And They Call it Puppy Love!

As appeared in Stlfamilylife.com on 11/3/2010

It was a Wednesday afternoon much like any other and we needed food and bedding for our guinea pig known as Iggy Piggy Lollipop. This is generally one errand the kids run with me so they can look at the hamsters, mice, birds, fish and ferrets while I shop. At the checkout lane, seeing my basket full of guinea pig supplies, the clerk lets us know that the Guinea Pig Races will be held on Saturday. The kids go crazy with excitement at the idea. I, on the other hand, groaned silently and smiled weakly. “I’ll think about it. Maybe we’ll go.”

As promised, a few days later we enter the store to watch the races only to discover 4 Paws 4 Rescue holding an adoption event. Lovely. The kids have asked begged for a dog for nearly two years, following the death of my faithful 14 year old Pomeranian dog Boo. Boo came before husband, before kids and was our last surviving pet.

In the early 1990's I had adopted an adult cat and a kitten, and then my dog, in quick succession. I knew in my heart that they would probably die in rather quick order, too. Abby, the adult cat, was the first to die in August 2006. My mom died the following year in August 2007, following a year long battle with cancer. My second cat Teddy died in June 2008, followed with Boo's death in August of the same summer. It was a lot of loss in 2 year's time.

After Boo went across the Rainbow Bridge to pet heaven, it was oddly quiet in the house. He was 14 and certainly not an energetic dog anymore, rarely drawing attention to himself. Still, the silence in the house was deafening and it was not long before we started acquiring new pets. Just weeks after Boo’s death, Adam discovered a baby Cardinal bird in our bushes. After trying to save him, to no avail as it turned out, I decided it would be fun to adopt a bird. Enter Twinkle, our cinnamon pearl cockatiel. A few months later my son received Little Dude, a dwarf hamster, as a pet at Christmas. Several months later we adopted Sweet Pea, an older male lovebird, from our next door neighbors. Their daughter Caitlin was about to embark on her first year at college and time for her pets was minimal. She had a small menagerie of exotic pets and I think her parents were glad to decrease that number by one. Still, the kids hankered for a dog—in particular our 5 year old. Elise is obsessed with dogs. Stuffed animals, books, toys. If it was a dog, she wanted it. In a last vain attempt to assuage her desire, we took in the aforementioned guinea pig from a friend who no longer wanted her. And Iggy would be considered Elise’s pet. Four pets in four cages was probably not the most ideal situation but I was desperately trying to fill that hole. We even began pet sitting for friends on a regular basis to help satisfy that desire for a dog. Each time the dog would be reunited with their owners after vacation, my kids would cry.  It was all a smoke screen. The fact is we aren’t just pet people. We’re dog people. No bird, hamster or guinea pig was going to fill that void.

Forgetting that the pig races were going on, the kids ran as fast as their little legs could carry them to a litter of 9 week old Lab mixes. Four of the pups were dark brown and black, who were clearly part German Shepherd mixed with the Lab. The other two were yellow pups, who resembled Marley of “Marley & Me”. While assured they were all from the same litter, I think mama was allowed a little too much freedom and mated with two different daddies and produced two different breeds in one fell swoop. The jury is out on what the little yellow Labs are mixed with. My guess is either beagle or maybe Jack Russell Terrier. All I know is that for being half Lab, they were surprisingly small for 8 week olds. They were about 6 pounds and had small paws by any one's standards. It was love at first sight between the yellow female and Elise. The two of them could hardly be separated. Personally, Adam and I were drawn to the Shepherd mixes. They were all seriously cute. And that is when things went seriously wrong. I had allowed the kids far too much time with the romping dough balls to turn back.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame them. I had been having feelings of maternal desire myself. I had never been without a dog in my life. Two years felt like a lifetime. But don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed the freedom from the responsibility of having one. Not having to worry when you had to be gone from home for several hours, figuring out who was going to take care of him when we travel, the pet hair on furniture and carpets – the vomiting and accidents. And the financial aspect. Not having a dog certainly had its perks and I reminded myself all the time of the reasons to not adopt one at this stage of our family life. Frankly, I don’t know that there is ever a good time to get one anyway. It’s a huge, monumental, and life-changing decision. And a decision that once you make it, you keep your commitment. Nothing irks me more than a lazy owner who decides the pet is too much trouble and either gives them away—or worse, drops them off along a busy street hoping someone else will take him in.

Fortunately, my husband was at home and there was no way I could ever make that huge, monumental, life-changing decision without him. Daddy became my ‘out.”. The kids left the store dejected and disappointed, but somehow they convinced Daddy to come back to the adoption with us to ‘look’ at them. Can you say, “Done deal”? Upon our return and resolve to adopt one, we asked the opinion of the owner and director of the rescue group in deciding between the male and female yellow labs. She said that the little girl was “Very high energy and will need lots of attention”. While that was the one that Elise would have chosen on her own, maybe she was a little more Marley than just in appearance. We went with the little boy, who became “Snickers”. And our lives have been forever changed.

So that is how we went to the store for the “Guinea Pig Races” and came home with a dog.

Five Lives of Little Dude

Reproduced from the article that appeared in our Suburban Journal dated September 15.

Can I get a hamster?" is one of those questions most parents dread. As a declared animal lover, I was actually OK with the idea.

When I was about 10, I had a hamster, too. He was a beautiful, cream-colored Syrian hamster named Cinnamon. He lived in a glass aquarium with a wire top. Occasionally, he would manage to lift the top off his cage at night when he would play. One of those times, he climbed up on my bed and curled up on my pillow to sleep with me. Really. Just call me the hamster-whisperer.

After taking Adam to the pet store, he decided on a Russian Dwarf variety, which is half the size of the standard hamster. Enter Little Dude, whom he received as a Christmas gift in 2008.  To be quite honest, I did not like him from the start. He was just mean. Not like my pet dog, er, I mean hamster I had as a child. Cinnamon could be handled and would sit contentedly on your shoulder while watching TV.

Not Little Dude. He looked for opportunities to bite the hand that fed him. One time he clamped down so hard he dangled from my finger as I reactively tried to withdraw from him. I nearly flung him across the room.

And let's be honest. It was Adam's hamster, but really my responsibility. I suppose I knew that would be the case. Every week I would clean out his deluxe cage, including the Habitrail tubes that extended his cage.
It was messy, and somehow I found it to be easier for me to do it. Like him or not, he was pampered. Little Dude dined on spinach and carrots, apples and raisins.

The little guy thought he had nine lives. Three times Little Dude was unintentionally dropped, knocking him unconscious for a few moments each time. And, more recently, he looked like he was on his last breath. I found him lying on his side, labored breathing.  Without being bitten, I picked him up and he was like a rag doll in my hands. He stayed that way for three days and then managed to come back from the grips of death. Seriously wrong.

The most recent mishap included our guinea pig, Iggy Piggy Lollipop. While I was cleaning out the Dude's cage, he climbed out and fell directly into Iggy's cage, which was directly underneath. Only I did not realize immediately that Little Dude had fallen from one cage into another.  When I finally discovered it, Dude was hunkered down in a corner, hidden under the bedding. Iggy was running frantically around her cage.
In theory, I should have been worried that the Big Pig would hurt the Dwarf Hamster. But then I remember it's Little Dude we're talking about. Of course, he was fine. That was only his fifth life.

But, alas, five lives was all he had in him. Just when I was beginning to think he would outlive us all, he died peacefully this summer. And I found myself missing him. Just a little.

Being a Motherless Daughter

Reprinted as first published at the http://stlfamilylife.com/ website in August, 2010.

When my son Adam’s hamster Little Dude died recently, my heart broke along with his. There was nothing I could do to take away his pain. As a parent, I desperately want to protect my children from the emotional gunk of life. After Little Dude had celebrated his first birthday, I gently reminded Adam that the odds were that he would not live to see another one. Good or bad, hamster life spans are short—averaging two years or less.


Still, when Adam found him lifeless in his cage, my son was devastated. Fortunately, I was surprising my kids later that day by the arrival of a friend’s dog. We were pet-sitting for the week and I had decided to make Bandit’s arrival a surprise. We had watched him earlier in the year, too, and the kids thoroughly enjoyed him. It was the perfect distraction from the sadness Adam was feeling.

As I walked through the early stages of Adam’s grief this summer, I reflected back on my own grieving process when my mom passed away. Grief was not an emotion I was entirely comfortable dealing with.

Despite losing all my grand parents and various other relatives, it was not something I had ever experienced with such intensity as losing a parent. I was fortunate that my parents lived near-by and I talked with her on the phone and saw her in person often. Yet, after her pancreatic cancer diagnosis, there was sadness with each visit or conversation.

My mom was experiencing her own grief and coming to terms with the terminal diagnosis. She wanted to survive….she wanted to see her 5 grandchildren grow into adulthood and enjoy the golden years with her husband of 45 years. My mom grappled with why God was allowing her to experience such a painful and horrible end. She felt like she had suffered enough as a child. This was supposed to be her time to enjoy life. She did not want her family to watch her die.

There was a lot of sadness for me, too, in her final months—reminders of a life that was going to be lived without her in it. I thought that having a chance to say goodbye and prepare for her to die would make my pain less. I was wrong.

After she died, what surprised me the most was how alone I felt in my grief. Not that my friends and family did not understand what I was feeling, but rather, few people rallied behind me to proactively provide a listening ear and be strong when I was feeling weak. Despite having a large group of girl friends who had lost their mother, only a few regularly checked in on me and supported me. And it was only my best friend of 20 years who rallied behind me on a daily basis.

It was because of the aloneness I felt that I turned to a self-help book by Hope Edelman “Motherless Daughters” that really helped me work through the emotions I was feeling. Out of the book, there have been dozens of support groups created throughout the United States, including one in St. Louis.

Having an intimate group of women in various stages of life to turn to has been invaluable. They span every age group and life experience—some having lost their mothers as a young child, and others, well into their adulthood like me. While I rarely attend the meetings now, there is comfort in knowing that the group is there if I need them.

Still, it is through writing that I have found my greatest healing. As a family genealogist, capturing who my mother was on paper has provided the most comfort to me. One of my greatest regrets is that my daughter, who was only 2 ½ when my mom died, will never know her grandma on a personal level. Even my son, who was 7 at the time, has only faint and distant memories of his grandma. Capturing her personality and life story on paper is truly priceless to me—and sharing her memory beyond my circle of friends is a privilege.

On the cusp of my son’s grief is my own heightened sense of loss as the three year anniversary of my mom’s death is approaching. Perhaps this anniversary is one that will always bring me pain and the heightened feelings of missing her —or perhaps it is one that will fade with time. Grief is personal and unpredictable. What I have found is that it’s not the big reminders of her that are difficult—it’s the unexpected reminders like a song at church, or her favorite flower sitting in a friend’s vase. It is simply a fact of life.

Perhaps the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that grief is a process of ups and downs. Grief is not something to ‘overcome’, but rather to learn to deal with when those feelings are overwhelming, as they will be time and time again.

Children and Chores

Reprinted from its original publication at the http://stlfamilylife.com/ website.


It was a typical day in my life as a stay-at-home mom. I had a full basket of clean, folded whites beside me as I changed my 5 year old daughter’s bed sheets. She came up along side of me and asked if I could play a game with her.


“I’m busy doing chores,” I told her. “I still have to put away the clothes and change the sheets on the other two beds.”

Her response was not so typical. “I can help, Mommy. All you have to do is ask.”

As Oprah would say, that was a wake up call for me. How often do we go through our day cleaning, laundry, cooking – without ever asking our children to help? I am totally guilty and I imagine I am not alone. When my kids groan or roll their eyes, or flat out protest at doing a chore, it’s no wonder. After taking a serious look at my own inconsistencies in this part of parenting, I realize I was responsible for their bad attitude when it came to pitching in around the house. As parents, our job is to grow our child into a successful adult. Teaching them to be self-sufficient and to treat their home and belongings with care and respect is an admirable goal. But, how exactly do you do that?

For me, the important first step was observing my children’s behavior, as well as my own, without changing a thing—and what I found was actually encouraging. I realize that both my kids are amazingly self-reliant in the mornings. Both kids get dressed in the morning, make their beds, and brush their hair and teeth with very little supervision. My 10-year-old son Adam even fixes breakfast for himself and, when feeling in a giving mood, his sister’s too. If he needs a lunch for school, he happily takes care of that, too. With very few gentle reminders, my children move through their morning routine without much fuss, repeating the necessary bedtime routine with the same general positive attitude. If you don’t have a school aged child who can get himself rolling in the morning on his own, with just a little gentle guidance, I would not suggest moving any further until this has been mastered.

Unfortunately, there is no magic formula. Using a chore chart worked for my step-sons, while positive reinforcement worked well with Adam. For Elise, it is often threat of a privilege being revoked that motivates her. It’s really about knowing your own children’s currency and working from there. It’s also about realizing that if you have two or more children, their personalities will make this easier to accomplish for some than others. My daughter requires more direct supervision, which may speak to her age or her disposition. Likely, it’s a combination of both.

It’s from here I realized that things went down hill. The problem in the consistency was that there wasn’t any—ever. Summer or school year made no difference. Quite simply, chores are often done faster and better when I do it myself. Combined with the fact that there weren’t responsible for any daily chores, I realized that several days could pass without them helping me at all. When I would ask them to pitch in, they often fashioned their own revolt. This is where my change needed to come from me first and foremost. Knowing myself, I knew that assigning the kids daily chores for which they were solely responsible would have lack of follow through on my part.

The better plan for our family was for me to make sure I have my kids complete chores around the house every single day, varying by what was on that day’s to-do list. The last change was also key: Rather than give them a task to do on their own, I realized they enjoyed doing it if they were doing it along side me. That one is huge. Not only do we get to enjoy one-on-one time but they also they feel that they are truly contributing to the running of our house. Also, I was happier with the finished outcome, without feeling it necessary to ‘do over’. It did require me to slow down and work at their pace, which I think in today’s society of multi-tasking is a great trait for me to re-learn.

Once I implemented this new way of thinking, something interesting happened. My kids began offering their help and have wonderful attitudes in the process. Adam helped me clean two bathrooms, dust the living room, put away my Wal-Mart goodies, and folded and put away his clean clothes from the laundry basket. And that was all in the last 24 hours. Elise gets excited about dusting, folding and putting away the clean laundry. More than once they have argued who was going to set the table. And that is one argument that is music to my ears.

Raised to Recycle

Reprinted from original publication in June 2010 at the http://stlfamilylife.com/


Reduce, Reuse, Recycle—it’s a mantra you hear just about everywhere you go. And it’s starting to get irritating to me. It’s not that I don’t believe in recycling because I do. What bothers me is the whole idea that this is a new concept and ‘they’ (whoever ‘they’ are) are trying to sell the American people on it. Even though I am only in my early to mid 40’s, this is something I’ve been doing for more than 30 years. It’s in my blood and a way of life for me. What took you so long, people?

For a long time St. Louisans, you may remember the un-manned recycling center next to the Marshall’s and Target stores on Manchester Road. There were concrete bins divided into categories: aluminum cans, tin cans, white glass, colored glass, and plastics. There was also a trailer nearby where you could deposit your old newspapers. On a regular basis my mom would load up the back of our car or station wagon with all the recyclables and I’d go with her to dump them. The glass items were the best. With as much strength as I could muster, I’d throw the glass one by one against the concrete walls to shatter them to smithereens. Honestly, I remember it taking a long time to deposit them. I am not sure she pre-sorted the contents so we’d have to carefully sort and dump them accordingly. In addition to this center, we would also drive to Kirkwood to drop off cardboard boxes and loose leaf paper, which were not accepted at the Target/Marshall’s location. I applaud my mom’s efforts. It was time consuming and definitely inconvenient. Yet, she saw the value and did her part to ‘save the planet’ way before it was the IN thing to do.

I still remember vividly the day we went to make our usual stop on Manchester Road and discovered it was gone. I am not sure if my mom was surprised or angry—maybe both. Being resourceful, she quickly found another location to recycle. It was even less convenient but she was undeterred. As a young adult, I continued to recycle. Usually I would collect my plastics and aluminum cans and bring them to my parent’s house around the time she’d make the drive. Assorted papers and newspapers were sent as well. Plastic and paper bags were returned at the collection site at the local grocery stores. I was trained well.

What a great day it was when citywide refuse, recycling and yard waste collection was made available—literally at our door step. Recycling had never been easier. In West County, codes 1 through 5 are accepted, with code 6 “polystyrene” not yet accepted. We’re even provided the bin to collect our recyclables. Cardboard and loose leaf papers are not allowed either. But fear not. Did you know that Parkway School District school and many area churches have green and yellow recycling bins to dump your junk mail and other non-sensitive material paper overflow? Corrugated cardboard is also collected behind schools. You will also find aluminum can recycling bins and a clothing bin on most of the same parking lots. A one-stop drop off for many of the items your local trash/recycling company will not pick up. And the bonus—the schools and churches earn money for the items you drop off. Win-win for everyone.

Recycling does not and should not be limited to our kitchen and office waste. In fact, twice a year St. Louis County Health Department hosts a series of spring and fall collection of bigger household waste items. Finding a temporary location has become increasingly difficult with businesses being open seven days a week. Fortunately, Earthbound Recycling Center in Eureka has opened to meet the demands of St. Louisans wanting to do the right thing. Open six days a week (closed Sundays), they accept metals, electronics, motors and lead items; any type of paper (including phone books, which is generally rejected at paper collection sites), chip board, tin cans and plastics and glass. Earthbound also purchases copper and brass metals and aluminum and stainless steels. For a small fee, they will accept unwanted latex paints (15 cents per pound). It’s also a free drop-off site for computer towers, flat-panel TV’s, water heaters, cast iron or galvanized pipe, lawn mowers, cell phones, rechargeable batteries, vinyl siding. The list is endless. For a complete listing, their web address is http://www.earthboundrecycling.com/.

Truly, recycling has never been easier and it’s really inexcusable to not utilize the recycling opportunities that are lay at our feet. We can all do our part to save the planet for generations to come—one can at a time.

Our Disney Trip (Day Six): Hollywood Studios

If Tony named Epcot as his favorite Disney theme park, he would have told you that Hollywood Studios was his least favorite. When he shared that with me, I was surprised. Not that it was my favorite, but I had fond memories of it and figured with the heralded Tower of Terror on its premises, assumed it wold rank higher. I think of Magic Kingdom as the traditional park, spotlighting more of the old time movies like Cinderella, Dumbo and Peter Pan. Hollywood Studios certainly has a more 'hip' feel to it, focusing on the newer productions like Toy Story and American Idol.

Fantasmic! is a long running evening show at Hollywood Studios that (for economic reasons) is no longer shown nightly. We happened to be coming on a day where their nighttime spectacular was not slated to be running, therefore, the park was having an early 7 p.m. closing time. That was alright by me. I know my multiple Disney posts have made it sound like I'm a kill-joy with all my whoops-and-hollerings over the early closing times. Vacation, yes. Relaxing, no. I was running on empty by now and needing some quiet down time. Our trip to Studios ended abruptly 11 years earlier when Tony got the hiccups. Bad hiccups that would not subside and finally caused Tony to seek retreat in our hotel room after suffering for 3 hours. Thankfully, we found a nurse who suggested he take peanut butter to get rid of them. It worked, but caused us to miss the show. We used our Hopper Pass the next night to come back to Hollywood Studios for the show. While I guess we didn't regret the extra effort to see it, it's not something we would go out of way to see again.  Even years later, Tony goes running for the peanut butter any time has the hiccups. Poor guy. Scarred him for life.Yet I digress.

This was our last big Disney park, which meant that Adam had one last ride to conquer--Tower of Terror. There was enough buzz around school regarding this ride that he knew this was a 'must ride' attraction. Arriving at the Studio, we got our fast pass for the Tower of Terror, and made our way to Toy Story Midway Mania! That is where we went wrong. We should have reversed that decision. As it turned out, our longest wait of any ride in any park was for this one. At 75 minutes, we waited impatiently patiently for this very fun, interactive 4-D midways-style game/ride. It was totally worth it. I wish we would have had more time to ride it again. Up next was the Tower of Terror. For all of us--even Elise. I've recounted several times in my account of our Disney blog history of her willingness to ride all the rides. All of them. This one was no exception. Ignorance was bliss yet again for my sweet, diminutive 34 pound 5 year old blondie. Looks small but very mighty. Poor thing was lifted off her seat every time the elevator shaft dropped a few hundred feet. She looked terrified but never made a peep. She was probably too scared to scream. But, as is so characteristic of her personality, if you were to ask her which was her favorite ride, she'd name this one. Rock Star she is.

This was an especially fun day for Adam. We enjoyed two stunt shows, a Star Wars flight simulator ride and the Tower of Terror. There aren't as many rides but everything there is to do is really fun. Tony agreed that it was better than he remembered. We were a little bummed that the Studio Back lot Tour and Drew Carey's Sounds Dangerous Show were both closed for the day.

During the week we were noticing clouds inching their way into Orlando, with temperatures slowly dropping that week. By this day, it was a high of 62 so I think the downside to this day was the chill and overcast skies. Thankfully, it never actually rained. Also, thankfully, there were no water rides.

The part of the day that I was most looking forward to was dinner at '50's Prime Time Cafe. We had gone there with the boys previously and this was one restaurant I insisted we repeat with our kiddos. It's a restaurant set up to look like a house out of the 50's. The waiting area was decorated like an 50's living room, while the dining room looked like a kitchen. The magic of this restaurant is that the server is supposed to be a 'mom' or 'dad'. Mandy, our server, was perfectly cast as the 'mother hen' as she introduced herself, throwing the forks and napkins on the table, said "Set the table, kids, Behave. I'll be back".  She referred to me as 'mommy', Tony 'daddy', Elise 'princess', and Adam 'Scooter'. She razzed us like a mom would and enjoyed watching her hen-peck the table across from us, too. She found it particularly fun to razz 'Scooter'. The more animated she got with him, the more he enjoyed it. Truly fun. I ordered the home-style fried chicken, with four generous pieces of chicken, mashed potatoes and collard greens. Apparently I was really, really hungry that night because I ate everything on my plate. When Mandy came by to see if we were done and how everything was, she reached to clear my plate away. I sheepishly offered up "I was hungry" when I saw the disbelief on her face. Glancing at my small size 2 frame said "Well, clearly you always eat that much. Clearly." and rolled her eyes. We all laughed.

We actually sauntered out of the park around 7:30, well after closing time. We knew our Disney experience was coming to a close and I think we were prolonging the inevitable. Up next was our day at the beach and Downtown Disney.

Our Disney Trip (Day Five): Animal Kingdom

Tuesday morning I woke up with renewed enthusiasm for our trip. While I loved Magic Kingdom and Epcot, they were very long days, and likely, the busiest and most tiring of our trip. I was looking forward to the second half of our trip, beginning with our Animal Kingdom excursion. Some local friends may be surprised at my enthusiasm for Animal Kingdom because we have a top-notch zoo at home. I didn't have to travel half way across the US for a great animal experience. But lest you forget, this is Disney, a whole different experience. And Animal Kingdom is really less about the animal exhibits and more about the rides and attractions.  Elise, my animal loving girl, was looking most forward to this day as well. I mentioned in my first blog that Elise didn't know what amusement park rides actually meant so leading up to our trip, I talked up this park since I could relate it to the zoo. As her mom, I knew this would be a favorite day for her. Who isn't jazzed about a park that she knows her child will particularly enjoy?!

Some of my favorite memories of our trip almost a dozen years earlier were of this park, Disney's newest addition. Their Lion King Show is unparalleled -- and we all loved the It's a Bugs Life 3-D show. Their safari ride was pretty cool too. Of course, years earlier the park was not even quite finished yet so I was also looking forward to seeing their additions--like the Expedition Everest ride. And then there was the ride I really liked the first time around, Dinosaur, that I was looking forward to riding again with my kids.

For those of you who don't know the premise of Expedition Everest, it is a roller coaster that for a short period, travels backwards at 60 miles an hour around a curve. Easily, it was my favorite ride of all the parks. It was fabulous!! I wish we could have had multiple fast passes to ride that one at least twice or three times. We did use the rider switch policy, so Adam, the lucky-duck, got to ride it twice. Another one of my favorite Disney moments was when the coaster stopped at the top of the hill and Adam said: 

"Mom, I think we're going to go backwards now."  Glancing behind me at the approaching curve and bend in the track, I said "Oh, surely not. It's going to be a straight shoot....they aren't going to make us go backwards around a curve, are they?" Just then, the car started descending. I do believe my words were "Oh no!! Shit!!"  Truly, it was genius roller coaster creation. A do-not-miss ride for those who like roller coasters.

The ride that surprised me the most was the Dinosaur ride. Like I just said, I had ridden it before. What I didn't remember was how scary it was. It was a pretty frightening journey through the dinosaur age. Adam was indifferent about the 'thrill' factor and Elise thought it was just pretty entertaining. Call me and Tony wimps, but it scared us.

One of my least favorite rides of any of the parks was the Kali River Rapids, which is similar to Thunder River at Six Flags. Only, I think Thunder River is a better ride. There were really only two opportunities to get wet on this ride; of course, one time is all it takes and out of all the people in the raft, Elise and I were the only ones who got soaked . And, of course, my jeans got the wettest and I spent several hours trying to dry off when temperatures never topped 66 degrees. In my estimation, walking around in wet clothes was so not worth it for the enjoyment I received.  Live and learn.

Our dinner reservation was for 6 p.m. at Rainforest Cafe. By 5:30 we had actually seen everything there was to do at the park, with the exception of missing the Finding Nemo musical. Maybe it speaks to my age--or just my sleep disorder-- but I sank into our seats at the restaurant with a happy grin that we could eat and go back to our condo for an early night. We had taken Tony's boys to Rainforest the first time, too, and I was looking forward to my kid's expressions. Not to say they didn't like the restaurant, but it didn't have the awe effect I had thought it would. Adam would tell you, though, that it was one of his favorite restaurants.

Our condo had an outdoor, heated pool, which we hadn't used yet. Our intentions were to use the pool daily, but the reality was that we were trying to cram everything into our park days that it really wasn't feasible to swim. We knew that this night would be that perfect opportunity. Coupled with the cooler temperatures, the thought really didn't intrigue me so my husband graciously agreed to take them while I hung back and relaxed. I took the time to straighten up the place and take pictures--and to go over what rides and attractions we were going to enjoy the next day.

It was a pretty great day. This trip was shaping up to be a blast. Next up, Hollywood Studios!

Sock Wars

I thought I had certain parts of preschooler parenting figured out. After all, I've done this stage of life before--twice actually, if you include my step son Brandon. And I have no problem telling you, my reader, that I've patted myself on the back for some creative parenting in the process.

When Adam was old enough to have an opinion on how he was dressed, I soon learned that color coordinating was an acquired skill. In the anal-retentiveness of a new parent, I took the reigns early on in seeing to it that he matched. The older he got, the more of an opinion he had. Honestly, I don't know if this was a parenting tip from a magazine, or a seasoned mom mentor, or my own stroke of brilliance, but we came up with a compromise. Adam could select either a shirt or pants (or shorts, depending on the temperature) that he wanted to wear that day. I would then select the matching counterpart. He was happy that he had main control and was making big boy decisions -- and I was happy that my son looked rather well put together, as if it was a reflection on my parenting. Adam could also pick his undies and socks, but let's face it, underwear falls into the "don't care" category for a parent--and boy socks....well, their boring and one pair looks like another. Again, a non-issue.

But then I had a girl. After raising three boys first, including my step sons, talk about culture shock. I didn't believe my friends when they talked about the all out wars they would have with their daughters regarding clothes.  For older school aged girls, I've heard they like to change their clothes no less than 3 or 4 times a day. We're not experiencing that yet, but crap  lovely that it's coming. Our wars are different in nature. And there are several. The first battle was over matching. She didn't and did not care to. Ever, apparently. It didn't take long for me to let her win that one. I realized that while I didn't think that purple polka dotted pants matched a green and blue striped shirt, in the end, it didn't really matter. If out in public, most moms would look at her with a "Aww, isn't she cute" expression, realizing that I was allowing my daughter to express herself. And to rest of the men and women who would look at her funny and seemed to be thinking "Gawd, doesn't her mom pay attention to her at all?", I would secretly pray right then and there that they would be blessed with multitudes of daughters.

Another recent battle is over clothing appropriateness. I kid you not when I say that she will want to wear a sleeveless t-shirt when it is 55 degrees out. The fact that I've told her it's spring means that she thinks she can wear her spring clothes. even when we are experiencing more fall like or winter temps.  This is the issue that is the hardest to compromise for me. I want her to be warm enough.  Lord knows she suffers enough illnesses and I don't need her getting sick because she isn't dressed properly.  I finally decided to negotiate by telling her she can wear it in the house, but if we leave the house for errands or such, she'll have to change clothes--or wear a sweater over it. Of course, she agrees and then we're back to multiple clothing changes in a day. Oh, well, maybe that one is eventual anyway.

Still. the hardest fought battle of all has been over the unlikeliest of places-- her socks. I shudder even as I type the words. It probably started about the time she was 3 and developed a love of shoes. With a smile on my face I recall calling Tony on his cell phone while he was at Goodwill. For whatever reason, Tony and the kids love that place and can make an afternoon of it. I called him to find out when they would be home. Tony and Adam were looking through the toys because Elise was trying on all the shoes. She was so happy that Tony couldn't bring himself to tear her away. Each time they go there, Adam comes home with a new toy; Elise, a new pair of shoes. Of course.

Despite her shoe fetish, Elise hates socks. Hates them. Unless they are the Hello Kitty socks from Korea. Those she loves. Tony brought back about a dozen pair from Korea on his last trip. We put a pair in each of the girls' gift bags from her birthday party. The boys from the party got a pair of "Spider man" socks from Korea (actually, they were "spider" socks with the Spider man logo, which I thought was interesting).  After passing them out, Elise had 3 pair left--one white, one pink and one black. She wore those socks every day until there was more hole than sock left. It's on Tony's shopping list for his trip in July to buy about 10 more pair, all for her. The sock bliss only lasted the length of the wear and tear of them. Once she was Hello Kitty-less, the sock wars began again. You may wonder what it is about socks she doesn't like. The question is, what does she like about them? Nothing. The seam across the toe bothers her; the sock doesn't fit across the heel correctly, they are too short on the ankle; too long toward the knee; too tight, too loose. Nightmare. Pair after pair she will find a complaint. And I'd like to throw out there that I think she inherited this from my sister Pam. I remember many arguments between my mom and Pam about the way her socks fit her. Could she not have inherited Pam's gorgeous legs, or beautiful hair? Really, Pam. I'm blaming this one on you!

After the hand-me-down socks and the countless purchases to find the perfect pair/style, I figured she had somewhere around 100 pairs in her sock and underwear drawer. Yet, time and time again, she will come down the stairs sock-less and in tears because she doesn't have anything to wear. Arrggghhhh!! When she came downstairs yesterday in a pair that had more hole than sock left (because apparently holes are not a problem), I finally took desperate measures. I was tired of the yelling and tears (mine, not hers) and thought that maybe the problem was she had too many to sort through. So, Elise and I emptied out her sock drawer (To which she said incredulously "Wow, I have a lot of socks". You think!?) and she tried on one sock from each pair and decided if they were to keep or give (throw) away. I'm a little less embarrassed after I counted and learned that she only had 49 pairs altogether, down from the 100 pair I figured she had in total.  But, sadly, 36 pairs did not make the cut for the various reasons mentioned above. Poor girl, she was right that some of them were clearly too small or too big. Still, only 13 pair made the cut, which should be fine moving into sandal season. Until school starts in the fall, I won't have as many sock wars. That is a plus.

Is it just sad that one of my new favorite memories is from this morning when she put her socks on and proudly came downstairs to show me, exclaiming. "Look Mommy! I found socks I like. They fit so good and I like them. Doesn't that make you happy?" Oh, honey, you do not even know how much!!

The Gift of Books

In my house, there is a lot of reading going on. Adam and I are reading the Harry Potter series together out loud each night. Friends convinced me to give the series a shot and I was hooked on it from book one. Over the summer of 2009, I read all 7 books. When Adam expressed an interest in the series, I told him I would re-read them with him. My reason was two-fold. First, admittedly, this series is probably above his grade level comprehension. He is right in line with other kids in his grade, but he certainly is not above grade level in his reading ability. This book series is probably targeted to the 11 to 14 age range. Secondly, in the Christian community this series is judged by varying degrees of appropriateness. Honestly, I don't necessarily disagree. Whenever the spirit world and "dark magic" are thematic, I think it is best handled with adult supervision. The farther you get into the books, the more difficult they become and I felt this to be a win-win. I could address spiritual matters as they occur, and Adam still get to enjoy the creative writings of a solid story line and be lost in a world of fantasy.We are 100 pages into the fourth book, which is over 700 pages in length.

The story of Adam reading begins at age 5, the summer before he began kindergarten. After two years of preschool he certainly already knew his alphabet, upper and lower case, and all the sounds they made. Still, he wasn't quite reading yet, other than identifying some sight words. With the blessing of their dad, I purchased the Hooked on Phonics program off E-bay. For a fraction of the cost, I purchased a box set of 6 levels to teach him to read. Having a spring birthday, he was barely 5 when we got out our cassette tape instruction and interactive work book. Over the course of 9 months, Adam and I finished all 6 levels. At 135 pages for the first level and 60 pages for each level thereafter, this was a huge accomplishment for both of us. As a parent, this is one of my proudest parenting achievements. Adam has always been motivated by praise -- and I'm motivated by his enthusiasm so we made a good team. It was hard work. But it was rewarding. After each completed level, he would choose a restaurant to celebrate. Once it was Chuck E Cheese, and on more than one occasion, it was IHOP. Love the chocolate chip smiley face breakfasts.

In first through second grades, I read the Magic Tree House books to Adam every night at bedtime. With more than 40 books in the series that was no small task either. But again, we both loved them, purchasing them as we went along--often on E-bay for a fraction of the cost per book. Even now, as the author publishes a new book in the series, we buy it immediately and read it together.  Reading with Adam is the best quality time I've ever spent with him.

But something happened in third grade, Adam stopped enjoying reading. Maybe it's a developmental thing--or merely the inevitable let down after finishing an entire series of books. But I struggled to encourage him in this worthy pursuit.  Except for the summer of 09 when I fell in love with Harry, I wasn't much of an example for Adam. My own love of reading waned for several years. Occasionally I would pick up a book: The Red Tent and The Shack to name a few. But I realized that I essentially went years without pleasure reading. I was simply too tired and too busy. If kids live what they learn, then Adam was learning to only read if required. So perhaps it was watching my renewed passion for reading that spurred Adam to reconnect with books. He read The Lightening Thief series, and a few 39 Clues books. Yet it wasn't until Harry Potter that I saw Adam develop a sustainable love of it again. And his teacher has told me several times that his reading and comprehension has gone off the charts in a short period of time. Critics can call me a "bad mom" for allowing him to read this series because of the dark magic. So be it. My son is reading. That is enough for me.

With Elise, I've followed much the same path for her. Every night at bedtime, her dad and I read anywhere from 2 to 4 books to her. Dr. Seuss and Berenstein Bear books are our favorites, but anything will do. We stumbled upon an old collection of Turtle Magazine issues from when Michael was a preschooler. He's almost 22 now so you can imagine how outdated they are. Yet, to Elise, they are wonderful.

I knew with her starting kindergarten soon, it was time to start the phonics program with her too. If it worked for Adam, it would work for her. We are about 20 pages from completing the first level. And here is where Mom Brain or Selective Memory is kicking in for me. It has been torture for me. Maybe I just chose to forget how painfully slow the process is in the beginning. I find myself short tempered and frustrated with her progress. She, on the other hand, is generally delightful--until she has had enough--and then she won't tolerate even one more page. I imagine Adam was the same way. Like I said, selective memory.

What has been painful to me is watching her sounding out a word she has read no less than 5 times in the last two pages of a story. The key is repetition and recognizing blends to speed the reading along. She can read "This" five times, but turn the page and the sixth time, a blank stare. Frustrating. Of course, it really hasn't clicked with her yet. I am not sure when the moment was for Adam either, but there comes a point in the reading where they suddenly just "get it". I do think she is on the verge of that break through. She is starting to think of simple words and want to try her hand at spelling them out loud. She is wanting to talk about her workbook lessons and point out familiar words as we read books together. All good signs.

It does look like a trip to Subway is close at hand, (her restaurant of choice right now) with only 20 pages in the book to complete. Depending on her mood, it is probably two or three more sessions. Of course, she is starting to balk at the next level. I am hoping she's been more enthusiastic about it after the reward. I can tell for her I am going to have to up the ante. For Adam, a sticker chart worked in conjunction with the dinner out. For Elise, computer time. Welcome to the new age of rewards for kids.

I've learned a lot about myself in the process, reading with both kids. It has required me to slow down and let them choose the pace. It's also been about commitment, even when I don't want to. And patience....lots and lots and lots of patience. Kudos to the teachers who teach our children every day, and to the parents who home school. Hats off to you! This has been a lesson in leaving the bulk of my kid's learning to those called to do it.

In the meantime, I'll keep doing what I am called to do--which is to be as present in my kid's school lives as possible and enjoy the recreational reading with them. After all, that is priceless!!

Now I Pronounce You Husband and Wife

It didn't surprise her that she found herself drawn to him. He was intelligent, well spoken; strong and self-assured. He noticed her, too -- not for her education or intelligence -- he found her attractive. Holding eye contact that first conversation did not come easily for him. He  found his eyes wandering down the body of the trim, shapely figure standing in front of him.  They hit it off immediately. They laughed easily and their conversation flowed naturally, no matter what the topic. 

She wondered if she was imagining the attraction on his behalf. She didn't think so. There was a protective aire about the way he stood with her, cascading his arm around the back of her chair as they turned their attention elsewhere.  She joked with him and without answering her, he took her hand and squeezed it gently at their sides, out of the view of the others. He held it just a tad too long. As intoxicating and refreshing as it was, it was wrong. She had another man and he had another woman. Still, she was feeling dead inside and he brought out the best in her-- if only for a moment.



Sad to Belong (to Someone Else When the Right One Comes Along)
  by England Dan & John Ford Coley

Met you on a springtime day

You were mindin' you life
And I was mindin mine, too

Lady when you looked my way
I had a strange sensation
And, darlin' that's when I knew...

Chorus:

(That/Oh) it's sad to belong to someone else
When the right one comes along,
Yes, it's sad to belong to someone else
When the right one comes along.

Oh, I wake up in the night
And I reached beside me
Hopin' you will be there
But instead I find someone

Who believe in me when I said
"I'd always care."

Repeat Chorus

Bridge:

So I lived my life in a dreamworld
For the rest of my days
Just you and me walkin' hand in hand
In a wishful memory

Oh, I guess that's all
That it would ever be.

Wish I had a time machine
I could make myself go back
Until the day I was born,
And I would live my life again
and rearrange it so that I'll be
Yours from now on.

Before you, Bella, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars, points of light and reason. ….And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliancy, there was beauty. When you were gone, when the meteor had fallen over the horizon, everything went black. Nothing had changed, but my eyes were blinded by the light. I couldn’t see the stars anymore. And there was no more reason for anything.  -Edward Cullen, New Moon

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him-and I didn’t know how potent that part might be-that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. –Bella Swan


I thought Tristan would never live to be an old man. I was wrong about that. I was wrong about many things. It was those who loved him most who died young. He was a rock they broke themselves against however much he tried to protect them.  -- One Stab, Legends of the Fall

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Driving onto the preschool parking lot, I glanced over to my right to watch my daughter's class playing on the playground. Elise perked up when she saw me, smiling and waving enthusiastically. She went back to playing only as my van drove out of plain sight. The thought then occurred to me: "How different would my marriage be if my spouse and I greeted one another at the end of the day with the same enthusiasm and unabashed devotion?"

After twelve years of marriage, Tony and I have fallen into a pattern common to a lot of marriages. Apathy. With no callous intent, I think it's easy to get into a pattern of living your life without consideration of your husband or wife.  No doubt about it--Life is demanding. Who has the energy to nurture your relationship after a long day at the office--or a day with children underfoot?

Maybe that is why couples often feel blindsided by the realities of marriage a few years into the venture together. While dating, your significant other is a priority. You wine, dine and court each other. Intentional affection. Tony was certainly romantic while we dated. But now? It's rare. And, I am certainly no better. I spend my day meeting the needs of my kids and attempting to make my household run smoothly, juggling numerous things daily. By the time evening comes, I'm drained. It's certainly our marriage that takes the hit.

I made reference once that marriage is like a dance. Done well, it's gracefully and intimate, with one leading the other. When two people try to lead, nothing feels right--both people get stepped on. When one person realizes that, and lets the other lead, both bodies begin to flow with the music and it becomes beautiful again.  The dance takes surrender, willingness, and attentiveness from one person and gentle guidance and skill from the other. According to the Bible, a husband should be the leader in the "dance" of marriage.The 5th chapter of Ephesians beginning in verse 22 reads:

22Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. 23For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.


25Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her 26to make her holy, cleansing[b] her by the washing with water through the word, 27and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. 28In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church— 30for we are members of his body. 31"For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh."[c] 32This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. 33However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.

Undoubtedly, this is the single most controversial topic and chapter in the Bible. Even the strongest of Christian women have struggled with this command.  Submitting sounds so 19th century. But I think to understand God's command, you cannot pull the one verse out. It is laid within the greater context of the responsibility of the husband. He is commanded to love her as Christ loved his church. Christ loved us so much he has gave his life for us. There was no greater calling in Christ's life. He served us and loved us and died for us. As a wife, if my husband is obeying his command to love me so completely and sacrificially, then submitting to him is not an issue. If he abuses this "power" and is emotionally, physically, and psychologically abusive to me, then this verse does not apply. Again, it is the "dance" of marriage. Having said that, there are certainly times when I lead our family. As our home "manager",  I am often trusted to make important decisions that affect our family, just as I've been known to veto decisions Tony has made. This is not intended to be a one way street.

Tony and I have our own daily dance ritual. Case in point: our shopping list system. When Tony finishes his deodorant or body wash, he sets the empty container on the counter. That is my cue to find the stash or replacements, take inventory to how many are left in "storage" and to write it on the white board for the next trip to Wal-mart or Target. Of course, it sounds like I am doing the bulk of the work, right? Actually, it's self preservation. It eliminates the need to have the following conversation:

"Bon, I'm out of body wash."

"Check in the linen closet?"

"Nope. I looked. Why didn't you buy more when you were at Target last week?"

"How was I supposed to know. It's your men's wash. It's not mine. Why didn't you tell me you were using the last one?"

And so it would go. A fight would ensue over body wash. This way, it's a silent win-win for all. And so the beauty of not stepping on each other's toes.

In our first year of marriage, Tony and I took a class called "After the Honeymoon, Now What?" at church. We were asked to list the top three things we appreciate about our spouse. Tony listed our sex life, my physical beauty/appearance, and the fact that I cook. The first two were no brainers for me to read. Sex is really important in a man's life. And the typical man is visual, so I could see why the emphasis was placed on finding me attractive. But the "cooking" answer intrigued me. I've blogged about the background to me learning to cook, only after marriage. I suppose since I did not repeat a recipe the entire first year of our union as husband and wife this would be a total plus from Tony's perspective.  Still, 12 years down the road, I am ever mindful of those top three answers. He is often my motivation for hitting the gym several days a week or being creative in the kitchen. The sex thing---OK, that is a work in progress.

For me, my top needs are financial security, being appreciated and acts of service, not necessarily listed in any particular order. What attracted me to Tony was how handy he was around the house, yard and car maintenance. Truly, my husband can fix, build, or create anything. ANYTHING. He's amazing. And he works hard to support our family while I stay home with our kids. He provides that security for me. The appreciation thing--let's just say that would be Tony's work in progress.

Despite our best attempts to have a great marriage, the reality is that it ebbs and flows with life and there are days, weeks and even months, where I've wondered if we have what it takes to make this stick for life. Around Valentines day, I shared with my friend how difficult it is to watch commercials and movies of happy couples, or celebrate with engaged friends, when I feel my own union was lackluster. Hollywood and romance authors have done a fine job of romanticizing relationships and proposing what it should feel like. My friend suggested limiting my "romance intake" to gain a clear perspective of real life instead of the junk we're being sold as the gold standard.  She proposed that perhaps the purpose of marriage is to make us holy, not happy. That simple statement for me was profound and life-changing. And true. The Bible talks about Eve being Adam's helpmate. A partner. There is no scripture reference that talks about being happy in marriage. Ideally, if you live according to God's plan, you will find happiness along the way. There has been no other relationship for me that has stretched me and grown me. It keeps me on my knees in prayer. Keeps me humble and keeps me seeking and trusting.  This is the life I chose for myself and its up to me to live it to the fullest.



Woman was made from the rib of man.

She was not created from his head to top him.
Nor from his feet to be stepped on.
She was made from his side to be equal to him.
From beneath his arm to be protected by him.
Near his heart to be loved by him.

Hoarders

I'm obsessed with Hoarders, the A&E cable show based on the subject of the same name. I guess there are worse things, but I find myself drawn to episode after episode--like a train wreck you just can't look away from.

I suppose it's because it is so against my nature that I find it fascinating. If anything I am out of balance the other direction--being clean and orderly.  I feel anxious when my surroundings are out of whack. Maybe it's because I'm at home full-time and it's my job. But I like organizing. It's energizing for me to bring order out of chaos. Give me a filing cabinet to organize, and I'm your girl. I love nothing more than trash and recycling day--or having a load of donated items carried away...

I am interested in the science behind the addiction. From the episodes I've watched, it usually stems from a life crisis like the death of a child or spouse, even a divorce. But what fascinates me is how it goes from being an unhealthy pattern of behavior to it spiraling out of control. And, certainly, the object of the hoarding is varied, but the 'out of control' element is the same.

One of the most aesthetically disgusting to me is food hoarding. The woman had multiple refrigerators and freezers of rotten, spoiled food. Rancid, disgusting food years past its expiration date. Food oozing out of it's original containers.  Her cupboards were so full, packaged food was spilling out into living space. I wonder what you tell yourself when you purchase 100 individual servings of yogurt? She would only consider throwing something out if the can were bulging, a clear indicator the contents were spoiled. Otherwise, all the food was fair game, no matter how far past the expiration date. It did not matter to her if spoiled food contaminated her "fresh food". She would still eat it. I wonder what she spends on groceries every month--and what amount of food is actually inedible and sits uneaten, lost in the freezer for years? She would panic at the thought of throwing out some food because it would waste money. Wow. It's no surprise she lived through the depression and knew what it was to be hungry. "Never again", I suppose she said to herself.

Then there are the hobbyists whose collection of beer bottles, sheet metal or guns is so vast and out of control, their living space is choked out. One man lived in a mobile home complex and on his property he had over 25 junked cars and so much sheet metal and debris, it looked like a junk yard. What was surprising to me is that he didn't understand why his neighbors were upset. The metal wasn't encroaching on their property so why should have an opinion? Again, it makes me say "Wow." It's all perspective, I guess.

Then there is the animal hoarder. That one is the saddest in my mind. As an animal lover who was raised to rescue injured or unwanted animals, I can see the heart attitude of the rescuer. Their intentions are good but executed poorly. One family had over 60 rescued cats, with roughly 30 dead carcasses in the garage and attic areas where a lot of the animals resided. Feces and animal urine were rampant. In their hearts they think they are helping the animal, but I wonder how many of those animals would have been better off strays.

The group of hoarders that I find the hardest to understand would be the ones who cannot part with anything--even trash. I can be sentimental with possessions and can understand why parting with honest to goodness belongings can be difficult. But empty fast food wrappers and empty tissue boxes? What does a person tell themselves the first time they decide to not throw something away? It is frightening that it can turn from poor housekeeping to a full blown mental illness. And sadly, it becomes more than just vast possessions but actual filth. Human feces and urine, black mold, mice droppings--even dead animal carcasses--interspersed among the debris. The stench must be overwhelming. What is the justification the first time you allow human feces to contaminate your living space? Disgusting.

What is more terrifying to me is that it is only at the risk of losing their homes, children, pets and jobs that they are motivated to seek help.  Actually, a lot of times family or friends arrange the help and all they have to do is accept the help and work toward being healthy again. Left to seek out help on their own, they likely wouldn't do it at all for reasons spanning from embarrassment to denial of the situating being as bad as it's being made out to be.  Yet, I am surprised how many parents are torn over getting rid of unnecessary items when their children are on the cusp of being taken away from Social Services. It's sad that even at the chance of losing custody of the children, they struggle with cooperation.  In some cases the children have already been removed and this is a last ditch effort in reclaiming their children to the home. Still, the parents want to hold onto belongings. The stronghold is beyond anything I can fathom. Possessions or my children? No contest.

That, I suppose, is the crux of the illness. The interviews certainly show sane, rational moments, too. Yet actually executing the plan to clean out their homes is still such a struggle. So very sad that such turmoil can live within a person.  I admire the men and women who have dedicated their careers to help hoarders. With a reported 3 million hoarders, the need is more widespread than we might think. This addiction must be as difficult as recovering from an alcohol or drug addiction.

I think there may have been a hoarder in our old subdivision. His entire garage was over run by sheet metal. I often wondered if it was contained to the garage or if this was merely overflow. There was also a man who  drove a station wagon full of newspapers, who came through the drive up window at the electric company I used to work. I remember making small talk the first time he drove up and commenting "Oh, heading to the recycling center next?" I don't remember his exact response but I know he mumbled something about "No...just have trouble parting with them".  He drove to pay his bill every few months, usually to avoid disconnection of his service. I often wondered what his life looked like. Now I know, I guess.

The financial ruin that goes along with this disorder must be great too. Often over-spending on 'stuff' accompanies hoarding. Whether it's spending too much money on groceries, or hobbies, or strictly going on too many spending sprees, financial destitution is often highlighted as well. As someone who likes to pay our bills in full each month, this goes against my mind set. I feel agitated or anxious when we start mounting revolving debt, such as a credit card bill that we couldn't pay in full, or have a car loan we don't pay off early. I take the responsibility of  living within my means very seriously for my family and cannot fathom being in the final decades of my life and not having financial security in my retirement. Hoarding is simply one part of bigger issues going on. That is obvious.

The show has helped me keep balance in this area. I definitely aim to keep a clean, tidy, organized home, but I am more realistic when I realize what 'clean' really means. Rather than making me go off the deep end to clean more, I've probably relaxed my expectations a bit. Being present in my life and in the lives of my children is certainly more important. And every so often when I do feel some anxiety about the condition of my house, I pause and redirect my thought processes about it. And I have Hoarders to thank for it.

Our Disney Trip (Day Four): Epcot

Two days at Magic Kingdom, we had were looking forward to branching out. Time for Epcot. Epcot is the one park that Tony looked forward to the most, while I probably cared about this one the least. While there are certainly rides like the Test Track that I was looking forward to, the World Showcase bores me a little. Call me uncultured, but it reminds me of a well-done craft show displaying various cultures. But more on that later.

Tony and I hit our stride by Epcot. We knew that Test Track and Soarin were the two attractions that were a priority. We needed fast passes for both of them. Much to Tony's chagrin, we took the time to meet and greet Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Pluto and Goofy. While we had already seen Mickey and Minnie, the others had been oddly absent and we had the opportunity to greet them at one location.

Epcot is made up of a lot of attractions, rather than rides, so I was concerned that the kids would be bored. But once we started going to the various exhibits, I realized that maybe I like Epcot more than I initially remembered liking it in the past. Spaceship Earth, which is the "silver golf ball" according to Elise, still proved to be one of my favorites. Adam thought it was pretty amazing, too.  Mission Space was one of the few rides Elise wasn't tall enough to ride. Adam and I rode the less intense green version while Tony waited nearby with her. When it was Tony's turn to ride (Adam rode again), they opted for the red intense journey. For a few hours, Tony's equilibrium was off.  It is truly an amazing space simulator ride. When our fast passes were available we rode Soarin. Maybe I had heard too many "amazing" things about the ride, but I found it to be disappointing. You were supposed to feel like you are hang gliding but to me it felt like a glorified Chevy Show experience from the old Six Flags days.  Elise loved it and she would tell you that it was one of her favorite rides.

Tony really wanted to experience the Universe of Energy attraction "Ellen's Energy Adventure". I was rather surprised that he wanted to spend 45 minutes on this ride/movie since we had so much to do and only one day to do it. I remembered it being pretty lame. I was right, and I think Tony agreed with me that it was an hour we could have used elsewhere. One show I really wanted to see was Honey, I Shrunk the Audience, but again, we had to pick and choose and this was not going to work for us that day. How much I wish we had seen it instead of Ellen's adventure.

We made our way toward the The Seas with Nemo & Friends since we were having dinner at the Coral Reef  restaurant. We rode a 'clamobile' through a Nemo ride and then decided to attend the Turtle Talk with Crush show. All the children sat up front on the floor, while the adults hung back on the bleachers. Initially, I was indifferent about the show, not being a huge Crush fan. But now? I will tell you that it was one of my favorite shows of the week. It was interactive with the kids and it kept the adults in stitches. When the show ended, all the parents worked their way to the front to retrieve their kids. The dad sitting next to me tried to bully his way past me "Excuse me. I'm trying to reach my children. We are separated from them. They're down in front." Silently, I motioned him past me, but inwardly "Hey dumb ass...we ALL have to get our kids." I"m just saying...

Dinner was in at the Coral Reef, a restaurant surrounded by a giant aquarium. The food was limited--mainly seafood, ironically, but the ambiance was cool. There were plenty of seats not in sight of the aquarium, so Tony asked to be seated next to it if at all possible. Without adding to our wait, we were. A sting ray must have found us fascinating creatures because he parked himself at the bottom of the tank and hung out with us while we ate.

It was after dinner that we finally made our way to World Showcase, which I said earlier is certainly not my favorite area. And starting out as the temperatures are dropping and I'm already tired (and full from dinner) was excruciating. I was exhausted. Plain and simple. Take away my sleep disorder, I still would have been tired. Three solid days of walking, coupled with the late nights, I was crabby. Crabby, crabby, crabby. I was tired of walking, tired of shopping, and the exhibits didn't hold much interest for me. Get the picture? I don't remember if it was at Epcot but there was one moment where I was getting disproportionately upset about something and yelled at Tony. Even as my naggy, whiny voice was projecting, I was thinking "Man, I sound like a bitch." Definitely over stimulated and over exerted. I joked with my sisters and one friend that my kids literally could not have been better behaved, but I was the one having melt-downs. At one point I sat on a bench and told my family to come back to get me.  A self-imposed time out. This was one day I was ready to see end.

Little Green Giant

In previous blogs I've tackled the topic of family legacy and good family traits being passed down from generations past. Of course, there are those good traits that I wish I had acquired but apparently were not passed down to me. Case in point: To have a green thumb, or not to have a green thumb. I learned early on that I apparently skipped that gene and definitely fall into the "not" category.  My mom was a master gardener and plant grower extraordinaire. In my youth, I remember the vegetable garden she had. Plump red tomatoes that sprawled across the yard and up the chain link fence. When the Ade's were our neighbor our gardens were only separated by the fence and we would often compare produce. My mom was the envy of the neighbors. Cucumbers, green peppers, green beans. I'm not sure why my mom was so successful with the gardening, especially since we backed up to woods and we had plenty of critters living nearby. And it wasn't just her outside garden. My mom had dozens of indoor plants. Beautiful cascading hanging pots and an equal amount of table top varieties. For many years she had a glass table set up behind her living room chair that was in the room solely to have a place to keep her plants. They even draped over her sewing machine. Definitely a gifted gardener she was.

I'm not sure my sisters inherited this gene either. I remember my mom recounting the story of Cindy's ill-fated marigold from early elementary school. I imagine it was a spring school project that came home, which Cindy enthusiastically over-watered and effectively killed. In the spirit of true motherly love, our mom went to a local nursery and replaced it without her knowledge.  In vain my mom would prune her overgrown plants and send me home with them already potted.. Even gave me clear instructions on how to care for the particular variety she was passing along to me. Lo and behold, none of them ever survived. And a vegetable garden? Why bother. The thought makes me laugh. I think I'd better stick with driving to the local grocer and bagging my own.

Pam and I recently discussed this, too, as she pointed to the fake tree in the corner of her living room. Pam and her husband have had a vegetable garden over the years. Unfortunately, I think the majority of the produce gets eaten by the squirrels and rabbits despite their hard work. We joked how neither one of us have a single live plant in our home. Unless you count the cactus I brought back from Arizona in 2001 after visiting Bil and Thel Keane, which is still alive and kicking. Of course, I think you have to work pretty hard at killing a cactus. Just an observation that I think the cactus is surviving in spite of me being its owner. There is strange comfort in knowing I'm not the only daughter killing plant life.

Recently, I found out that apparently this gene did not entirely disappear, it merely skipped a generation. The story began innocently enough when I was cooking up a large bean, pasta and vegetable mixture to supplement the diet of our birds. Elise had been learning about growing plants and asked if we could grow a bean. She promptly swiped one from the pasta cuisine and placed it in water. Somehow I couldn't convince her that an already cooked bean wouldn't grow. After a few days, she finally relented and decided she would try something else. It took a while for me to come up with an idea to use our whole sunflower seeds that are also for our birds. Tony and Elise wrapped up the sunflowers in a damp paper towel and placed the dozen or so seeds in the baggie. 

Let me be clear: Tony was skeptical. While he was going through the motions of seed growth, Tony really felt that Elise was going to be disappointed again. Still, we needed to make a worthy effort. We documented their first day.


But, alas, within just a few days many of the seeds sprouted. Ever vigilant, Elise cared for her seeds diligently and enjoyed watching the progression of their growth.  Several times a day, much to my chagrin, she would ask to see them, as if she could actually see them growing. Friends and family who happened by would be accosted by her insistence for them to admire her seeds. She was proud of them. Rightly so after knowing my lack of success in plant growth....

After just a matter of about two weeks, it became abundantly clear that these little boogers were going to out grow their baggies. They grew at an alarming rate so one day Elise and Tony planted them in one of my abandoned pots from days gone by. Wanting to give them a solid chance of survival, Tony placed them by the kitchen sink where our cactus also resides. After all, if that thing can survive, maybe it's good karma for the sunflower seeds.

Fast forward a mere two weeks and those puppies have tripled or quadrupled in length. Un-be-lie-va-ble. We have a real life house plant in our midst. All at the hands of our 5 year old daughter. Not sure if I should be embarrassed or proud, we all enjoyed the fruits of our collaborative effort.

Heck, the plant has been so successful that in just two weeks more time, it appears to be outgrowing its pot. All in 6 weeks or less. What's ironic is that none of this had anything to do with me, really. It was Elise's vision, her due diligence and her care. Soon it will be time to transplant.outdoors to its final home. Amazing. I certainly cannot take the credit for this one. Thanks, Mom, for giving us one of your gifts in one of my greatest gifts--Elise.

Common Courtesy is Not So Common Anymore

"I'd like to think that this is chivalry in action, but something tells me...." I said, trailing off as the two men standing before me stopped their horseplay and turned around, chuckling.  They agreed that it wasn't exactly chivalry. It was more like a fun power play of asserting their man-power, which really had nothing to do with me at all. I just happened to start the ruckus between the men when I needed a church closet unlocked and they both arrived at the same time with the master key. Anyway, you get the picture.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the playful banter between the Lead Pastor over adult ministries and the Associate Director over junior high ministries, it actually brought to mind a bigger issue that I have grappled with over the last two years of my volunteer services at our church. My service to the church is hospitality in nature. Once or twice monthly I arrive at the church nearly two hours before the contemporary service and with a small group of volunteers, including my faithful son, I slice dozens of donuts, bagels and muffins; prepare five 2 gallon carafes of coffee and an assortment of other beverages. Part of my service is to make a Sam's run for the muffins and bagels, along with the occasional purchase of lemonade, hot chocolate packets or assorted hot teas. Thus, every week that I work, Adam and I carry in the large, and usually awkward, box of assorted goodies. Normally I arrive just as the first service is starting so I park a distance away. Let's just say that by the time I reach the double doors, I'm pretty weighted down. High heels and skirts look cute and all, but not always the most efficient on my work Sundays.  To my advantage there are usually 100 or more teen boys milling around the parking lot and near the entrance to the church, if they aren't already milling around inside. A damsel in distress? No problem, right? Think again. Never has anyone offered to help me carry in the food that they will later ingest. Never. I am lucky though, that sometimes there is a greeter or two at the door and they at least open the door for me as I arrive. There is one older white haired gentleman greeter who always whisks the box from my hands if I look weighted down. He carries them to the kitchen for me. But let me be clear. He is the only one.

My next task is finding the two tubs of assorted supplies and taking them to the aforementioned kitchen from the aforementioned closet. The closet is an interesting entity. While it is a decent sized space, it is packed. On more than one occasion I've tripped  while in the closet searching for my goods and make a thud as I'm sprawled out across the box of bulletins or coffee urns. And yes, there has always been a man walking by at just that time. Surely, chivalry is alive and well, right? Well, you'd think so but once I stand up and brush myself off and prove that I don't need an ambulance, the man who ever so briefly stopped in front of the open door to see what the ruckus was about, will saunter off without asking if I am OK. Nary a word. Nice.

And the two or three times I've dropped the contents of the  box on the way between the closet and the kitchen?  I've picked up my spilled contents without help from the dozen or more persons standing around doing nothing more than chatting.  (I'm sounding rather like a klutz. I didn't say I was coordinated, just have a servant's heart)

Which brings me to the point of this blog because I do have one.  Where is chivalry on a woman's behalf? Forgetting chivalry, where is just the common courtesy from one human toward another? Week after week I find myself aghast that people so blatantly tend to their own needs rather than caring about the needs of others. Philippians 2:4 says  "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others."  Over and over I've watched men in particular watch me handle boxes that are awkward, if not heavy--or see me make multiple trips back and forth. Silently watching but never assisting.

Honestly, if this was limited to the teenagers of the world, I'd make more allowances. I shouldn't have to, but sadly, I find myself making excuses for the teenager's lack of manners. But the examples I've listed are not limited to the teenagers. This is a pervasive theme with all the men in these real life case scenarios. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that our youth struggles with this issues when their fathers, uncles, grandpas and older brothers aren't being a role model in this area. What is doubly sad is that this bad behavior is in church. Best foot forward. Act bad the the rest of the week but bring your best behavior with you on Sunday morning, right? This is your best? Wow. Eye opening for me--it really is.

In January I quietly went into the junior high worship service and asked if two of the four adult men sitting in the back pews could help me in the kitchen. All four jumped up to my aid. It encouraged my heart. So, when I jested with Paul and Steve about their playful fight over unlocking the door for me being a chivalrous moment, I was only half joking. And now you know why.

Truth for Mature Humans

Even though 95 percent of my blogs are my own, occasionally, I run across one that is too good not to share publicly.


1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is great need for a sarcasm front.

5. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

6. Was learning cursive really necessary?

7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

10. Bad decisions make good stories.

11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again.

13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to.

14. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this - ever.

15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dang it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voice mail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and  run away?

16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

17. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

18. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

19. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.

20. I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.

21. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the heck was going on when I first saw it.

22. I would rather try to carry 10 over-loaded plastic bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

23. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.

24. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

25. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?

26. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!

27. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

28. Is it just me or do high school kids get dumber & dumber every year?

29. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

30. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate bicyclists.

31. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

32. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the snooze button
from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time!