It's all good until the popcorn needs popped

I’ve always thought friends are important. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t (at age 43) still declare a friend from 7th grade and my college Little Sis as my BFFs. Friends are especially important when you feel like you’re going crazy from all the chaos and drama in your life and you just want to feel normal. I am blessed to have two good friends who balance out my crazy – Jenn and Lindy.


Just because of our schedules and kids (13 between the three of us) lunch plans are frequently rescheduled (today’s lunch took three tries? I think?) but when we all sit down, sans children, it gives us a chance to reconnect, catch up and laugh. Oh, do we ever laugh. Sometimes at the most inappropriate things, but that’s how we roll.

Today’s lunch was a lovely Panera offering of soups and sandwiches, which also included topics ranging from two kids hoping to make student council at school; the often-inappropriate things that pop out of teen boys’mouths; school field trips; family drama; teenagers and their nonchalant views on how the world really works; kids’ challenges and disappointments; antics from overly-dramatic children; catching up on what’s going on with mutual friends… the list goes on.

During our conversation, we realized how funny it is that we find ourselves laughing at things that might have most parents stunned speechless or paralyzed with shock. Are we bad moms? Most definitely not. Is that how we maintain our sanity? Most definitely so. We are smart, strong women, helping raise 13 children to be good, responsible young adults – the kind of children you eventually feel pretty good about letting loose on the world. Juggling work and family life can be tricky, and is almost always chaotic. But we do it. Every day. Every week. Every month, and so on. And we do this with in partnership with three pretty great husbands, too.

So, while this post is a shout-out to two wonderful friends laced with my thanks for a.) being my friends, and b.) making my crazy life feel normal… I probably have to explain the title of this post. It ties into the “two kids hoping to make student council at school,” reference. Apparently, at Jenn’s daughters’ school, the parents of kids who make it onto student council find themselves automatically scheduled to go to the school and pop popcorn. (Which I completely forgot to ask why, but that can be addressed at our next lunch.) It was a statement that made us laugh, because … seriously?! The school tells you when you have to come in and help? Oy vey. As if schedules and calendars aren’t already filled to the brim...I can’t even begin to imagine my own response if I received a note like that.

My response just might be classified as an “inappropriate thing that might pop out of teen boys’ mouths.”

Birthday boys

Happy 13th Birthday, Jack and Charlie.

It's kind of weird that the last time I posted, I loaded up a carload of boys and drove to Indianapolis for an NFL event. That was at the end of January. Now, it's the end of August, and last night I loaded up a carload of boys and drove to Indianapolis for an NFL event. This time it was just three, rather than five boys -- Jack, Charlie and a friend. I took them to their first-ever NFL game, Colts vs Bengals. It was a good night, and cooperative weather allowed for the ceiling and window of Lucas Oil Stadium to be open. Very cool.

On our drive home, which began shortly before midnight, Jack and Charlie realized we'd see the official start of their birth DAY. We counted down the seconds, just like New Year's Eve, and when the clock hit 12:00am, the boys breathed a big sigh: official teenagers. I, on the other hand, teared up. My boys. My first babies. How can they possibly be 13 years old? I clearly remember the night they were born -- hearing Jack fill his little lungs with his first breath and proceed to scream like crazy. My first thought? "I am not ready."
I also clearly remember a nurse bringing Jack to me the next morning. He'd had his first bath, and was tightly wrapped in a blanket. His shock of jet-black hair slicked down in a comb-over. So cute. I also vividly recall spending the first couple of days worrying about Charlie. My little Charlie, at just 4-lbs., 5oz. He was having trouble regulating his temperature, so they kept him in an isolette in the nursery. When he was finally able to join us, I couldn't get him to eat. One night, after they took Jack to join his brother, I lost it. I broke down into silent sobs and begged God to help Charlie. Eventually, Charlie began eating, and quickly caught up to Jack (a "whopping" 5-lbs., 9 oz.).

Such little guys, now growing into smart, funny, handsome young men.
Happy Birthday, Jack and Charlie. Enjoy being "official" teenagers now. Only please don't do all your growing up so quickly. It goes by much too fast as it is...

Missed kicks and scoring points

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...

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

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

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. :)

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.