slide and I waited for her little familiar face to pop out of the darkness at the end.

Because there were ridges in the tunnel's tubing, you could hear her little voice singing a made up happy song with the vibrato of a baby lamb long before you could see actually see her. That's the Boompa in her. Abby hums a made up happy song when she is busy doing something she loves. No words, just a little tune that wanders along with her mood. It's like hearing what's inside her uncluttered heart. There is nothing better.

My favorite was the jumping pillow. Which is a misnomer. There is nothing soft and cushy about that thing; that sucker was hard. When I was freed from the worry of crashing disastrously into one of my own children, I plowed my feet hard into the pillow with the promise of being sloppily propelled into the air so high my stomach dropped.. That was a very good time. I want one.

Not sure what Andy's favorite activity was but if I had to guess it would be the entire day. His parents, his family, his favorite orchard and acres and acres of open land absolutely bursting with the tangible baton pass of one season into the next. I could see his eyes devouring wine colored leaves while we all inhaled a ciderbreeze coming from fallen apples worked over by the autumn floor.

Magical fall, the only one around who knows how to age gracefully without even trying.

Also, we almost didn't get The Caramel Apple because the kids were tired, we were beat and it was getting late. Last minute, Pop and I scrambled up to get a few and thank goodness we did. So much joy comes from a dipped fruit on a stick.

Always get The Caramel Apple. It's the best part.

Etsy, Baby!

2011-10-17T15:18:00.000-04:00

Finished the photoshoot with my friend's boldly delicious necklaces.

Wanna see the finished images?

Please click here on Marisela's store.

She's on Etsy which means, so am I!

More inventory on its way. There are lots more of these lovelies awaiting their turn in front of the camera lens. She is a fabric beading machine and I will be doing well to keep up with her.

Hope you enjoy!

For Anna

2011-10-16T10:55:00.003-04:00

If you use Twitter, please read and get to tweetin'!

Here is Anna's blog and this post (please click here) will explain.

Thank you for your support.

If we can get the right people to see the tweets, retweets, messages and blog posts maybe just maybe Jack's little sister, Margaret, will get to meet Justin Bieber.

And in doing so, a little family in Virginia (who I wrote about here) will know what it's like for some miracles to come true.

Job Op

2011-10-14T08:45:00.000-04:00

A good friend of mine is making and selling these necklaces on www.esty.com. She asked me to take the pictures for her site (not these shown here, still practice photos). I am so honored that suddenly there is much procrastinating because my brain believes it must be perfect.

I've played with backgrounds, foregrounds, necklines, and natural lighting versus indoor flashes.

I've messed with the macro lens, manual vs. automatic functions, and finding the best angles to showcase her artistry.

You know what?

I'm learning how to use my camera, you guys. I feel so grateful to my friend for the opportunity and the chance to combine our efforts to help her new business grow.

Her necklaces are honestly one of a kind. She is a gifted quilter who has branched out into designing and creating jewelry. I love these necklaces (bought a pink one two weeks ago in fact!) because they dress up a T-shirt and make me feel like I'm wearing a piece of art instead of the usual cheap costume jewelry that breaks before I get it around the nape of my neck.

Happy Friday, All! I'll provide the link to her site once we get the pictures and descriptions altogether.

Hope you all have a great weekend. I know I will be spending mine in the sun room with about 20 of these little beauties and hopefully a babysitter or two.

Holiday

2011-10-13T10:32:00.003-04:00

Kids have off from preschool today.

It's raining outside and blowing acorns around like shrapnel.

Click here to see how we will spend our day.

Sadie may never leave the shower again.

A little unfriendly game of Simon Says, you say? Click here for that one.....I fixed the link so it's working now.

It is safe to assume we are baking now. It's what I do when the lambs start screaming.

Flu Shots

2011-10-11T19:19:00.003-04:00

Andy and I caught the McFlu.

We stopped in at CVS yesterday to pick up eyedrops and see about Halloween costumes when we saw the Flu shot sign just beyond the Mecca of candy corn.

We signed ourselves up. Both of us. At the same time. This is crucial information for later....

So we corral Abby who is already illegally donning a Cinderella costume and a bored Grayson to sit in the CVS waiting room. You know, the two scratchy gray chairs and a 1982 blood pressure machine.

Finally the pharmacist calls our names and she administers one shot to me while I pretend faint to freak out the children. Then she gives Andy's. "Please remain in the store for at least five minutes," the pharmacist warns. Well that doesn't sound very promising, does it?

We return home where Andy prepares a shrimp pesto dinner. (I know, I'm very lucky.)

An hour later Andy's eyes turn so bloodshot he looks like a walking Bloody Mary. Seconds later, he says his throat feels funny. This is when I privately jump ship, reach for the iPad and google the hell out of "symptoms shellfish allergy."

"Are you hot? I'm so hot. Its's really hot in here," Andy says as I mentally grab the car keys and map out the quickest route to the ER.

And then it hits me.

It's the flu.

My husband is getting flu like symptoms from his body fighting the flu virus backstroking through his veins. Google hit that and BINGO, all signs point to yes.

Poor man goes right to bed, shivering like a chihuahua within an hour. I think when it comes to being sick, this adage holds true: The bigger they are, the harder they fall. He was up until 2am with aches and pains and I was up with him layering on blankets like there was no heat left in the world anymore. Dude was mega sick.

Four hours later, we get out of bed and my body feels like someone snuck into my muscles with a few paintball guns and twenty teenagers. It is my turn.

"That's what we get for getting the convenience store version of the flu shot," Andy says under his breath.

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As I sit here hours later, still with a fever and the chills, I have to agree.

The only thing convenient about the McFlu shot is that we now have Halloween costumes, plenty of eye drops and an extra large bag of candy corn.

Grayson's 5 Birthday

2011-10-10T16:58:00.002-04:00

Grayson's 5 Birthday, a set on Flickr.

Set One. Grayson's playdate was a success. He just wanted a few of his buddies to come play with him for his birthday so we called it a playdate and not so much a party. We even sang Happy Birthday for all of his friends while Grayson hid somewhere inside the house until the horribly embarrassing melodic nightmare was over.

For his bday, he requested three things: A moonbounce, a remote control Transformer and a piniata. See if you can guess which one was left out? I don't think he noticed. I also don't think he ever stopped smiling. It was a glorious day and nobody lost an eye. Happy Birthday, Big Boy! We love you beyond the moon and back again twice.

Grayson's 5 Birthday Side B

2011-10-10T16:54:00.001-04:00

Grayson's 5 Birthday Side B, a set on Flickr.

Second Verse, same as the first.

Grayson's Birthday Club Version

2011-10-10T16:53:00.002-04:00

Grayson's Birthday Club Version, a set on Flickr.

Last set, I swear. You are all finished now. Go stretch your legs and pat yourself on the back for making it through someone else's birthday playdate. Well done and thank you. Also? Anyone who can think of a better name for my batshirt wins a prize. Probably the shirt, I'll FedEx to you. Not sure what I was thinking. I generally don't need help looking like a pasty ball of batlove. Maybe I hoped the sequins would avert the eyes. Anyone need it for a Halloween costume?

Treading Water

2011-10-05T11:19:00.015-04:00

As you know, we had a chance to go to Myrtle Beach, SC and we had a great time. We had a great time, don't get me wrong but I was haunted on that trip. The only person I could think about was my old friend, Amy (pictured next to me in first picture). I spent two weeks in Nags Head, NC with her when we were both 16. She was there with her cousin (pictured on left in first picture, and then on the right in second picture) and we three sun bathed, teen clubbed, and rice cake snacked like nobodies business. Wilson Phillips was our theme song. The entire album. We believed we sounded just like them as we belted out "If you hoooooollllddd on for one more day...." and we believed we would live forever.

(Amy, me, and Cami)

During the second week, we all took a dip in the ocean and swam past the curling waves. The three of us were all in shape and strong so the fact that we couldn't get back in to the shore didn't occur to us until maybe 20 minutes went by without any of us talking; each body concentrating on our own breath and keeping our chins above the water.

(Cami and Amy)

At one point, I remember hearing Amy ask if Cami and I were also struggling to get back to shore. We admitted we were and wondered what was happening. For every stroke toward the beach we took, two ethereal mystical heavier pulls from the ocean itself rebuked our efforts and brought us further and further out into the deep waters. I turned face up toward the sky and attempted to float.

At this time, I remember opening my eyes to see nothing but starry light come through soft clouds, I wasn't sure if I was still in the water or now floating with the sun. I could no longer hear my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears. The panic that was surging through my body moments before had left. There was only the light sound of water lapping all around me and it was comforting, not scary. I felt it cover my face and then my chin went cold.

I was underneath just a few seconds when the cold of my chin sent off an alarm to my brain. "SWIM!" my brain shouted like never before, "YOU MUST SWIM NOW!" So I did. I looked for Amy. She was going under too. I yelled to her to keep floating as much as possible. Cami was losing steam many feet to the left of Amy. We were all at the end of our bodies' ability to keep going. I saw the fear in Cami's eyes and yelled to her to keep treading water. Amy made her way over to Cami and the two of them bobbed in the water for what seemed like 100 years.

"SWIM HARD!" my brain demanded. "DO NOT STOP," and I didn't. Something stronger than me took hold of my chest and made me refocus on the waves. I steadied my breath and shot my arms forward as hard as I could. My legs were just useless appendages and hung down like weights. "MOVE your LEGS!" my brain demanded and somehow I did. I focused every ounce of my cellular makeup toward the shore and would not let my eyes veer off from the beach. Something ran under my toes. It was sand. My mind registered sand.

"PLEASE HELP US!" I cried to a man wearing bright pink swim shorts. He waved back and smiled, not hearing my pleas but instead seeing a young girl who had lost the top of her bikini waving to him. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry. So I got pissed.

"Oh please help us out here mister, save us, we're DROWNING!" I screamed inside my head but he just kept on grinning. I was out of earshot.

Another pull from somewhere else happened inside me and I swam stomped my way back until both feet could touch without hopping up and down for air. I looked for the man in the pink swim shorts and he had stopped smiling. He walked toward me, the now naked girl breathless before him. My entire bikini was around my ankles.

I noticed his dark eyes growing serious as I felt his dark beard on my face. He was carrying me. "Please, my friends, they can't stay up..." I didn't even get to finish explaining before the man in the bright pink swim shorts took off like a superhero into the water after Amy and Cami who I could no longer see myself.

Moments later, I found myself wrapped in a stranger's towel and the man who went to save my friends had reached them. He had Amy on one arm and Cami on another. Only he wasn't moving. He was shouting something. The best I could figure is that he was trying to swim back and got stuck in that whirlpool action too.

Then I heard lifeguard jeeps, some beeping, lots of shouting, and suddenly my friends appeared next to me, blue lips shivering in their own big white fluffy towels.

"You were caught in riptide." One of the lifeguards explained to us. It's not easy to get out unless you swim parallel to the shore. Which is the way whatever was propelling me forward sent me. I was the only one to swim parallel to the shore long enough to finally make it there. And then, bright pink swim short man swam out to save my friends' lives.

I wish like crazy I could end the story there. And I will for anyone who can't take one more tragedy in their life. Please stop reading now, I implore you. For the rest who are curious? Here's why I couldn't get Amy and what we had been together off my mind while at the beach with my family.

Amy Maryott, the girl who experienced a near death experience with me so many years ago, finally chose death for herself after her son took his own life a few weeks ago. She is no longer here. All that fight in her when we were just young skinny kids was gone. Losing her teenage son was all she could bear. I cannot imagine the amount of gut wrenching agony coursing through her to make her lose the urge to live. But she did. And now she's gone. I could not save her. Her own remaining beautiful children could not save her. There was no more will left in her to live so she could not go on.

My heart rang like a hollow bell every time I heard a wave slap or crash in on itself with the stark realization that she is gone. We are no longer teenagers with no real life concerns more than trying on each others' clothes to get ready for the night ahead of us. The truth is, we are now grown women who had 20 years of life between then and now; Children were had, marriages (and some divorces) happened, and many moves got in the way of us keeping in close contact throughout the years.

(Me, Amy in first picture; Amy & Cami in second pic)

What surprised me wasn't the fact that I thought about her while at the beach. What surprised me is my complete denial that my friend is no longer here on this earth with her children like I am. With each sunrise, I was asked to face this as a fact and for each sunset I refused. I choose to remember her fighting, swimming, treading water with all her might because that was the Amy I knew. And that is the Amy I will remember.

(Amy & Cami in first pic; Beautiful Amy in second)

Getaway

2011-10-04T16:42:00.006-04:00

The good thing about when your husband travels for work is that sometimes he gets to go to the beach. And you and the kids get to go too if you're so inclined.

The bad part is that your husband doesn't actually get to go to the beach because he's stuck in a conference room there on business and the rest of those Marines in those Marine meetings wouldn't look kindly on him showing up to work in his swim trunks.

(Our room was on the third floor, second quad.)

So we did a lot of keeping busy without him, awaiting the 6:30o'clock whistle.

The sunsets were gorgeous. I forget how much prettier things are when you are beyond city lights and noise pollution.

I also forgot about inflation. Would you believe we paid $25.00 A PIECE for these airbrushed Tshirts? I can remember them being maybe $10.00 when we were kids. Wowza. I chalked it up to enriching our lives by supporting the arts even though the boyman creating these masterpieces was using blow dart techniques on a prewashed canvas of 100% cotton. Honestly, it really was one of the most relaxing moments of our getaway. I love to watch people do what they are best at and this manboy would certainly rival Kat Van D any day.

But have mercy, check out this sunrise. Or sunset. I don't remember. It was all I could do to keep track of our room key.

I'm going with sunrise.

This moment? I do remember. Abby had just awakened and dove on the couch to catch a quick video of something to do with Bears. She wound up on my iPad moments later because bears do not hold a candle to Strawberry Shortcake (in Spanish) on Youtube. Muy Beuno.

Even though this looks more like a surveillance video outside of the local park, it's a blurry night vision shot of Andy going flashlight crab searching with Grayson. A few minutes later they were whisked inside by an unforeseen sandstorm that brought pelting rain and a disappointed 4 year old.

What's disappointing to one person is a hidden blessing for another. This man was T-I-R-E-D. What isn't pictured here is the box of Gobstoppers he snuck into the hotel room. In the morning, Abby found his stash before we woke up and just about made her way (ever so sneaky silently) back to her room to hoard them. I called her name before she got too far and she says, "I was going to bring them to Grayson, Mommy. He wants candy for breakfast and not toast."

I'm so sure, you little sugar fiend. The sweet tooth doesn't fall far, little one, now please don't forget to floss.

Brain Dumping

2011-10-03T07:33:00.002-04:00

I get chills when people older and more experienced say children grow up too fast. They all say it with that same somber melencholic tone and lifeless stare. It must really reallllly get quiet when it's all over. I will have so many cats it's not even funny.

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Speaking of four legged babies, our calm and serenity is home. Dear Pop drove Sadie back home to us this afternoon. I received two bite kisses as she thunked past me to bowl Abby over with her love. I could not have missed her more. She is sleeping hard now, probably dreaming of her Wendy's hamburger (thanks, Nam!) and her swim for sticks in Jacobsburg Creek.

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My husband and I don't have the kind of love story they write novels about but it doesn't matter when I see he has set out two mugs whenever brewing up a new pot of coffee: his travel mug and my favorite ceramic Sprout mug with flower pot glaze.

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My dad drove over five hours to visit us for a total of maybe two. This both confuses and elates me.

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I'm one of the FB whiners who misses the old status update setup. Walking by a newspaper stand a few days ago I read how there was "FB Fury" rampant among its users and while I totally get it, I have to laugh at what upsets us so deeply it makes the headlines.

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The fall makes me so nostalgic that even my dreams are filled with memories of my childhood. Last night I visited with my old friends and (late) grandparents and even an old love interest who STILL doesn't give me the time of day even in my own damn dreams. I wake up from these visits feeling soft, loved, and like my old self. This must be what heaven feels like. Thank you, subconscious and October, I've been waiting a long time for you to get here and I hope you can stay a very long while.

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I love that when I called my brother, Eric, today, we spent the first five minutes impersonating my grandfather.

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Every Day People

2011-09-30T12:21:00.006-04:00

The thing I enjoy most about my life lately isn't always getting to the destination. You know, like finally arriving at the Giant or finally getting to your vacation spot. My favorite moments fall on the timeline between leaving and arriving because that's where the unknown happens. That's where the things you didn't plan occur, the surprise guests of the day pop out and remind you that you are not alone on your trajectory, wherever your journey takes you and however disparate your paths may eventually be.

I love talking to the server who smiles at Abby's chocolate milk mustache. She will be the person I will think about for the next fifteen minutes instead of myself or my own children. She will be my main focus before pancakes land on our table, steaming and gleaming of blueberries and extra whipped cream. We will learn that she has two grown children herself: a boy who is bashful and handsome, a girl who loves the beach and crossword puzzles. A little family of the past that is suddenly thrust into the present by a stranger who wonders if the girl has her mother's green eyes.

Another chance meeting with a pet store owner reminds me there are still many kind people in this world. A tall man with soft gray stubble takes his time lifting each active hermit crab from the cage for Abby to inspect. He gently discourages against a pretty shelled crab because apparently you shouldn't judge a hermit crab by its paint job. This tall man with a Middle Eastern accent helps Abby find hermit crab accoutrements while ignoring other customers in his store. Perhaps poor customer service for them but nothing short of an educational experience for my girl. He too, we learn at checkout, has children. The picture he shows from his wallet is of a young baby girl whose face is the exact female version of her daddy's. No wonder he spent so much time with Abby. He has his own waiting for him at home.

The people we meet and chat with on our way to somewhere else offer themselves as a break in the controlled universe we create as parents, as adults in general. These people offer up conversation, momentary kinship, and the feeling that this life is connected by positive energies willing to share their own time with yours.

Oceans

2011-09-28T15:45:00.003-04:00

While they are napping, I watch the ocean arch its angry backs until they calm evenly as one flat spot in the sand.

While they are napping, I check in on friends tucked close as they zigzag through an abyss of private sadness.

While they are napping, I feel the pit in my stomach growl.

While they are napping, I miss my husband even though we are in the same building.

While they are napping, I wonder how many more days I will get to keep my children so buoyant in their own imaginations..

While they are napping, I pray they learn not to let their fears keep them ashore.

While they are napping, I stare at this churning ferocious sea and feel proud of the moon for drawing it back to the salty depths from which it came, every single time.

No Mouse in This House

2011-09-27T14:02:00.004-04:00

Hubs borrowed our computer mouse for work so I'll be writing to you live on the iPad (and therefore sadly without pics because I think there's an app for that) until the mouse returns to his rightful nook soon.

In addition to there not being a mouse in this house, we are also dog less. Which, for me, is the equivalent to being only half alive.

Sadie is fine, she is on loan to Pop so they can start up a workout regimen together. She has been loving all the exercise lately and this week is jammed packed with stuff and appointments for us so I won't be able to get her out as often, if at all. Pop offered to take her hiking, strolling for squirrels, sniffing for chipmunks, and perhaps chasing some deer and it was all I could do to keep my husband from packing himself along with her dog bowl too.

Let me tell you how strange our house is without a Sadie in it. It is eerily silent. I can hear the refrigerator thrummimg and the walls of our house drawing in just to resituate themselves from time to time. Inanimate things making sound is something completely drowned out when your house is filled with the organic buzz of life. I have forgotten what it is to hear the kind of quiet that comes from absence. Things that should be sounding off are not. Nails clicking over the kitchen tiles, the slide of metal rings as Sadie shoulders the shower curtain aside to climb in to the tub, the low vocals we hear as she pushes her arthritic elbows down to the floor. Her presence is so large that she fills our house with a soundtrack I have come to rely on.

Missing Sadie has reminded me how to cherish the rest of our soundtrack I'm sure has been taken for granted because everyday things often are. Today I will listen when I hear all my living cohorts. Instead of wanting to shove my ears with Kleenex when the kids begin to amp up their kidness, I will remind myself that it's lyrically richer than the refrigerator dropping ice. Toy car wheels banging into the stove will always bring more melody than breathing roof tiles. Abby's deafening soliloquies about bathing her baby girls will always be more in tune than than the nothing jumping through my eardrums until my teeth ache for the sounds that were once the only thing I knew.

Halloweenin

2011-09-26T11:46:00.006-04:00

We have been busy around this place getting ready for the fall. Mostly we have been visiting pumpkin patches in the parking lots of malls and buying out their wares. Then we come home and turn the pumpkins into works of art: traditional and post modern. Here's a few of the mentionables:

Number One: Pooh Bear...Labor of Love between father and son. It is the sweetest thing I've seen all year. I bring it inside to the garage to tuck it in safely at night.

Number two: Mini Marilyn Monroe or possibly Marilyn Manson, however you see it. I went for cute but got disturbing at best. Abby loves it and that's all we care about or so I tell myself every time I see that pitiful excuse for a carving. Oh, what could have been had I just traced first! Or used buttons and my trusty glue gun. Nothing good can come from a woman wielding a pumpkin saw past 4pm, nothing. I will be deferring all future pumpkin carvings to my husband for sure.

Here's what happens when you give Grayson permission to paint while you relax on the couch for a few minutes. He did an amazing job mixing paints to come up with colors I wish I would've saved instead of threw down the sink. Parental fail. Next time, we will save it and patent the beestung purple.

Finally, we have the au natural Halloween decor up and in full swing too.

Pop found this praying mantis with jacked up eyes and crooked smile. One of her kids hitchiked a ride to Giant the other day on our windshield. We hope it doesn't eat human eyelids for a good time.

This beautiful orb spider was working hard at her web for three days. She put on the greatest show for us when we got over the fact that she could also eat our eyelids for sh*ts and giggles.

Creepy Marilyn sends her love. Through her freakishly large mouth hole.

Happy Halloweenin', you guys!

Cupcake Bandit

2011-09-22T16:24:00.001-04:00

I can't be sure, but I think we must have a cupcake mouse in the house.

One that is afraid of ghosts...

but not the golden delicious tops of unfrosted strawberry cupcakes.

Huh. It's a mystery for sure...

...just not a really hard one considering the guilty look on this particular cupcake eating face.

Case Closed.