Back to Square One

Missed kicks and scoring points

2012-01-30T17:07:00.002-05:00

This past Sunday we embraced our state’s good fortune of hosting the XLVI Superbowl. I loaded up the car and drove four boys (ages almost-10, 12, 12 and 13) to Indianapolis. This morning, a friend asked how I handled that trip. My one-word answer was simply, “Shipley,” which is my best friend from college and (genetics aside) sister. During the past 24 years, she has redefined the definition of “good friend” or “best friend.” She has been there for me when even those closest to me weren’t. She is, simply, the sister everyone would want and she is the best friend everyone deserves. (BTW, I stole that line from Oprah, who used it to describe her BFF Gayle. It doesn't mean I mean it any less, having stolen it. I think it puts us in pretty good company!) Had it not been for Shipley, I may have returned home with a few less children. (Oh, I kid…)

The trip down there was touch & go at its start… I ended up leaving my huge travel mug of freshly brewed Starbucks IN. MY. KITCHEN. I realized this about 10 minutes into the trip. Let’s just say it was a loooooong ride to the next Starbuck’s.

By the time we reached Indianapolis and Shipley’s house for an early lunch, the boys were ready to be out of the car. This point was clearly illustrated when it was time to re-load the car and I see two of the boys involved in a chase – through Shipley’s muddy front yard. Neither were listening to me telling them to “STOP!”, so I had to physically stop the “chaser.” I reached for the sleeve of his sweatshirt as he went whizzing by and accidentally grabbed the hood instead. Totally horsecollared him and he dramatically collapsed on the driveway. Oh, of course they both swore it was all fun & games… but we all know that’s until he actually caught him. Then they all piled into the new car, tracking mud all over the carpet. I was pissed speechless, so Shipley took the lead and skillfully lectured them about how they’d ALL be helping clean the mud out of my car after I get home from work today. She had them agreeing to everything. Thank goodness. My only option was to yell until my head exploded. Which would have meant another mess to clean up.

We made it to downtown without another incident, and proceeded to take in all the NFL awesomeness proudly on display. We even had ourselves a true “celebrity sighting” when Jimmy Fallon (dressed like a woman… which was a little weird) walked in front of us at Monument Circle. As we’re staring and (of course) taking photos, I hear from behind me, “CUT! Okay,… we got it!” So it appears there was a television taping situation going on. I’ve never watched Fallon’s show, but I’ll be watching starting tonight to find out a.) if we got into the crowd shot, and b.) what the hell he was doing dressed in drag.

The NFL Experience was exactly that – an experience. Up until yesterday, I’ve only stood in hours-long lines at Disney World. However, we endured a two-hour wait to have each boy attempt a field goal kick. None made the 20-yd. attempt, but they gave it a great shot. We walked around a lot after that, and tried getting a player autograph. The administration made a last-minute location change, so we totally missed Pierre Garcon on the autograph stage. The kids all got a Cliff Notes lesson in price-gouging when they realized our round of hot dogs and bottled water for six of us cost damn near $60. It seems the boys all enjoyed our last stop after leaving the convention center: The Colts Store at Circle Center Mall. Player jerseys were marked down from $129.99 to $39.99 and we had a 15 percent off coupon. S-C-O-R-E!!! All four boys walked out with a jersey, and Shipley grabbed a treat for both of us at the Godiva Chocolate store. That? Is a game-winner right there.

We rolled back into our driveway just before 10pm (an exception on a school night) completely exhausted. It had been a good day – not without behavior reminders being tossed around like hot potatoes, but still a good day. Most days I spend more time than I care to admit wondering if I do enough for the kids. Most days I feel like a rabid Sheltie, snarling and snapping at the heels of my herd. I hate those days, but if just one kid would, for the love of God, listen when asked to do something and follow through, I would feel less inclined to nag. But it’s days like yesterday, even with my nagging… I think I may have scored a point in my sons’ books.

Deck the halls...

2011-12-02T16:13:00.003-05:00

This was taken last Sunday night when we officially started the Christmas decorating. This year Bobby is almost three years old, which puts him right on the cusp of "getting" the holiday. As soon as it was time to begin putting ornaments on the tree, he was ALL OVER IT. This is one of those photos that, to me, instantly warms the heart. I am sure it will be treasured by Jeff, Bobby and myself for many, many years.

Bobby's love affair with the tree -- specifically those shiny, irresistible ornaments -- is ongoing. The first couple of days had him coming up to us, reporting, "I broke another ornament." Sure enough, one of the silver balls would be in slivers on the floor. So, why would we be foolish enough to even put them on the tree in the first place? Good question. You'll have to ask Jeff, though, since I stepped down as "Tree Decorating Coordinator" this year. I felt like for the past several years I've been standing there supervising the kids, making sure no one fell into the tree as they put up their own ornaments. It was so relaxing and fulfilling to sit and watch... even though I felt really lazy doing it. I probably saved myself from being an emotional wreck, since every year when we get the kids' handmade ornaments out, I have to look at each one, remembering the pride with which they crafted them. Shaky, crayon-scribbled signatures adorn the backs of the paper decorations. A few sequins always manage to dribble off some other creation. And the glitter... my god the glitter! Who knew one Kindergarten masterpiece could ever leave our floor looking like Friday night at Showgirl?! But they're all worth it. Every last glittery, sequined one.

This weekend I'll be finishing up the last of the decorating (outdoor). Photos to follow.

Day One, Part II

2011-12-01T21:53:00.003-05:00

It all began with a baby in a stable.
No onesie.
No knit cap for His head.
No flowers for his mother.
No medical care.

Nothing but a new life and those who had faith.

The faithful believed.
The believers became travelers.
The travelers came to see the baby.

But there was no grand reception.
No buffet.
No beverages.
No opulence and shimmer.

Just silence.
Reverent silence.

They stood in the stable,
On the dirt floor, among hay that was fed to the animals.

Silent.
Staring.
Witnessing a precious new life, who
Would one day make the ultimate sacrifice for them.
Giving them precious eternal life.

What image is in your mind's eye right now?
Think. Be there.

Now, can you quickly imagine the mall or any retail store right now,
And not almost feel ashamed or embarassed?
The gaudy, overrun, irreverent spectacle.

Go back to the stable.
Return to the silence.
Revel in it.
Stand in awe, in the glory of Our Saviour.
There in the cold, wrapped only in a thin blanket.
The baby.
Because it all started with Him.
A baby in a stable.

Day One

2011-12-01T14:58:00.004-05:00

December 01, 2011

I received an email from Jenny with a forwarded message from a blogger (who, as I just learned is a scrapbooker/writer/photographer... so it's like looking at what I want to be when I grow up) with this interesting concept to Journal the Holiday. She prompted this project with a Christmas Manifesto (at left). I'm not usually one to immediately "bandwagon" myself to someone else's manifesto of beliefs -- but this one spoke to me. I haven't had time to fully investigate and digest all the surrounding details, but the idea is to create a daily reflection of the holiday season through words, photos or crafts. I love all three with a passion, so that part should be easy. The hardest part will be finding enough time to do it. But where there's a will, there's a way. And this IS the season of miracles, yes? Hope anyone reading will enjoy the ride with me. This should be fun. :)

2011-11-28T14:46:00.000-05:00

I just finished eating what will officially be my FINAL meal of Thanksgiving leftovers. It’s been a steady stream of turkey, stuffing, corn casserole and sweet potatoes – in varying amounts/combinations – since last Thursday. We did break for pizza last night, but that was out of sheer desperation. (Long story.) I’ve eaten enough of said Thanksgiving foods that I am teetering on the verge of being disgusted by them. I’ll only need a short break, then I’ll be able to resume enjoying those sweet and savory dishes just in time for Christmas dinner… when the turkey will likely be replaced by ham, but the sides will be pretty much the same.

That said, I have officially switched gears and have my sights set on Christmas. Every year, I hope beyond hope that we will somehow manage to give our family a nice Christmas, while weaving in a meaningful thread of charity/humility/spirituality. (Take your pick.) There has been such buzz lately about “going local” that, once I really thought about it, it made complete and total sense to me. If I was a small business owner, I would be doing everything I could to compete with everyone likes to call, “big box stores.” I get it. They have Corporate America on their sides; and who does the little guy have on his side? Exactly. So, I kind of had it in my mind to start thinking of ways to support local businesses and integrate those items into my gift list.

Then, this past weekend, a very well-known “big box store” royally screwed us over. Let’s just call the store, “Greatest Purchase.” (I know you’ll get it if you think about it for a minute.) Anyway, Greatest Purchase, offered a Black Friday online deal for a video game system that Jeff wanted to buy for our family. Anyone who knows Jeff can attest that he will research a purchase thoroughly before making a move. (If “research thoroughly” means having no less than seven different browsing windows open on one computer at a time, each one with a different review of the same product.) So, once he found the deal he wanted, he purchased this video game system from Greatest Purchase, and opted to pick up the system in person at Greatest Purchase’s store in Muncie, IN. (The Fort Wayne stores were sold out already.) Yesterday, on the way home from Indianapolis, Jeff stopped at the Muncie location, presented his receipt and paperwork, which clearly stated that the item WILL BE HELD well past the November 27 pick-up date, only to find that there was nothing for him to pick up. The store sold out of the game system before someone bothered to pick the item for online orders. Again, anyone who knows Jeff can attest to the fact that he not only took issue with the sales clerk, but the store manager as well. In the end, it was all for naught. They were happy to offer a different game system as a replacement, but would not offer the Black Friday price. Ugh. Corporate America strikes again.

Last night, as Jeff detailed the situation at Greatest Purchase for me, including the conversation with the store manager who repeatedly claimed “there’s nothing I can do,” Jeff posed the question, “Where has the concept of taking responsibility for actions gone?” He’s right. I’ve felt this way for a long time. I have seen more than my fair share of people who – for whatever reason – firmly believe they have no responsibility for their own actions, and repeatedly blame other people, their cars, the weather, cats, dogs, shrubbery, etc. You name it, and it’s the root of all the problems for these people. Personally, I cannot stand that character trait… or, I should say, character flaw. There have been a few times when one of the kids will start in with the whole “it isn’t my fault” argument, and I immediately nip *that* in the bud. There will be no throwing of anyone or anything under the proverbial bus, in order to escape taking responsibility for something. “Have character,” I tell them. “Take responsibility for yourself and your actions. Period.”

So, to recap… Buy local. Take responsibility.

Not quite the warm and fuzzy holiday message, but it’s a start.

I'm back. And with a response to an email scam artist.

2011-10-31T15:24:00.002-04:00

Actual email I just received:

Dear Friend,
First of all, anyone I consider a friend would address me by my name.

How are you today? Hope all is well with you and your family?
I hope this mail meets you in a perfect condition.
Why thank you. How sweet.

You may not understand why this mail came to you. But if you do not remember me, you might have received an email from me in the past regarding a multi-million-dollar
business proposal which we never concluded.
OK. There are days when I am so busy I forget to eat. However, even if I “might” have received an email in the past regarding a multi-million dollar business proposal, I would hope to holy hell that I’d remember something as colossal as that. Especially since yours would be my first multi-million dollar business proposal. Ever.

I am using this opportunity to inform you that this multi-million-dollar
business has been concluded with another person who financed it to a logical
conclusion but i know that people has been using my identification to
contact you as a fraud act so i want you to decease from contacting them
because I know they just making earns out of you.
OMG. Where do I even begin? I am not quite sure how one finances a deal to a “logical conclusion.” Let’s focus on the use of singular vs plural verb tense; “…people has…” makes me cringe. And the fact that you want me to “decease” from contacting people? Well, that scares me a little. Lastly, I have no idea what “earns” are, and why are people making them out of me? Is that like making wigs out of human hair? Or, worse yet, like the guy on “Silence of the Lambs” who made the suit out of human skin?! Kind of makes me wonder about the use of “decease” in the prior sentence…

I thank you for your great effort to our unfinished transfer of fund into your account due to one
reason or the other best known to you.
Huh?!

But I want to inform you that I have successfully transferred the fund out of the security company to my new partner's account in London that was capable of assisting me in this great
venture. Due to your effort, sincerity, courage and trustworthiness you showed during
the course of the transaction
Wait. Didn’t you say earlier that our deal never concluded?

I want to compensate you and show my gratitude to you with the sum of $950,000.00. I have left an international certified bank draft for you worth about $950,000.00 cashable anywhere in the world. My dear friend I will like you to contact Barr. Eglin Williams for the
collection of this international certified bank draft have authorized to
release the international certified bank draft to you as soon as you contact
him regarding this issue because as soon as you contact them the package
will be forwarded to the delivery company.
Ugh. Again with the grammar. You’re killin’ me. Oops! We’re back to the “deceased” thing again.

At the moment, I'm very busy here because of the investment projects which myself and my new partner are having at hand.
Please let one of the investments be an ESL class.

Please I will like you to accept comply with Mr. George Williams so that he will send the draft to you without any delay.
CONTACT: Barr. Eglin Williams
ADDRESS: 102 Daytona ave. Holly Hull, City 32 Abuja.
EMAIL: eglinwilliams2011@globomail.com
TEL: +234 81 53 671 539
Therefore, you should send him your full Name and telephone number/your
address where you want him to send the draft to you I want you to give him a
call as well for verification.
I am really resisting the urge to send a card to this address, thanking them for my $950,000 windfall… just because. And I think it’s supposed to be “globalmail” not “globomail.”

Thanks and God bless you and your family. I am very busy now i may not reply
to any email for sometime.

Best Regards
Mr. David Moore.
Well, Mr. Moore, I truly appreciate you wishing God’s blessing on me and my family, but invoking a Holy blessing under the guise of an OBVIOUS Internet/email scam… well, Sir, that’ll buy you a first-class ticket to Hell for sure. Busy schedule or not.

Full Circle

2011-08-08T20:56:00.002-04:00

Today I registered our two (almost) 12-year olds for middle school.

Middle. School.

That's, like, practically high school.

I left the school and headed back to the office feeling very,... well... just weird. Navigating through registration was no big deal. Getting their bus schedule, gym clothes and yearbook photo taken didn't phase me in the least. It was after we got their books -- when we found their lockers and they began working the combination locks that it hit me.

I remember middle school. Clearly. Maybe not like it was yesterday, but at least within the last few weeks. Except we called it "junior high" way back then. I remember the day I stood at my first locker, spinning the numbers R-L-R and feeling like I'd won a Vegas jackpot when it actually opened. (I was worried that I wouldn't be able to open my locker, causing me to be perpetually late for classes and sent to the principal's office just because I couldn't operate a combination lock.) It was really hot that day, and I distinctly remember not being able to wear shorts (oh, kids these days have it SO nice!) so I had on a pair of jeans and a kelly green/white jersey shirt with my name on the back. (Yes, I am cringing at the very thought of this Fashion Don't, but in my defense, it was in style.) I remember glancing over at my locker neighbor -- a girl named Jill. She had honey-blonde hair, blue-grey eyes and braces. I remember silently rolling my eyes behind my dorky glasses, pushing my drab brown hair off my sweaty forehead and wondering if any of the boys who will undoubtedly be flocking around her would talk to me out of pity.

As I watched Charlie and Jack, I began to wonder how they will be perceived by their new classmates. Will they be liked? Will one of them do something really funny and win their affections? Will one of them inadvertently say something silly and make everyone wonder where in the world he came from? Will they fit in? Will any of the older kids try to screw with them? Almost exactly at that moment, Charlie interrupted my thoughts asking "What if someone tries to shove me in my locker?" Upon seeing him try to "see" if he'd even fit in there (they're really narrow lockers) I had that flash of protective mother instinct and worry. Yes! Yes! What if that happens? How will I protect him? How can I save him the embarrassment of being picked on? I took a deep breath and reassured him that he couldn't possibly fit inside the locker (I hope) and nothing like that will happen (fingers crossed). I realized then and there that it's officially time to let go a little. I cannot possibly be there for them every day. And I'm sure they will be just fine -- dealing with the natural element of craziness called adolescence.

I lived through it to tell about it. And so will they.

2011-08-02T16:49:00.001-04:00

There was once a girl who grew up in a very conservative family. One might venture to say she lived a somewhat sheltered life, although to say she was naive would not be quite accurate. She went to college and met all sorts of interesting people. All these different people – from small towns, the East coast and beyond… those who drank and/or smoked pot, those who did not… athletes, scholars, musicians… bookworms and slack-asses, gays and straight – all of these different people and their personalities helped mold and form this girl into a different person than she used to be. She took in the influence of their personalities, habits and passions to make her own decisions, form her own opinions and create a newer version of herself. After four years, she liked the person she’d become. She was more comfortable in her own skin and genuinely enjoyed her own company if no one else was around. She listened to music that spoke to her. She watched indie movies, where the cast members were relatively unknown, yet the story was incredibly powerful. She was creative and wrote from her heart.

And now she’s gone.

Oh, she still comes around now and then… here and there. But she isn’t here like she used to be. By now, the 20-odd years that have passed have been filled with even more people and experiences that have molded and shaped her into yet another version of herself. The younger version of the girl could be best imagined as the rocky face of a cliff – with definite depth, areas that jut out and force themselves against a clear blue sky in an announcement, “Look at this part of me!” As the wind and rain, all the elements can weather and change the rocky surface, she has changed. By now she is perhaps not so brash or bold against a blue sky, but smoothed over. A surface that is still strong, yet softer in its silhouette.

The girl – now a woman – now thinks more before speaking, has been made wiser through experience and never underestimates anyone anymore. She rarely trusts anyone unless they have proven that they can be trusted. She now has a much smaller “inner circle” of friends, where she used to take pride in the many she counted as close friends. Betrayal will make a person do that.

Every now and then, the woman will catch a glimpse of the girl – sparked by a word, a lyric a melody – and she will want to bring parts of that life back. Not to take over and change her life; rather to create a more complete version of who she is now -- to get back to her “roots.” And when she does this, she can share it with those who are important in her life now, so she can once again say, “Look at this part of me!” and hope they appreciate and love that as much as she does.

Hostage Situation

2011-07-19T16:07:00.002-04:00

OK. So I took the boys and Kate to pick up a few (SALE!) items for our upcoming vacation. The item of choice in the boys' department was athletic shorts. They each became strangely attached to a pair that they HAD. TO. HAVE. These kids aren't necessarily hurting for shorts, but considering I've started thinning the herd every time I do laundry (because I nix the wearing of stained/ripped clothing. Imagine!) it couldn't hurt to supplement by one more pair each. And, they were on sale. Winner-winner, chicken dinner.

Throughout the remainder of our shopping adventure, the boys seemed to take turns ramping up Bobby and getting him all riled to screeching level. In a good way, though. Still, heads were turning. When we arrived home and the boys were beside themselves to get into those COOL, NEW SHORTS, I said... "No."

They were appalled.

"What?!?! What do you mean we can't have them?!?!"

I told them that their behavior in public had been obnoxious -- borderline atrocious. They would receive the shorts when their behavior changed for the better.

That was Sunday. Today is Tuesday. They're still not wearing the shorts.

Yesterday and today have provided damn-near a smorgasbord of obnoxious behavior. Granted, the weather is making people do crazy things -- because 95-100 degrees in 100 percent humidity does that to people. Still, there are three boys in my house who need to recall how to get... and keep... themselves under control. Period.

I had a fleeting moment of self-doubt this afternoon, and asked Lindy if I had completely lost my mind, holding three pair of shorts hostage. Not only did she champion my cause, she even offered a few good points that will work nicely into my prepared speech the next time one of the boys asks, "When do we get our shorts?"

Does anyone else think I've lost it? Would you (or have you) held back something strange from the kids until they stepped up the behavior?

10... 9... 8...

2011-07-14T14:51:00.004-04:00

Lindy just texted "When do u leave for vacation again?"
As I responded with "A week from this coming Sunday," it hit me that Sunday is just three days away. Add the seven days, and with my spectacular math wizardry I realized we leave in 10 days.

Ten days until we jam-pack two cars and drive 24 hours to Key Largo, Florida. It really is a blessing that we are able to swing this trip. Vacations are the last thing on our budget list. So when Jeff found a condo at an oceanside resort for way inexpensive AND the rates don't fluctuate with high-and low-season, well... he snapped up the last week of July, as well as the week prior to Christmas. The thing is, it will not only be Florida in July, but extreme south Florida in July. Damn near Cuba kind of south. If our trip to Florida two spring breaks ago is any indication, all but one kid in our van will be pleasantly pacified with hand-held games and/or iPod entertainment -- providing we have our small power source plugged in for recharging. Bobby is the exception to the rule since, at just 2, he has no use for PS3's or iPods. I am considering hauling out an old LeapPad for him to play with, just so he's got something. (NOTE: Any suggestions on keeping a 2-yr.old happy on a 20+ hour car trip would be welcome. I am desperate at the thought of having an angry boy who has had enough of being strapped into a car seat for hours on end. I will employ almost any idea you can throw at me, just short of hiring a clown to make him laugh and create balloon animals for the entire trip. Because, you know... clowns can be kinda creepy.)

The two oldest kids will be driving the car, because unless we draw straws to see who gets strapped to the roof of the van, we are not all going to fit inside the van. I never in a MILLION YEARS expected to look longingly at 12-passenger vans, thinking "My God we could use one of those."

Since we will be doing beachy kinds of things, I'm guessing everyone will pack lightly. Swimsuits, t-shirts and sunblock will be the staples of our existence that week, so I don't have to drive myself jackass batty doing a bunch of laundry for packing. I plan to dig out our snorkel equipment and beach paddle set, so that's just one trip up into the attic. I may get out of town with minimal stress yet. I expect the REAL stress will hit around mid-week, when one of the kids (God-help-that-child!) is all, "I'm bored." Because, remember? It's going to be hot. And while I don't enjoy hearing complaints in pleasant weather, I will not field boredom complaints in that kind of heat. Not. Happening. I will be all "You know what? Counting grains of sand is a really awesome way to cure boredom," and require a written total by sunset.

Oh, I'm not really all that mean -- I'll let them round up to the nearest tenth.

Ten Random Shots of Summer... So Far

2011-07-08T09:18:00.003-04:00

Around this time last summer, I chose 25 random photos and posted a glimpse of how we'd spent our time and fun things that happened. This year, however, since my camera now has not only a non-functional flash and a USB port that fell into the wrong hands (long story) I have been forced to document our summer on my Blackberry. Let's be clear about this: a Blackberry is awesome for making calls and keeping oneself organized. Taking photos? Not so much in the awesome category. But, hey... you make do with what you have. Here goes...

These two photos are from Jack, Charlie and Sam's Academic Achievement night. All three boys earned straight A's every grading period, thus landing them Principal's Honor Roll for the year. Sam is in the top photo, standing to the right of his good (and very tall) friend, Deonte. Jack and Charlie are smack-in-the-middle of their group in the bottom photo. They're the two who look like they are carrying on a casual conversation while, say, waiting for the bus.

In June, I had the opportunity to travel to my company's office in Greensboro, NC. I got to ride in the company jet. Very nice. After a day at the office in a variety of meetings, I checked in at my hotel and set out to explore the open-air mall across the street. I was delighted to find a nail salon that had walk-in appointments. So,... I walked in. And got a pedicure. It was blissful.

Happy, happy feet. :)

Jack, Charlie and Sam started baseball in late April/early May, if memory serves. It is now July, and we're just starting the final tournaments. This is a long, long time to be heading to baseball games -- several times per week. Especially if you are 2 and don't particularly understand the game, other than "swing, batterbatterbatter...SWING!" and "runrunrun...HOMERUN!" It helps to have a big brothers who, when they aren't playing, will sit and play in the dirt with you.

I saw this somewhere on the Internet and it totally cracked me up. It was titled, "Cat Storage." How can you NOT laugh?!?!

June 14, 2011. Jeff and I celebrated three years of wedded bliss and happiness. We shared our celebration with our "honeymoon baby." Seemed appropriate enough.

Bobby and Sam brushing a goat at the zoo. You don't even want to know how much hand gel I made them use afterward.

Jeff and Bobby on a bike ride. This was Bobby's first experience doing so, and you can totally tell by the expression on his face. This may very well be my new favorite picture of them.

Lastly, I took up knitting this year, and have settled into a niche of baby beanies. I love making them, and am tinkering with the idea of selling them online. In the meantime... if you need a baby gift, just let me know!

2011-07-05T22:53:00.002-04:00

Today...
Jeff left for his usual 24-hr. shift at 6:30am. I got up, got ready for work, woke Bobby and got him ready to go to daycare. Dropped him off and talked him out of a crying fit because he didn't want me to leave him. Wanted to cry as I left daycare because I had to leave him there. Went to work and tried to shift my focus to two hefty-sized projects that need to keep moving forward. Ran errands at lunchtime, dealing with a temperamental van that only offers air conditioning on a whim -- usually NOT when it's sunny and hell-hot outside... like today. Arrived back at my office (a sweaty mess) and ate lunch at my desk. Happened to catch CNN at 2:12pm, seeing that the Casey Anthony verdict would be read at 2:15pm. Sat stunned in my chair from 2:16pm until, roughly, 3pm. I have wanted to cry since the moment I heard the words "not guilty" spoken from the clerk of the court. And I'm not talking tears of joy, either. Left work, drove to daycare (in my "Chevy Oven") to fetch Bobby. Got home long enough to change clothes, re-pack his backpack and fill water bottles with ice water. Headed to Sam's baseball game where we sweated ourselves into silly puddles in the late afternoon heat. Watched as they lost a close one, simply because they ran out their 1 hr, 50 min time allotment. Packed Sam and Bobby into the (still) hot van and we ran a couple of errands, picked up a modest fast-food dinner and went to the station to visit Jeff. Wolfed down said food as I tried to help Jeff corral Bobby, who was in FULL OUT RUN mode everywhere he went. Piled back into the van and drove Sam to get picked up by his dad. (Jack and Charlie were at a baseball game tonight, otherwise they'd have played into the mix as well.) Made the final drive toward home. On the way -- at precisely 9:21pm -- Bobby completely lost his shit when he realized Jeff still had the two pieces of "I-made-this" (artwork)we brought from school (a.k.a., daycare) today. He wanted those two papers back. Immediately. I tried to tell him in between his screaming sobs that Daddy wanted to put his artwork in his locker so he could think about Bobby while he was away tonight. Ummm... no. This kid was having none of that. So, we rolled into our neighborhood with the windows pretty much up, but not all the way (because it's still HOT in there, remember?). I had to do something to keep the evening walkers/runners from hearing his hysterical screaming fit. We pulled into the driveway and I carried a still-sobbing Bobby into the house, directly upstairs and got him ready for bed. He managed to pull himself together for a brief phone call to Jeff, where we asked him to please bring the drawings home in the morning. Bobby was still doing the staggered-breathing thing that kids usually do following a knock-down, drag-out, holy hell's bells fit. We sat and looked through one book before I put him into bed, gave him a kiss goodnight and told him how much I loved him.

Throughout my day... the entire crazy, busy, run-here, run-there, no time to sit down and relax day... especially with the tail end of said day punctuated by a 2-yr old's hysterical screaming fit over a paper plate on which he sponge-painted... NOT. ONCE. DID. CHLOROFORM. OR. DUCT. TAPE. ENTER. MY. FRAZZLED. MIND.

And when I bent down to kiss Bobby goodnight, I paused -- wondering how anyone, especially a mother, could ever fathom the thought of willfully harming a child. I looked at him laying with his bear and still couldn't wrap my mind around how a mother could not know where her baby is for a month, as she goes out drinking, dancing and getting tattooed. I lose my mind when I don't know where my keys are, or an important piece of paper. I left Bobby's room tonight, listening to the sound of his breathing -- and said a small prayer for Caylee Anthony, wishing her mother could have seen or felt all I was feeling for my own child at that moment.

2011-07-04T21:46:00.002-04:00

I find myself with a few minutes before Jeff and I have our "date" on the patio... with a glass of wine each and a fire in the fire pit. The much-expected pops, booms and (minor) explosions are in the air, much to the dismay of Buddy. Hopefully his meds kick in momentarily and he'll be enjoying his high so much, that the fireworks will not bother him in the least. Ah, yes, the fireworks -- telltale signs of the 4th of July, when we celebrate our freedom and remember those who have fought/died (are fighting/dying) for the privilege. This brings me to the ironic realization that while the entire country is whooping it up, eating picnic fare until they are about to pop and setting fire to small explosions... there is at least one person who is faced with having her freedom revoked: Casey Anthony.

Yes, I have become swept up in this soap-opera of trial, often referring to the key players by name, as if I know them personally. I have looked at Caylee's sweet, innocent face in photographs so many times that my heart literally aches each time they air them anymore. And every time the courtroom cameras cut to Casey -- her gaunt face usually screwed into a malicious scowl -- I just want to slap her. Hard. Whether or not she actually did what she is accused of doing is something only she and God knows. Regardless, her negligence on some part is responsible for that precious child's demise. As a parent, I have felt the pressure of being "judged" -- whether by peers, my mother or the public in general. Case in point: dragging two pre-schoolers and a toddler to the grocery store one afternoon, where the three boys worked me down to my very last nerve. And to ice the cake, the two 5-year-olds unbuckled their little brother as I was smack in the middle of loading groceries at the check-out. Tell me there isn't another parent (or even childless adult) out there who wasn't passing judgement on me as I dashed from the check-out lane through the produce department, chasing a laughing toddler, trying to calmly/sweetly call after him... all the while sweating and swearing in my head.

Yes, I have felt judged. However, the microscope of judgement I felt placed under that day is nothing in comparison to what Casey Anthony must be feeling now. And, again... it's ironic that on a day of celebrating freedom in our country, there are 12 individuals who hold her freedom in their hands. Did she do it? Didn't she? Who did? I'm sure the verdict will come soon enough, but it's way too late for Caylee. I don't envy any one of those 12 jury members, because despite the weeks-long trial, all evidence is purely circumstantial. And no matter if the justice system finds her guilty or not, she will have to answer for her actions -- whatever they were or weren't -- later, under God's judgement.

In which I (almost) have no words

2011-05-25T06:18:00.002-04:00

When I sat down to write this morning, I allotted enough time to bring me to 6:20am, at which point I need to continue getting ready for work. That left me a good 10-12 minutes -- a do-able amount of time.

However.

As I was leaving my home "news" page, I caught a teaser pertaining to Justin and Selena (presumably Bieber and Gomez) vacationing in Hawaii together. The copy read something about how they'd been "working their butts off" and needed some relaxation. Boy, do I ever understand that. The thing that made me stop reading was their ages: 17 and 18 respectively. I quickly flashed to what I had been doing as a 17-18 year old. It certainly wasn't vacationing in Hawaii with my boyfriend. In fact, I think the only vacation I took during that time period was a spring break trip with my best friend to visit my relatives in Texas. And even that was something we had to really plan, ask/beg for.

And the kicker? The last line of the article referred rather off-handedly to the couple also "hoping to spend some time with their families." So, this little romantic get-away to the islands is unchaperoned for the most part?

And society wonders why young stars end up so messed up (Hello, Lindsay Lohan) and there are reality television shows out there like "16 and Pregnant."

I think I've officially reached "old fart" status between my last post and today. Oy vey.

(P.S. -- End time is 6:27am, but I have to take into consideration the few minutes I sat staring at the computer screen in disbelief after reading that article.)

My ongoing quest...

2011-05-19T06:09:00.007-04:00

Years ago, I became quite comfortable adopting the motto from an ancient Huey Lewis song: "It's Hip to be Square." It finally became unimportant to try and match the latest clothing style, hair style or listen to Top 40. I dressed the way I liked and that worked for me. Same with the hair. As for the music? Ask anyone who knows me, and they can tell you my preferences don't stray too far from 80s/alternative.

Now, with two 11-almost-12-year olds and a 9 year old, I have come face to face with pop culture again. Oy vey. How things have changed. I may or may not have heard the words, "The music you kids listen to these days..." and "I don't get why kids dress like that now..." Basically, I am borderline sounding like my parents. (No offense, Mom and Dad.) Quite often when we are in the car, the boys (usually Sam) ask me to turn the radio on. If Bobby is with us, the answer is a definite "No." Even the most tame radio stations/play lists will end up having some dialogue or verse containing word choices not I'd rather not hear my 2-year old say. Most recently, for example, he's heard "Shut up" and "sucks" and has chosen to repeat them. A lot.

Yesterday morning, afte we dropped off Bobby at school (daycare, really, but he likes to be like his older brothers and sister who go to school every day) Sam asked for the radio. Still nursing my morning coffee, I was in no mood to argue. I did remind him of my number one rule: The first reference to something inappropriate or foul language, and it's turned off. We have two local hip-hop/R&B/dance stations. I tuned in to one of them, giving the mandatory Mom Eye Roll.

Let me just clarify... while I strongly dislike all rap music, I usually don't mind the "dance club" style songs. Amazingly, I do know a few of them, thanks to my cardio interval class -- they can really get you moving. Imagine the boys' surprise when, one time I relented and put the radio on, to hear a song I actually knew (and liked!). "OOOOHH! I love this one!" I said, turning the volume up. I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see three sets of wide-eyes and three mouths hanging open.

"What?" I asked.

"You. Like. This?!" they responded.

It was at this point that I gave them the quick lesson in the difference between dance/club music rap. I don't mind one, detest the other. It wasn't surprising that when I clicked on the radio yesterday, the boys were immediately all about the happy faces and "car dancing." It's amazing how my ongoing quest to be hip (before I am of age to break one) can completely make their morning.

Jack... gettin' his groove on.

Charlie... clearly approving the music choice.

And Sam... who, apparently, will turn bashful when "car dancing" in front of his mom.

Mother's Day Retrospective

2011-05-09T13:32:00.002-04:00

Mother's Day was delightful because...

I enjoyed homemade blueberry pancakes -- made by my wonderful husband -- with him and the kids.

We went to church and heard a really great message about being a mom.

We returned home and worked on a few projects (that I wanted to do, as opposed to having to do) with Jeff.

I went for a much-needed run with Bobby in the stroller.

We picked out flowers for the pots on the front porch.

I was treated to grilled steaks for dinner, as well as having the company of Jenny, James, Ethan and Chloe.

Jeff made ice cream sundaes for dessert. Yes, even a cherry on top.

I got to speak with my mom and wish her a Happy Mother's Day.

I took time to acknowledge and appreciate the honor I have to be a mom to Tyler, Kate, Jack, Charlie, Sam and Bobby.

Loving it

2011-05-06T13:47:00.003-04:00

Ever since he was a little tyke, Sam (9) has never been able to keep a secret, maintain a surprise or wait to give a gift. He is much like me, when it comes to gift-giving: I want to give it immediately because I want to make that person happy immediately. This character trait of his always makes his older brothers roll their eyes and complain that “Sam can’t keep a surprise.”
Each year, when kids work hard on handmade gift projects in school, it never fails that Sam can’t wait for the holiday or celebration itself (be it Christmas, Valentine’s Day or Mother’s day) to give the gift he made. So, it came as no surprise when, yesterday, upon getting home from work I saw Sam leap up and rummage through his school bag. He handed me a small card reading, “To: Mom, From: Sam” on the front. Inside he wrote something about “Butler Blue II” (the Butler Bulldog mascot). Then he pulled out a crumpled, white paper bag and gave me this:

Needless to say, I love it.
In case you can’t see everything written on the porcelain tile, it reads (from top left) “Go Butler,” “Happy Mother’s Day Mom,” “I love you,” “Butler alumnie” and “Joe.” I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory – except for “Joe.” He simply explained that it stands for “coffee.”

“You know, like a ‘cuppa joe,’” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

Again, I love it. I love it because he made it with his own two hands. I love it because he obviously put a lot of thought into putting what he knows about me onto that tile. I love the colors he chose. I love it because I know the time will soon come when he isn’t all about hand-making me a Mother’s Day gift (or hand-making any gift for that matter). I love it because it’s so Sam – it’s the perfect gift from him to me. I love it because after he handed it to me, it was followed by a huge hug and a kiss. I love it because of the extreme look of happiness on his adorable face when I told him, “I love it.”

To all my family members and friends who are moms or who will be celebrating with their moms this weekend… Happy Mother’s Day! I hope your weekend is filled with many moments that make you say, “I love it.”

Pieces...

2011-03-21T21:57:00.004-04:00

You would have to be living under a rock somewhere to NOT know it's NCAA March Madness time. And, amazingly so, the Butler Bulldogs have stunned naysayers who chalked up last year's performance of a lifetime to just that -- a once in a lifetime thing. A fluke. Yet here they are again, with their dancin' shoes on in the oh, so Sweet 16. I recently read Butler's Big Dance, written by Butler Professor Susan Neville (whom I may or may not have had as an instructor at school). It is an amazing account of the entire phenomenon that gripped my alma mater, our state, the sport and the nation, as the "unknown" Bulldogs came out of nowhere... and proceeded to fight their way to the top of the heap. When Gordon Hayward's shot missed by three inches (yes,... three inches) the team lost the honor of a national championship. But in the process of losing that, they gained the love and loyalty of, well, everyone, it seems. Duke may have added another trophy to their case, they got the hats and shirts and the confetti rained down on them from high above the court in Lucas Oil Stadium -- but it was Butler that people were talking about. And it's Butler they are still talking about. Who knows what Thursday's game will bring. As much as I'd love for them to post another win, really, making it back to the Sweet 16 is an incredible accomplishment in itself. I love my school, I admire the team and Coach Stevens -- they are a classy bunch of gentlemen -- and I love that they are showing everyone, once again, what down-to-earth, hard-working, academically accomplished students they are.

______________________________________________________________

This year, students in grades 3, 4 and 5 at the boys' school were required to create books for the Young Author's Conference. I, for one was thrilled. Jack, Charlie and Sam? Meh... not so much. They were enthusiastic about the stories they wanted to write, but when it came down to the writing, well... the weather was getting warmer, the basketball hoop was put up and they suddenly had much more important things to do. However, a requirement is a requirement, and three boys dictated three stories which I typed verbatim. (Which, at times, nearly killed the OCD grammarian in me.) In the end, the boys created some pretty good stories, and they were presented well. Today, Sam told me he was chosen as a representative for the 3rd grade to attend the conference in a few weeks. I was thrilled! I had won the Young Author's Conference at my school in 5th and 6th grades. (You know, back when 6th grade was still in an elementary school and we scratched our lessons onto stone tablets with dinosaur bones.) I clearly remember the grumpy mumbling of classmates when I was chosen the second year in a row. "But sheee went laaaast year!" I simply shrugged. I certainly had nothing to do with the selection process -- I just liked to write stories. I read through the paperwork for the conference today, and felt a little jolt of excitement when I saw that parents are welcome to attend the workshop with their child. Trying my best to sound nonchalant, I said, "Hey, Sam... do you want me to go to the Young Author's Conference with you?" He answered yes, and I proceeded to do a little happy dance in my head.

________________________________________________________________

I am still on JoyQuest2011. Some days I kind of forget that I need to be "finding the joy," because someone has positioned his or herself in my path, making it imposssssssible to find my sanity, let alone any joy. But I am still trying. Every day, even when I slip and quietly cuss someone out for driving like a maniac, or politely turn away to roll my eyes privately at a person's actions, or even mumble under my breath some choice words to make me "feel better" about the present situation, I'm stopping myself. I immediately say a quick little prayer for forgiveness, then -- you guessed it -- find the joy in the situation. I feel like I'm still deep in training mode, but there are still plenty of days and weeks left to get the hang of it. Breathe deeply... find the joy.

2011-03-14T16:35:00.003-04:00

A while back, Lindy had a conversation with her parish priest, in which she said she was “praying for patience” (the topic was kids,… go figure) and the priest told her to stop praying for patience, since the root of that word is Latin for “suffer.” (According to Dictionary.com, Latin, patientia, endurance, from pati “to suffer.”) Instead, he said, she should pray for joy. I loved that idea: Take a seemingly bad situation and try to find the proverbial “silver lining.” Find the joy, indeed.

I think my Lenten journey has been officially renamed, “JoyQuest 2011.” I am going to find the damn joy… even if it kills me. (And you know, the irony has not escaped my notice that here I am bellyaching about kids, worrying about finances and bitching that I have no coffeemaker and people in this world (Japan) have lost their kids, homes and all worldly possessions… including coffeemakers.)

So, with keeping the people in the world who are facing devastation and tragedy in prayer, I am also praying for joy. Praying that each day, when something goes "wrong," or not according to my plan... I take a moment to find the joy and remind myself "my" plan isn't the one that matters. When one of the kids decides to work my last nerve, I need to find joy in that I have kids to work that lone nerve. When someone cuts me off in traffic, I need to find joy in the fact that they didn't hit me doing it. When I struggle to get out of bed in the morning to go to work, I need to find joy in the fact that I have a job. When life gets in the way, keeping me from something on my ever-present, ever-growing "list," I need to find joy in the fact that I did my best today, and (God willing) I will have another day to check something else off the list. When I am faced with a challenge or struggle, I will find joy in the fact that I can close my eyes, say a prayer asking for strength/guidance and I know my prayer will be heard -- and answered in time.

Find the joy.

2011-03-03T21:40:00.007-05:00

Do we all remember this little guy? He's the reason for the title of this blog -- his arrival brought me and his daddy right back to square one, as far as kids are concerned. "Five kids are plenty," we agreed. Little did we know, God had another plan in mind. So, on March 1, 2009, we welcomed Robert Edward Cameron into our family. Bobby. On that whirlwind day, I don't think any one of us could even come close to comprehending just how special this child was... and is today. This precious little nugget of a person cemented a union -- a union that brought two families together into one. His family.

March 1, 2009

April 16, 2009

Today, just two days past his second birthday, Bobby continues to brighten every day with his personality, charm and oh-so-cuteness. You've heard people refer to someone as a "joy" or "delight?" I now know exactly what they mean. Bobby brings so much love, such pure joy to his parents and siblings. He is funny and loves to laugh. His vocabulary is amazing, and it grows leaps and bounds every day. He is the love of our lives right now, adding to the love that brought us all together.

March 1, 2010 Having lunch and a sundae with Daddy and Mommy.

March 1, 2010

Happy 2nd Birthday, Precious Boy. You are loved more than you will ever know, Bobby, and you make our family complete. We love you!

Changes

2011-03-02T21:38:00.003-05:00

"Nothing fits."

This was what I heard as I stood toe-to-toe with Jack and Charlie last night, as they picked out clothes for the next morning.

"Nothing?" I asked, sure they were just exaggerating.
"No. Nothing," they replied.
Still very sure they were stretching the truth, I told them we would fully address the issue tomorrow... which is now today. I can now say, without a doubt, they were telling the truth. We spent the better part of two hours this evening, camped out in their bedroom going through the dresser and closet. We now have several stacks of clothes to donate. This purge leaves them with a pair of khaki cargo pants each and an array of shirts. (Sam, on the other hand, the sole recipient of the hand-me-downs, has most of what he needs, wardrobe-wise, but managed to outgrow all his jeans, too.) So, this weekend? It's a jeans-buying bonanza for the boys.

I discovered today that I -- somewhere in the past few weeks -- gained a few extra pounds. This? I am thoroughly unhappy about. Yep... nothing like getting ready for work in the morning, feeling like a wrapped ham in your clothing. The difference between myself and the boys is that my only option is to get my ass back to the gym and have three miles on the treadmill for lunch every day, rather than go out and have myself a shopping spree. And, yes, I started today.

Funny how the kids outgrowing some clothing can make you stop and think... they're growing up. Sure, it's happening every day, but we all get busy and don't see it. Lately I've been noticing small changes in the boys' behavior -- small steps toward a bit more maturity, a smidge more compassion here and there, and I realize that Sam at 9 and Jack & Charlie coming up on 12 are really growing up. Don't get me wrong -- I still get to hear all the petty bickering and arguing. (Oh, how I love the bickering and arguing!) But to realize there are no more fist-fights between them, or chasing each other down, only to catch and begin the pummelling... well, that's just an awesome feeling. I remember fully being in the midst of that behavior several years ago, wondering just when the hell all the fighting would end, and if I'd make it through to that point. "It has to stop sometime," I'd think, weary from playing referee and, literally, pulling them off each other. And now we've made it. I also noticed lately that those boys are really funny. Yes, once in a while they do manage to take a break from the typical "bathroom humor" that boys their age find absolutely hysterical, and say something witty or sarcastic. It still catches me off guard, but it never ceases to make me laugh. Really laugh. Especially Sam.

Change abounds in our house. Bobby just turned two yesterday. Two years old! And talk about a kid who has personality and a sense of humor? I guess that's what happens when your family is as big as an audience, and you are growing up feeling comfortable "performing." Things will change later this year for Tyler and Kate, as well. Tyler will begin his sophomore year of college on Purdue's main campus; something he is desperately happy to have happen. Kate will begin her senior year of high school at the end of the summer -- and so begins all the "last times" of her high school career. At the same time, as she begins preparing for college admissions (another for Purdue!) it marks all the "firsts" as a college student. Such wonderful times, full of excitement.

My hope is that with all the hustle and bustle of life, amidst all the changes, growth spurts and outgrown jeans... Jeff and I manage to stop and take notice. I don't want a single minute of this crazy life of ours to pass us by without pausing... letting the events sink in and giving us wonderful memories. We may periodically find ourselves in a place where "nothing fits," but with a little rearrangement and a little adjustment, we'll once again find ourselves comfortable.

2011-02-16T09:49:00.008-05:00

I'd like to say I have a good reason for not posting for over two months... but, really, blaming the holidays and the post-holiday slump is so played out. And it isn't like I haven't had some really great material for blog posts, and plenty of photos to accompany them. It's just that when the idea hits, it's nowhere near a good time to post. And by the end of most evenings at my house, the last thing I find myself wanting is to sit at the computer and thrill all eight followers with the funny things that happened that day. (And I'm sure calling out eight followers is strectching things at this point.)

Here's the nutshell version of the past 8-10 weeks:

Ahem. Thanksgiving came and went without much drama or fanfare... I think. We prepped for Christmas and had loads of fun at James & Jenny's one evening, where the kids got their Betty Crocker on, decorating cookies and making Christmas "trees" out of inverted sugar cones, green frosting and a variety of candies.

Closer to the Big Day, we embarked on our annual trek to Pokagon State Park for an evening of toboganning. The weather couldn't have cooperated more, and we had a great time hurtling down an ice-covered run at speeds in the 30mph range. Two days later, we once again packed up the family cars (since we don't all fit in the van), and headed north to Michigan -- Boyne Mtn., to be exact, for a few days of skiing and snowboarding. We even had passes to the on-site waterpark, which we visited Tuesday night. This is when Jack found himself with an early Christmas present, after whacking his head on a cross-bar as he entered a water slide -- six tidy stitches in the middle of his forehead, courtesy of the Northern Michigan Regional Hospital.

I think I may have clinched the Mother of the Year award on our final night, when I took Jack, Charlie and Sam to return their snowboards and boots -- realizing I had forgotten to bring their regular snow boots. The boys had to walk across the resort, to the parking lot in... socks. This? They found HI-LARIOUS. Of course, we had to stop for a hot cocoa at Kilwin's candy shop, just to ensure the maximum number of people fell witness to my awesome forgetfulness.

Christmas was a lovely time, and we had a blast watching Bobby open gifts. Or, rather, open a gift and enjoy playing for a while, before we all but insisted he open another. In the time since the holidays, we have been dumped on with snow and ice, passed a pesky fever virus around to each other and froze ourselves silly with sub-zero temperatures. Good times, my friends. Good. Times. Oh, and also? I managed to get out of Girl Scout cookie selling season, keeping my total number of boxes under double-digits. Quite a feat, when you have a good friend who is not only the mom of an adorable, eight-year-old Brownie, but a master "enabler."

I also recently learned to knit. Currently working on a scarf (which Sam has already claimed for his own) that is, admittedly, full of flaws -- but also brimming with love. I have always wanted to learn to knit, and I am so excited to actually be making something. And it's recognizable.

I think that covers most of the high points of the recent weeks. I still have a boat-load of photos to share, so I will work on a "Photo Album" of sorts to share a few more tidbits of our crazy life.

Photo Retro

2010-12-09T20:20:00.014-05:00

Nothing like a holiday season to take a normally hectic household and spin it into complete chaos. Welcome to my world. But, the past three weeks or so haven't been without highlights... or just randomness.

This is downtown Fort Wayne on Thanksgiving Eve. The (yet unlit) light display on the side of the building is an historic event in town: Santa, his sleigh and reindeer. I won't get into the whole history, but I will say it goes way back. People flock to the area, streets are closed off... coney dogs are consumed from Fort Wayne's famous Coney Island... and most years, umbrellas are raised. This year was no exception. We found a secret hiding spot where we could watch the lighting from the dry, toasty warm confines of our car. Let the countdown begin!

5....4....3....2....1

We hosted an early evening Thanksgiving dinner. It was a true blessing to all be together, given the Cameron brothers' recent string of surgeries. They hauled out The Settlers of Catan game, and well,... it was game on. Jenny and I did not play -- notice her knitting on the table... lower left of photo. She knitted, I watched. We learned that The Settlers of Catan is a long, long, long game. (Notice the time... after midnight.) I think James finally claimed victory somewhere around 12:30am. Or, as I like to call it, "what-the-hell-are-we-still-doing-awake" o'clock.

How do you win the love and admiration of all the kids? Two words: Reddi. Whip.

Cocoa and Calvin & Hobbes -- the perfect combination.

Sitting at the table after dinner, after homework... just enjoying the view of the tree.

And taking random crazy photos with the first kid to come by.

Brush with celebrity

2010-11-16T17:07:00.005-05:00

It isn't often in my life that I find myself in the presence of celebrity. However, I have had a few claims to fame including receiving a kiss on the cheek from Christopher Atkins (Blue Lagoon), meeting and having a photo taken with Sean Astin (The Goonies, Rudy) and absent-mindedly walking into Meijer for a poster board at the same time Sarah Palin was there signing her book. (Believe me, I wasn't nearly as excited about that last one as I had been for the previous two.)

When I arrived at work this morning, I noticed a semi-truck parked on our block, which we share with the Embassy Theatre in downtown Fort Wayne. There were also huge, custom charter buses parked nearby. I thought nothing of it, other than they were part of a stage production ready to perform at the theatre tonight. When I left work this afternoon, the truck was still in its place; and the buses were just returning and parking.

Then it hit me. And, I swear, I actually sucked in my breath when I realized who that truck and those two buses belonged to. None other than Indiana's favorite son... the rebel who "fights authority" (and authority always wins)... the guy who knows Jack & Diane personally...

John. Mellencamp.

I all but sprinted across the street and up the four flights of stairs in the parking garage. Because if John Mellencamp was going to be getting off a bus a few yards away from me? I was going to be driving by to take a photo. Period.

Well, all my slingback-pump-sprinting was for nothing. This is all I got for my effort:

But I know he was on the bus!

Two for One Special

2010-11-14T09:54:00.006-05:00

I. I Just Can't Win

So yesterday (Saturday) I found myself in an interesting and unfamiliar situation: a morning/day in which I had no committments until 3:30pm. It was nothing short of a miracle that Bobby slept until 10am -- which was nice, since Jeff and I were working at our rental condo (painting) until 3am. I went to bed, while Jeff returned to paint... pulling an all-nighter. When I got up with Bobby, we proceeded to park ourselves in the den, where we played and I enjoyed coffee and one of my all-time favorite HGTV shows, Property Ladder. Before I knew it, it was time for Bobby to take a short nap, and I busied myself with (finally) putting Halloween decs back into their handy orange/black bins and taking them up to the attic. While up there, I slid the Christmas bins to the front for easy access -- it won't be long before we're into those. Jeff returned home, bleary-eyed, a little after noon. We sat together, just relaxing on the sofa... Jeff nodding off every so often, but then again, I can't say I blame him. And then I realized I felt sort of guilty. There it was... nearly 1:45pm on a Saturday and I was still in my fleece pj's, finishing coffee.

Guilty?!? Are you kidding me?!?!

I shot a quick text to Lindy, confessing my pangs of guilt. Her response? "Don't feel guilty! Enjoy it!"

This? Is why she's such an awesome friend. Because an awesome friend will already know what your normal, crazy-ass insane daily life is like and recognize when a "gift" day falls right into your lap. Further, she will have the perspective to remind you to not beat yourself up feeling guilty because you're not running across hell's half-acre, shuttling kids to various activities. She will recognize that everyone needs to embrace and enjoy unexpected downtime. Thank you, Lindy!

II. In Which I Eat My Words

During Jeff's gall bladder removal procedure, the doctor discovered he is prone to a condition which requires his diet to be pretty much nut-/seed-free. This restriction includes popcorn. Normally, a person may not bat an eyelash at this. Unfortunately, Jeff and I have carved out something of a "relaxation routine," of popping a huge bowl of popcorn after the kids go to bed, grabbing a Cherry Coke Zero ("DCC" from its former name, Diet Cherry Coke) and watching a movie. It isn't anything elaborate -- but it's our thing. Now, realizing he cannot partake in the main course, I resigned myself to only making popcorn when he wasn't around, so as not to eat it in front of him. I wished for an alternative for him -- maybe rice cakes...? Little did I know, the snack food industry had answered my prayers years ago. We were in the store a couple of weeks ago, and Jeff picked up a bag of Mike-Sell's Oven-Baked Puffcorn Delites.

I admit... I mocked him. Openly. Right there in the middle of the snack aisle.

"Really, Honey?" I smirked. "Fake popcorn?"

He valiantly championed his purchase, saying he used to eat those puffs as a kid. And they are quite tasty, thank you very much.

I doubted. And I mocked.

"They look like packing material," I said. "Little, buttery pieces of packing material."

One evening Jeff sat beside me on the sofa, with a few puffs and a DCC. I thought I'd humor him and try one.

Wow. Those little things are good. Delicious, in fact. Addictive.

Yesterday, after having sampled myself silly on Puffcorn Delites for the better part of a week, I took a look at the nutrition label. I hadn't thus far, simply because I didn't want to know the horrible truth, that my new little tasty snack wasn't the healthiest choice on the block.

180 calories and 12g of fat per serving. And a serving? Three cups. Three cups, people. In serving terms, that's a HUGE amount... and I have made it my business/obsession over the past several months to track servings/calories on what I eat. I have never run across a serving that ventured past, say, a half-cup.

So now I will happily eat my words... as well as those lovely little Puffcorn Delites.

Playing catch up...

2010-11-10T18:09:00.010-05:00

Since my camera and the cord through which I download photos onto my computer decided to play nicely together (there's a major connection problem, and the solution is to get a card reader... it's on the list) I thought I would post the last of the batch taken at the end of October.

Our "family of pumpkins," all aglow on Halloween night. The little angry one in the back is mine... hovering just above everyone else... go figure.

And look who went full Martha Stewart with the fancy-pants carving! I have seen this type of carving done many times, but figured it was way too involved and time-consuming to actually do. Surprise, surprise... it isn't. Rather than carve, you really just have to scrape.

And here's the pumpkin-glowy "BOO" lit up.

This would be Tyler bringing to "life" a dead zombie look. I'm telling you, the Salvation Army store is THE place to pick up stuff for Halloween costumes, if you're creating your own. We got his full suit, shirt (and I think a tie... which wasn't worn), plus items for Kate, Jack, Charlie and Sam all for $25. The only other cost was $5 for a jumbo bottle of fake blood, and the boys were in business.

OK, Stacy... this one's for you. :) Kate as a mime. Thank goodness she was a sweet, friendly mime, as opposed to the eerie, creepy variety.

And one last shot of the "hardware" the boys (and a friend) received at the football banquet. I think most everyone on my personal email list has had enough already of the photos. Sorry folks. You're going to have to endure just one more -- the always mandatory "nice" shot, where no one is grimacing, sticking out a tongue or giving me his best "gangsta" pose. Charlie (left), their friend Jiya and Jack -- green squad MVP, orange squad MVP and orange squad Defense Player of the Year, respectively.

The Payoff

2010-11-04T22:44:00.002-04:00

For all those times...
... we've asked, "Is your homework done?"
... we made them run through spelling words.
... they took extra time on special reports and projects.
... we made them go to bed early.
... they were drilled on spelling words (again) in the car.
... I nagged at them to eat a good breakfast, insisting "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know."
... I threatened groundings if they didn't -- for the love of God -- stop talking and get some sleep!
... I asked them to run through spelling words, just *one* more time.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the payoff:

Three Principal's Honor Roll certificates for achieving straight A's

What? Me, too?!?

2010-10-27T06:23:00.002-04:00

In the wee hours of the morning, I dreamed of...

Christmas.

More specifically, Christmas decorating.

Personally, I blame Crate & Barrel, since I was looking at their new catalog (where halls are decked in not only holly, but an assortment of C&B products, perfect for your home as well...). Of course, these little decor nuggets fell into my head and popped to the surface somewhere around 4a.m.

I am one of the people who stop dead in my tracks when I see tinsel, stockings and ornaments in a store -- before mid-September. I usually do the mandatory eye-roll, perhaps shake the head a bit then proceed on to my destination. But, now... with the images and ideas creeping into my head, then jumping to life in my dreams...how can I possibly ignore that?

Then, as I was getting out of the shower this morning, I realized the date: October 27. November 27 is about four weeks away. December 27 is about eight weeks away. (I know... my mad math skillz are amazing, yes?) My point? Christmas is just around the corner. Less than eight weeks. The planner/organizer living inside me suddenly woke up with a start. I must start getting ready!

But at least I promise to wait until after the pumpkins are cleared from the front porch before stringing up the sparkly Christmas lights.

Details,... Details,...

2010-10-26T06:17:00.002-04:00

In our area of the Midwest, mid- to late- October weather can be dicey at best. So, this past Sunday, when we were blessed with a clear, sunny 70-ish degree day, nearly everyone took advantage of it.

I was (technically) outdoors, but spent three hours detailing our vehicles. Fun. Fun. Fun.

It was a "must," since both the car's interior was looking pretty bad; and the van? Oy vey. It was starting to smell.

Now, before anyone goes all judgey on me, let me assure you we are a fairly tidy family -- with the exception of a few bedrooms which appear to have had isolated tornadoes touch down. I function much better (and everyone around me is much happier) when things are orderly and clean. Actually, I'm kind of OCD that way. So, when I approached the driveway with a trash bag, a rag and the Armor-All, it was easy to see I meant business.

Two hours, a kitchen-sized trash bag and a stroller full of blankets, socks, books and whatnot, I stepped away from the van satisfied. Every last inch... every nook and cranny had been vacuumed clean and washed down. Biggest surprise? The number of petrified french fries I discovered. (Which, you know, kind of lends a little more credibility to the recent story about Happy Meals and their "shelf life." Eeew.) Most irritating find? The chocolate something that Charlie put in his cup-holder, only to have it melt and resolidify, melt and resolidify God knows how many times. If carpet and upholstery could shine, the inside of the van would blind you. There isn't a spot of anything, anywhere. If any of them so much as lose an eyelash in there, I'm going to know about it. It was at this point that I announced to Jeff that he and I were the ONLY two individuals ever allowed to bring anything into the van: be it food, drink or diversions.

The car was next, and proved to be a much easier job despite the fact that it looked as if someone just dumped grass clippings from mid-June all over the carpeting. When all was said and done, and the Shop-Vac had been retired for the day... I was pleased.

Yesterday on my way to work, I kept looking at the interior of the car, smiling to myself. Clean. Clean. Clean. (See? I am kind of OCD about it.)

And the first person to even think of leaving a candy wrapper, crumpled receipt, half-finished bottle of Gatorade in there? Well, let's just say, we'll be having a little chat as we roll the Shop-Vac out to the driveway.

2010-10-21T22:41:00.002-04:00

I have no title for this post.

Today, chatting with Lindy, I mentioned that WH (that's "Wonderful Husband") texted me at work to say he had just finished vacuuming the stairway and the second floor of the house. That's pretty darn wonderful -- hence the "WH" moniker. I told her it wasn't as if he did this to earn points. Rather, he did this in response to my bringing up the idea of hiring in a nice lady to visit two times a month and give our home a good once over in the cleaning department. It isn't as if I'm too good for working around the house. It's just that with the six kids, work, school, sports, activities, etc. there are some days when I begin shuttling kids or cars around town on my way home from work, and don't even see the inside of our house until 8-9pm. At that point, there are kids to get to bed and another day to plan for. My point to WH this morning was, we do the best we can, and even delegate several household chores to kids. And, yet, I still look around and wonder when exactly a pack of hooligans broke into my house and ransacked it. And because with a toddler who makes it his job to get into as much shit as possible every day and NOT put things back where they belong, well... things get out of hand pretty quickly.

However, as soon as I so much as formed the thought, WH was all "Oh, hell no" about it. Reason? Bringing in an Amish woman to clean was like offering an open invitation to steal our stuff. First of all, I don't know why he immediately assumed I wanted to hire an Amish woman. Perhaps the close proximity of them to our side of town? I have to admit -- I'll bet they do a bang-up job. Anyway... if we did happen to go with a nice Amish woman, a.) our electronics would be safe, and b.) aside from our electronics, I doubt there's much here she'd want.

Regardless, I am not hiring a woman (Amish or not) to give our house a good, thorough scrub twice a month. Instead, a flame has been lit under WH's backside, prompting him to not only vacuum, but clean* the garage today. I guess I'll take what I can get.

*Note: using the term "clean" here is done so ONLY if you coung moving a bunch of crap from one side of the garage to the other, and supervising a pick-up from Goodwill.

In which I 'fess up to being a big crybaby

2010-10-13T22:42:00.003-04:00

So, here's the thing. I've become my mother.
Not completely, since I'm sure she'd argue that we are quite different in some ways. However, when I was a kid, and we'd be watching a particularly sappy movie on television, it was just a matter of time before I'd hear a huge sniff, and turn to see my mom wiping tears away.
"What?!" she'd say, starting to laugh through her tears.
And if my dad happened to walk in? Oh, my gosh... forget it. He'd give a good-natured hard time, laugh and go get her a box of tissues.

Now, that crying person is... me.

Gradually, over the past God-knows-how-many years, I've noticed a tendency to well up with tears if a really sad song was on the radio. Or, say, a really good, heart-string-tugging Hallmark commercial came on. Then, last Christmas, we were sitting in church and the pastor asked us to all stand and sing with the choir.

Oh. No.

I had been secretly crying to Christmas carols at that point for a month. And now, here I was, biting my lip to keep from completely losing my shit while everyone else harmonized on "O Come, All Ye Faithful." I tried averting my own attention by focusing on Bobby, pointing out all the pretty lights in the decorations. It worked. A little.

Fast forward a few months to March, when we kicked off the month with Bobby's first birthday. I couldn't even sing Happy Birthday to him, because I couldn't make it through the song without breaking down. Then, my beloved Butler Bulldogs became the unexpected, Cinderella-story of the entire NCAA basketball tournament. As they ticked off wins from the Sweet Sixteen to the Elite Eight, I would celebrate each win with an enthusiastic cheer -- and teary eyes. The day they made it into the Final Four, I got a double-whammy: as they were winning their game, Jack, Charlie and Sam were winning a tournament game in their indoor flag football league.

I. Was. A. Mess.

After that, during the boys' baseball season, I became extremely grateful for my sunglasses and their ability to cover my teary eyes. The boys had phenomenal seasons (Jack had his first Grand Slam!), ending with Sam's team AND Jack & Charlie's team winning their division championships. As long as I could keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks, I was good. Come to think of it, it was so damn Hell hot out there, anyone who noticed might just have assumed the tears were sweat.

Earlier this week, Lindy tipped me off to a new Kenny Chesney song, "The Boys of Fall." I am not a Country fan in the least; however, I gave the song a listen (finding the eight-minute video online) and almost completely lost my composure. Hello?!?! The song is about football!! How can I possibly cry at football? (It's a hell of a video, people. Check it out. Bring a tissue.) And in the past 24 hours, I have worked up a good cry about a half-dozen times thanks to the Chilean miners rescue. I really think you'd have to have a heart of stone to NOT cry for each and every one of those men, their families and friends as they emerged from the Phoenix capsule. Naturally, for me, getting all worked up and not letting out a good cry has resulted in the mother of all headaches. And the continuing urge to cry.

Before I completely take my red-eyed, quivering-chin award and call it a day, let me add that I am not alone. Someone I know -- someone of the male gender -- has previously been called out for crying at a movie. And it wasn't even the All-Time-Male-Approved-Movie-to-Cry-To (Brian's Song). Are you ready for this? It was... The Little Mermaid. And, he's further admitted to crying at the close of some Lord of the Rings film, but I forget which one.

And now, after coming clean and admitting to being a big crybaby, perhaps I'll just let the tears flow freely the next time I find myself moved to do so. What's the point of holding it in? None that I can see. Other than the fact that I will end up looking like a big, ol' sobbing raccoon as mascara runs all over my face. Hello, waterproof mascara! Where the hell are my tissues?

And Mom? If you read this, you totally have permission to call me out, poke fun and laugh if you catch me getting all sappy. You owe me a few.

Lobbying for June, July, August, November, December.

2010-09-30T22:23:00.002-04:00

Why did I leave out September and October?

Simple. They are the months from hell, thank you very much.

September and October are frantic, harried and leave us feeling like we've been run over with a runaway dump truck. Not only is there school for the kids, but marching band practices and weekend competitions... football practices after school for two-and-a-half-hours and Saturday games. And let's not overlook the college student who needs rides to campus and back, as well as rides to work. And back. All this shuttling around town? Well, let's just say I swear I saw Jeff perusing the spray paint display at Menard's. He had stopped at "Taxi Cab Yellow."

Tomorrow marks the half-way point in our eight-week whirlwind. And to mark the occasion, Jeff is celebrating by having gallbladder surgery. And two weeks from tomorrow... shoulder surgery.

Oy vey.

So, tonight... as the kids and Jeff sleep, I am writing while waiting for a critical* load of laundry to finish in the washer, so I can transfer it to the dryer and call it a night. Since I will be on post-op nurse duty for Jeff all weekend, I anticipate catching up on blogging in addition to working from home and reading. Catch you all later.

*Critical because this morning Sam had to borrow clothing from Jack and Charlie -- his drawer was empty. Super. That might be because of the hideously malformed pile of clothing growing out of the laundry basket in the corner of their room. When you make it home past 8-9pm more than a few evenings in a week, the laundry do suffer.

2010-09-24T06:31:00.002-04:00

I gave myself 15 minutes this morning to sit down and write a post. Then I got sidetracked by Facebook and currently have about 15 seconds to write something here.

Lots going on lately, just rarely find time to sit myself down at the computer and write. Which, really, contradicts the fact that I call myself/consider myself a writer. Because, seriously... if you are a writer, you must write.

Watched the season premiere of one of the best shows on television last night, Grey's Anatomy. Really connected with Cristina's character when she says to the hospital therapist, "Girls are either born simple, or they're born... me." I have tried to "simplify" myself in the past, and haven't felt like I succeeded. And, while I am still a far cry from being considered "high maintenance," I would love to be one of those women who can focus solely on the important things in life, (God, family, friends) and let all the s**t roll off her back. Unfortunately, I find myself worrying about or obsessing over unimportant things... things that distract me from where I really want to go.

Thankfully, there is always hope -- always a chance for change (note the parallel to Meredith's closing monologue on GA). Every minute, there's a chance to be re-born...

One in the W column...

2010-09-11T14:52:00.005-04:00

Jack, #3 (on the right) Charlie, #6, at QB... ready for the snap

RAIDER VICTORY!

So, I've landed with both feet firmly planted in football season. There's just something about the chill in the air (minus the drizzle) and the sound of ref's whistles. I love it. And, despite some early season drama with the boys, during which they were considering chucking football for baseball, their season opener was fabulous -- a 26-6 win. Charlie scored two touchdowns, and Jack ran the ball quite a bit. (Missed a TD for himself after an opponent decided to trip, rather than tackle him. (And nothing was called?! WTH?!)

Here's looking forward to a great season!

WTH?! WEDNESDAY

2010-09-08T18:06:00.002-04:00

I'd like to imagine I'd have something more meaningful to say following nearly a month hiatus. However, in the wee hours of this morning, when I wsa obviously still flying high from the soy latte I foolishly drank around 9pm last night, random thoughts began flying around my head, prompting a "WTH?!" thought-bubble after each one. And in keeping with some of my blog peeps' crafty, witty ways, I decided to christen today as "WTH?! WEDNESDAY." My own entry is as follows:

My cell phone rang somewhere around 3-4a.m. No one was there when I answered, so I hung up. That call was immediately followed by another, in which some girl demanded, "Do you know somebody named Julius?! I went from zero to bitch in 1.3 seconds and told her she had the wrong number. Jeff said I should have told her, "He's sleeping right now..." However, I wasn't in the mood to start trouble and almost guarantee that somewhere, poor Julius would be getting his ass kicked promptly.

Feel free to contribute your own "WTH?! WEDNESDAY" offering in the comments. I haven't yet figured out if there will be a prize, or what said prize could possibly be, but there's got to be something for putting up with rampant insanity and stupid people.

I'd go Amish, but they use cell phones, too

2010-08-11T21:31:00.004-04:00

So, this week started innocently enough. A good day at work, great cardio class, I got serious about a training diet and (for once) didn't blow it. The week was off to a wonderful beginning. And even better? It was a 3-day work week, since we are heading out Thursday for a family camping trip -- a "last hurrah" of summer, before college classes begin for Tyler, and the rest of the kids head back to school.

Then, Monday afternoon rolled around.

School registration for Jack, Charlie and Sam. The school didn't have the A/C on, and it was hot. Africa hot. As in, "this-should-be-considered-a-warning-you-are-about-to-enter-a-circle-of-hell" hot. Whatever. We handled everything fairly quickly... at least moreso than I had anticipated. Then it was off to the high school to help Kate. It had just started raining when I got there, but shuttled Bobby and myself into the school ASAP. We got hit with a few raindrops, but no major downpour. At some point in the following two hours, I set my Palm in the stroller cupholder, just in case, so I could hear it if Jeff called. Apparently one of the few raindrops landed in said cupholder, puddled together and proceeded to fry the living s**t out of my phone. Fabulous.

Throughout the next 24 hours I silently lamented the loss of, ... well... everything. Did you hear me, people? Everything. Contacts, phone numbers, addresses, birthdays, anniversaries, notes, shopping lists, the list goes on. And for a brief time, I was absolutely sick over the possibility of having lost hundreds of photos. Irreplacable photos that I should have transferred to the computer, but hadn't. Luckily, Jeff managed to pull the memory card, and there they were. Safe and sound.

In retrospect, I should be ashamed of myself, getting all worked up over a simple piece of electronic equipment. But wouldn't any other person get just as freaked out if their cell suddenly curled up and died? With as many people I know who use their phones for much more than making phone calls, I would tend to think I am not alone. Still, I feel like some spoiled brat, pouting and being all bajiggety over a phone.

A year ago, I was caught running a 5K in a monsoon, and my phone freaked out when it became waterlogged. You would have thought I'd learned my lesson then. You would be wrong. I swore then I should just go Amish and shun all things electric, bright and shiny.

Then you see a buggy pull up at Meijer (yes, I live in borderline Amish country) and see the dad chatting away on his cell phone, and you realize there's just no winning.

2010-07-30T09:00:00.005-04:00

A short while ago, a friend posted the following on her blog, relating to a Facebook post which warned of her mood that day: “Warning: I am crabby today. Like I could eat small children for breakfast. That is all.”

I was having one of those mornings today, when all I wanted to do was continue sleeping – but my alarm had other plans for me. As I rolled out of bed and got my “grump” on, I began noticing various things in my path that both shocked and astounded me. I see these things every day, but somehow saw them with fresh eyes today.

Case in point:

People, do you see the number of toothbrushes? If you can’t see it clearly, let me point out there are 12. These constitute the kids’ toothbrushes. I do not have 12 kids, although some days, holy hell it feels like it. There are currently five toothbrushing kids and 12 toothbrushes. (Bobby brushes with supervision, so his toothbrush lives with mine and Jeff's in our bathroom.) Believe me, while we enjoy cavity-free check-ups, no one brushes so often as to require more than one toothbrush.

Oldest son (18) had three friends stay over last night. I’m sure the video game-playing stretched into the wee hours of the morning. When Jeff, Bobby and I came down to the kitchen shortly after 7am, all was quiet. I peeked into the den and saw a boy-foot hanging over the back of the sofa. It’s entirely likely no one will move until well after 10am. Maybe even noon. Regardless, I am at work, and Jeff gets to deal with it. But I digress…
These boys are headed to college in a few weeks. And while one might wonder if kids are ever truly prepared to leave for college, I saw this in my kitchen sink:

A bowl of Ramen noodles.
They are ready for college.

Snapshots of Randomness: Or, What You Rediscover When You "Clean Out" Your Phone

2010-07-28T21:20:00.007-04:00

I admitted a long time ago -- publicly, even, in a magazine article -- I am a packrat.

I acknowledge it. I own it. I embrace it.

This past Monday, I got to play "Executive Traveler" and took the company jet to our offices in Greensboro, NC. My agenda for the day consisted of five hours' worth of meetings and a tour; then I stepped back into reality, catching a 4:45pm commercial flight from Greensboro to Cincinnati, then Cincinnati to Fort Wayne. During my three hour layover in Cinci, I treated myself to dinner, then settled in with a Starbuck's soy latte to await my boarding call. I began looking back through old photos, and realized I had a whole lotta. Many of these photos were taken with the sole purpose of appearing here on the blog, but -- for whatever reason -- never made it.

Until now.

Here, we have Jack and Charlie and their good friend, Coleson, posing in front of the Barbie exhibit at the Children's Museum in Indianapolis. The Indy field trip in May included a great tour at the State Capitol, followed by an afternoon at the museum. If you think this photo will make them cringe when they are 16, rest assured... I have more. And video of them dancing --with the girls from their class -- in the Barbie Fashion Show exhibit. Hello, Blackmail.

Next, we have Seamus McPimp, a.k.a. Jack. This is what happens when you agree to buy the boys some St. Patrick's Day garb to wear to school. I never had the heart to tell him I ended up seeing the exact same hat, worn by a 7-year-old pageant hopeful in an episode of "Toddlers and Tiaras." (And, by the way, we were at Wal-Mart. I'm sure not one shopper batted an overly-mascara'd eyelash at a 10-year-old boy dressed like an Irish pimp.)

Here is the company jet I got to ride in. I went totally tourist and had to snap a shot as we walked over to board. I sent the photo home in a text so Jeff could show Jack, Charlie and Sam. He reported they were impressed. :)

Still cleaning. More photos to come.......

Deep Sea Adventure

2010-07-27T23:26:00.002-04:00

Last Friday, we had a friend and her family over for dinner. She said she'd be bringing dessert. Fabulous. Want to know what else she brought?

Octopus.

Yes, you read that right. Octopus. Or, I should say, octopi... since it was a little plastic container with several of the little eight-armed/legged creatures inside.

They weren't pets. They were snacks. Well, I'm sure the grocery store intended them to be snacks; however in my house? They were something akin to a Ripley's Believe It or Not episode. The kids all peeked and poked at them. Then we put them in the fridge (for fear they'd start to stink) and went about our evening.

Later, after Lindy and family left and we were cleaning up the kitchen, we re-discovered the octopi in the fridge. One of the kids hadn't seen them yet, so we cracked open the lid on the container yet again. As I told Lindy, the "dares" started flying around, and before we knew it, we were all chewing on an octopus leg. (Except Charlie, who stared at us like we were insane. He may have been right.) And the only reason we didn't try the entire octopus, was because on the way over, Ryan tried one. I can't even re-document his experience, because it makes my stomach flip every time I even think about it. (You can click on Lindy's site from the link above and read it for yourself.)

Verdict? It tasted like a rubber band soaked in teriyaki sauce.

Funniest comment was Sam's, when afterward, he came up to me and said he was sure he had a tentacle caught between his teeth.

Not to be forgotten...

2010-07-20T21:25:00.003-04:00

Congratulations, Sam and the entire Garrett State Bank team!

2010 Clemente division CHAMPIONS!

(Technically, this should have run before the previous post, as Sam's team won their championship three days before Jack and Charlie did. My apologies, Sam.)

"WEEEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FRIENDS..."

2010-07-13T22:19:00.004-04:00

Despite Freddie Mercury absolutely spinning in his grave with my rendition of "We Are the Champions," I am proud to say Jack and Charlie's baseball team won their division tournament tonight. They won against the team that placed first in their division, with J&C's team placing second. It was an epic battle, ending with a score of 11-5 in our favor. It was a truly amazing game, played well by young men who have grown from simply a "group of boys" into a TEAM throughout this season.

It was worth all the cross-town treks for practices and games.

It was worth sitting on bleachers in hell-hot sun, sweating and frying my skin to a crisp.

It was worth getting drenched as we ran to the cars, after black skies ripped open and dumped on us.

It was worth all the 11pm loads of laundry to have uniforms clean for the next day's game.

It. Was. Worth. It.

Quite possibly the cutest shoes ever made...

2010-07-10T08:34:00.003-04:00

Technically, these are knock-off Crocs. But when you see these adorable little rubbery crocodiles, you can't help but call them CROCS. (Thank you to the JumpingBean company and Kohl's for providing this adorable addition to Bobby's wardrobe.)

Whassup, Dog?!

2010-06-30T22:36:00.003-04:00

So, tonight, I looked at poor Buddy, our dog, and realized someone needed a good brushing.

Thirty minutes later, it looked like a dog exploded in our front yard. I was tempted to take a photo of the massive amounts of undercoat fur piled up, but it would simply cement my status as Worst Pet Owner of the Year.

Who would have thought one medium-sized dog could hold THAT much undercoat? And, if there was any doubt as to my assessment of the situation (it looking like the dog exploded), Jeff returned from the store, stepped out of the van and said, "Wow. Looks like the dog exploded."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Buddy,

I am so sorry for making you sit through summer thus far with the equivalent of three fur coats on. Brushing you isn't a huge chore, but somehow we all end up "too busy" to do it. Therefore, you have my word -- from here on out -- you will get brushed regularly, ending the sweltering madness you have experienced lately.

Much love, Mom

Summer, so far... in 24 Frames

2010-06-27T11:37:00.031-04:00

Mama Robin in our crabapple tree. She had a nest-full of babies to protect and feed. We were privileged to have watched the entire process. Best memory? The morning she took on -- and defeated -- two squirrels trying to climb HER tree. Lesson learned? Never, ever screw with a mom protecting her babies. You. Will. Lose.

His brother's keeper... Jack watching Charlie at bat.

Charlie at third,... waiting to cross the plate.

Sam at bat -- the lankiest, eight-year-old powerhouse I've ever seen.

Game rained out.

Nothing better in life than a push from a big brother.

No matter how grown up you feel at age 8, there's still room for swinging on a hot afternoon.

Or, when you're 10-going-on 11...

It turns out there IS something better than a push from a big brother... when he comes around and gives you a kiss each time you reach him.

Rare moment of peace...

Life lessons at the park: Sometimes in life you have to run up a hill...

...and most times it's easy to come back down. But even in the easy times, you may fall...

...and see others do the same...

...and sometimes it's OK to be the "last man standing."

There are times when you need to see things from a new perspective... different than what they usually are... (p.s.--it's a bike rack)

There's always room to learn -- even on summer break. We tried the "Mentos & Coke" experiment. Drop about six Mentos in a 2-l of Coke, stand back and watch the eruption. (I promise the "eruption" was higher and more dramatic, but I was too busy watching and forgot to snap a photo at maximum height.)

We had a great celebration. Congratulations, Tyler... graduating with high honors is a huge accomplishment.

Father's Day morning... having coffee and reading the paper, enjoying the start of a beautiful day.

Nothing says "I love you" and "You're the best dad" better than FIRE. The other part of Jeff's gift was a bag full of graham crackers, marshmallows and Hershey bars.

A great night for roasting marshmallows. Or charring. Whichever you prefer.

Mmmmmm. S'mores.

Our neighborhood hosts an annual Family Fun Fest right before the 4th of July holiday. The entire weekend is full of parties, swimming and family-friendly events. It screams "summer." Here are Bobby and Daddy as we wait for the fireworks show over the golf course.

The summer night sky, waiting...

Ooooooh,... aahhhhh....

June 8, 2010

2010-06-19T10:24:00.002-04:00

This is what absolute, pure joy on a summer day looks like.

18 days...

2010-06-18T21:20:00.002-04:00

...since I last sat down and said anything. Seriously?! Everyone has probably given up on me. (What? Like all six of you have other things to do than wait for me to blog?) :)

Started back working full time on June 7, after nearly a year off -- not by choice, remember. It's taken almost all of these two weeks for me to get back into the mindset of being a working mom again. The excitement of the new job has almost completely shadowed the sadness I feel at missing "summer" with the kids. I know we'll have fun, but this first segment has been crazy -- two weeks of getting the house/yard ready for Tyler's graduation party for starters. Then there was actual graduation weekend and party last weekend. This weekend? When Jeff is working tomorrow? Bobby and I are laying low... nowhere to go...nowhere we have to be. Just hanging out.

I think we may take a nice, long walk around the neighborhood. Maybe I'll even remember to take my camera and get back into photography. Now that I'm an official breadwinner in the family, I feel like I can "goof off" every now and then. And I have a husband who is wonderful enough to let me. :) (Especially since he's now "Mr. Mom" two out of every three days.)

Over the rainbow...

2010-06-01T08:03:00.003-04:00

Last night, on an evening walk with Jeff and Buddy-dog, we were treated to this natural wonder. The monsoon that had moved through our area earlier teamed up with a determined sunset, and BINGO: a rainbow. I don't remember the last time I saw a rainbow. It was a lovely way to end a lovely day. I only wish I'd had my good camera, rather than just the one on my phone.

This week, in addition to plodding through our list of "things to do before Tyler's graduation," I fully intend to enjoy some summer fun with the three (two 10-y.o.'s and 8-y.o.) who are already out of school for the summer. We'll probably hit the pool on the hot, sunny days... and visit the library or go on a field-trip adventure on the rainy days. Good times.

In the week that the three boys have been out of school, it feels like we've already packed in a summer's worth of fun. The two older boys attended football camp at the high school, loving every last stinkin' minute of it. On the last day, they participated in a Punt, Pass & Kick competition -- Jack and Charlie placed first and fourth, respectively, in their age group. We then immediately shuttled over to the baseball field to join their game already in progress. Sam was also playing that night, and his team held the opposing team scoreless. Charlie pitched a wonderful game, and Jack ended up with a triple-turned-grand-slam-home-run. With all the running and sports, paired with using a lot of our daylight hours for yard projects and an impromptu overnight trip to visit my parents... it made for a long -- yet very fulfilling -- week.

Seeing that rainbow last night made me think of "finding the pot-o-gold" at the end of it, like my friends and I always tried to do when we were kids. We knew there wasn't a real treasure at the end of the rainbow, but we always wanted to see what we would find there anyway. The thing is, we could never really find the end of the rainbow. It wasn't like we rode our bikes and eventually found bright, vibrant rainbow colors splashed all over the grass. Last night as we walked the edge of the golf course, I wondered what we might find at the end of that rainbow. Then we rounded the corner of the sidewalk adjacent to the open common area behind our house where Jack, Charlie, Sam and their friend were playing baseball. We headed through our back yard to the house where Kate was studying and Bobby was already asleep. (Tyler was at work, otherwise he'd have been home as well.) It occurred to me that it didn't matter where that rainbow "ended"... we really had the best treasure of all right there where we stood at the end of our rainbow.

Jealous Much?

2010-05-12T19:28:00.001-04:00

When you do laundry for eight people, you get this many socks to sort.

Lucky, lucky me.

Snippets

2010-05-11T08:58:00.004-04:00

14 Minutes

So, Jeff and I ran the 500 Festival Mini Marathon in Indianapolis last Saturday. Temps were downright balmy the day before, prompting me to pack a running skirt and t-shirt to run in. Imagine my surprise when we awoke to temps in the 40s and gale force winds. I knew we were in trouble when we turned on the local news, and the anchor was out in front of our hotel wearing a parka. Luckily, out of the generosity of my wonderful husband and friends, I was able to supplement my wardrobe with a tech shirt and jacket. (Thank you, Jeff! Thank you, Billie!) This year, the race seemed much more crowded -- not just because we were all huddled together in the starting corrals for warmth. We spend much of the first several miles zig-zagging through people. And, not only were there crowds to deal with, but rudeness. Usually this race is very fun and courteous. People are generally in great moods, interacting with street-side entertainers and cordial to all the well-wishers. This year, we encountered countless rude people who, apparently, thought they were all about winning the race. I've got news for you. If your starting corral is any further back in the alphabet than, say... D, and you are not Kenyan by any stretch of the imagination, you will not be crossing the finish line first. YOU. WILL. NOT. EVEN. PLACE. IN. THE. TOP. 10. Just sayin'... get over yourself.

Jeff had hoped he could coach/motivate me to a finish somewhere around 2:15-2:20. We were probably on the right track with our 10-minute/mile pace at the beginning. Then... I had to pee. I tried running through the urge, thinking it was just nerves, but it became very clear, very quickly that my pre-race hydration had caught up with me. My porta potty stop cost us around 6 minutes or so. I could verify this with Jeff, since he was totally timing our delay on my Garmin. (Which I ended up having him wear, rather than hear him ask me "What's our pace?" every 90 seconds.) In the end, we crossed the finish line at 2:38. To him, it probably felt like he walked the whole distance, and was cause for disappointment that we missed the target by about 20 minutes. For me, on the other hand, I quickly did the math and realized I had shaved 14 minutes off my half marathon time from last September. This made me very happy, although it was bittersweet seeing Jeff's disappointment as well. I know he could've run ahead and finished with a sub-2:00 time, but he didn't want to leave me. Very sweet, yes... but I did learn a valuable lesson that perhaps we would do better if we didn't run together. At least until I can step up my pace.

Now, three days later, I am still kind of proud of bringing my time down by 14 minutes. If I can commit to training (for real) throughout the summer, I may just see my time dwindle down to that 2:15 target. We'll see...

Monday Is Not Sunday

This past Sunday, as we all know, was Mother's Day. I got a lovely bunch of six tulips (one for each child) that we can actually plant outside and enjoy. The boys were all about saying, "I love you, Mom," all day long. Hugs were plentiful, too.

Then, Monday, we were at the boys' baseball game, cheering in the brisk, early evening air. I grabbed a hot chocolate from the concession stand, drank a little bit, then called Sam over to share the rest. He took the cup and drank, then handed the cup back to me, saying, "Here, Mom, you can have the rest."

Yes. That's an empty cup. If I was still riding on the wings of love from Mother's Day the day before, then THAT? Brought me right back down to earth.

Could I FEEL Any Older?!

This innocent, Fisher-Price classic toy led my 8yo to ask (in all seriousness), "Mom? How did you actually call someone on these phones in the olden days?" Let me tell you, it blew his mind to understand we had to wedge a finger into the little hole and turn the rotary dial all the way around, just to register a number. But, please... "olden days?" It's a darn good thing he's cute...

Dude! Where's my patience?

2010-04-29T09:23:00.002-04:00

I've been snippy this week.

Whether said snippiness can be attributed to a hectic schedule, lack of sleep, combo of both,... a bit of drama/stressful situation, constant headaches due to allergies, stepping up workouts in anticipation of next Saturday's Indy Mini-Marathon... whatever... I wish the snips would stop coming out of my mouth.

I hate it when I find myself getting irritated by things. Nothing in particular, just everyday things. Like this morning, on the drive to school, Sam piped up with a bit-o-learned trivia about an NFL player. Apparently, Dolphins player Ricky Williams used marijuana a number of years ago, and ended up leaving football because of it. (Note: I cannot vouch for the authenticity and truth behind that statement, as it came from an 8-yr old., and I know squat about NFL players, their alleged drugs of choice and any possible ramifications of said drug usage.)

The conversation that ensued was actually a bicker-fest between Jack and Charlie, whereby they attempted to hammer out the details of the story. Each sentence began, "Dude!..." On it went. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Finally, I interrupted with "DUDE! ARE WE REALLY GOING TO CONTINUE ARGUING ABOUT THIS?!"

Granted, they got the message, and stopped the argument. But I snapped at them when, really, it wasn't called for.

So, today... while it's just Bobby and me... I'm going to get on my list of things that need done around the house -- putting "Curtail snippiness" at the top of the list. I'll even take an allergy pill to see if that helps alleviate the sensation of someone with giant hands crushing my skull.

"Find patience" is next on the list. Followed by laundry. Lots and lots of laundry.

Using your words...

2010-04-27T13:38:00.002-04:00

My friend Lindy introduced me to a wonderful game last week: Bananagrams.

I had hauled the four youngest kids to her house last Friday night for pizza and a movie. As the movie started, Lindy and I sat down at the table with two of her kids to play Bananagrams. The game is, basically, Scrabble against yourself, but you need to use all your letters before any other player. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by the four younger kiddos, all insisting that they play too. This innocent little game -- letter tiles in a neat, zip-up banana bag -- is habit-forming. As far as I was concerned, Lindy might just as well have jammed a needle in my arm and shot me full of some euphoria-inducing drug.

I. Love. This. Game.

Naturally, as Jack, Charlie and Sam and I killed time between baseball team photos Saturday morning, we zipped into Walgreens and bought the game. It about killed them to see that banana bag sitting on the front seat and NOT play the game. I almost let them, but... ... People? We're talking about two 10-yr olds, an 8-yr old and about 150 letter tiles. In a car. Something told me we'd be missing tiles within 30 seconds. So, the bag stayed zipped.

Later, we played Bananagrams until we couldn't take it anymore. At one point we had not only Jack, Charlie, Sam and myself playing, but Tyler (18), Kate (16) and her boyfriend, Dylan. It was great fun, with one exception: the constant questions. Being that I am a HUGE word nerd, and rarely try to excuse or hide it, everyone comes to me with their spelling/grammar/editing/style/writing-related questions. And I don't mind one bit. Never have, never will.

Except when I am playing Bananagrams.

I hate to say it, but it is so difficult to concentrate on my own word tiles when there's a constant barrage of "Is ___ a word?" "How do you spell ___?" and so on. Finally, by Sunday night, I had to lay down the law: Spell the words how you think they are spelled, or look up the words in the gigantic American-Heritage dictionary, which now resides on the dining table. But, even after that, I still got a few questions, and realized it wasn't that bad. So, after a while, I gave up on trying to win the game,* and just had fun with my words. Then I leaned over and helped Sam with his words and tiles... all the while giving nods or shaking my head to the variety of spelling and word-usage questions.

The one thing better than actually winning at Bananagrams? Helping the kids win... and learn.

*NOTE: Truth be told, I pretty much gave up trying to win after the first game where Jeff and I competed. He pulled "qi" or some other Scrabble-approved BS word, which I challenged... and lost. Whatever. And if anyone read the essay about a couple and their Scrabble addiction in Parade Magazine in the Sunday paper, you could easily sub out their names for Rebecca and Jeff. It was very funny.

A few things I just don't get...

2010-04-22T08:30:00.002-04:00

...why an 8-yr.old will pitch a hissy fit when I present him with a bowl of cereal WITH milk, when he plainly mumbled he wanted NO milk. Then proceeds to ask for a glass of milk.

...why, after hearing me harp countless times to "grab a sweatshirt" before leaving the house, a 10-yr.old will go outside and say, "Hey, I need a sweatshirt."

...how the number of "decorations" swinging from a car's rear view mirror is directly proportional to how little the driver actually pays attention to DRIVING. (Yes, I'm talking to YOU, Lady, in the silver Volvo with the flower lei and crystals on your mirror.)

...and we're back.

2010-04-14T06:48:00.013-04:00

I don't think there was any part of the past two weeks or so that wasn't fun. Unless you count hours-long traffic jams in the greater Atlanta and Nashville areas. Which I do. But when you're returning from a great stay in Florida, it feels particularly bitchy to complain.

To recap...

April began with a visit from everyone's favorite aunt... Stacy. She and daughter Zoe came out from IL to visit, and a wonderful visit it was. Who knew it would include a musical walk down memory lane complete with Peter Murphy and the Violent Femmes? Sure didn't see that coming.

The first leg of our epic spring break journey led us to Indianapolis, with about a zillion of our closest friends at the NCAA tournament. Shipley and I headed downtown Saturday, while my wonderful husband hung out at her house with the four youngest boys. (Now, if THAT ain't love, I don't know what is!) The energy in downtown Indy was incredible, and Butler was definitely the buzz of the weekend. Imagine our excitement when they pulled off the win against Michigan State. We felt so lucky to be there and share it... with about a zillion of our closest friends. All I can say to sum it up is, "B-U,... T-L-E,... R-YOU A BULLDOG, HELL YES!"

We left Indy Sunday morning, not heading north, but south. We hadn't told the boys about our Florida trip since we wanted it to be a surprise. It took them until we were on the bridge into Louisville to realize it wasn't Fort Wayne. Sam was all, "Where ARE we?!?" I had feared backlash and possible mutiny from the far back seat (Jack and/or Charlie) since neither were excited about the two-hour road trip from home to Indy. To quote Jack, "I hate road trips. Why do we have to spend two hours in the car?" So, when we had to spring a 20-hour road trip on them, well... you can see where I'm coming from. My genius husband led the announcement with, "Who wants to go see the space shuttle take off?" That? Was the ace in the hole. All three boys' faces lit up like the shuttle itself, and they were intrigued. When we announced our final destination was Florida, there were broad smiles all around. Thankfully so. The slight drawback was that, in order to make it to the shuttle launch at the space center (slated for 6:20 Monday morning) we were looking at an all-night drive. In the end, it wasn't too bad, and SO COMPLETELY WORTH IT. The launch was amazing, and not at all how I imagined it. You know how on television you're used to seeing rocket launches and such where the rocket (or whichever type of projectile is going up) sort of rumbles in place then lumbers up into the air? (OK... maybe I'm remembering all the late-60s/early 70s footage.) Modern launches look like a high-speed sunrise. One minute we're standing there in total nighttime darkness -- the next, Discovery lit up and was airborne. Simply amazing. I took video, and if I ever advance my tech-geek knowledge, I will post it online.

Apparently, with the actual event over so soon (like, under five minutes) everyone pretty much gets back in their cars and heads to the McDonald's in Cocoa Beach. At least that's where it seemed like everyone went. We managed a quick stop at a hotel-lobby-hidden Starbuck's before getting to McD's, where the line was quickly growing. Ultimately, it was out the door and snaked its way down the sidewalk, which -- for some reason -- amazed the boys. After having breakfast, we walked out to the beach, sunscreened the boys up and let them go. Funny how when you've been up all night you can lose perspective on time. To me, it felt like noon. Really? It was, like, 8:30am. So early, in fact, that we were part of a throng of post-launch beach-goers who ended up disturbing the homeless guy's sleep on the beach. Sorry, Dude!

Later, we made our way south along the Atlantic coast to Hutchinson Island, and Jensen Beach where our oceanfront condo awaited. It. Was. Beautiful. Last-minute planning of this trip allowed for a major deal on the accommodations, and what a stroke of luck that was.

This is the view from our balcony. The white thing sticking up is one of two enormous hammocks, which were in a cozy little courtyard area. The boys loved playing on those. Just beyond the mangroves is the beach. We were delighted to have a view of the ocean, yet have some of the "I'm-comfortable-with-my-body" sunbathers blocked from view. Seriously, do some people even bother to LOOK IN THE MIRROR when they put on a bathing suit and head to the beach?!? Sheesh.

We spent the week visiting with Jeff's grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousin... taking in the beach that was mere steps from our condo... swimming in the pool... collecting shells... and, above all, RELAXING.

Bobby, getting his sandy little groove on...

Next, a photo of all "my guys" -- except it HAD to be cropped because Jeff said if I posted a photo of him without his shirt on, he would blow up the photos he took of me on the beach and pretty much make sure they were seen by many people. After I got an alarming, horrifying look at those photos of myself, I decided to fully comply with his ultimatum. And I got my jiggly stomach and fat ass to the gym. Pronto. In any event, here are FOUR of the guys... having the time of their lives on the beach.

I assume THIS one is approved. His shirt is on.

In which I break my silence...

2010-03-28T22:51:00.002-04:00

I can officially announce the end of my word strike, which was prompted by the thought of Butler Basketball having their tournament season fall short again -- making it far enough to make a point, yet not far enough to gain national respect.

Yeah, right.

The lack of posting over the past few weeks was chalked up to having some freelance work to do, celebrating Kate's 16th birthday (and we even pulled off a surprise party!) having three sick boys with possible strep and one hot mess of an ear infection over the span of 2.5 weeks, a teething baby with molars coming in and a nasty stomach virus hosted by yours truly.

But, let's get back to this Butler thing. For any of you who don't know, I am a Butler alum, having attended 1987-1991. Those four years were -- hands down -- some of the best of my life. Since graduating nearly 20 years ago, I have been an avid supporter of my alma mater. I have donated when I could to fundraising campaigns; my cars have not only sported Butler plates, but nearly every Butler-themed static window cling I could lay my hands on. At one point, the running joke among friends was to look at my car, turn to me and ask, "Remind me... where did you go to college?"

I will absolutely (someday) own a Bulldog, and plan on naming him either Hinkle, Hampton or Haughey (pronounced, "Howie"), after the Butler coaching legend/fieldhouse honoree and two main streets which run through campus, respectively.

I have returned to campus on many occasions... from Homecoming to casual visits and shopping at the bookstore. I have watched countless Butler basketball games on television. The first few times my sons watched with me, they were sort of astonished/freaked out that a.) their mother was watching a sport -- voluntarily; b.) that I actually understood said sport, and c.) that I would cheer out loud and (sometimes) gasp and/or hold my breath when someone launched a 3-pointer.

So, imagine my sheer glee last Thursday night when my Bulldogs walked on the court as members of the Sweet 16, and left the court as part of the Elite 8. THEN,... two days later, played a strong game against Kansas State to advance to the Final Four.

The Final Four, Bay-beeeeee.

And that glee... the incredible swell of pride that was ONLY surpassed by watching my own three sons win a football playoff game in three OTs within minutes of the Butler victory, was booted into complete, sheer, unfathomable excitement when I learned I will be attending Butler's Final Four game against Michigan State this Saturday, with my best friend, Shipley. I met Shipley at the beginning of my sophomore year, when she pledged my sorority as a freshman. The years have been kind to us, and our relationship has been forged into something that now resembles more "family" than "friendship." We are the sisters we never had. And now this woman -- with her incredible generosity -- is taking me with her to this perhaps-once-in-a-lifetime game.

And you'd better believe a recap with photos will be posted next week.

GO DAWGS!!!!

In which I do some 'splainin'...

2010-03-12T06:48:00.002-05:00

So, the last post ended abruptly because I was trying to squeeze it in while dinner was on the make. Jeff had to go out to the grill and I had to get the rice and sweet potatoes under control. In any event, the photo of the boys' mud-encrusted shoes should've had a bit more explanation. Although, when you think about it... it's spring, they are 10 and 8... why would I need to explain muddy shoes?

The kicker is that this wasn't just being-outside-playing-in-post-snow-melting weather kind of mud accumulation. This was courtesy of the special gift that young boys have for seeking out and being lured into a whole mess of mud. (Pun intended.) On the sidewalk behind our house, leading over to the pool and clubhouse, there was built a quaint little wooden bridge. It really doesn't serve to "bridge" two land masses over a body of water. In fact, all I think I've ever seen under said bridge is rocks. And some trash left by folks who couldn't possibly walk another 10 feet to an actual trash can. However, with the snow dumping we got on several occasions this past winter and the spring-like mild weather this past week, everything is waterlogged with the excess moisture. And under this previously dry rock bed? Is dirt and water -- which we all know are the main ingredients in MUD.

When the boys went out to play after school earlier this week, I found the three of mine with their best friend from next door at the bridge (because, really, all I had to do is follow the boyish shouts of absolute glee) playing in the mud. With sticks. They said they were "mucking." Yes, there probably isn't a better word to describe playing in the mud; but, personally, I think they were all about that word because it's one letter off the mother of all don't-ever-let-me-catch-you-saying-it words. Ever. (Note: This vocabulary tidbit was acquired from a former friend of theirs who I regularly referred to as "The Bad Seed.") I was just holding my breath that none of them thought to call the other a "brother mucker."

After that day, the shoes they had been wearing were officially knighted as "play shoes," because there was no way in hell I was allowing them to wear them to school. And now? The "play shoes" live on the front porch--when they're not "mucking."

Signs of spring...

2010-03-11T16:18:00.002-05:00

I'm sure I can speak for a boat-load of us when I say how wonderful it was to have the weather break into more mild temperatures a few days ago. We've had great days in the 60s, and I have seen the sure signs of spring:

A few robins hopping around the yard...

A gang of squirrels racing about digging up treats they'd buried last fall...

The gentle coo of a dove in the pre-dawn hour...

And THIS mayhem on my front porch...

Party Recap

2010-03-02T09:06:00.006-05:00

I'm not sure how everything eventually came together, but it did. Bobby's "party" was low-key, but I'm sure he had a fabulous time anyway. In an effort to earn my Mother of the Year award this year (and, thusly, drive myself crazy) I was determined to bake him a homemade banana cake (if only to hear him say "nana" a million times over) WITH homemade chocolate frosting. I think I used one too many bananas, because it was more banana bready than cakey. Regardless, it was good. Bobby opened his present from Grandma Bev and Jaja -- some sporty summer clothes. And swim trunks to wear to the pool.

We lit the candle, dimmed the lights and sang Happy Birthday. I had been sitting next to Bobby, and started to see that "I'm-going-to-freak-out" look on his face. So, being the comforting mom I am, I reached over and rubbed his arm and said "It's OK, Bobby" just before he bursts into freaked out tears. However, on the video we shot? All you can see is Bobby sitting there, then I reach over to his arm and the next thing you see is him wailing. It appears as if I reached over and pinched him or something. Nice. And SO not the case. Anyway, he regained his composure and I had to swap spots with Jeff to get photos of him blowing out the candle. There was an issue with my camera flash that was working Jeff's last nerve.

"Oh, I loves CAKE, yes I do! Num-num-num-num."

Bobby's personal sign for "All done." Well said, my little man... well said. Obviously, from the look on his face, he is exhausted and has a belly full of dinner. And cake. Not long after this, he was through the bath, all clean and sweet and zonked out in his crib.

And now he's 1...

2010-03-01T09:06:00.008-05:00

Happy Birthday, Bobby!

Fresh out of the oven... 8:10am, March 1, 2009. Uncle Jamie helping out with the oxygen.

*There WAS a photo posted here of me in recovery, with Jeff sitting beside me holding Bobby. He says he hates the picture because he's still wearing the goofy surgical bonnet. I say he never likes photos of himself anyway. However, he threatened to "stop reading my blog" if I left it in. All in jest of course. But I don't want to take any chances. I think he's my number one fan. And regular reader. Will find a better photo of him with Bobby and get approval to post later.

From fumble to humble in just a short time...

2010-02-25T13:29:00.002-05:00

I fumbled. I totally dropped the ball.

I had a writing assignment for a local parenting magazine. I get these every other month. I know this. I write them. I turn them in.

Then, last week, the night before my article was due, I was laying in bed thinking about it. I lay in bed and think a lot on the nights Jeff is on duty. That clears my head for when he is actually there beside me. Anyway, ... I was wrestling with what was due, and had one of those sudden bolt-of-lightning ideas. The next morning I emailed the editor, presented my last-minute change of direction and got the green light to go ahead and write it up.

[crickets chirping]

And that's when the assignment -- for some reason -- completely fell off my radar. WTH? It isn't like I'm swimming in other assignments that had me too preoccupied. It simply left my head.

So, today, after receiving a "gentle nudge" email from the editor, I offered up my apologies and have been juggling the article and Bobby all day.

Nothing like a complete screw up to remind you that you're human. And keep you humble.

Smaht Ladieeeesss....

2010-02-18T19:43:00.003-05:00

OK. I know you are all intelligent women, but KUDOS to those of you who knew Sally Field's quote (even though I kind of butchered it).

I sort of wish I had a prize to give away -- you know,... a little somethin' for the effort. However, sadly, I do not. Unless someone wants a box of 150 Valentine-themed stickers, half a cupcake or an old Yankee candle.

Perhaps I will try to gather some really super, high-quality items and pose another question. I am a huge trivia nerd, ... um,... I mean FAN. In fact, years ago a friend dubbed me "The Sponge of Useless Knowledge." Not quite a doctoral degree, but sometimes you take what you can get. Every time I would come up with some weird, out-of-left-field trivia nugget or answer an obscure movie-related question, she'd just laugh, shake her head and yell, "Sponge!"

In other news, I got dressed for the gym today, but never made it there. And I won't be making it there because they close in three minutes. I can still fit in an AbRipper workout, though. It only takes 16 minutes, but it's 16 minutes with a DVD featuring with the Devil -- in spandex shorts. I know,... I'll get Jeff to do it with me. This? Ought to be good for a laugh or two. Not that he can't complete the workout; rather, because he can kick my ass in the workout. Too bad I can't work out AND take pictures at the same time. Now that would make for a funny blog post.

Maybe I'll just go find that half cupcake...

"You like me,... you really, really like me!"

2010-02-17T12:28:00.009-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I got this in the mail from Starbucks:

It's a new "My Starbucks Rewards" card. Now, I have been a card-carrying member of the registered-Starbucks-card nation for a number of years. Back then, I had this really cool, retro-looking card:

Then, as part of my 40th birthday gift two years ago, my best friend, Shipley, enrolled me in the Starbucks Gold program, which came with this card:

Classy, no? Anyway, Starbucks has rolled out a new program called My Starbucks Rewards. They thanked me for being a Starbucks Gold member, and because we've been sharin' the love for so long, they were welcoming me to the "next evolution of their rewards program, at the Gold Level. Automatically." Here is my new card:

Oooooh... shiny. It even has my name and "Cardholder since 2007" printed on it. I. Feel. So. Special.

And, to make me feel even MORE special, I peeled off the new card to find a free drink coupon. Suh-weet! We like free things almost as much as shiny things.

The only thing is, and I hate to break it to them... but since joining the ranks of the unemployed last summer, going to Starbucks is one of the things we cut way back on. As in, special occasions only. And even then, it's iffy at best. Still, they love me. I'm a Gold Level cardmember -- even though that and a nickel (or, more accurately, $5) will not get you a cup of coffee there.

*An extra credit point to anyone who knows who said the quote used as this post's title!

Save. Me.

2010-02-16T10:03:00.004-05:00

Today, it is me versus...

and

Because, you know, the cupcakes are left over from Sam's birthday. And the chocolates were from my wonderful husband for Valentine's Day. The chocolates were accompanied by his trademark tulip bouquet, and a bonus dozen roses. Since the flowers won't add extra weight to my hips and ass, they're not on my radar right now. They're just sitting on the table looking pretty.

The big problem today is accountability. Jeff is on duty until tomorrow morning. The kids are all at school until later this afternoon. This leaves me alone with said cupcakes and chocolates. Well, Bobby is here, but really no help in resisting temptation. He only holds me accountable for providing sippy cups of milk and a "nana" when he asks for it. Period.

It's now 10:12 am, and over the next 12 hours, I need to keep myself from dipping into the chocolates. If I can hold off for five hours, I can pawn the cupcakes off on the kids.

Wish me luck.

Even the presidents only get ONE day...

2010-02-15T11:42:00.005-05:00

Today -- President's Day -- we're remembering all past presidents and their birthdays/deaths/anniversaries/baptisms/circumcisions/21st birthdays... etc. Whatever. So why is it that my (now) 8-yr.old had a FOUR DAY birthday celebration, hmmm?

Thursday, 02.11 was his actual birthday. This was marked by the usual doughnuts for breakfast (his sported a candle), bringing in cookies for his class treat, gifts upon returning home from school, favorite dinner (mac & cheese w/ ham) and a cake.

Friday, 02.12 we brought two of his best friends home with us after school. They played outside, played the Wii, ate hot dogs & chips and enjoyed the usual gift-opening mayhem. Also had cupcakes. Naturally, since there were cupcakes involved, the two 10-yr.olds showed up.

Saturday, 02.13 we welcomed my parents into town, and they brought Sam birthday gifts. He got an Ohio State hooded sweatshirt and knit cap, both of which he promptly put on and wore for a day and a half.

Sunday, 02.14 -- Valentine's Day -- Each child, including Birthday Boy, received boxes of chocolates from Jeff and my parents, handmade cards from me. Jeff's brother and his family came over for dinner, bringing Sam a card. Being all "caked-out," we opted to make a double batch of Ghiradelli brownies instead. With frosting, thank you very much.

When I was saying goodnight to Sam last night, I asked if he'd had a good four-day birthday. He smiled and nodded. I'm like, "You know, Sam,... not everyone is lucky enough for their birthday to span four whole days." He nodded,... his huge hazel eyes just peeping out above the top of his comforter. I heard a muffled, "Mmmm-hmm... I know" from under the blankets.

We all had better hope this kid becomes the president someday. I have a feeling his first official business will be to declare the entire month of February as a national holiday, recognizing not only past presidents and their achievements, but to revel in his awesomeness as well.

Sam Snippets

2010-02-13T10:59:00.002-05:00

One day last week as we were driving home, the boys and I were talking about baked goods and all their sweet/chocolatey/frostingy goodness. Jack mentioned he thought "a Twinkie per day" was a fabulous idea. I, on the other hand (being the self-admitted SugarNazi I am) responded with, "Blechhh." He couldn't understand why, so I explained that since I've cut a majority of sugar from my regular diet, if I over-indulge on occasion, I will feel sick mighty quick. Sam piped up at this point with, "NOT ME! I FEEL GREAT!" This comment was said with the enthusiasm of a junkie in the middle of getting a fix. I laughed so hard I almost ditched the car.

Another day, upon arriving home from school, I placed a veggie and dip tray out on the table for grazing purposes. Bobby was sitting in his high chair at the table. Sam sauntered up, grabbed a piece of broccoli and proclaimed to his baby brother, "Look, Bobby! Broccoli! Good for the colon!"

Just one of the many things I love about that kid... how his sense of humor comes out of nowhere and slays me. Every. Single. Time.

And so now he's 8...

2010-02-11T22:27:00.002-05:00

Today, the child previously known as "the baby" turns 8 -- Sam.

Last March, Sam was bumped from the baby spot by Bobby. (And that baby is just so stinkin' cute, how can anyone be mad at him?) Bobby's arrival was unexpected. Well, I guess the arrival wasn't so much unexpected as was actually expecting him. However, welcoming Bobby to our family allowed Sam to move up a notch on the totem pole, and providing him the golden opportunity to become something he'd never been before. Something he'd NEVER be without Bobby around -- a big brother.

(I wish I was able to put a photo of Sam and Bobby here. But we're in the middle of transferring photos from one computer to another, and I have no photo files to access here. But if I did, it would be an awfully cute picture. One that would make you go "Awwww!" and smile.)

So, anyway, today has been all about Sam. This? Has caused the older brothers, Jack and Charlie, to have some ruffled feathers. I mean, seriously... these two 10-yr. olds are certain the world revolves around them every minute of every day. How dare it even think of revolving around someone else? The nerve. Regardless, we all got birthday doughnuts this morning for breakfast. He had his name read on the morning announcements at school, and I brought in chocolate chunk cookies for a birthday treat at the end of the day. And his whole class sang to him. When we got home from school, he got to open his gifts. Then, Jeff took the boys and a friend sledding for an hour or so, while I made Sam's favorite dinner (mac & cheese with ham) and a cake. Their dad picked them up before Sam's basketball practice, and they spent the evening with him. Sam got another nice gift. I picked them up, got them home and promptly shooed them into bedtime routine -- after all, birthday or not, it's still a school night.

As I tucked my boy into bed, with his tousled hair and huge hazel eyes, I asked if he'd had a good birthday. The broad, gap-toothed smile on his face told me "yes" even before he could nod his head enthusiastically.

This boy... who I carried while chasing after two toddlers, who had mastered an impish, mischievous grin by age 2, who has idolized his two older brothers since he was aware of their presence, who is now an older brother himself... had a great birthday. And that? Makes me happy. Happy to have endured the aches and pains of pregnancy as he lounged on certain, pain-inducing nerves... happy to put up with his chatterbox tendencies... happy to know he is happy.

Happy 8th Birthday, Sam! I love you!

How to lose your mind in about 90 days...

2010-02-01T12:35:00.002-05:00

Register for a half-marathon.

The end.

Kidding. Well, not about the half-marathon part. Jeff and I registered last summer for the Indianapolis 500 Festival half-marathon. I've run it twice. And both times, the male winner was crossing the finish line as I was just entering the Speedway. (They're kind enough to run live feed on the jumbotron.) Since the infamous track marks the halfway point of the race, that means that guy was running twice as fast as I was. I am OK with that. I not only acknowledge, but embrace my limitations. I know full well there isn't a miracle on Earth that would make me run THAT fast.

But I digress...

Here we are, perched on February 1. This year's race is May 8. I have just over three months to snap this body into shape -- even better shape than before, if I want to keep up with Jeff and his fancy 8-minute miles. (I have consistently chugged along at a nice 10-10:30 trot.) I began a more "intense" training last week at the gym, setting the treadmill at 9:30/mile and raising the incline to one percent. Don't think that sound like much? Try it. By about the 10th stride, I was like, "what the...?" and considered going back to no incline at all. I stuck it out, though. I didn't want to go home and have to admit to Jeff that I completely wussed out on it. But let me just say, It. Kicked. My. Ass.

So, now I have decided to publicly check in on the training, with periodic posts on how things are going, and how much I question my sanity for doing this to my body. Again. If I've counted correctly, I've got five half-marathons under my belt. Each and every time, by about mile 8 or 9, I have seriously asked myself why in the world I'm running 13.1 miles. By mile 11/12, I swear that I will never do one again. By the 13th mile, I'm praying that God will get me across the finish line without falling down or throwing up. Yet once I cross that finish line, such a sense of accomplishment washes over me... I walk down the chute, grab my free water and banana and almost forget how much my hips and knees are screaming at me.

It's painful, but worth it.
Hear that, May 8?
Bring. It. On.

Deja vu

2010-01-28T23:07:00.002-05:00

I am 41 years old, and I find I'm back to the question that plagued me about 25 years ago: What do I want to be when I grow up?

After losing my job last July (Dear Economy, Thanks a bunch! By the way, you suck. Best regards...) I never thought it would be so difficult to find another part-time job. I couldn't have been more wrong. In the past six months or so, I have sent out a bunch of resumes and applied online for many jobs -- several of which I thought I was an absolute shoe-in for at least a phone call. Want to know how many phone calls I've received? How about none. Zip. Zero. Big, fat nada.

This leads me to believe there is either a glaring error I've not caught on my own resume, or the economy is still just as crappy as everyone thinks it is. And now? I've found myself at a cross-roads of sorts: I have the opportunity to "create" my dream job. I love writing, and want people to pay me to do it. The problem? Finding people to pay me. Freelance writers are frequently the first to go where budgets are concerned. Staff people will take the bullet and dump extra work on underlings before shelling out company cash for an outsider to come in and write. Once again, the economy is baring its teeth at me and growling, warning me to stay the hell away. "Back off, Word Nerd!"

I told Jeff today that I am perfectly happy getting the writing assignments I've been fortunate enough to receive lately (Thank you, Sue and Northern IN Lakes magazine! Big shout out and a hearty WOO HOO!) The thing is, I am also very happy being a stay-at-home mom, taking care of the family. For me, interviewing and writing an article for publication has become equivalent to, say, baking cookies or bread and making an 8-yr-old's bed. I love both jobs; however, only one pays actual, real money, while the other is compensated with hugs and smiles. Unfortunately, utility companies and the bank don't readily accept payments in hugs and smiles.

I feel like I've been given an opportunity to find something new...something I really love to do and create a new career out of it. The only question is, what the hell is it? You know the feeling when you try to remember something, and it's just on the tip of your tongue? That's how I'm feeling about work -- there's something out there. I can almost make it out... I just hope I figure it out before unemployment runs out in July.

Food for thought...

2010-01-27T11:34:00.009-05:00

Time is just whipping by. Where in the world did the past week go? Every time I sit down at the computer, I think about all the things I either have to write (you know,... for pay) and things I want to write. Then, as it happens, I usually find myself with enough time to post a brief status on Facebook, and I have to jump up and do something else. Usually laundry. The family is a bit picky about not wanting to walk around naked. Geez.

I was going to post something Jack had written for me last week. However, Lindy has a "kid note" theme going and I don't want to be a copycat. So I'll save that gem for one day when he's particularly trying my nerves -- that way, when I re-read the note and post it with its glorious "AWWW!" factor, it'll remind me why I'm not sending him to military school.

Instead, I will share an idea that I know at least a few families are using, including our own: snack bins. This is an idea worth its weight in gold for families with more than one child. (And who knows? Perhaps even only-children wouldn't mind having their own snack stash...?) Anyway, while all six of our kids are frequently hungry, only five of them have the ability to open doors to either the pantry or refrigerator and peruse the selection of food items. This? Has posed a problem in the past. Why? Imagine doing your weekly or bi-weekly shopping, coming home and stocking the previously mentioned pantry and refrigerator. Then imagine a swarm of locust invading your home, eating everything in sight. That, my friends, is what we encountered here on more than one occasion. So, ladies and gentlemen, I present... snack bins:

All stocked full of snackity goodness.

And neatly labeled.

Welcome, locusts... help yourself.

Jeff and I were very clear on the guidelines involved with this new snackin' system. We will stock the bins every two weeks with (more than) enough items to get them by -- we aim for two snacks per day. If any one of the bin owners goes jackass batty and eats all their allotted snack foods before Restock Day, well... that's pretty much tough luck. And any sneaky dipping of hands into someone else's bin (blatant stealing) will result in forfeiture of the culprit's bin for a two-week period.

So far, this has worked out amazingly well for us, and for the kids. It teaches them budgeting, responsibility and, most importantly, being held accountable for their own actions. Or, in this case, gluttony. It has also taught me that I need to stop being such a SugarNazi, and not freak out when Jeff waltzes in with a box of Little Debbie Nutty Bars, or some pseudo-fruit snack. (Dear Snack Manufacturers, When you resort to spelling your product with another form of the word "fruit," such as "froot" please be aware that is a HUGE red flag to mothers who respect nutritional value. Your name-twisting shenanigans result in my 8-year old thinking he can fulfill his daily fruit requirement with "Fruit Gushers" or something similar. NOT. HAPPENING.)

Happy snacking!

Seeing the good...

2010-01-21T20:13:00.002-05:00

For a couple of hours this morning, I became "Juror #2."

Over the past decade, out of five times being summoned for jury duty, this is the fourth time I've served -- one shooting/homicide trial, one theft and two (including today's) were drug possession. I began dreading the whole thing; getting dragged through someone else's dirty laundry and, ultimately, making a decision that was going to negatively affect his/her life. Leading up to today, all of the trials ended with a guilty verdict.

Imagine my surprise when, as the State and defense presented their cases, I saw a glimmer of hope. I really believed this guy was innocent. The prosecutor likened the elements of this case to one of the answers on a Magic 8 Ball: "All signs point to yes." However, all signs clearly did NOT point to guilt. I won't go into the minute details of the case, but suffice it to say that this guy was a drug abuser (crack cocaine being his drug-o-choice), which he ended up admitting to the arresting officer. In a surprising, bold move, the defendant actually took the stand. I've never seen that done in any trial so far. He admitted being addicted to crack last year -- he was unemployed and his life was "a mess." (His words.) During the past year, from the information he gave, we learned he was now gainfully employed by a company who more than likely used drug testing either in the hiring process or periodically on the job... or both. I really got the feeling that this individual was trying to turn his life around, despite the State's attempt to convict him of drug possession. They had three points to prove: that he knowingly possessed crack cocaine. Lab tests proved the substance was cocaine -- check. And, while it wasn't on his person, the baggie was in his car -- check. It was the "knowingly" part that hung them up. He testified under oath that it wasn't his. Whose was it? Well, he had a passenger in his car the night he was arrested. The details that came forth firmly convinced not only me, but my five fellow jurors that the drugs in possession were most likely the property of his acquaintance. Seriously. We deliberated for about a minute and a half. And I'm not entirely sure you could even call it deliberation -- we all felt exactly the same way.

After delivering our verdict and being dismissed from the courtroom, another juror and I were chatting. She said how hopeful she felt for the guy, and also had the distinct feeling he was really trying to make a fresh start. I agreed and told her that was exactly how I felt. I added that I find myself, time and time again, looking for the good in people. Unfortunately, more times than I care to recall, I have been proven wrong... disappointed... duped. One might think by now I'd be jaded to the gills, and walk around all brooding and cynical. Nope. I just can't do it. Even when I've given someone the benefit of the doubt for the umpteenth time, and was surprised when things turned around and bit me firmly on the ass, I'm still not able to make myself believe most people are simply awful to the core.

So, today was a good day for the defendant. It was a good day for me -- to be able to feel that familiar optimism and stand firm on my belief that he wasn't your average Joe Junkie, just looking to beat the system for now. I firmly believe that guy didn't leave the courthouse today and immediately ring up his dealer on speed dial for a quick score. I think he went home, changed out of his suit and went to work for the rest of the day. I sincerely hope he also took a minute or two to thank his lucky stars he found six optimists out of 40 or so people to decide his case today.

If you are looking for my brain, it's over there in the gutter...

2010-01-20T06:41:00.004-05:00

So, we're driving home from school the other day, and we happen to pass a guy walking along side the road. Coincidentally, it's the same stretch of road where last week I saw a guy (not the same one) walking along in freezing temperature, carrying a huge bouquet of red roses. (My subsequent Facebook posting about this guy prompted general consensus that he was a stalker, not the hopeless romantic I believed him to be.) But I digress...

As we approached the guy, I saw that he had his head bent over and his hands were fiddling with something in his waistline area. He was in the process of zipping up his jacket. I heard Jack and Charlie pipe up from the back of the van, distinctly catching Jack say, "Dude, that guy's p--..."

Now, I clearly heard up to the "p" sound, and jumped to the conclusion that Jack had finished that sentence, "...playin' with himself." And, really? If you only glanced up at him, it actually might appear so -- if you're 10 years old and have a finely honed sense of "boy humor."

In mock exasperation, I said, "Jack... the guy's not 'playing with himself"... he's just zipping his jacket."

Immediately, gales of laughter erupt from the boys.

Jack says, "Mom, I said, 'that guy's pimpin'.... but 'playing with himself' works too!'" And more laughter ensues.

Nice. I spend a fair amount of time trying to keep their boy brains out of the gutter, and where do I end up?

I pity da fool...

2010-01-15T05:49:00.004-05:00

...who makes fun of my boy today.

So, yesterday afternoon was cruising along like any other when I received a phone call from the boys' dad. Seeing as how we usually communicate very nicely via text, when I saw his name on my cell caller ID, I knew something was up.

Me: Hello?

Ex: Hi,... yeah, I just got a call from school. I guess Charlie and another boy had a run-in on the playground while playing football -----

I'm going to stop here for a minute for some backstory. Every day, rain or shine, come hell or high water, Jack and Charlie and their friends play football at recess. They have as much enthusiasm for the schoolyard version of the game as they had when they were on their PAL team this past fall... which means they tend to get into heated discussions over bad plays. I immediately took "run-in" as code for "Charlie got into a fight with another boy and is currently sitting in the principal's office." This explains why the next image that popped into my head was of young Charlie perched on his bed all weekend, in a grounding for fighting at school. Let's resume the conversation, shall we?

Ex: (continues)... and the nurse says he's got a pretty good goose-egg above his eye. She doesn't think he's got a concussion, but figured it might be a good idea for him to be picked up now, rather than wait for the end of the school day.

Let's pause again for a moment, mm'kay? Knowing full well that the boys also have a tendency to tackle during these games -- without the luxury of helmets and pads -- "Punishment Mom" was replaced by "Worried Mom." Quickly.

Me: I'm on my way.

I now know that Bobby and I are fully capable of being out the door and driving toward school within four minutes. Good to know.

When we reached school, I was led to Charlie lying on a cot in the clinic, holding an ice pack to the left side of his face. I had him take it off, an saw this:

I think I audibly gasped... probably saying something along the lines of, "Ohmygosh,Charlie!" I asked him if he'd seen it for himself, and he said no, so I snapped the picture and showed him. (You didn't really think I was just randomly taking photos of his injury for kicks, did you? I assure you, it was out of necessity, not having a mirror handy.)

Apparently, he collided face-to-face with his friend Jonathan, just after he'd caught the football. KA-POW. The recess aides assured the nurse that there was definitely no rough play involved-- just a matter of the boys being in the same place at the most unfortunate time. Jonathan's injury was similar, but I was told his entire eye had swollen shut, and he was at the ER getting things checked out. So, Charlie got out of school an hour early and I bought him a Sprite at the McDonald's drive-thru to comfort him. (By the way, when the HELL did they stop making McDonaldLand Cookies?! I was going for a true Mom of the Year moment, wanting to make the injury "all better" with a box of cookies. Now, all they sell is chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin. There is a permanent ban on chocolate in the car, and he doesn't care for oatmeal raisin. Plan thwarted... thanks A LOT, Ronald McDonald.)

Last night before bed, Charlie was a bit apprehensive about going to school today. He was afraid the other kids would make fun of how his eye looked. I assured him no one would do that... but then I thought, how do I know this for sure? I decided I would offer Charlie an escort to his classroom and survey the reaction. He can either accept or decline -- I will be fine with either choice. My guess is that he will be the center of attention for a while, which he won't mind for about, say, ... 10 minutes. After that, he (like his mom) will start to cringe and want to be left alone.

He may feel fine, have no concussion and not even so much as a headache. But I still have my "Worried Mom" cap on, which will quickly turn into "Protective Mom" should any wiseapple fourth grader try to make fun of MY Charlie and his puffy eye.

No one can say I wasn't warned...

2010-01-14T11:06:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago -- Christmas Eve day to be exact -- I returned home from a long afternoon of errand-running to find this on the boys' bedroom door:

Yes, it reads, "Beware of Children. P.S.: We Bite."

On sticky notes, no less.

Responsibility is a lost concept...

2010-01-08T21:00:00.002-05:00

I read earlier that the young gentleman who is accused of trying to pull off a terrorist attack on an airplane (on Christmas Day of all days!) has entered a "not guilty" plea in court.

Excuse me. WHAT?!?!?

Dude! Your underwear exploded! How do you even begin to plead "not guilty?" Were they not your underwear?

The mere fact alone that this guy is currently being treated for burns in the general underwear-wearing" area should be a pretty good indication that he, in fact, did it.

I eagerly await the dog-and-pony show called his trial.

No room at the inn, but a hot meal in the stable...

2010-01-06T12:40:00.003-05:00

This morning, the kids had a weather-related school delay. I let the boys sleep, and settled myself onto the sofa with my new NY Times crossword-puzzle-a-day calendar (best birthday give EVER from my wonderful husband!). A little while later, Jack came downstairs and curled up next to me.
Jack; Mom? Are crossword puzzles hard to do?

Me: Mmm... sometimes. But this one seems pretty easy so far.

Jack: Can you find a clue for me to solve?

Me: Sure.

I scanned the list of clues and found one -- 31 down, "A gift of the Magi." It was five letters, beginning with "M." I knew it was "myrrh," and hoped with Christmas just two weeks ago, he'd remember the answer.

Me: OK, Jack. Here you go. (I pointed to the clue.) Remember the three Wise Men? It's one of the gifts they brought to Baby Jesus.

Jack: Gold?

Me: Well, remember... they brought gold, frankincense and....

Jack: (thinking really hard) Um... a ham?

After we both stopped laughing, Jack rationalized that after all that work of having a baby, Mary must've been hungry.

Great minds think alike

2010-01-05T13:06:00.003-05:00

So, part of our Christmas week festivities was taking three of the kids (two 10yo and 7yo) out to see the new James Cameron epic, "Avatar."

The first thing that was noticed--by all three boys--was in the opening credits when it read "A film by James Cameron." This sparked their interest because James is Jeff's brother's name. James Cameron. They all about lost their minds at the coincidence. Very cute.

We proceeded to be impressed and dazzled by the outstanding visuals, enhanced by the 3-D glasses (which boosted our admission price by at least $5. Each.), and the only aspect of the movie that make me wince was the now-and-then swear words. The boys have all heard my classic lecture about words they hear and words they can say and knowing the difference.

Near the end of the movie, Jeff (who, I should explain, is an avid sci-fi fan) and I assessed that "Avatar" is like, "Ferngully" meets "Full Metal Jacket" (meets "Harry Potter"-with those freakin' flying dragon/birds... whatever they were; and "Alien" (as an honorable nod to Sigourney Weaver). I think we may have even thrown in "The Matrix" because of the whole cloned-alien thing they had going on, too. We laughed and thought ourselves to be oh-so-clever until a few days ago when I read this.

You have to scroll down a bit in the post, but you'll clearly see that the author and an aquaintance ALSO drew the connection between "Avatar" and "Ferngully."

Apparently Jeff and I aren't the only clever ones. And, since I just gave you such an easy link... I highly recommend checking out The Polymath Chronicles. Very funny, neat blog.

I'm not superstitious, but I'm just sayin...

2010-01-01T13:03:00.002-05:00

As I write, there is a slab of pork ribs a-cookin' in the oven. I have black beans ready to cook at the two-hour warning mark before the ribs are done. If I can find my way to the grocery yet this afternoon, I will probably seek out and purchase some greens to accompany dinner as well.

Why all the specifics?

I have bought into the "tradition" of consuming certain foods on New Year's Day to yield good luck in the coming year. At this point, I figured it most definitely couldn't hurt. See... last year? While we did have some pretty awesome celebrations and high points as chronicled here, there were certainly a fair share (and then some!) of challenges. We were dragged kicking and screaming into legal proceedings that could have very well redefined the word "ridiculous." I never spoke of it, but it spanned from November 2008 through December 2009. Good times. The other mentionable challenge was being laid off from my part-time writing gig at a local magazine in mid-July. Are you keeping score here? That's one part legal drama (read: outrageous attorney fees) and one part job loss (read: significant drop in income). Add that to a family of seven that became a family of eight... well, YOU do the math. It isn't rocket science--there have been some tough times over the past 12 months. Jeff and I continue to master the art of creative budgeting, with a fierce determination to make things work. We have to. There is no other option.

So. Here we are, perched on the high branch of a bright, shiny new year. I all but told 2009 to kiss my ass, as we collectively shooed it out the door last night. I was nearly tearful with hope at the stroke of midnight, knowing I can put the challenges of last year behind us, and look ahead to a new year. One without blemish or dark clouds ... a year with unknown promise. After reading a light-hearted article about the traditional good luck foods usually eaten at the new year, I immediately signed up. I grabbed the first pork product I could find in the freezer, and dug a nearly-forgotten bag of black beans out of the pantry. I am going to fight bad luck from the get-go this year. Two foods that are all but forbidden today are lobster and chicken. Lobster because of their backward movement underwater, and chicken because of they scratch backward in the dirt. I caught Jeff reaching for a leftover container filled with chicken and noodles earlier, and just about jumped out of my skin. "Don't even touch it," I begged. "I don't want to tempt fate."

I'm usually not all that superstitious, but just for today... I'm ALL.ABOUT. IT.

2009 in retro

2009-12-31T09:19:00.002-05:00

In preparation for this entry, I flipped back through the archives, re-reading things from this time last year. Back then, my belly was tricked out in pre-birthin' style, as we all eagerly awaited Bobby's arrival and I had enjoyed a fabulous 40th birthday. I'm not sure if we had any grand hopes for 2009, other than the safe arrival of a healthy baby boy... but here's what else we got:

January: Celebrated Tyler's 17th birthday and braced ourselves for sub-zero temps which resulted in the kids having more days off from school then any parent should have to endure.

February/March: Celebrated Sam's 7th birthday and enjoyed counting down to the baby's due date around March 21. Imagine our surprise when the OB told us he wasn't comfortable waiting that long. We chose March 14 as the new date (I loved calling him our "Little Pi Baby"... 3.14... get it?) Then he said choose something sooner. Hello, Sunday, March 1... Bobby's Birthday. Also was fortunate enough to welcome friends and family into town that weekend for a baby shower, and meeting the newest family member the next day. Celebrated Kate's 15th birthday on the 17th with a party here at the house. Looking forward to Sweet 16 in 2010!

April: Celebrated Easter (Orthodox) and marveled at how wonderfully Jeff executes home improvement projects. He would continue to amaze me the remainder of the year with these projects.

May: Enjoyed a lovely Mother's Day. I love that Jeff and I are blessed with six children in this incredible "yours, mine & ours" family. I would change nothing. Ever.

June: Jeff and I celebrated our one year wedding anniversary. One year down,... and looking forward to countless more. Never imagined a love like this was really out there to find. And I am so grateful to have found it. Also celebrated my nephew's graduation from high school, which led me to realize that, even though he was born at the end of my senior year of college,... I can't possibly be that old. Yet.

July: Was witness to the first ever "Cameron Brothers Fireworks Extravaganza." If you ever want to see Jeff and James regress to, say, 10 years old and giggle themselves silly, give them a bag of fireworks and a fire source. Then stand back. Waaaay back. We also celebrated Jeff and James' 39th birthday this month. (Jeff and I reminisced back to one year earlier when we learned I was pregnant on their birthday. This resulted in a few photographs featuring Jeff wearing a tense, polite smile on the outside, while freaking the hell out on the inside.) A much more jovial party this year, despite my job having been axed mid-month. Yet another lesson on learning to roll with the punches.

August: Jack and Charlie began their first season of PAL football, and proceeded to love every last minute of it. They also celebrated their 10th birthday at the end of the month. Additionally, I celebrated the start of school this month, and we all were happy to see Bobby sprout his first two teeth.

September/October: These eight weeks -- give or take -- were a blur of Jack and Charlie's football games and Tyler and Kates marching band competitions. Spent a lot of time in the car, and kudos to Sam and Bobby for being tolerant and supportive of their older siblings' schedules. Jack and Charlie's football season ended with a tough loss in the championship game. They had a shot at redemption when they were invited to play with the intermediate squad at their championship game. Unfortunately, luck was not on their side and they endured a loss there too.

November: We were fortunate to see great honors bestowed on our kids for their hard work. First, Jack and Charlie were awarded Defensive Player of the Year and Offensive Player of the Year, respectively, at their football awards banquet. I may have nearly burst with pride. Next, the Snider Marching Band placed well enough at semi-state to perform at the state competition at Lucas Oil Stadium in Indy. Their season ended with an eighth place finish at state. I think I can speak for Jeff when I say we are enormously proud of all the kids' accomplishments and honors, and mostly the hard work they put into their activities. The month ended with Tyler and Kate enjoying a marching band trip out East to march in the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day parade. They also visited NYC and had a blast. We missed them over the holiday, but we also traveled East (not quite as far, though) to spend the holiday with my family near Buffalo. While we were there, we took Jack, Charlie, Sam and Bobby to Niagara Falls. A bit cold and misty, but a breathtaking sight nonetheless.

December: With everyone back home from traveling, we prepared for the holiday with our traditional tobogganing trip and enjoyed spending time together. The day we left, Tyler received notification he'd been accepted to Butler University. Then, on Christmas Eve, the mail brought an acceptance letter from Indiana University as well. Talk about two great Christmas gifts!Despite losing power from 7am to noon Christmas Day, it was wonderful. We welcomed family members over for dinner, and--somehow--everything came together beautifully for dinner. I celebrated my 40+1 birthday... with Jeff surprising me with my favorite lunch from Chipotle, a really good book and a crossword-puzzle-a-day calendar. This, I am sure, we BOTH will enjoy throughout 2010.

I noticed we had a lot to celebrate this past year. Sure, we faced challenges and stressful situations, but those aren't even worth mentioning. Looking forward to 2010 being a wonderful year, full of happiness, health and laughter... and wishing that to you and your family as well!

Holiday Photo Album-Phase II

2009-12-28T13:51:00.014-05:00

Since Jeff and I have been together, we have kicked off the kids' holiday break with a tobogganing trip. It's a favorite tradition we created for our new family. We rent a cabin, bring an assortment of goodies to eat and hit the toboggan run. The track is refrigerated, so there needn't be snow. This photo of Kate, Jeff and cousin Chloe was snapped before I realized my camera settings were all jinky. Sorry guys.

The boys were hanging out with me and Bobby during the first tobogganing session to serve out a punishment for in-car fighting on the drive up to the park. Yes, such behavior from these sweet, angelic faces. Shocking.

Nothing like waking up to a surprise snowfall! And it kept the kids busy as we packed up the cabin to head home.

Sam, on our walk down the path to the lake. Immediately after this was taken, Tyler launched a snowball at him, and thus began a hilarious snowball fight between those two and Chloe.

See? If I were Tyler, I'd have run. I think Sam and Chloe could totally hold their own against him. And, in fact, they did.

View across the lake on a cold, wintry morning.

Had to give some perspective on the toboggan run. The black dot in the left chute is a toboggan coming at us. That hazy black box that looks kind of like a tree house is the top of the tower where the trip begins. It's about five stories high. How do I know this? I counted every last one of the stairs we climbed the night before--as we carried heavy, wooden toboggans. If memory serves, it's something like a quarter mile track, completely iced, allowing for speeds up to 30-40 mph. Our highest speed was 32-34mph, I think. When you drive it in your car, it doesn't seem so fast. Try flying down an icy chute from five stories up at that speed. I promise. It's. Fast.

This is our Christmas tree on Christmas morning. Notice the absence of twinkly lights. This is because at approximately 6:50am, our power went out. It stayed out for the better part of five hours. Five. Hours. We had ourselves an old-fashioned Pioneer Christmas and opened presents by lantern. (Don't let this photo fool you... it was d-a-r-k. The flash on the camera is just doing its job.) Note that the photo is wide enough for you to enjoy a peek at the shelves in the kitchen and our DVDs. I'm sure this is largely due to the fact that when Jeff was taking the photo he couldn't see anything in the viewfinder. Remember? Because it was DARK. I swear there's a really groovy star on the tree (my 40+ year old family star) and gifts underneath, even though you see none of this.

And would this photo montage be complete without a picture of Bobby experiencing his first Christmas? Again, the camera flash did a super job of lighting him; although after about five pictures, we all but begged Jeff to stop for fear of permanently blinding the tyke. Here, he is opening a set of wooden alphabet blocks. Pioneer Christmas, indeed!

Holiday Photo Album-Phase I

2009-12-28T13:15:00.010-05:00

The craziness of the holidays is nearly over, and I finally carved out time to download a ton of photos from the past several weeks. I'd chat more, but I want to get two posts in today. Enjoy!

First of only two pictures taken on Thanksgiving Day. Aunt Patty making gravy. And, apparently, shunning the papparazzi.

Second of two photos. Jack being..., well... Jack. This is the child I have to beg and bribe to give me at least one good smile per photo. On Thanksgiving, I just went with what he gave me and counted it as a blessing. Besides, I had already won a battle that day--he's wearing a collared shirt AND jeans, rather than his usual t-shirt and warm-ups.

The lot of us at Niagara Falls the day after Thanksgiving. While others braved crowded, overheated shopping malls, we braved the elements and trekked the short 30 min. from Buffalo to Niagara. Obviously, there was wind (see the wall-o-hair covering half my face?) and some spitting rain, but we all managed to have fun. A lot of walking, but the beautiful scenery of the falls, rapids and such were so worth it!

Of course he's smiling and happy. He was strapped to me in the Baby Bjorn and as we schlepped all over Niagara Falls.

Before we left for home, we got a great photo of all the boys and Great Grandma Evelyn (Baba).

And I couldn't resist posting this one. It's up there with my all-time favorites. The story behind it is that Jeff and I were trying to get a good, smiley photo of Bobby for the Christmas card. Unfortunately, with all his enthusiastic movement, most photos were just a blur of drooling happy baby. I posted this on a Facebook album with the caption, "Laughing so hard you pee your pants isn't such a big deal when you're a baby." Or something like that.

'Tis the season...

2009-12-22T23:55:00.002-05:00

...to feel stressed.
...to get frazzled.
...to warmly embrace all the craziness that IS my life.

Time check: 11:53pm

The four youngest are asleep upstairs. I am in the kitchen, which appears to have had a cyclone strike it. In the den, two separate video game systems are idling while Tyler, Kate and friends are either walking to or walking home from another friend's house in the neighborhood. (This guy stood them up tonight on "Game Night at the Cameron's" I think. I pity the fool...) Jeff is checking out at Meijer, taking full advantage of their "Santa Bucks" promotion which ends at midnight.

Ordinarily, by this hour, I'd be all snuggled in my bed -- or somehow sleeping in an upright position, wherever I may be. Owing all this chaos to the impending holiday, I will let this breach of bedtime slide. This time.

Tomorrow, Jeff and I will rise with Bobby sometime between 6-7am. The great and powerful Oz of a coffeemaker we own will have a full pot of Starbuck's Verona ready and waiting. There will probably still be homemade play-dough in baggies on the counter. There will also probably still be a vast array of cups and paper plates scattered here and there. And there will definitely be a few crashed out teenagers sprawled out in the den.

As a person who loves organization and having things "just so," the upheaval of things is starting to make me itch a little. But I am breathing deeply... and just letting things BE. I have to be OK with it -- simply because being itchy about it will make me jackass crazy. Quickly.

The day after tomorrow -- Christmas Eve -- my parents will be rolling into town, weather permitting. That part cracks me up... "weather permitting." You know, I almost expect more from two people who lived a majority of their lives in western NY, dealing with lake effect snow/blizzards off Lake Erie and then proceeded to ridicule the drivers in South Carolina for freaking out when it snowed a quarter inch. (Yes, Mom & Dad... I'm talking to YOU. I know you read this blog.) :)

So, now... at 12:16am, all the kids are back. Jeff has returned with a few more Christmas gifts and we need to map our plan of attack for tomorrow.

Fa. La. La. La. La.
La. La.
La.
La.

2009-12-16T19:08:00.004-05:00

So, today I had to appear in traffic court. It was a hearing where I had to either admit or deny the validity of my speeding ticket. Regardless of my firm belief that the officer clocked the car in front of me (strikingly similar to our van) yet pulled ME over, I admitted the offense just so I could get the hell out of the courtroom. The presiding judge clearly explained all options available to myself and the other dozen or so folks sitting in his courtroom. As for opting to go to trial for whatever infraction we were charged with, he offered the information, "[The state] does this all day, every day. They are VERY GOOD at what they do." Read: If you're ballsy enough to take your case to trial, you will most likely be squashed by the prosecution, resulting in additional court fees and possibly the maximum fine... which in most cases was about $500. Not one to try and rock the boat, I arranged to pay the fine assessed to me and left.

But first? There was entertainment.

Let me preface this account with a very clear statement: I, in no way, mean to offer disparaging remarks to any person who has autism, their family, friends or acquaintances. I do not mean to make light of this condition, nor do I intend to offend anyone in any way.

So here's what happened... a woman entered the courtroom (LATE! This was her first mistake) with her 10-yr-old-ish son. Clearly there were issues with the boy. He became increasingly disruptive, until the judge politely asked her to take him out in the hallway and he would call her when he got to her case. She complied. Just by looking at her, I made the (correct) assumption that when she got her chance to talk to the judge, there was going to be a show. I was not mistaken. When she was called before the judge, her son was very agitated, and proceeded to not only fidget and play in the chair in which he sat, but continually leaned over and grabbed another woman's belongings, purse, etc. off the adjacent table. I felt so bad for him -- the courtroom is not a place for children, and I couldn't believe his mother was brazen enough to bring him with her. The whole time, the mom kept barking orders at him, trying to get him to sit quietly and behave. At one point, after the boy took his mom's papers and threw them all over the floor, the judge snapped and told her in no uncertain terms that this was not a place she should bring her son.
"Common sense should tell you that," he sternly told her. Then she started to get shitty with the judge. (Second mistake.) Throughout this whole debacle, she kept saying, "I'm sorry,... he's autism." It was pretty apparent there wasn't a shred of sincerity in her voice, either. Plus... "he's autism"? Seriously? Autistic, yes. But unless he has been chosen as the poster boy for the condition, I don't think she can say that. The whole thing just reeked of her bringing him into court to gain some sort of sympathy from the bench. Needless to say, if that was her plan, it didn't work. The judge finished lighting her up with his verbal reprimand, and dismissed her as quickly as he could. As they left the room, the boy waved and said, "Bye-bye!" At this, his mother yanked him by the arm and hissed, "You shouldn't say that. He didn't really want you here." (Oops. Third mistake.)

What do you want to bet the judge made a few extra notes in her case file, hmmm?

You know what's probably going to happen, right? Sometime down the road, this is going to turn into how she was discriminated against in court and kicked out because of her autistic son.

How very sad that she thinks what she did this morning was OK. Sometimes, I really have no idea what goes through parents' minds when they pull stunts like this.

I believe Keanu Reeves' character, Tod, summed it up best in the movie "Parenthood." "You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog or drive a car. Hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any [a**hole] be a father."

True, it specifically says "father," but "mother" will work, too.

Bah...

2009-12-15T12:09:00.002-05:00

I'm not even going to finish the phrase.

Is it not the most pathetic thing when a person is actually too "blah" about the holiday to even utter the complete phrase that basically tells the whole commercialized holiday to suck it? And it isn't that I'm hateful toward the holiday -- just highly unmotivated. Less than enthusiastic. Very "why bother" about the whole kit & caboodle.

Part of it could be due to last week's revelation to the boys about the existence (or lack thereof) of everyone's favorite jolly old elf. Part of it is definitely due to a budget that is giving new meaning to the word "tight."

I find myself wondering why I can't heed the advice I gave Charlie last week, when he was so upset about finding out the truth about Santa.
"Everyone gets so wrapped up in and focuses on shopping and Santa," I said. "But do you remember why we even celebrate Christmas in the first place?"

"It's when Jesus was born," he answered.

"Exactly," I said. "So before you go letting this one thing bring down Christmas for you, just remember why it's celebrated to begin with. Focus on that, and the rest will fall into place for you."

Jeff and I have so many blessings and so many things to be thankful and grateful for... why it's so hard to bring THAT into the spotlight, rather than shopping for gifts I don't know.

But I'm going to try and change it.

The end of an era...

2009-12-08T22:47:00.004-05:00

At 8:20 this morning, I had in my possession Sam's letter to Santa. He worked so hard on it--because it wasn't just a letter written on normal notebook paper. He crafted (with a little help) a construction paper Christmas tree, which he decorated with tiny Santa hats (also made with a little help from yours truly). In the body of the tree, he wrote his letter, asking for a particular NFL jersey. As I got the envelope for him, he was adamant that HE address it himself... "So Santa really knows it's from me" he said. It was adorable and it made me want to scoop him up in my arms and wallow in the cuteness of it all. After school today, we stopped at the mailbox. I pulled the van up to drop off the letter, but rather than just stopping at the driver's side window, I pulled forward a bit more and hit the button to open the back door--Sam was going to drop this one in on his own. And he did.

By 9:20 this evening, however, he had lost the wide-eyed innocence he possessed earlier in the day. Apparently, while at their dad's house, Sam, Jack and Charlie began asking questions about Santa. And so the cat was let out of the bag, so to speak; now the three of them are that much wiser where the holiday and Santa's gift-giving are concerned. But, if you ask me, I wish they hadn't found out. Not just yet. I knew this day would come, and to be honest, I really thought it would have already happened for Jack and Charlie. But Sam? He's only seven. Make that seven-and-a-half... and I have to say, as I write this, I could just burst into tears. Is it selfish to have wanted just one more year? Especially since I watched him create such a wonderful, creative letter for Santa just last night? I know with Bobby heading into his first Christmas at just 9 months, we're in for many, many years of Christmas magic featuring Santa and his team of tiny reindeer. But for a long time, up until last March, Sam was my "baby." I sometimes feel like he jumped way ahead of things because he wanted so desperately to keep up with his older brothers--like he went straight from Sesame Street to Star Wars. And I have to say... this makes me monumentally sad. Not just knowing how quickly he grew up (and IS growing up), but that this is a huge reminder that he can't stay a little kid forever. None of them can.

I am almost wishing and hoping the Post Office deems Sam's letter "undeliverable," and returns it to us. (I made sure I had the return address clearly written in the upper left corner.) I think I'd like to keep this one, this last one, for a long, long time.

I think with the boys on the "other side" of the Christmas magic now, things will be extra special for Bobby in the coming years. Jack, Charlie and Sam will be able to help pull off special surprises for their little brother, and experience the joy of seeing him wide-eyed with the wonder of the holidays... just as I have done for them for the past 10 years. But I will still miss seeing the magic of Christmas in their eyes.

Toothpicks are next...

2009-12-07T19:23:00.002-05:00

All I've wanted today is to go back to sleep for a little while. Right now, I'm about to dig through the cupboard for the box of toothpicks and prop my eyelids open.

It all began this morning, when I dragged myself out of bed sometime between 6 and 6:30am, I looked back at my nice fluffy pillow and sighed. Got everyone up and in the middle of the get-ready-for-school-shuffle, I noticed a dusting of snow on the driveway. How lovely, I thought. Fast forward 25 minutes when we sailed through the second intersection in our neighborhood and "lovely" was the last possible word on my lips for the snow... or the glass-like sheet of ice that was hidden underneath. Driving to school takes 25 minutes at the very most on any given day. Today? It took nearly an entire hour. Wrecks were everywhere and just before reaching school, I heard that a portion of a road in town had actually been closed because it was too hazardous for travel.

And WTH am I doing driving my kids across town to school in such insane conditions? I'd tell you, but the story is long and unbelievable. We'll save that for another time.

Anyway, after making sure the kiddos were on their way to class (a full 30 minutes late, but the secretary said they weren't counting tardies today because of the weather) and I loaded up the baby and myself to venture home. Another hour later, we arrived home where I basically dropped off the baby to Jeff and headed out again to run a few mandatory errands. Finally home again around noon, and all I could think of was perhaps grabbing a nice nap before heading back over to pick up the boys from school. No. Such. Luck. Before I knew it, it was 2pm, and back into the car again I went. Of course, afternoons at our house are generally not conducive to napping (unless your name is Bobby--then, it's your JOB) so I have felt like a walking zombie since about 3:30pm.

An hour and a half left before the boys' bed time. Wish me luck.

I certainly don't mean to be bitching and whining about being tired. I mean,... on any given day, are there really any of us who wouldn't trade just about anything for a nice, leisurely nap? I don't know what it is... maybe I'm fighting off some bug,...maybe I over-did things yesterday when Jeff was at work and I was alpha-parent here with the kids... who knows. Maybe I'm just being a big wuss. Whatever it is, I hope it's cured by a good night of sleep.

On a brighter (and somewhat graphic) note, I got to unwrap the splint I've been wearing since surgery last Wednesday. Someone should've told me that the pain meds were actually meant for use after the splint is removed. Ouch. I seriously don't think my wrist hurt this bad the day of the actual procedure. And before everyone gets all riled up and worried that I've become some kind of Vicodin addict, let me assure every last one of you that is far from the case. Seriously.

The boys were super impressed with the de-bandaging, with which Jeff was willing to assist. The only thing I'm a bit self-conscious about now is the incision closed with five tidy stitches on the inside of my wrist. I have a feeling I'm going to get a few "concerned" looks from well-meaning/nosy strangers. You know the look. The one that says, "Oh-that-poor-woman-must've-tried-the-unspeakable," or "Is-she-really-as-stable-as-she's-trying-to-make-us-believe-she-is?"

I should just look at them, perhaps twitch my eye a time or two and whisper, "All I wanted was a nap..."

oh, s**t...

2009-12-05T18:37:00.003-05:00

This? Is what happens when the main sewer line in your house ends up blocked. This will make your husband call your cell phone 10 times in eight minutes in an absolute panic, telling you to please come home right away because he has to go to Menard's to buy a snake to clear the blocked pipe. And, by the way, no one can use toilets, sinks, showers, etc. until the problem is cleared up.

When the 25-ft. snake he bought doesn't get the job done, you have to call Roto-Rooter ON SATURDAY to come fix the blocked line. This causes much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And when you hear how much it's going to cost to have the Roto-Rooter guy solve this problem on one of the two days a week when you incur off-hour charges, you pretty much watch Christmas swirl down the newly flushable toilet like a... well, you get the picture.

I blame the Vicodin...

2009-12-04T19:00:00.003-05:00

Right now, I have three 10-yr-olds and two 7-yr-olds (all boys, by the way) in the den watching "A Christmas Story."

What the hell was I thinking?

Just kidding. We planned this sleep-over night a long while back. I had a grand idea of designating tonight as one of our first holiday treat baking nights, letting the five extra pairs of hands help where they could. At the very least, I'd have five expert treat tasters. Then, I was scheduled for surgery on my wrist this past Wednesday and,... well... once I realized how very incapacitated I would be, plans changed.

I snapped this with my good hand Wednesday afternoon while I took up residence on the den sofa. The problem had been a cyst which had formed just below the area where your thumb meets your wrist. It's the part where nurses will take your pulse. Having a cyst there felt like having a badly sprained wrist. Constantly. And this is my dominant arm... which means I continually hoist my purse and the diaper bag onto my right shoulder. Doing this with what feels like a sprained wrist was less than comfortable. All. The. Time. So, it had to come out.

Now, two days post-procedure, things are OK. I overdid things a bit yesterday, but Jeff was working, so I was alpha-parent in charge of Bobby for 24 hours. I am prohibited from lifting anything greater than 10 pounds. Darling Bobby is well over 10 pounds. In fact, he tipped the pediatrician's scale at 20 lbs., 6 oz. at his check-up today. All day yesterday, I had to be creative and, above all, careful as I lifted him and carried him around. I managed, just shy of assembling a staggering display of ropes and pulleys. But today? Oy vey, am I paying for it. I skipped my pain meds yesterday, opting out of being high as a kite on Vicodin while driving the kids to and from school. Today, however, since Jeff is here, my two little white pills every six hours has been a slice of pain-free heaven.

So, anyway, back to the room full-o-boy I have here. I'd love to say I blame my decision to host this overnight extravaganza on the painkillers. However, as I said, we planned this night a while ago. I feel kinda bad that I'm not going full Betty Crocker and providing a bit of holiday baking fun. But the boys are watching "A Christmas Story," and playing video games. And as luck would have it, Kate and Dylan are here in the kitchen ready to start baking some cookies. How I lucked into an evening of holiday movies AND cookies (that I'm not responsible for baking) I'll never know... but I sure wouldn't trade it for anything.

Roadtrip Recap

2009-12-01T17:16:00.010-05:00

Well... we made it.

We survived our trip to New York and back, although there were a few moments in the car when I seriously had my doubts. I was sure someone (and by someone, I mean ME) would end up riding home strapped to the rooftop luggage rack. At least with the wind whistling in my ears, I wouldn't be hearing the seemingly incessant, often obnoxious boy-chatter from the back of the van.

We actually left within 30 minutes of our target time on Wednesday morning. For us? That's phenomenal. The trip over was broken up with a stop after 2.5 hours at my parent's house in Ohio. After a brief stretch and mandatory bathroom break, we were on the road again for the final four-hour stretch to western NY. Seeing my grandmother that night was terrific -- it had been a few years since the boys and I made the trip out East. And this time, she got to meet Jeff and Bobby.

Thursday, we rode over to my aunt's house for the family feast. I was on cloud nine seeing my family, introducing everyone to Jeff, watching their reactions to how Jack, Charlie and Sam had grown, and getting their first look at Bobby. Before we went in the house, however, I briefed Jeff.

"We're a loud bunch," I told him. "There are a lot of us, so when we all get together and everyone's talking, we're always trying to talk over other people... it can get pretty obnoxious." He just smiled.

So, of course, we get inside and walk smack into a wall of noise. Ahhhh... family. The rampant conversation was peppered with lots of laughter, and hugs abounded. It wasn't long before dinner was ready, and we all dug into a wonderful feast. Even Bobby sat on my lap and that little stinker ate nearly my entire helpings of sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes. He just kept looking up at me with those clear blue eyes... mouth agape and ringed with bits of orange...how could I resist? And speaking of things hard to resist...I have to mention the pie buffet. At the end of our holiday dinner, we had not just a couple of pumpkin pies to enjoy, but an actual BUFFET of pies to choose from. Three or four pumpkin pies were joined by two apple, a chocolate pudding pie, orange chiffon and... oh, shoot. I know I'm forgetting one, but I forgot nothing when I went to get dessert for Jeff and myself. I assembled a modest slice of each pie, spanning two plates -- a "Pie Sampler" I called it, and was not ashamed to dig in and enjoy every last delicious, whipped-cream-laden bite. (Even though my mom was wide-eyed with disbelief at the pile-o-treats. All I could say was, "This? Is why I run.")

The next day, we took the boys up to Niagara Falls. They hadn't been there in a few years, and none of them really seemed to remember it. They had a good time, and even Bobby enjoyed the scenery as he hung on me in the Baby Bjorn carrier. We had lunch at Hard Rock Cafe, then visited the aquarium. By the end of the afternoon, we'd had our fill of the area, and headed back to the hotel.

We headed back home Saturday morning, after visiting again with my grandma. The trip home seemed like it took forever--largely because Jack & Charlie lost use of their Nintendo DSs for a rule infraction the previous day. Let's just say when two 10-yr-old boys get going with "boy humor" and the Pict-o-chat feature on their DS games, nothing good can come of it.

All in all, though, despite the ride home testing every last nerve Jeff and I had to offer... it was a great few days. I loved seeing my family, and it reminded me how thankful I should always be-- I have, not only my wonderful husband and great kids, but a fantastic extended family as well. Even if it can be almost deafening when we all get together, there's also lots of pie.

The Giving of the Thanks

2009-11-25T00:10:00.002-05:00

The last week has been a blur. Not really sure why, since life around here really hasn't seemed to spin any faster than usual. Regardless, my "me time" on the computer was slim to none, so no posts. :( If it's any consolation, I've written a baker's dozen of them in my head over the past several days. Too bad none of you are mind-readers. You'd have been laughing your asses off if you had. Yes, they were that good.

With Thanksgiving just about here, I have been trying to make a conscious effort to think of things I am thankful for every day. And not just the generic "I'm thankful for my family and friends and our health, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah." Don't get me wrong. I am totally thankful for those things. Really. But sometimes you have to look for the tiny things -- the things that you might otherwise overlook as the days go zipping by. Such as...

I am thankful for car rides with the boys when they aren't arguing or bickerng.

I am very thankful for my wonderful husband, Jeff, who can fix/build/attend to just about anything in the house. (You should see my new laundry area... it's all that and more. And I am not ashamed to admit I am totally charged about a laundry area.)

I am thankful for the timer on the coffee-maker, which makes getting out of bed at 6am on a dark, cold morning just a bit easier to bear, knowing my coffee is made and waiting for me.

I am thankful for the way Jeff and I can catch each other's gaze across the room and connect for that brief second or two. Those moments fill my heart with such a quick burst of joy and love.

I am thankful for infants' Motrin, which eases Bobby's teething pain.

I am thankful for wonderful, irreplaceable friends. You know who you are.

I am thankful for lower gas prices, making our trip to NY to visit family totally do-able on a tight budget.

I am thankful for any time one of the kids remembers to rinse the dish/glass/bowl they were using.

I am thankful for talented, gifted individuals who bring me episodes of my favorite television shows: Grey's Anatomy and The Office. Some weeks those 90 collective minutes are just about the only ones in which I sit and relax. Thank you for your amazing writing.

And, last but certainly not least... I am thankful for each and every person who reads and enjoys this blog. I may not know who you are, or how many people read, but I'm glad you're there.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Silent Night, Holy.. hell is breaking loose

2009-11-18T11:13:00.003-05:00

The four youngest children and I were all in the car last night. Jack and Charlie were playing Nintendo DS games, commenting on every last move. Sam was also playing a DS, yet still had it in him to carry on lengthy conversations/arguments with both brothers and myself. Constantly. Bobby fussed and cried the entire time, most likely due to a teething issue.

Somewhere along the way, I decided it would be a great idea to turn on the radio and enjoy some very early holiday music. Yes. Holiday music. There are two local stations that have currently replaced their usual playlist with an endless cavalcade of holiday tunes. One station boasts being "Fort Wayne's First Official Holiday Music Station." Well, naturally... when you begin playing Christmas carols in the first week of November, you're bound to be first.

But I digress...

About two-thirds into our trip, the noise level was nearly deafening. Between the chatter, video games and Bobby's intermittent wailing, I could hardly hear myself think, let alone the song on the radio. But in a rare moment, a pause in the chaos... I nearly laughed out loud when I did hear the song being played:

"Silent Night" sung by the legendary Frank Sinatra.

Dear, sweet, dearly departed Mr. Sinatra... you have obviously never been in my car-full-o-children.

Anticipation Thursday

2009-11-12T12:36:00.003-05:00

Who doesn't like having something to look forward to?

No one... that's who.

I am looking forward to the next several days, nearly giddy with anticipation because...
1.) Tonight is possibly just the greatest night for television. The Office, 30 Rock and Grey's Anatomy. Bliss.

2.) I get to go to Indianapolis tomorrow and spend belated birthday time with Shipley. For years, I have made it down to the big city in October to celebrate her birthday. Oh, yes. We whoop it up big time. Usually a nice dinner or lunch somewhere, followed by a trip to Target. Or Kohl's. Or both. To us, this constitutes a great time. I mean, just hanging out and schlepping around with your best friend of 20+ years? What isn't to like?

3.) We are expecting relatives from Illinois on Saturday for Festivus. Yes, we stole that from Frank Costanza on "Seinfeld." But last year we were desperate to get everyone together for the holidays, and schedules weren't jiving with traditional dates. So we picked a weekend that worked for everyone and had "Festivus for the Rest of Us." It was great fun: the exploding pot-o-spaghetti (and the Chicago deep-dish pizza that was promptly ordered afterward), a very special visit from The Unibomber during the guys' poker game, a day at Brookfield Zoo and having the place to ourselves, a lovely window-shopping stroll through Crystal Lake with Stacy and Jenny... just having family together to visit, laugh, chat, laugh, drink good coffee and laugh. Oh, did I mention the laughter? We are a quirky, funny bunch.

4.) Getting the Christmas decorations out Sunday and getting them organized. We have designated the Sunday before Thanksgiving as our chief decorating day. All the kids will be home, and I foresee a big hot pot of something extra-good for dinner that night while we put up the tree. The following week, Tyler and Kate travel out east with the marching band while we are perhaps road tripping to NY for the holiday. How nice it will be to all return home to our beautifully decorated home, ready for Christmas!

All of these things are well worth anticipating. And photos will follow.

Long-lost friend

2009-11-11T06:54:00.003-05:00

I call myself a writer. Most days, though, I feel like a big, fat fraud. How on earth can I even think of myself as a writer when all I seem to have time for is thinking about writing? Should that be my occupation?

Random person: "Hi! Nice to meet you. What do you do?"

Me: "I'm a thinker."

Random person: ????

At any given moment, I am thinking about how I would write something. Driving the kids to school, cooking dinner, folding laundry... chances are I am mulling over something that has happened or is on my mind and having an internal dialogue on how I would write it -- if I were sitting at the computer. Several years ago I received an AlphaSmart for Christmas. If you know not of what I speak, it's a small, portable keyboard that is powered by a handful of AA batteries. It holds about eight files, and the files can hold an impressive number of words. It is truly a writer's best friend -- unfortunately, mine is currently hiding in a pile of importance somewhere. Yesterday, I spent 90 minutes in the waiting room of a medical building. How lovely it would have been to have whipped out the AlphaSmart and tip-tap-typed my way to writer's bliss! As it stood, I watched Jack read (and finish) a book and Charlie begin (and finish) all of his homework. Sam and I occupied our time by smooshing our green-colored gum up against our teeth, then taking pictures of ourselves with my phone, smiling with "green teeth." (Some might argue where the intellectuals are in the family after that comment, but I say laughter makes time fly a lot faster! Now THAT'S smart!)

Long story short, I am unearthing my trusty AlphaSmart today. I will dust it off, replace batteries and pledge to carry it with me and MAKE myself a writer, damn it. For real.

What's worth 1,000 words?

2009-11-09T23:01:00.004-05:00

These pictures, that's what.

This past Sunday we attended Jack and Charlie's football banquet. When awards and trophies were presented, the green squad was up first. I was aware the boys would receive a trophy for JV-North Division Champions--which was very nice.

What I wasn't aware of, was that these boys... the boys who regularly arrived at practice 15 minutes early to run down pass after pass from the coaches, who ran warm-ups and sprints with every ounce of energy they had, who threw themselves heart, soul and spirit into every play of every game this season to the point of tears when they lost their bid for the city championship... these boys were awarded for their effort. Jack was named JV-Green Defensive Back of the Year and Charlie was named JV-Green Offensive Back of the Year.

And, once again, I was a proud Mama Duck. :)

Seeing them awarded and recognized for their efforts went far beyond "hey-you-did-a-great-job-this-season." For me, watching my sons receive the awards from their coach made me realize all their work so far--both on and off the playing field--is coming full circle. For years I've watched them "play football." Now, Jack and Charlie are football players... and I cannot wait for next year. They won't be part of the "new kids" anymore. They will be well-versed in the warm-ups, drills and plays and I hope they will grow into leadership roles for the incoming green squad boys.

Congratulations, Jack and Charlie. You continue to make your family proud! :)

Foul weather is not our friend

2009-11-09T07:00:00.002-05:00

So, I may have been a bit hazy on the end of the boys' football season. Their team consists of varsity and junior varsity divisions, with JV split into a green squad and orange squad. Jack and Charlie were on green, as this was their first season with the team. All three levels moved to playoffs, but the green squad's championship hopes were squashed with a devastating loss on October 24. The weather was disgusting -- temps in the 40s, alternating rain/mist and a bitter wind. We arrived at their game a few minutes after kickoff, and proceeded to watch the boys participate in every play through all four quarters. The kids had been out at the field an hour before the game started, so they'd had a head start on being cold and wet. Things didn't get any better, either. By the end of the game, the score was 7-0, and the Raiders were on the losing end. Coach Torres gave the boys a quick talk as varsity took the field for their game. I saw Charlie's face through his helmet facemask--he was crying. My heart immediately broke, and my own eyes filled with tears. This team of 10-yr. olds had given this game everything they had... and it came down to one play that lost it for them. Charlie's fingers were so cold, he couldn't get his helmet unsnapped, and an assistant coach stepped in to help him. They were dismissed, and Jack turned to face me. He, too, was crying. The boys came up to me, and I realized as Charlie threw his arms around me for a hug that his right wrist was wrapped with athletic tape. Apparently on one of the first plays of the game, he'd injured it slightly at the bottom of a pile-up. Jack then informed me he felt like he was going to throw up. I quickly ushered them away from full view of the spectators on the bleachers and tried to further assess the situation. It was a bit frantic, but we eventually got to the car and warmed up. They felt much better--Charlie's wrist was sore, but at least Jack's stomach had settled down. The next day, Coach called to ask how Jack was feeling and how Charlie's wrist was shaping up. I hadn't known that Jack felt unwell the entire game; he wanted to sit out, but the team needed him and he toughed it out. I assured Coach both boys were fine, although nursing the disappointment of losing their chance of playing in the championship game. He had good news, though. Because of their performance on the green squad, the coaching staff asked if they would like to practice and possibly play on the orange squad the following weekend in their championship game. Needless to say, the boys excitedly accepted and planned to extend their season by a few more days. Saturday arrived, and the playing conditions were just as awful as they had been for the game the green squad lost. It had rained a good two days or so prior, and the wind that morning could be felt swaying the van as we drove the interstate over to the game.

Do you see the standing water/mud puddles beyond the banner?

Jack (gray coat) and Charlie (red sweatshirt) on the sidelines as the game gets underway.

And the grassy, uh... muddy field. Charlie on the sidelines later in the game. Where is Jack you wonder? He would be in the locker room... throwing up. We now know that when Jack is mildly hypothermic (a.k.a., really, really, really cold) his body will react by vomiting. Good to know. And that day? The boys were really, really, really cold. Soaking wet and muddy after warm-ups. Yes, I see the irony there. Do you?
In the end, the Raiders couldn't match the Packer's lone touchdown, and they lost 7-0. Again. For Jack and Charlie, this was now two tough losses -- yet they still love the game and play hard no matter what. The only consolation for me was sitting in the stands with Packer fans around us cheering--because some lady next to us constantly yelling "GO PACKERS!" ended up sounding like she was saying "GO PECKERS!" Oh, come on... you would laugh too. And she was borderline obnoxious, so it made it much more funny.

At the end of the game, I just wanted to turn to her and say, "Well, our team may have lost, but at least we aren't a bunch of peckers."

October 31, 2009

2009-11-08T21:52:00.005-05:00

Goal achieved. Proud parent moment: Tyler playing his solo on the jumbotron screen

Waiting for the judging results.At the end of the evening, after seeing 10 fabulous bands perform, the results were tallied. Snider received a respectable 8th place finish. Congratulation to the Snider marching band on a wonderful season! What a wonderful memory for Tyler's senior year. :)

When hard work pays big

2009-11-08T21:27:00.004-05:00

Back in early August, Tyler and Kate (and the rest of the Snider HS marching band) began working on their competition show. Even before school began, these kids endured eight hours every day in the school parking lot -- in the often oppressive Indiana heat and humidity. They came home almost every day smelling of sunscreen and wet with sweat... hungry and exhausted. They fell into bed relatively early, only to rise the next morning and arrive at school by 9am. As the school year got underway, their practices were from 3-5pm each day, with extended hours on Thursday evenings. There were performances at football games on Friday nights, only to have to be up and at school before 7am Saturday, putting in hours of practice before departing for out of town competitions. Quite often, they would not return home until well after midnight -- sometimes 1-2am. As all this was going on, the kids were expected to handle classwork, tests and exams without missing a beat.

Their goal? Make it to state and play at Lucas Oil stadium. They narrowly missed going last year. Their fate would be determined on October 24 at semi-state competition in Indianapolis. The top 10 bands would advance to state competition on October 31. The weather in Fort Wayne that morning was less than desirable--cold, rainy, gross. As luck would have it, everything cleared and the kids had a sunny (albeit brisk) afternoon to perform in Indy. They brought it -- and brought it big time.

Kate during performance... she's in the center.

And here is Tyler's solo...

The entire band...

And the trophy for being a top 10 finishing band. On to state! And the added bonus? Both Tyler and Kate finished the first grading period with an A in every subject and on the honor roll.

Post-season

2009-11-04T07:00:00.002-05:00

Last night marked the end of the boys' football season. The coach informed us of the traditional "fun practice" on the last night, where the team just plays a scrimmage game. Unfortunately, the boys' expectations were NOT met, and last night they proceeded to laundry list the reasons they weren't happy with the game. It became clear that this last hurrah was really a chance for the outgoing varsity players to have some fun and end on a high note -- even if that meant the coaches and refs bent the rules of play a little to give the older boys an advantage. (But really, when you're 12 and playing against 9, 10 and 11 year olds... don't you already have the advantage?)

Today we turn in equipment at the PAL center. I clearly remember the day Jack and Charlie got their equipment, when their eyes literally sparkled with anticipation of the coming season. Today? I predict I will see two boys who have grown in both their love of the sport and skill level. They will take with them memorized plays, the language of which still sounds like jibberish to me. They will take with them the pride in always playing hard and giving their all -- and never, NEVER quitting.

I will take with me the rush of pride and spirit I felt when I saw 8 and 12 out on the field. And a whole bunch of photographs of the same.

Together we will look forward to next year, when they will move up to the JV orange squad. We will anticipate them beginning practices in the sweltering, often-oppressive heat of August, and ending their season at a championship game on a crisp, cool October morning.

Here's to you Jack and Charlie... and the rest of the Raiders. Great job this season. There may not be a trophy with your name on it this year, but go forward and make next year YOUR year!

Snapshots

2009-10-30T16:03:00.006-04:00

How many kids does it take to dislodge a football from the neighbor's brilliantly colored tree? Apparently just four. Because the adult who walked over to help (me) was absolutely no help at all.

Sam hard at work carving his pumpkin. While it struck fear into the depths of my soul, I let him use a safety knife to do the dirty work. Yes, even a safety knife makes me uneasy. 'Cause, really? Any implement called a "knife," isn't 100 percent safe to me.

These are the rest of the pumpkin creations. From left, Jack's, Charlie's and Kate's. These were made at James & Jenny's annual pumpkin party last weekend. It's a great party -- you BYOP (bring your own pumpkin) and they provide all sorts of decorations. And food. Lots of delicious food. Unfortunately, Sam had a rough time last weekend and found himself grounded... thus missing the party. Hated to do it, but when you're seven, you don't mouth off to and disrespect your mother. Ever. It all worked out OK, though, because he and I went to pick out his pumpkin Monday and we carved it together. Well, HE carved. I took pictures. And prayed the "safety knife" lived up to its name.

Little life lessons

2009-10-19T08:12:00.003-04:00

This past weekend, we took a day-trip to see Tyler and Kate's marching band perform at regionals. One of my oldest and best friends, Maria, (and by "oldest" I mean we've been friends for 27 years) happened to be attending this competition because her daughter is on color guard for another high school. We were so excited to be able to see each other and watch our kids all perform. Unfortunately, her son developed a fever, so she stayed home with him.

The afternoon took a few weird turns, due to weather in the area and seemingly poor planning on behalf of the music association. A wave of rain left the football field too muddy for the bands to use, relegating them to the host school's back parking lot. That left spectators (us) to stand on our choice of adjacent pavement, tennis courts or muddy grass. Damned if the muddy grass had the best view, so that's where we ended up. Pair those tidbits with the fact that the weather also delayed the start time by and hour (due to more impending rain), and there were half-a-gazillion people trying to find parking spots in a relatively small lot, and you've got a potentially volatile situation on your hands.

In the end, it wasn't a bad experience. The second wave of rain held off, we were able to watch Snider give a wonderful performance (including Tyler's trumpet solo) and we got to see the kids right after they finished. Because of the conditions, we didn't stay as long as planned, so that allowed a little more time to visit my brother's family who lives in the area. We picked up pizzas and soda, and pretty much invited ourselves over for a while before heading out on the two-hour drive home.

On the way home, I reflected on the day and realized the little life lessons encountered along the way:

* Always be flexible with your plans. Having a Plan B waiting in the wings helps.
* Gold lame is neither a flattering, nor forgiving fabric. (Special note for color guard costume decision-makers.)
* When the kids have been working hard on their show, almost every day since August 3, enduring outdoor practice in sweltering heat, rain and (most recently) 40 degree weather, you DO NOT get to bitch about standing to watch them perform or getting a little bit of mud on your shoes.
* Often times, the more expensive the car, the more inconsiderate the driver. Not always, but I'm just sayin'.
* Getting teary-eyed with pride at your stepchildren's performance can take you by surprise, and clearly erases the word "step" from the beginning of that word.
* When you invite yourself to someone's house (even family) come bearing gifts -- or at least food.

And, proving that every dark cloud has a silver lining, both our school and Maria's daughter's have advanced to semi-state. This means, while we missed getting together last weekend, we can look forward to seeing each other in Indianapolis this coming weekend.

I love it when Karma smiles on us.

Up, up and away!

2009-10-16T07:55:00.002-04:00

You just know this is water-cooler talk across the country today: the "Balloon Boy debacle."

Jack, Charlie and I found ourselves pretty glued to the television as Headline News broadcast every last breaking detail about the situation. They were captivated by such an idea -- a homemade helium-type balloon, big enough to carry away a 6 yr. old. I made mental note to keep Sam in sight for, oh... say, the next 10 years, so these budding geniuses didn't create schematics and send their little brother sailing through the friendly skies above Indiana. Or take a jaunty joy-ride themselves.

Oh, believe me. In my life, it would happen. But they'd go about it a bit differently.

1.) They would hatch their plan and execute it without alerting anyone, including myself and Jeff. We happen to pride ourselves on staying one step ahead of these guys, nipping potential problems in the bud, before things that seem like "such a good idea" turn into disasters. But this project? A giant, shimmery, gas-filled balloon? Yeah, this would be the one they succeed in hiding. Well.

2.) A flight plan would be created. Taking a joy-ride is one thing. Taking a joy-ride with a destination in mind is pure genius when you're 10.

3.) Snacks would be packed. And none of those jinky, vacuum-packed peanuts. There would be a cache of chewy granola bars, cereal and Gatorade. Probably a case of Mtn. Dew, as well, since I won't be there to say "no." And don't forget all that Halloween candy.

4.) Self-defense? A keen arsenal of Nerf guns and foam-rubber darts should do the trick.

5.) Personal DVD players, movies, and Nintendo DS games would be made available for in-flight entertainment. Don't forget the iPods.

6.) Of course, no need to worry about life-threatening crashes or similar worst-case scenarios. They would have everything planned and accounted for... because when you're 10, you have an immediate plan to tackle any situation. And live to tell about it.

2009-10-15T20:00:00.002-04:00

I left a title off this one simply because I just couldn't think of clever words to sum up the head-banging-against-a-brick-wall frustration called my visit to Target last night with two 10-yr olds.

Jack and Charlie wanted to go out shopping for Halloween costumes. Having amassed a collection of gift cards from past birthdays, I saw a win-win situation here: we go to Target, they get costumes and pay with gift cards... without so much as a swipe of our debit card. See? Win-win.

They had $35 each to spend.

Charlie was the first to choose a costume. As we strolled the aisles, we happened by the back wall display -- a seemingly endless trough filled with bags upon bags of "fun size" candy bars. The boys? Lost. Their. Minds.

Them: "Can we get some?"
Me: (hesitant, but trying to avoid turning into the Sugar Nazi too early) "Ummm, sure."

The boys practically dive head first into said trough, coming up with armloads of bags.

Me: "STOP!"

I explain that in two short weeks, they will be hip-deep in candy. Jack counters with, "So, what's your point?" I suppress the urge to throttle him, and further explain that they really don't need a head start on destroying their body chemistry and depleting their (much needed) immune systems with all that sugar right now. (OK. I went a little Sugar Nazi on them right there.) I talk them down to two bags each. Moving on, Jack finds a costume. Then they both spy little, ugly, useless, rubbery skulls on elastic bands. Of course. So then, Jack, being the ever-talented, budding math whiz quickly calculates his purchases in his head: costume, $17; walking staff with light-up skull on top, $10; two bags of candy, $6; rubbery skull, $2. Perfect. $35 on the nose.

I'm all, "Hang on there cowboy... you have to figure in sales tax." He balks. And by balks, I mean a visible show of disgust, as if I'd just told him I'd fixed chicken beak tacos for dinner. With a side of mealworms.

"I don't wanna pay sales tax!" he laments. Oh, sweet child. Welcome to life.

"Yes, Jack... no one does. But you have to," I say.

"Well.... can't you cover the tax for me?"

"Um, that would be a solid n-o."

Again, he balks, trying to make me feel like the worst mother in the history of the world. Ha. You're going to have to work a little harder, since you've shared that opinion quite a few times over the past decade.

"You could always put a bag of candy back," I say. "That might help."

He is horrified at such a thought. In fact, in the ensuing conversation/debate/argument (which, I'm sure, was enjoyed by all Target patrons within earshot) I explain the seven percent tax, and what it means for the bottom line of his purchase. He finds it necessary to keep wailing about the injustice of how I won't cover a measly 31 cents. Of course I could. But by this point, I was rolling with the principle of the situation and teaching a life lesson on spending within a set budget. I mean, grown ups don't pick out groceries willy-nilly, get to the check-out and wheel around to the person in line behind them to say, "I'm a tad short here. Howzabout you cover me?" You stick to your budget. Period.

We finally find a mutually-acceptable agreement that in no way demanded me plunking down MY debit card for his purchase, and him chucking the ugly, rubbery skull back into the bin, and snarling, "Are you happy now?" Pfft. Like I was the one to invent sales tax just to ruin a 10-yr. old's good time.

In the end, they ended up with pretty cool costumes. And a shitload of candy.

You want to talk scary? I've all but debated economic principles with a 10-yr. old. In Target of all places. Bring on Halloween.