Inside My Head

Teaching Our Girls to be Women

2012-01-04T17:13:00.002-06:00

Last night, while my daughter was enjoying a play date, I decided to hang out with her mom, Anne, who I like a lot. Anne and I are trying to make an earnest connection between our daughters, who are both in first grade and have known each other since they were 3 years old. We want to hang out more and our daughters are a perfect excuse.

Anne and I are living parallel lives in many respects. Our husbands work for the same company, we are approximately the same age, we've both been married about the same amount of time and we both have sons in 6th grade and daughters in 1st grade. But that is probably where the similarities end. In many respects we are very different. She is liberal, while I am more conservative; she struggles with organization and structure, while I thrive on it. Anne is also more 'girly' than I am in respect to how we dress and do our hair and makeup. I definitely would say that she is more glamorous, and I tend to go with the more natural look.

For the last year, Anne has asked me occasionally if she can give me a makeover She saw potential in me and thought I could accentuate my features more. I have repeatedly turned her down for one reason or another--nothing personal. Just for whatever reason, I haven't been cooperative. Until last night. For about an hour she played with makeup and did my hair, even finding a cute dress that fits my petite frame in her laundry room.

That is a picture of me: BEFORE. Albeit the picture is a little washed out, I still say it represents me pretty well. For being smack dab in the middle of my 40s, I think I am aging well. I am certainly no raving beauty, but I definitely find that I am aging better in my 40s than I did in my 20s. Here is how I looked AFTER Anne took hold of me.

The picture turned out a little dark, but I definitely think she did a nice job really changing my look. I hardly recognize myself. I actually really do like my hair, which I was not expecting too. The makeup was a little heavy for an everyday look for me, but I want to learn some of the tricks Anne used last night and buy some new makeup to my collection to help achieve this look for a fancy night out. I could potentially learn from Anne what I did not learn from my mom or any other role model.

It was while we were in the midst of the makeover that she and I were talking about being wives and mothers and we both agreed that for the most part, we don't feel like we learned a lot from our mothers on some basic 'womanly' stuff. She and I both agreed that we both have areas of strength and weakness but wonder if we learned it 'nature' versus 'nurture' or taught ourselves. Together, Anne and I would make a pretty complete woman, we joked.

My mom was very neat and tidy while I was growing up, so I think she modeled for me how I wanted to keep house. As an elementary aged child, I was somewhat of a slob, but then I could spent hours cleaning my room from top to bottom without being asked. As a teenager, I was known to surprise my mom by cleaning the house for 4-5 hours while she was on a date with my dad. As a pre-driving teen, I would spend some Saturdays cleaning house with her, blasting our favorite Neil Diamond albums from the stereo. Gradually, I became interested in 'keeping house'--and really got the itch to keep my surroundings neat and organized when I lived away at college, sharing a small dorm room. Keeping it neat was the only way to survive such a small space.

However, with the exception of the occasional baking, I did not learn to cook from my mom. She modeled being a good cook for our family, preparing dinner almost every night. I cannot recall a time when I really helped her, except for grating cheese or cracking some eggs. My mad cooking skills was really a hands-on learn-by-necessity trade as a new wife and mom. She also never taught me to iron or sew. My mom had amazing sewing ability. She could fix zippers, buttons, hem lines, etc. She also used to make doll and Barbie clothes, which proves she was very gifted. Ironically, before my mom died, she taught my husband how to use a sewing machine when we inherited my grandma's. Since Tony was in charge of sewing on cub scout badges, I think he was motivated to learn something other than the by-hand methodology. I, on the other hand, can only sew on a button. Other than that, I defer to my uber-talented sewing husband. At least one of us knows how.

As amazing as I think my mom was as a mom and how she exemplified being a model wife, I don't think she trained me in how to be a woman. We talked about The Birds and The Bees but I don't recall her showing me how to apply makeup, do my hair, or how to dress for my petite frame. And, looking back, I can see why I am satisfied with my 'natural' look. I never learned differently. But this lack of training did affect my self-esteem and has impacted many decisions I have made into adulthood, even into my 40s.

Every "Mom and Me' cooking class we take together, or when we complete a chore together, I know I am preparing her to be a woman. Maybe it may be a stereo-typical woman--a feminist may say I am being too old-fashioned in my intentions. But old-fashioned is good in my book. If she chooses a career path that lends itself to her being single and choosing to not have children, the time I have spent with her doing 'womanly' things does not seem wasted to me. It will still create a confidence and a sense of being a well-rounded person. She can bring that confidence into every area of her life.

Even now, I see this gradual shift in her opinion of herself. She wants to grow her hair out from bangs, so taking care of her hair is mandatory at this time. She fixes her own hair every morning, experimenting with different looks. Elise is also intentional in what she wants to wear each day and I see a more feminine side coming out in her. And she is only 7.

I guess my main point is that the make-over last night really stirred up some unresolved angst about what I was lacking as a teen, and how that lack of self-confidence has manifested itself over and over in various ways into my 40s. Hopefully, I will be a better mom, wife, and person because of it. And help my daughter love herself as much as I love her.

Moving into the 21st Century: One Cassette Tape at a Time

2012-01-01T18:52:00.000-06:00

This past October my husband and I did a mini remodel of our house--namely our family room and our master bedroom. The bedroom was always the plan, but the family room was the 'bonus'. While shopping for bedroom furniture, a sofa called to us. We decided to spend a little less on the bedroom set and also buy the sofa, an end table and a coffee table. Free financing for 6 months When our tax refund arrives, we'll pay off the furniture. Sweet!

It was our desperately old bedroom that needed a romantic make-over. Not only was our queen mattress too small, but we figured it was probably 20 years old. Two bad qualities for someone who lives with a sleep disorder. Free financing a very expensive bed for 3 years justified the amount we paid for it. Especially since we seemed to like to keep our mattresses for 20 years. Our end result was beautiful.

Since I am the anti-hoarder, I loved the ability to purge and clean both rooms until they were sparkly new and organized. Which is actually the point of my blog. I uncovered a dirty, er, dusty little secret in the process. For 7 years I had about 100 cassette tapes neatly tucked away under our coffee table, hidden from view. I was confronted with the reality that I needed to do something with them.

For anyone who might stumble upon my blog and be under the age of 20, cassette tapes were after 8 Track tapes and phonograph records and before CDs. Rather like VHS tapes versus DVDs. But here's the thing. I did not just throw them out. In the words of Dr. Seuss, I would not, could not throw them here or there, I would not, could not throw them anywhere. Least of all the trash. The reality, sad or not, is that there is a lot of great 70s and 80s music on those tapes. At least half of them were store bought, but a surprising number of them were homemade mix tapes. Just thinking about the money I used to spend back in the 80s buying the 'high quality' Memorex tapes makes me shudder a little. In fact, I recall spending hours taping songs directly from the radio--and having to record my phonograph records onto tapes when stereos no longer came with the turn-table. That was a sad day in the history of my life. Smart move sound quality-wise but a lot of work. And, though dusty, I have to admit that occasionally I did pull out a tape and play it either in my 2008 van, which still has a tape player, or on one of our two stereo systems, which are just as old as the tapes themselves. Those tapes were not necessarily forgotten, but rather like Monica's closet from Friends. I figured if they were out of view then they did not need addition. But with the fresh family room, I needed to address the tape collection.

I listened to each tape, many of them older Christian music. Most of those tapes were mixed tapes that my co-worker Dan at the utility company made me. He was our custodian and worked nights. Cleaning my cubicle, he found my stash of Amy Grant, Wayne Watson and Steven Curtis Chapman tapes that I would play quietly as I worked. That sparked a great conversation of our devotion to Christ and to the transforming power of Christian music. It was through Dan that I was introduced to Derek Floyd, Scott Wesley Brown, and David Meece. Dan also quadrupled my Wayne Watson collection, and added to other favorites like Matthew Ward, Larnell Harris, Petra and Kathy Troccolli. Playing these classic artists from the early 90s made me miss that music era again.

Living where we do, I am fortunate that we have an amazingly wonderful Christian music station. And for 20 years I have been a faithful listener through its name changes and signal changes. But their music changes as well, and while contemporary, I wish they would go back to playing some 'oldies'. I love Chris Tomlin, Jeremy Camp, Casting Crowns, MercyMe and Newsboys as much as anyone. But the earlier music is so powerful, too. It is a shame that with the resurgence of 80s music on any radio station in the country, my local Christian station does not play some classic Michael English, Steven Curtis Chapman, Steve Green, New Song and 4 Him on a regular basis. You get my idea.

Intermingled with the Christian music is the standard soft rock music from days gone by: Rick Springfield, Loverboy, Foreigner, Journey, Def Leppard, KISS, Depeche Mode. What can I say? I am a diverse music lover. There was some great stuff that I had clearly forgotten about and had replaced by more current music Cd's to play. What is a girl to do?!?

I downsized. After listening to some of the music, I realized that I could purge a few, like Brian Barrett, Sierra and Point of Grace. They did not stand the test of time. But there was a long list of artists that I knew I wanted to replace the mixed tape with a true CD. So for my birthday, I looked through the clearance and 'oldies' section of Wal Mart, Target, Best Buy and K-Mart and replaced what I could find. I found a decent number of them available for usually less than $7 per CD--a few even at $2.99. The Right Price. Sweet. (Bemused or irritated that these artists fell under 'oldies'....well, whatever. I suppose at some point I would be considered in the 'older' generation.)

itunes gift card, where I was able to take some of the individual songs I preferred and get rid of the actual full cassette tape from where they originated.

After three months, my chore is completed. Spending too much money on myself (but using birthday and Christmas as my excuse), I have been able to get rid of about 60 of the tapes. I still have about 25 store bought cassettes from artists whose music I like, but think the tape is 'good enough'. Plus I have about 15 mixed tapes that are so mixed that to replace them would cost more than I care to spend, although I like them well enough to keep. I also still have a 2 page 'wish list' of CDs I hope to eventually purchase, and individual songs to buy from itunes slowly, over time. Between furniture and music, I am over budget and out of money. Maybe by the end of this year I will have collected them all, which averages out to about one or two Cd's a month, plus a few individual songs at a time.

Being a sensible person, I did not throw out any of the store quality tapes. Those I will either put on Freecycle or wait for our next book and tape drive at my daughter's school. They are still great music--just an outdated version. I am sure I can find a new owner of the classic music. Someone else who needs to move out of the 80s but will be 'tickled pink' to find them.

I can claim to be officially in the Y2K era though. As for the small collection of VHS tapes I still have. OK, I am still a work in progress as far as THAT goes. I'll get there eventually, too.

Introspection on Blogging

2011-12-16T10:43:00.002-06:00

If there is a new word of this particular decade that sums up life, I would have to say "BLOGGER" or "BLOGGING' is probably up close to the top of the list. With something like 50 million bloggers, it is not a unique craft, a unique idea, and probably, there's not a new topic not already written about. Even sites that don't consider themselves being blogs, but rather news sources, are probably still in the blog category. They just know how to fancify their site and earn money while doing what they love to do. Write.

I started blogging 2 1/2 yrs. ago and I did it earnestly, with passion, and often. Like a good sex life, I suppose. But then I thought I would take it to the next level. I started writing for two on-line sites. One is found at www.stlfamilylife.com and the other is www.townandcountry-manchester.patch.com. I stopped finding time to write just for me. Between having 2 kids, a husband and 4 pets, trying to balance home life with writing life, something had to give. It was my blog sites.

Contrary to what some people may believe, I don't get paid. It's all just a way to get what I like to write about more exposure than the few followers that I have. Instead of having dozens of people reading my work, I have hundreds. I like those odds. But here is the thing. At some point I had hoped to turn them into paying gigs. I've gotten some good feedback from my published articles, which are sometimes informative, and other times, just entertaining. But nobody wants to pay you for your work.
I am not complaining. I appreciate the opportunity to get that experience. But after a year and a half, I feel like I am running out of good topics, or feeling the pressure to produce articles on a weekly basis--and not always feeling very appreciated in the process. Editors are quite honest about wanting to pay as little as possible for their contributors. If I had 'discovered' my passion for writing even a few years ago, I might have been able to make this a paying job.

So I have taken a leave from writing on a weekly schedule and I want to start blogging again. Just for me. On whatever topic tickles my fancy. Most likely I will turn my attention to my other blog site, which is found at www.bonsheart.blogspot.com, which I encourage you to check out if you haven't. I write about my mom's history, which is a gut-wrenching, unique, and yet beautiful, story of her life. Both as a child and as an adult. She passed away 4 years ago and it's a great way to keep her memory alive. There is a lot I don't say about her. There is a lot of pain in the 17 months leading up to her death that I won't ever share in public. Way too personal. But she is part of a history that is literally dying. She would have been 74 this week. Having been part of the post ww2 genocide, she would be among the youngest of the survivors of this era. Rather like there only being 8 survivors left of Pearl Harbor attack--or the last Titanic survivor dying.In another decade there may be no more Russian Red Army genocide survivors from the mid to late 1940's. Very sad.

While I am not giving up on writing for the other sites, I hope to get these two blogs up and running more frequently again, because I do have a lot to say. And the forum to say it. Maybe it is better if it is on my personal website and not edited by someone who may not like me mentioning God or Jesus.

Thank you to my regular followers, and for all the strangers who happen to stumble upon my blog. I wish I had more comments on my plethora of posts so I could get feedback. More followers would be nice, too. Just to know that there are 'regulars' out there who genuinely find enjoyment from my posts.

So thank you, readers, for, well, reading my work. And I hope to see a lot more of you in 2012. You will definitely see a lot more of me in 2012 as well.

A Celebration of Veteran's from my Present and Past

2011-11-12T10:43:00.000-06:00

Another article I wrote in remembrance of my family Veteran's history.

http://townandcountry-manchester.patch.com/blog_posts/celebrating-the-veterans-in-our-lives-past-or-present

Tribute on the Death of Bil Keane

2011-11-12T10:41:00.000-06:00

I am attaching a link to an article I wrote for an on-line newsmagazine I write for weekly.

I miss my friend of 32 years.

http://townandcountry-manchester.patch.com/blog_posts/bil-keane-not-just-a-cartoonist-but-a-friend

What was Lost was Found: Who was Lost is still Lost

2011-09-25T18:35:00.001-05:00

When I think back to that last Sunday in July, it isn't my 11 year old son's baptism that comes to mind. Although it was a glorious day, one filled with God's love, faithfulness and pride as a parent--certainly worthy of its own blog--it is over-shadowed by an internal conversation I had with myself later that night.

As on most Sundays, I wore my silver cremation necklace. It is a necklace that I wear on a regular basis, especially on the days where I am missing my mom--whose ashes it contains. The 4th year anniversary of her death was quickly approaching and wearing my cross during that particular season of my life has always brought comfort, where words might otherwise fail. And for whatever reason, I miss my mom on Sundays more than any other day of the week.

But on this Sunday, as I removed the necklace from around my neck and hung it back into my jewelry case, I made a mental note that it would be at least another week before I would wear it again. The kids and I were taking a week long trip to visit friends, while my husband stayed behind to work and take care of our pets. He was preparing for one of his regular trips overseas and the additional, uninterrupted work time would help him; while a little get-away was just what the kids and I needed. That internal dialogue included the fact that I knew the necklace would stay behind. Too precious to accidentally lose or misplace while traveling. I was leaving it safely behind. Or so I thought.

About 4 days after returning from our trip, I reached for my necklace, which was a day shy of the 4th year anniversary. It was missing. Piece by piece, I emptied my jewelry box of each hanging necklace. Determined that it should be exactly where I remember hanging it, I was instantly reduced to tears. There were few pieces of jewelry that held sentimental value, but this was one of them. I was unusually careful with it.

Calling my husband that morning at work, he confirmed that I had not left it laying out during our vacation; he had not seen it or done anything with it. It was then that I knew it had been stolen. And here is where it gets complicated.

Because I knew Tony would be working long hours, we had friends and neighbors lined up throughout the week during the day to take care of Snickers and give him potty breaks and some play time. They had access to our house. However, during that same week, another person who we trusted was allowed in the house and had the same access to my jewelry. In my heart, I knew it was stolen by that trusted person. In the interest of privacy and not vilifying that person, I will not name them by name. Herein known as 'him' or 'he' only, my story continues.

The news was devastating. Occurring on the wake of a painful anniversary was dealing with the hurt, frustration and anger I felt that someone close to us could be so bold as to steal from me. Grieving for my mom was replaced by grieving for the loss of an irreplaceable piece of jewelry. Tony and I briefly talked about pressing charges, but we knew that in the interest of doing a thorough investigation, police would have to also speak to our friends and neighbors whom we had charged with caring for Snickers. It was not fair to them to be 'suspects'. We needed to handle this privately.

Tony lovingly confronted 'the suspect' with the disappearance of this jewelry and was met with a reaction of disgust and anger that we would 'accuse' him. He expected an apology from me when the necklace was found. In the interest of making sure that I had not made some monumental error, a day later I spent 5 hours in our bedroom looking for the necklace. I literally tore the room apart. From taking the mattress and box springs off the bed, to removing every piece of clothing in every drawer; unfolding all the extra sets of bedding in storage under our bed. We moved every piece of furniture from against the wall. No stone was left unturned. It was definitely gone.

One last time I emptied my jewelry box. It was then I noticed a second piece was missing. Like some cruel joke, I could not believe that another cross had been taken. One that my mom had given me the Christmas 10 years before her death. She had been given the cross at her own catholic confirmation in Schalding, Germany, while living in a refuge camp in 1949. They would immigrate to the United States the following year. This 62 year old cross did not have a chain. It sat solitary in a ring holder, next to another cross I had purchased for myself years earlier. That one was untouched.

Just two days after discovering the cremation necklace gone, one day after the anniversary of her death, I am hit with the confirmation that the disappearance was not neglect or carelessness on my part; they were indeed stolen. And both pieces irreplaceable--a part of my mom's memory and life. I remember sitting there dazed; trying to comprehend that not only had they both been stolen, but they were the two most precious pieces of my limited jewelry collection. Ironically, my pearl necklace and earrings were still there. My diamond earrings untouched. Certainly he did not know the sentimental value of what he took. It was just a cruel twist of fate that he was drawn to the unique pieces that were associated with my mom and the timing of it all.

My loving husband contacted all the area pawn shops within nearby proximity of where the person of interest lived. Sending an e-mail with a picture of the necklace (off the website from which it was purchased) and a picture of whom we presumed would hock them, we hoped that the necklace and/or person would be identified. It took probably 10 days but then we received an e-mail. The cremation necklace was located, the seller of said necklace postively ID'd. The bad news was that the necklace had already been sold. The good news? The owner was able to get the cross portion holding the ashes back from whom he had sold it. The silver rope chain was gone, however. As for the 62 year old cross, he said I could look through what he had acquired in the previous month and I was encouraged to retrieve my items free of charge. With no picture, he did not know if the gold cross was still in his shop.

With my husband now already on his business trip, I ventured to the upscale jewelry pawn shop on my own that Monday morning. With emotions too strong for words, I reclaimed the cremation cross, holding it tightly--thankful for the kind pawn shop owner who took the time to do the right thing. He could have said that it had already been sold and he was unable to get it back. But he didn't. He presumably lost money by retrieving it for me. But his generous heart did not stop there. Before me lay about half dozen gold crosses. Immediately, I was able to rule out the ones that were not my mom's. But I hesitated. There was one that I was 99 percent sure was hers. But honestly, I could not say with 100 percent certainty it was the one. Crosses were dime a dozen, often hocked; easily purchased. Still, I continued to hold the cross and question if it belonged to me. "Take it", Albert said (his name changed for privacy) "If you walk away without it, you'll regret it. If your heart is telling you it's yours, then it is. Don't second guess it." With tears in my eyes, I thanked him for helping me out.

Still, having those back in my possession did not 'fix' everything. The one who stole it lied to us--not once but twice. After reclaiming them, Tony called him back. Told him we found the items and he had been ID'd. He still denied it. Just like Peter denying Christ three times by the time the rooster crowed, this person was caught red-handed and yet still had the hutzpah to claim innocence. My heart broke.

Perhaps a day later, this person called Tony again, while he was still away on business. In a tearful apology, he finally confessed his guilt. Apologizing to Tony, but not to me was a slap in the face. He had assumed that since we were rich and he has nothing, we would never notice those pieces missing. As if his lack of work ethic and productivity in life justified stealing from us. It did not matter that we trusted him in our home despite a strained relationship in the past. Tony extended grace and accepted his apology but said the right thing to do was to apologize to me.

It has been a month and that apology has not come, nor will it ever, I'm sure.

Which is why I feel burdened enough on this dreary Sunday afternoon to write about this experience. At first I felt violated. How much had he cased our house, looking for 'hockable' items? Or did he go straight for the gold and silver? And how to do I forgive when he hasn't asked for my forgiveness? Several other more pressing situations have happened since the disppearance of the two crosses, which deflected from the importance of his betrayal. In the grand scheme of things, I got my valued jewelry back. No harm was done. Still, I'm finding myself angry again. Where is the apology that he would have expected from me?

For me, the relationship is severed. And this person will have no further contact with my two children. The relationship he has with Tony is more personal. How much damage was done for him is not for me to say. Or for me to judge. All I know is that Tony and I agreed he will not be allowed in our home again--or near our kids again. Ever. Not without a God-breathed, time tested and trued change of heart and mind and soul. And the kind of life-changing authentic apology that you know comes from a changed person.

The Bible calls me to forgive. After looking at his past, I can see why he ventured down this ugly, law-breaking path. I can see why his life lead to this point. But for my healing alone, I need to reach a point of forgiveness. But I will not forget. And I will not be so naive to think that at this point he realizes the depth of what he did wrong. He is not sorry for the fact he stole. He is sorry that he got caught, and harmed his relationship with Tony. His apology was never about the act of stealing--or the violation against me. No reparation has truly been made in my eyes. He is Godless and heartless.

The cremation cross sits without a chain in my jewelry box. Whereas I used to wear it several days per week, I cannot look at it without pain and hurt. I visualize him stuffing it carelessly in his pocket, offering it for a price to Albert. Another woman wearing the cross that holds a piece of my mom. It's tainted now. Somehow I need to work through this by finding another unique chain and wearing it again. But right now, the thought brings me pain, which outweighs the comfort and the closeness I felt by wearing it.

I grieve today for what he took from me. Maybe this sounds ultra-dramatic and I'm making a big fuss over nothing. Perhaps no one can relate. But it's truly the way I feel. But the Bible tells us in Matthew 10 that we are to take up our cross and follow Jesus. So when I look at the crosses that were taken from me, I need to remember the cross that was given to me by his sacrifice on the his cross that was for my salvation and to forgive me of my sins. And maybe one day that person will understand what pain he caused and accept the free gift of forgiveness. From Jesus. And from me.

Adam and Elise's Acting Debut starring JESUS

2011-06-28T19:37:00.001-05:00

Both my kids were asked to take part in an on-stage discussion about their visit to a local nursing home. Because their stage presence was professional, they were later asked to be in an all-church video to solicit volunteers for our summer long VBS program known as Passport.

What they quickly learned is that a 3 minute video takes an hour and half to film; and preparing to know their lines ahead of time took quite a bit of a commitment, too.

As a parent, I can say that this is one of my proudest moments. Both my kids rocked the video and made us proud to represent the church--and believers in Christ.

My blond children are easy to identify. Elise is in the aqua blue t-shirt and her brother Adam is wearing red sporting some long locks as he approaches middle school.

Milestones in My Son's Life, Milestone in Parenting

2011-06-06T07:55:00.001-05:00

I have always loved the quote by Elizabeth Stone "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." In regards to parenting, no truer words have ever been spoken.

The truth is that my heart is no longer my own. I check on my kids moments before I go to sleep at night and they are my first thought in the morning. The truth is that everything I do in my life is a reflection of them, and their physical and emotional well-being are always foremost in my mind.
Each day is spent cherishing the moments I am creating for them and with them, trying not to look back in regret or look out too far in the future.

At least that was the way I felt until recently. This year is flying by incredibly fast and before I was prepared for it, the school year ended. Not just any school year, but my son's last one at the elementary level. And this new reality hit me hard and unexpectedly one morning. My son is a tween and his middle school days are upon us. And there is no turning back. Parenting Adam has been a joy. For the most part, he has made parenting easy for me. We have an easy, mutually respectful relationship, but as I see him approaching those dreaded teen years, his independence from me is a challenge.
I know that God has only given me my children for a time. He has given them to me to raise up for Him and to raise them to be loving, caring, responsible adults. God never intended for me to have them under my care forever. He has only given me the here and now; and if I'm lucky, lots of tomorrows. Still I felt stuck in the grief in the chapter of this part of his life coming to a close; afraid of what the tomorrows may bring. I did not know how to come out of the grief I was feeling. Then God gave me answer in a way I never expected.

Adam is a competitive, level 5 gymnast. His coach had given him the deadline of May 26 to conquer his fear of doing a back flip on the trampoline, unassisted. It was a skill that would be necessary to continue his growth. On May 26 I walked my tearful, fearful son into practice to talk with his coach Jack. "Adam can do the skill." Jack told me. "But he wants me on the trampoline spotting him. I want him to do it by himself."

So I did my best to encourage my son, knowing that no words would guarantee that he would take the leap of faith to conquer the fear. And I stood out of his sight and watched him perform the back flip over and over with his coach nearby spotting him. In a final desire to encourage him I announced my presence in the room and said "Adam, you own this. You OWN it! You are nailing it every time. You can do it. You can!"

It took until later that evening but Adam did the back flip on his own. And he did it over and over. He came home that night so proud of himself for facing the fear and doing it in spite of the fear. But it was the words that he said that spoke to me. "Mom, Jack told me I could do it but it was you, Mom. It was your encouragement that made me know I could do it. And I did!"

I said a prayer of thanks as I took my son in a bear hug and congratulated him. The teen years will have the ups and downs of life. No doubt it will be filled with a lot of moments where I am in the background of his life. But me and Adam? We're gonna be just fine!

Getting Back to the Basics

2011-06-06T07:51:00.001-05:00

It was the end of May and it was the last week of school. I had my days planned out. It all came down to the final 5 mornings without children underfoot. I had my plan...but then God had his. God always wins.

We have lived in the same neighborhood for nearly 7 years. In those years we have been fortunate to rarely experience the loss of electricity. Except we lost power that very first morning of the 'final five' in all the busy craziness that is the end of school. And, life as I knew it, stood still.

The impact was felt immediately by my 6 year old daughter Elise. She had an Internet Webkins party scheduled to take place at 12:30 p.m. The outage began at approximately 12:25 p.m., just as I went to log her in. I had even changed my plans around to make sure we were home in time for her virtual pet party. Thankfully, she giggled at the irony of the timing.

And then we stared at each other in silence. What now?

What has the world come to that we have no telephone, no Internet, no television, no air conditioning and we feel completely and totally out of touch. We piddled around the house until the storm passed and the sun began to shine again, giving us a little more natural lighting indoors.

So we played. We played like two 6 year olds. Elise got out her favorite board games that rarely get taken off the shelf. And we played with her cat and dog park, making up silly pet names and fun imaginative scenarios. And we talked. As I was playing with her it reminded me of why I had become a parent in the first place. We lose so much in the busyness of our lives that we forget about engaging and investing in the lives of the people we love.

The fact is that I have been struggling for the last several days with the fact that my son Adam is leaving elementary school at the end of this week. He is moving onto bigger and better and newer. His childhood is nearly over as he enters the tween and teen years. While I knew that I had a 'to do' list that had to be done, I also knew that soon enough it will be my daughter making that same transition and these stolen moments together will be fewer and farther between, too.

But God gave me at least one more impromptu moment with Adam. While my 'plan' was to watch one of Oprah's finale shows when he got off the school bus, the better plan was to play one more board game with the three of us, and then to read with Adam as we work our way through the seventh and final installment of the Harry Potter series we've been reading together in the last year.

But, alas, the power was restored, which meant it was time for me to meet my writing deadline and for the kids to enthusiastically re-engage with the television. Still, this afternoon reminded me that technology is not always best. Sometimes it's about getting back to the basics.

Home Alone in the 21st Century

2011-06-06T07:44:00.000-05:00

It has been just over 20 years since the Home Alone movie rocketed Macaulay Culkin into stardom. It was the cheek slap heard around the world that has been parodied ever since. While most people would agree that 8-year-old Kevin (played by Culkin) was too young to be 'home alone', it begs the question: What is the right age? Or perhaps more fittingly, is there an age specified in the Missouri statutes or in St. Louis County?

I consulted with Lieutenant Bob Arthur of Town and Country police to help answer the question. He said that there was no magical age in St. Louis for when staying home alone is legal (only Illinois and Maryland have specific state laws regulating it). From both experience as a dad of three now-grown children and as an officer who has seen the best and worst of St. Louis, his recommendation is age 12.
Let's face it, with summer quickly approaching, doesn't a little freedom from children underfoot sound enticing? But how do you know your child is ready? Lt. Arthur says that there are basic things your child should know before you leave them alone for any length of time. At the most basic level, they need to know how to dial 9-1-1 and their own street address. Having your child memorize your cell phone is a great idea, too. You may have it on a bulletin board at home but if (s)he can't get it to it in an emergency, (s)he should still know how to reach you.

Children also need to know what to do in case of an emergency. Does your child know where the water shut-off valve is located or the electric breaker box? Do you have a first aid kit where your child can find it if necessary? If they need to leave the house for any reason (like a fire), do they know which neighbors are usually home and they can count on as a 'safe' house? Do they know how to reach a neighbor by phone if they can't reach you?

Arthur stressed too, that you need to rely on your instincts. If you doubt that your child will obey the house rules (do not answer the door, do not use the stove, no friends may come over, etc) then that is a good indication that regardless of chronological age, they may not have the emotional maturity to be responsible enough yet.

Supposing you have decided that staying home alone is acceptable, now what? For us, it means signing up our 11-year-old for a "Home Alone" class. They are held all around the area--at the Des Peres Lodge, Ballwin Pointe, through Rockwood and Parkway Continuing Education, and through all the local hospitals. Don't discount the value in having someone reinforce what you have already instructed your children to do, no matter how thorough you thought you were.

Another tip is to start out in small time blocks. Initially, I left our son Adam home for 10 minutes at a time. I also never allow him to stay home alone if a) I cannot drop everything and come home immediately 2) I am more than a five-minute car ride away 3) I cannot predict how long I will be be gone (Like a doctor's appointment).

The last tip is this: Do not push the matter if your child has any hesitation at all. There are times when our son is more comfortable than others in being home alone. There is no rhyme or reason to his comfort level but I always give him the option. Oftentimes, he will choose to come with me. I want him to be in tune with his gut feeling and I respect his decision even if it would be more convenient to have him stay home. The reality is that eventually they will be ready to, and when they are, the transition will go smoothly if you go at a pace you are both comfortable with. In the meantime, just enjoy the fact that they still want to be near you. That may not last forever.

Chid Restraint Laws in St . Louis

2011-06-06T07:40:00.003-05:00

Reposted with minor revisions from the original post that appeared on townandcountry-manchester.patch.com

Over spring break there were three of us moms discussing the use of seat belt restraints/booster seats in St. Louis county. And all three of us had different interpretations of the law. In fact, all three of us believed the law to be different. Even defining the law was difficult.

In April of this year, an ordinance passed in Manchester allowing an officer to pull you over strictly for a seat belt violation. Prior to this change, a seat belt violation could be cited only when an officer was pulling you over for another offense. The exception to this was when children were involved. If an officer noticed a child violating the requirement for their size and age, the driver could be fined independent of any other vehicular offense. But do you know what the regulations are for your child?
Manchester police department's patrol Sergeant Dan West directed me to the Missouri Revised Statutes (Chapter 307.179) to help answer this question. At the link you can read in detail seat belt requirements for all passengers. Below are some highlights.

Infants are required to be in an infant car seat, facing backward in a rear seat. Once they have outgrown the seat according to weight requirements, they may sit in a forward facing seat in a restraint system commonly referred to as a five-point harness. Regardless of age, children who weigh less than 40 pounds must remain in this car seat.

Children at least four years of age but less than eight years of age, who also weigh at least forty pounds but less than eighty pounds, and who are also less than four feet, nine inches tall, shall be secured in a child passenger restraint system (commonly known as a booster seat).

Sergeant West stressed that while your child may be over 8 years old and allowed to ride in a vehicle with only a shoulder and lap restraint system (no booster seat), he urges all parents to continue to have your son or daughter use a booster seat until they meet the height requirement. In an accident, it is the placement of the shoulder strap that will be the most important factor in protecting them from harm or injury. It is body height and weight that impacts how they respond in a crash, not age.

What about riding in the front passenger seat? Sergeant West said that because of air bags, which are standard in most vehicles, children should not ride in the front seat if they are younger than 13. Once again he stressed that substantial injury or death could occur because of the deployment of the air bag that is designed with an adult body size in mind.

Safety should always be our priority when raising our children. Despite protests from kids about wearing a seat belt or arguing with us that they want to give up a booster seat, or them wanting to be allowed to sit in the front seat, it is not about making them happy. It's about keeping them safe--and obeying the laws of the road.

Finding your Inner Julia Child

2011-05-22T11:01:00.000-05:00

One of my all-time favorite movies is Julie & Julia. It was because of that movie that I wanted to amp up my cooking skills. Despite being a fairly diverse cook, it was often my favorite part of the day. After 10 years of marriage (and cooking), I needed isnpiration.

Can I get an Amen?

If you are nodding your head in silent agreement, read below on how I tackled the cooking doldrums.

It was at a doctor’s waiting room that I found my initial inspiration in the form of the cooking magazine Cooking Light. I realized I had stagnated over the years; not particularly paying attention to how healthy my recipes were, or challenging myself to become a better cook. Routinely I had chosen short-and-to-the-point recipes that did not grow my skills. Subscribing to this magazine for a few years was a perfect first step in changing that. Not only did it give me new recipes to try, it highlighted different vegetables or spices each month; and it offered cooking tips, such as how to pan-sear properly. Each issue I would make a comprehensive list of the recipes and page numbers I wanted to try. After I had accumulated about 6 issues, I typed it them up into a Word document and placed it in the front pocket of my binder.

The next step was making sure I made a new recipe a few times a month. After realizing that I probably had over 150 new recipes ear-marked to try, I realized I needed to be more intentional in incorporating them into our weekly menu. About 6 months ago, I decided that our family would eat a minimum of two new recipes a week. Sometimes that means two new entrees, and sometimes it might be side dishes or a new dessert. Occasionally, I’ll even be inspired to make all new recipes all week long. Some are hits, some are definite misses. But at least my adaptable family enjoys the adventure of it all.

About 3 months ago, I decided to further challenge myself to grow as a cook by incorporating one new ingredient per week. Turnips, parsnips, capers and patty pan squash are just a few of them. Everyone in our family loves mushrooms so even experimenting with the different varieties has been a fun way to take the ordinary and make it extraordinary.

Of all the changes I’ve made in the last few years, my absolute favorite has been learning to cook ethnic dishes. Our favorite cuisine is Asian: Thai, Chinese, Japanese and, recently, Korean. For authentic (albeit Americanized) dishes, it requires specialty sauces and spices. Sesame oil, peanut oil, mirin, tamari and hoisen sauces are all specialty ingredients that have become staples in our house. Fresh ginger root is the key to all things Asian, so even cooking with fresh spices rather than jarred can really transform your cooking. (Rule of thumb: Use 1/3 the amount of dried herbs to equal chopped fresh.) Try fresh Parmesan cheese rather than the grated variety. So often we have forgotten the original fresh option over the quick, prepared one.

In fact, if your family is less than eager to try a new food, try just adding a new spice (such as using pumpkin pie spice in your chili!) Learn to make a homemade pesto or spaghetti or Alfredo sauce rather than using jarred or canned off the grocery shelf. It might be just enough change to keep you more engaged in the kitchen without a family revolt.

And really, this only scratches the surface of the ways I’ve transformed my cooking over the last few years. Turn cooking from something ‘you have to do’ into something ‘you want to do’. Challenge your cooking talents, stretch your cooking know-how, and impress your friends and family. Your inspiration may be just a meal away

Mom Brain Strikes Again

2011-05-04T07:40:00.002-05:00

Are you a mom? Can you relate to the following:

The first time it happened it was a very typical Friday afternoon. I glanced up at the clock and noticed that my son would be getting off the school bus soon, so I went to the front door to make sure it was unlocked. (By fifth grade it is definitely uncool to greet your child at the bus stop). A few minutes later, as the phone began to ring, I realized my faux pas: Every Friday for the last two school years, I have picked Adam up from school at regular dismissal time because of his cello.

The second incident occurred five days later as I waited for my kindergartner to get off the bus. The time came and went with no bus and no daughter. I did notice a few moms I know waving at me as they drove up our street and out of the subdivision; and they were all Daisy Girl Scout moms. The it occurred to me. I forgot about the Daisy Girl Scout meeting.

The third incident was weeks later. Elise had a five-week art class held after school once a week. I completely forgot to take her. In fact, I didn’t even remember the class until the following morning.

So my question is, what gives? For anyone who knows me they will tell you I am organized and detailed to the nth degree. I’ve never been able to relate to other moms who consistently forget things and drop the ball.
Of course, I have many excuses--valid explanations. In fact there is a book by Shaunti and Jeff Feldhan called For Men Only, which accurately depicts a typical woman's workings. Admittedly, I am not typical in many aspects, so I felt that it did not apply to me. But one example struck a chord with me: Open
windows. I have many 'windows' open at all times. While I am typing this blog, I am thinking about my day, which proves to be scheduled down to the last minute; while also wondering if my daughter is getting sick again or maybe it's allergies; thinking about my husband as he drives to Ohio to surprise his bone marrow brother for his birthday; and wondering if the temps are ever going to climb past 70 degrees. Yes, I am multi-tasking in my thoughts. Most women can relate. Of course, I think that is my downfall, too. Life is busy--too busy at times.

Imagine my relief then when Dr. Mehmet Oz wrote in an article about mom brain that it is a true condition. Our brains are 80 percent fat, containing Omega-3 nutrients. The baby receives that nutrient, literally sucking out our brain power. During pregnancy, Dr. Oz says a woman’s brain also shrinks by about 8 percent. “You don’t lose cells. The cells get smaller,” he says. “It might be because you’re focused on one thing, but the good news is after you give birth, your brain begins to rewire quickly. … Your brain actually gets more powerful than before you got pregnant.”

It’s the last part that I find difficult to believe. More powerful? I think my brain forgot to regenerate. I’m just sayin’.

To combat “mommy brain,” Dr. Oz recommends taking omega-3 fatty acids and getting plenty of sleep. “[Omega-3 is] important because we know that it actually allows women to recover from depression faster if they have depression after pregnancy,” he says. “It also allows the brain to grow.”

While he gives that great tip, which I just may try to implement, the true is that I’m fallible. With both of my kids getting older, they are involved in far more scouting, sports and school activities and I have that much more to keep track of. Despite looking at my calendar every day, things are going to slip through the cracks. There is no magic formula and no solution to make sure that things like this don’t happen again. The truth is since my children forgive me, I need to forgive myself. Period.

A Dream, A Vision, Some Carnival Foods

2011-04-16T07:42:00.000-05:00

Cancer survivor Harry Freund, a former certified financial advisor and preschool owner, will tell you that he had a vision, an epiphany from God, about three years ago. In that vision he saw himself serving shaved ice among twinkling lights at the once standing Fox Photo store in front of the vacant Chili’s location on Manchester. Two years later, on May 1, 2010, that vision became a reality a few miles farther down Manchester Road at a restaurant aptly named Mr. Harry’s Carnival Foods.

Walking into the store is like walking into a child’s dream, with fun circus decorations and small novelty candies (perfect stocking stuffers at Christmas or basket fillers at Easter), with a game area where you can play checkers, Boggle or even mini Whack-A-Mole.

Located one mile east of Clarkson Road in Ballwin, you can find Harry, his wife Linda, and their twin daughters serving carnival-inspired foods, such as cotton candy, funnel cakes, shaved ice, ice cream, and all the free popcorn your heart desires. They also employ a few former preschool students when they owned and operated Love & Laughter back in the 90's.

If you are in the mood for something more substantial, they also offer a full range of generously sized sandwiches, and homemade sides. The recently began serving up BBQ platters as well when the Freunds began a partnership Jim and Mary Randall of ASAP Barbecue in November of last year. The Randall’s prepare their award-winning barbecue in a mobile trailer on site.

Crave beer while indulging in delicious barbecue? Lucky for your, Mr. Harry’s Carnival Foods recently acquired their liquor license. In addition to one of the most extensive shaved ice menus you’ll find anywhere, you’ll find a strictly adults-only version ‘snowtini’ for your dining pleasure.

ASAP Barbecue and Mr. Harry’s provide catering services. Whether you are looking for a fun circus themed meal, or maybe something a bit more adult-friendly, Mr. Harry’s tailors meals to their customers needs.
Last fall, I partnered with Harry to provide free shaved ice to the children in my kids’ school as part of a fundraising effort. He also provided funnel cakes at the Vacation Bible School program my kids attended last summer at his church. Most recently, he provided hot dogs, corn dogs, shaved ice and cotton candy at my son's Blue & Gold scout banquet whose theme was Circus, Circus.

Need a jump-start to summer? I recommend stopping into Mr. Harry’s Carnival Foods where his slogan is “Where Summer Never Ends.” You’ll be glad you did!

Getting Organized in the Kitchen

2011-04-01T21:04:00.000-05:00

There was nothing more frustrating for me than wanting to find a family approved, tried-and-true recipe and not being able to locate it. Was it in a cookbook, a magazine, or on an index card? And those were just the recipes I had remembered making. Often times while on the search for a specific recipe, I’d locate others that I had forgotten about, but knew my family had once enjoyed. Or I would make a mental note to try some recipes out, only to quickly forget about it- indefintely. Certainly, this was no way to live. So what's a girl to do? Get organized!

In my first attempt to get organized, I purchased two recipe binders, similar to a photo album, that had clear sleeves to fit my recipe cards. Since I transferred a lot of recipes onto index cards, in theory,it worked well. I was able to fit newpaper or magazine recipes in the sleeves, too. But, it had its drawbacks. Namely, if the recipe was exceptionally long, or if it was in a cookbook or magazine, I had to photocopy the recipe to keep add it to the binder. My two binders filled up quickly, and it got increasingly difficult to find the exact recipe I was on the hunt for. While this system was better than none, I knew there had to be a better way.

Being an organized, linear thinker, it occured to me that the concept of my binder was on the right track. That is when I decided I should type up all my recipes and put it into a Word document.

Initially, I typed up all my notecard recipes, and all the ones that I had cut out. Then I took the time to go through my cookbooks and magazines and typed those up, as well (I always included who sent me the original recipe so if I had questions or compliments, I knew who to credit). My typed pages are in protective sleeves and in a 3-ring binder.

My recipes fall into thirteen categories, which I separate by page breaks. They include, in alphabetic order: Beef, Beverages, Breads (muffins, breads, bagels, and pastries), Crock pot, Desserts, Pastas, Pork, Poultry, Salads (lettuce, gelatin and fruit), Seafood, Soups, Vegetables (side dishes and appetizers). Each section has a page divder that includes a pocket built in. I love, love, love the pockets, which holds any clipped out recipes I want to try in the future.

Now when I plan my meals every week, I can flip through my 3-ring binder and find the recipe easily. The added bonus is that my recipes don’t get wet, smudged, torn, or lost. No more dreading copying down a recipe for a friend or relative. Simply pull it up on your computer and print (or copy and paste into your e-mail).

The downside is that it took a lot of time. A lot. I am not going to downplay this negative aspect. It probably took me about six months to transfer all my recipes. Some days I would spend only 15 or 30 minutes, and other times I would have a few hours to work on it. But it was worth it. On average, using a two-column format, four recipes fit per page. With 92 pages of recipes, you can imagine how much more organized I am now that it is in one neat little binder.

Am I extreme? A perfectionist? Crazy? Yes, yes, and yes. But the bottom line is that it works for me and it might be the solution to your own organization dilemma.

Ready...Set...Let's Get Cooking!!

2011-03-21T18:23:00.000-05:00

I am always fascinating by the married couples who fight over who gets to cook. Who gets to?!? They actually enjoy it and find it relaxing. For me, cooking is something to check off my list at the end of my day. I certainly see the value in it, but I cannot say that I particularly enjoy it.

Still, cooking at home has made a comeback. In all fairness it may have never actually went away, but it seems to have gained popularity in recent years. Beyond Julia Child and Martha Stewart, there lies a plethora of shows for the cooking enthusiast: The Rachael Ray Show, Hell’s Kitchen, Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution, and my personal favorite, Master Chef. And those are just what is on regular network television. There are endless possibilities found on cable TV, too.

The simple fact is America is tuning in to hone their skills in the kitchen and, at least for the moment, we’re captivated.

For me, learning to cook was borne out of necessity. As a single woman, I did not cook anything more challenging than spaghetti or scrambled eggs. But when I married a man who had custody of his two young sons, I knew cooking was not an option. I had to learn quickly–my family was depending on it.

Maybe you are like I was and don’t cook at all, or maybe you already cook but want more variety in your repertoire of recipes after hearing one too many times “Not this AGAIN!”

The initial step in beginning to cook is taking stock. It’s time to open up your cabinets and assess your current cook-ability. What do I mean by that? Over the years you may have collected cook books and cooking magazines ,or even a lot of index cards and newspaper clippings of dishes that sounded great and you thought you might like to make some day. Even if you have never cooked before, you may be pleasantly surprised to see the number of recipes you’ve amassed over the years. You may be very encouraged to learn that you already have a head start.

Supposing that you do not already have a stash of recipes and are truly starting from scratch, you have a number of options. There is no limit to the number of cook books available in your local book store (and probably your local library). There is also a mind-numbing list of cooking magazines for every cuisine or lifestyle goal (such as weight loss or heart smart).

As far as cook books go, I feel the best cookbooks are collections of favorite recipes submitted by families who compile them into a formal book to be sold as a fundraiser (usually churches, schools, scouts and other non-profit organizations). They are chocked full of tried and true recipes from real families with real schedules. Usually void of any rare ingredients or labor intensive directions, they are family-friendly.

In addition to my cookbooks, early in my marriage I subscribed to Taste of Home’s Quick Cooking magazine. Not only was I venturing into new territory of being a new wife and full time step-mom to two young sons, I also worked full time. As much as I would have loved experimenting and challenging myself, it was about getting a kid- and husband-approved meal on the table quickly. All of the recipes were simple and to the point. It was a great starting point for me as a newbie chef.

If money is tight and you aren’t wanting to spend a lot of money to increase your recipe options, consider recipe swapping with friends and family members. Be willing to share some of your own favorites in exchange for them supplying a few of theirs. The internet is also packed with on-line recipes. In fact, many of the monthly issues of cooking magazines such as Cooking Light and Rachael Ray print their recipes on line. It’s not something they are going to advertise. After all, they would rather you buy the subscription than to obtain it free. There is the obvious downside of the general inconvenience of having to go on line to find a recipe, especially if you are hoping to find a new recipe quickly, or want the recipe in front of you without having to print it out.

Hopefully, this article will inspire you to try something new. For some people it might inspire you to start cooking and for others, to breathe new life into a chore you may not necessarily enjoy. Either way, your family will thank you for it.

From Cradle to Grave

2011-03-20T08:52:00.002-05:00

Growing up I remember reading the Mad Comic book “Cradle to Grave Primer” by Larry Siegel., a satirical American series that was often politically incorrect and racy by even today’s standards. The premise was simple but entertaining: A man recounts his life, from—what else—cradle to grave. It was a humorous look at how he developed into an awkward, gawky, nerdy teenager, unpopular with other kids; finally settling down and having a son of his own. His son, of course, was his antithesis. Popular, good looking, successful.

And the thing is I realize I am remembering this book because I can relate. To the awkward, nerdy part. For as early as I can remember I lacked confidence. In everything. I dreaded gym class because I was almost always the last one picked, which was for good reason. I lacked coordination in all things sports. I never took gymnastics, dance, soccer, softball. Unfortunately, I did not make up for academically. I was not even a particularly brilliant student making mainly B’s. I did try to play the guitar once but found myself hopelessly unable to learn the simplest of songs and quit after a matter of weeks. The only thing I was remotely good at was bowling. I stayed on a league for a few years and won many team and individual trophies. I also twirled a mean baton. Did I stay with either of those into my mid teens? You would think so, but sadly, no. What I lacked in talent, I did not make up in physical beauty. I was short, skinny, and developed very late in my teens. Even though I had a great childhood in many respects, I would never want to go back and live them again. My parents encouraged me to go after my dreams and try new things. My regret is that I didn’t take those opportunities and make the most of them.

As life imitates art, or in this case, a book—I have an overachieving son. In a totally great way. He is proof that sometimes recessive genes are more dominant. He plays the piano, the violin, and for the last year and half, the cello. He is an ‘ear player’ with music, which makes him a gifted player. His strings teacher recognized this natural ability and asked him to join her Honors and High Honors Orchestra groups, which met two mornings a week.

At church he volunteered to be part of a small core of kids who learned a Sticks routine. It’s a choreographed routine while holding sticks, much like a drumstick, set to music. After they learned this routine, they performed it twice in front of parents and other students. When he had the opportunity to take this class again, he did. This time, the kids performed in front of the church. Currently, he is learning sign language. He challenges himself time and time again.

Most recently, he’s moved into competitive gymnastics, competing for the first time in January. He even volunteered to go first on his team on all the equipment. I would not have won any parenting awards in the weeks, days and hours leading up to his meet. Rather than encouraging him on what a great time he’ll have and how great he’ll do, I prepared him for coming home without a trophy or medal. Apparently I forgot this was my successful, overachieving, confident son I was talking to. He showed me by bringing home three individual medals out of six events, with their team taking 2nd place overall. In his third championship meet just this weekend, he placed in the top four in all six events (earning a medal in each category): floor, vault, pommel horse, rings, parallel bars and high bar. He placed second overall, earning his first trophy.

Academically, he is a consistent B student. Occasionally, he earns an A but overall he is still an above average student. He is studious and considered a role model by his teacher. Even though school does not come naturally--he does need to work for his grades--he has a great attitude and a model student. What more can a parent ask for?

The fact is that I in awe of the confidence that he has in what I think are scary situations. And I wish I had half or even a quarter of his successes growing up. With all things being even, I am not sure why I was a quitter, while he is a joiner. Fortunately, he got the best of our traits, and forgot the rest. And for that, I am grateful.

Carriers and Cruises

2011-03-10T08:45:00.000-06:00

In less than a month, my husband and I will be celebrating our 13th anniversary. Thirteen might be an unlucky number but I feel fortunate that we have beaten the odds and have weathered the stormy times and come out victorious. I look back at our wedding and reception and smile contentedly. It was a magical day.

Most married couples have at least one moment from either their wedding or reception that is memorable for all the wrong reasons. Whether it is something small like an uncooperative flower girl or something more sizable like thunderstorms during an outdoor ceremony, the reality is that it never goes flawlessly. In fact, despite my fastidious planning, I knew that most likely something was going to go wrong and was determined to not become a Bridezilla in the process.

I must admit that I was almost disappointed that it all went without fault on our mildly sunny spring day. As our ushers rolled out the aisle runner, the string broke, which forced them to kick it down the aisle in a less-than-elegant fashion. At our reception we were greeted by our DJ before we made our official grand entrance urging us to immediately proceed to our cake to cut it before it toppled over. Unfortunately, it wasn’t looking quite as sturdy as the Tower of Pisa and no one was convinced it would hold up another 60 or 90 minutes. Still, as far as wedding ‘mishaps’ those are almost non-issues and I almost felt like something was wrong because nothing went wrong. Yes, I was almost disappointed.

But then we went on our honeymoon. Apparently, I spoke too soon.

The story began a few months before The Big Day. I volunteered regularly for a friend named Alice who had founded a pet rescue and adoption service. Mentioning our honeymoon plans of a cruise departing from Puerto Rico, she asked us a favor. She and her husband often traveled by cruise to various places, such as Puerto Rico and multiple Caribbean islands to rescue, spay/neuter and adopt cats and kittens from the region. (For anyone who has traveled those regions, homeless animals are plentiful). Alice asked us to allow her organization to tag approximately 20 cat/dog carriers of various sizes as check-in luggage for our flight. At the airport, a representative would be there to whisk the carriers away to the appropriate destination. They would handle the whole process and we would never been involved. With some trepidation, and as a favor to my mom who was also actively involved in their mission, we agreed.

As promised, everything went without hitch that very early Sunday morning before our flight. Truly, we were none-the-wiser that any extra luggage was checked in and we boarded our cruise line, relieved that our relaxing honeymoon was about to begin.

Until we came to our cozy cabin room and found 20 dog carriers piled high next to our luggage outside of our door. I was mortified.

Knowing that the ship was due to leave the dock in about 2 hours, we were panicked. Actually, I was panicked and my new husband was angry. From the beginning, he had more reservations about doing this ‘favor’.

Our ship purser was no Gopher from “The Love Boat”. While they tried to remain sympathetic to our cause, they also knew that this was not their problem and we were going to have to find a solution–which meant it had to be out of the hallway by the time the ship left the dock.

Fortunately, I was able to reach Alice by ship-to-shore phone lines. After she recovered from her fits of laughter she rectified the situation. In the end, the porters were able to get the dog crates back off the ship, meeting with the animal rescue group representatives.

So much for nothing going wrong. At the time, it seemed disastrous. Even though it is fun to hear “Mr. and Mrs. Krueger” for the first time, it is not fun to hear it over the intercom system of a cruise ship multiple times the first two hours of your honeymoon. Now? OK, I can talk about it, write about it–even laugh about it. And can honestly say I had that “memorable moment” (that is supposed to bring you good luck in your marriage anyway!)

And, it’s definitely one in a million.

What are YOUR memorable moments in matrimony?

Living, Breathing....and Reading "Harry Potter"

2011-02-21T18:47:00.000-06:00

Three years ago I walked around with a raised eyebrow any time the mention of Harry Potter 'the book", or Harry Potter 'the movie" was mentioned. I did not understand the overwhelming media attention. Of course, I never got sucked into the Star Wars, Star Trek, and Lord of the Rings fervour either. I am a self-declared science fiction hater. Perhaps its just the realist in me, but even as a child, I preferred The Flintstones and The Jetsons to the more 'out there' cartoons like Scooby Doo and Bugs Bunny. Harry Potter did not appeal my sense of style at all.

Publically declaring my dislike for all things Harry Potter (and science fiction), a friend encouraged me to read the first book. He said that it's not science fiction, but rather, fantasy. Since summer was approaching and I knew I would have the extra time, I decided 'what the heck' and began the series. I had spent a lot of time bashing a series I really knew nothing about, except for the movie promos.

Nearly 4 months and 4,000 pages later, I was a believer. I loved the series. Loved, Loved, Loved. As a reward for finishing each book, I watched the corresponding movie. During these four months (May to August), my then 8 year old son would ask if he could read the series or watch the movies with me. At 8, I thought he was too young to do either. Other 3rd or 4th graders had seen all the movies, whether age appropriate or not. A few had even tackled the book series. I was skeptical that children of that age could grasp either at all, much less it being appropriate for them.

It was after my husband gave me the series in hardback for Christmas that same year that I reconsidered reading them with Adam. It was under the condition that we would read them together that I said I would allow him to begin the series after his 9th birthday.

From the earliest days of his life, I had always read with Adam. We tackled the Ready Freddy series in first and second grade and read all the Magic Tree House books by the end of the summer before fourth grade. Reading chapter books together was not a new concept for us. However, tackling a series of this magnitude was definitely new. With the first two books being over 300 pages each, even the shortest of them could not be considered short. "One page at a time. One book at a time" that was my motto. The thought of tackling all 7 books sounded overwhelming by any one's standards.

Initially, Adam would read one or two pages to every 5 or 6 pages that I read. Because, let's face it, if we tried to read page for page together, we would have never have even finished one book, let alone a series. Sometimes I felt like I should have been given a sainthood status. It took an incredible amount of patience to sit through Adam's reading when we first began. Nothing will test your reading ability as reading out loud. That is true for children and adults alike. In fact, I have new found respect for people who make their living narrating books on tape. Over time, Adam has really come a long way with reading to me and he's really grown in that department. Even his teacher noticed a marked improvement in his reading/comprehension scores once we began the HP series. Now for every two pages Adam reads, I read about 4.

Taking into consideration that we, on average, read together about every other day for 30 minutes, it has taken us about 18 months to read through the first five and 1/3 books. Currently, we are two hundred pages into Half-Blood Prince, which is relatively short at 650 pages. Short? Sounds ironic, doesn't it. Yes, compared to book five "Order of the Phoenix", which is 870 pages, this one feels absolutely breezy in length. Crazy. Anyhoo....

Most of the time when I tell fellow Christians that I read this series with Adam, it is met with a little--and sometimes a lot--of criticism, which is actually the point of this blog, although I took a long time to get here. Are there series that are better suited for us to read together? Most definitely. But the fact that I have a preteen son who still wants to engage with me is more important to me than wanting to be 'politically' correct in our book choices. The simple fact is that while this book is filled with dark versus good, witchcraft and wizardry, it is also filled with friendship and love prevailing over all. In third grade Adam 'lost' his love of independent reading. If I can find a series where he feels engaged and excited by reading, then I am all for it.

As a mom, much less a devoted follower of Christ, it would be irresponsible of me to allow him to read this series unsupervised. Even if he would be able to understand it without help (which he cannot --even though he is almost 11), we need to discuss what we are reading and what it means. I can bring God and Christ into this book series, even if JK Rowling doesn't. The fact is that most of the people who feel strongly against HP have no experience with the series, either book or movie. I don't mind someone having an difference of opinion of it as me if they read it for themselves and deemed it inappropriate. What I don't like is the hypocrisy of judging something by what media, the church, or 'others' have told them rather than experiential knowledge.

In addition to challenging Adam's reading and comprehension levels, I've noticed some other great benefits. We can talk about parseltongue, Erisad, Salazar Slytherin.....anything Harry Potter, and it opens the door to talk about other great topics. Frankly, if my son is talking to me as a pre-teen, maybe I can keep that open line of communication into those rough teen years. Is it guaranteed? Of course not. But at least he is learning that his mom is relevant in his life and is hip to what he likes and doesn't like. After reading all these books together, we are already thinking ahead to what happens when it's over. We are comtemplating our options as our next book series together. It's nice to know that he appreciates this time with me, too.

No matter what opposition or judgement I face by the masses, I don't now regret, nor ever will I regret, this special time I've had with my son. I hope it's actually just the start of many more series together.

Junk or Treasure?

2011-02-21T16:39:00.001-06:00

Reproduced from an original posting by me at stlfamilylife.org

As far as winters go in the midwest, it has been a very wet one. Most of the time we see cold temperatures with a strange mix of sleet and ice. We are usually lucky to see any real snow more than once or twice. But this year we were hit with more snow than I've seen in years. So when Punxsutawney Phil declared an early spring, after an array of snow days I thought would never end, it seemed to me he had a sick sense of humor. Not to say it isn't a welcomed prediction; it seems almost like it is too good to be true.

Supposing that the predicted spring comes sooner rather than later, my thoughts are turning to spring cleaning. It’s not the cleaning that I like per se, it is the organization part that energizes me. I actually enjoy cleaning out closets, drawers and the basement of items that we don’t want or need anymore. And I love it even more when the Salvation Army, Vietnam Vets, or another donation truck carries it all away. But what happens when you have large items that they don’t pick up, or alternately, you have something of value that could earn you money? Below are some great options no matter what your situation.

ebay

Originally named AuctionWeb, ebay was created in 1995 and was renamed after the creator’s consulting firm Echo Bay. It was an instant hit and is still a great way to buy or sell just about anything. In the late 1990s to early 2000′s, my husband and I were regular buyers and sellers on the site. Our surprise sell was a large battery powered Iron Giant figurine. We knew it was a rare find, but were especially pleased to watch a bidding war that resulted in it netting us over $110. They have improved the site over the years and it is easy to navigate whether a buyer or seller. The advantage to selling on ebay is that you have the option to set a reserve price of the minimal you will accept for a sold item, as well as a ‘buy it now’ price. The downside is that most auctions last 5 to 7 days, and in the end, may not even sell at all. It can also get pricey when you have multiple pictures and various listing fees.

Craigslist

Craig Newmark founded the service in 1995 as an email distribution list of friends, featuring local events in the San Francisco area, before expanding as a web-based business in 1999. In many respects, Craigslist is a simplified ebay, although it has classified ads, personal ads and even discussion forums. When we wanted to sell our son’s loft bed, Craigslist was the perfect choice. We wanted to list it locally and knew it needed to be picked up since shipping it was not an option. Generally speaking, we’ve had no trouble selling the items we put on there, but have had limited success in finding specific items we’re hoping to buy at a discounted price. Ebay has much better selection in that respect.

Freecycle

Although founded in 2003, Freecycle is a relatively unknown web-based service. Freecycle is the perfect place to offer large donatable items to fellow St. Louisans for free. Over the Christmas holiday, we were able to find permanent homes for a large sleeper sofa, 100 paver bricks, old cookbooks, my in-laws NordicTrack and a rug anti-slip backer. The sofa had been an eye sore in our basement for several years. I had exhausted all efforts to find a new home for it and was delighted to hear about Freecycle. We found a new home for every item we listed that week within 24 hours. Of course, the catch is that you are giving them away free to whomever is willing to come get them first. You cannot come back and ask for money. We also found that on several occasions we had no-shows and had to contact alternate takers. Could some of those items have earned us money? Most certainly. But, honestly, we were glad to be rid of them and the delight of having them gone outweighed the desire to make a few extra dollars or to lose out on the tax break that you would earn if donated to a charity. Another downside is that as a seller it’s not a particularly easy site to navigate, whether creating your initial account, or posting pictures to go with your ad. As a buyer, it’s simple and easy to use. It was my favorite new find of 2010.

So, as you clean out those closets and storage units this spring, think about the different options you have to rid your house of unwanted clothes, books, household items or tools. After all, what you consider junk may just be another man’s treasure.

To Facebook and Beyond

2011-02-21T14:11:00.000-06:00

Hi, my name is Bonnie and I was a Facebook addict.

While it's embarrassing to actually type those words, it's true. It took me awhile to catch on to the whole FB phenomenon, but once I figured it all out, I was hooked. Initially, it was the rush of finding friends, former classmates and former co-workers and sending or accepting friend requests. Then I loved the quizzes like "What is your Harry Potter patronus?" or "Which Disney princess are you?" Eventually the new-ness of FB wore off and I felt like I had caught up on the lives of the roughly 200 friends I had. That's when I turned to games like Farkle, Wheel of Fortune, Family Feud, Bejeweled-and my favorite, Zuma Blitz. The fact was that no matter what I was doing on FB, it was too much. Too much lost time on something that had little value.

Over the three years I was a registered user, my husband and I argued about it off and on. He did not understand why I wasted so much time on it and I found myself defending my position. In the last year, I definitely limited my time on it, although in hindsight, it was still excessive.

Over the same three years, I thought about privacy and security issues. Honestly, there was a little nudge in my heart and mind that made me wonder if this was really a secure thing to do. Posting pictures of my family and statuses that revealed personal information was probably questionable. Once I put things out there, they were out there forever. And I worried about it more and more. So when my husband approached me earlier this month and urged me to reconsider FB altogether for security reasons, I had to agree. At his work, my husband had been approached by some pretty high officials urging him and others in his work group (and their family members) to get off social networking sites. Seemed to me it was confirmation of something I had considered myself but did not have the courage to do.

Part of me was sad when I deleted my account but another part of me was relieved. In the short 10 days that I've been a recovered FB'er I have learned a lot about myself and have found this to be a mostly positive experience. Maybe what I discovered about myself is not typical. I suppose a more secure person with a more balanced approach would not relate. Still, I imagine I am not alone.

Insecurity

The biggest thing I learned is that all the insecurities I had as a child, teenager and young adult are still with me today. In fact, I think FB surfaced a lot of those insecurities that I did not realize I still harboured . Nothing like a social networking site to highlight your popularity factor. Not to say I did not have friends--I actually had 250 at one point. Of course, define 'friend'. Three quarters of my friends probably wouldn't cross a street to greet me so do they really count? There is something rather depressing about posting a status you think is funny, entertaining, poignant or profound and get almost zero response. And how many pictures do people really want to see of me or my kids? The fact remains that whether or not I am on FB, true friends will keep in touch and are genuinely interested in my life and seeing pictures of my family. The fact also remains that my self worth is based on my life itself and should never be based on a shallow Internet experience like Facebook. No longer am I rushing to check my notifications to see how well liked I am. Relief.

Voyeurism

My husband would tease me that FB was nothing more than socially acceptable voyeurism and I agreed. In hindsight, it seems kind of creepy to me that to expose so much of our lives to a number of people we barely know. No offense, but do I really care how wonderful your elementary school is where you teach or that you are working as a fitness trainer and have to be awake at 4 a.m. Or that you audition regularly for bit parts in television commercials. Probably no more than you caring about my day to day life. It seems to me FB is just a way to toot our own horns and scream out in a silent way "Look at ME, Look at ME".

Contentment

Each person fights personal demons and silent battles. Struggling with depression, I am no stranger to the ups and downs in my own life. But I noticed that almost instantly after disconnecting from FB, I became much more content with my own life. Maybe this falls in-between voyeurism and insecurity, but how easy is it to get caught up in comparing your life to others based on what they post as statuses or in picture or video form? Don't we all paint our lives in the best tone possible for our social networking followers to see? No one is happy ALL the time with the lives they lead. I had to tell myself to stop comparing my marriage to that of my newlywed friends or with the overachieving friends across town, I know everyone has struggles in their lives but living in the FB bubble, it was easy to fall into the trap that every one's lives were better than mine. And I do have a pretty sweet life.

Time

One of the positives I've witnessed in my own life in the last 10 days is in regards to time. The first thing I would do in the morning was grab my first cup of java and sit down in front of the computer and lose at least an hour on FB. Easily, I would find myself spending 15 or 30 minutes playing the various games and checking out the statuses on the scrolling home page, several times a day. Shameful as it was, I could conservatively estimate I lost 3 or more hours a day to the networking site. Certainly I had better things to do. Still, in my addictive personality way, I would keep coming back to the computer several times a day. In my defense I still accomplished a lot and never neglected my children or my responsibilities at home. But, I can say that I often felt overwhelmed at how rushed I always felt to complete everything I wanted to in one day. Having the extra hours in my day not sucked away by the computer is making me feel more at ease and much more even-tempered emotionally. When I think of the hours lost, I am almost sick at how much I could have otherwise accomplished. What about my down time? I still have it. I spend some time watching TV shows I don't otherwise make the time to watch, or reading a novel I've been wanting to read. And writing for fun.

Personal Connection

Hands down, the best part of giving up FB is reconnecting with my family. No longer is my attention and loyalties divided. Even though my husband did not notice I was off FB until I actually told him yesterday, he did notice a change in our intimacy. And the kids are getting a lot more of my time. We read together and spend a lot of time just engaging one another. And they don't feel second best anymore. While I would never have considered myself neglectful in any form of the word, I also put my focus on the computer more than them at times. Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems to me that the kids are arguing less and seem happier. There just might be direct connection. Either way, home life has improved.

For all the arguments on why getting off FB has been a great thing, it doesn't mean I don't miss it. Sometimes I do. But rather than missing the abstract reasons of games and quizzes, I miss the ease of communicating with my friends. And the general curiosity of what is going on their lives, whether that is voyeuristic or not. Yet, all I need to do is remind myself that my true friends will still keep in touch and our relationship will be better for it. It's even a great excuse to go to Happy Hour together, or grab some dinner.

The bottom line is that FB was great for a season but it's time to move on. It was a very fun way to reconnect with people from my past and create new relationships for the present. Facebook account or not, my true friends will still want to be my friend. It may take more effort and the communication be more limited. But honest-to-goodness relationships beat Facebook any day of the week.

Got Puppy? Now What?!?

2011-01-13T08:08:00.000-06:00

Amended from original publication from the STLFL magazine in January 2011.

With my youngest child off to kindergarten every day (half days), what did we decide to do? Adopt a puppy of course! With the holidays come and gone, many families may now find themselves like us with a new four legged furry family member too. After all, what is better than the squeals of joy at the pure delight the new puppy brings on Christmas morning? That pure joy, however, can quickly turn into overwhelming disillusionment if you are unprepared for life with puppy.

When we adopted Snickers (read about his adoption in the And They Call it Puppy Love blog), it was a spur of the moment decision that my husband and I had not really thought through. While I do not regret making him part of our family, the reality is that I wish someone had given me pearls of wisdom for those first few weeks of adjustment, which in theory, would have made the adjustment phase go more smoothly. My disclaimer is that I am not a breeder, a vet, or any kind of pet specialist. Please do not substitute my judgement for that of trained professionals. I am simply hoping to pass along real life practical tips that I helped me in unchartered territory.

Crate Training

Before nightfall, just hours after adopting Snickers, we decided that he should sleep in his cage at night. And not in our bedroom. Surely he would whine and cry the first few nights, and honestly, I did not need anything else to disturb my already dysfunctional sleep. I knew that if his crate was in our bedroom, at the first hint of a whine or cry, I would take him out of the cage and put him in bed with us. I knew that because that is what happened with my first dog Boo—and my cat. I admit it. I am weak.

In addition to not wanting to end up sharing my pillow with the new pup, I also understood that nighttime wandering opens up opportunity for Snickers to get up in the night and relieve himself or decide that, while unsupervised, endless chewing was a great idea. The important key is that whether you gate off a confined area, or use a crate, they need to be confined and have a safe area to call their own.

I also use the crate for any time Snickers is left home alone, whether it be a quick 15 minute errand, or for several hours at a time. Since dogs typically do not want to soil their crate, keep in mind that you never want to leave an un-housebroken dog in their crates for extended periods of time, if it can be helped.

Another time to use crate training is strictly as a safe haven when you have visitors. I had a group of Bible study ladies and their kids over at our house just a few weeks after we got Snickers and found him and my guests to be happier while he was confined. Even as I began writing this article, Snickers was in his crate while my daughter and her playdate ate lunch. Her friend was scared of the rambunctiousness of the dog and I felt it to be an appropriate response. For best results, do not crate your pup as a punishment. You never want the dog to associate the crate with being a bad place to go.

Some animal lovers may think that crating a dog is cruel, but if it is a safe, comfortable refuge, they will find it a great place to be. Always leave the crate door open during the day. You may find they use it when they don’t have to.

Dog Food

With my first dog, Boo, I fed him moist food in addition to his dry food, and gave him scraps of people food all the time. This led to unfortunate episodes of…bodily functions. The fact is I wasn’t doing him any favors by spoiling him with food that he shouldn’t have been given. Dogs have sensitive systems that can rebel if their food is suddenly changed or mixed. Since its in my nature to spoil my pup with people food, I’ve compromised by supplementing Snickers’ diet with Natural Balance brand dog food, which is a soft meat roll (much like consistency of Braunschweiger) that can be used as treats or shaved to top the dry kibble. It comes in a variety of flavors and package sizes.

Our vet told me that puppies will rarely overeat. He suggested I put out a certain amount of food each time. When Snickers is done eating (which takes anywhere from two to five minutes, tops!), pick up the food bowl until next feeding, rather than letting him graze. If he finishes his food completely right away, then he probably needs more per serving. Leaving a few kibble pieces at the end of each meal is the best case scenario in knowing that your dog is getting the appropriate amount of food.

Housebreaking

Arguably the most difficult challenge to having a new puppy, except maybe their sharp little razor teeth, is the dreaded housebreaking. Fortunately, with the beautiful weather we had last fall, Mother Nature made this a whole lot easier for our family. Snickers house trained in roughly 3 weeks, with only a rare accident in the house.

I am convinced that he house trained so well because I was diligent and consistent in taking him outside. Initially, for the first four weeks, I brought him outside on a leash every thirty minutes. Time and labor intensive? Certainly. Worth it? Absolutely.

Give your house training pup the time to do all his business. It takes them a little bit of time for them to fully empty their bladders and this will help save you some frustration in the process. Being autumn, Snickers often got distracted by chasing blowing leaves and by the multitude of people walking in the mild weather. He would often need to squat three or four times to completely empty his bladder.

It is also important to find the right Puppy Chow for your pup’s system. The wrong food can increase his need to relieve himself and increase your frustration in training. We asked our vet for his suggestion and quickly found a food that allowed Snickers to find success in the area of house training.

As labor intensive as house breaking is, I am glad I invested the time. Now that he is 4 months old, I usually only take him out once an hour, and have learned to discern his specific need when it’s time to be let out.

You’ll also want to invest in a good ’pooper scooper,’ to clean up the, um, treats that your puppy leaves behind in the yard. Particularly one with a long handle so you don’t have to get too close to the mud pie left behind. You’ll thank me for that piece of advice later.

These subjects scratch only the surface of things I have discovered since adopting Snickers. There is the subject of dog safety, obedience training, and how to handle the biting and chewing that ultimately comes with the little razor teeth. In all the unpleasant and difficult aspects of raising a puppy, there is still a lot of joy, too. If a puppy is right for your family, go for it! Because the puppy stage doesn’t last forever, but the family memories of your beloved dog will!

Family of Origin

2011-01-02T11:44:00.000-06:00

NBC is renewing its runaway hit show "Who Do You Think You Are", whose premise is simple. They take a well known Hollywood person and research their ancestry. At first I thought the concept odd. What are these famous people hoping to find--um, famous relatives? Irony at its best. Famous or not, most people are interested in their family lineage and enjoy learning about relatives of different eras, cultures or backgrounds.

For various reasons, I was unsuccessful in researching my mom’s Yugoslavian heritage, so I decided to research my dad's family. I uncovered a French Canadian background from my grandmother's lineage. It became clear that my great grandma Longbottom chose love over money when she left a more affluent lifestyle to marry great grandpa Rau. Another fun discovery was that many of the aforementioned Longbottoms are buried in the same cemetery as the Shortsleeves. Truly. I'm just not that clever to make something like that up. As my research continued I also discovered that this French Canadian history connected us to some famous people: James Dean, Amelia Earhart, former first lady Laura Bush, Louis Pasteur--and my favorite, Joan of Arc.

While my grandma's family lends itself to some pretty interesting genealogy, the same cannot be said about my dad’s father’s family of origin, the Olsen’s. Not unless you think emigrating from Norway and settling in Chicago is exciting. No famous people, no affluence. Yet, despite the common nature of our family, we found one claim to fame through Olaf, my great grandfather. He had a prolific career as a driver, pipeman and fireman for the Chicago Fire Department. In the early 1900’s, he was photographed on his horse drawn steam pumper making its way through the busy streets of Chicago. This photograph was later reproduced in the National Geographic "We Americans" book, circa 1975. This has been a treasured part of the Olsen family legacy passed down throughout the ages.

When I received my own book copy, I eagerly turned to page 299 to find this reproduced photograph, reading the caption. "A steam pumper thunders down a New Haven, Connecticut, street in 1910 during the waning days of glory for horse and steamer." Yikes. Clearly the book publishers have false information. This photo was taken in Chicago. From there I contacted the New Haven fire department to ask about the integrity of the photograph. I received the following (amended) response:

This is a famous fire photo taken in 1910 by a student photographer on assignment in New Haven to cover Yale Commencement, specifically the graduation of President Taft's son, Robert Taft. The student was, en route to Union Station, having failed to complete his assignment, namely photographing young Mr. Taft, when he observed Engine 2, driven by Tom Lowery, racing to an alarm. With but one plate remaining in his Press Graflex camera, he recorded the moment. The resulting photo has become a classic fire photo, reproduced many times through the years. Ironically, Taft was standing on the corner of Elm and College and was captured in the picture.

And there you have it. It's not my great grandfather at all. A 100 hundred year old legacy debunked in a matter of one e-mail. I decided that the confusion is as simple as this: The man in the photograph bears an uncanny resemblance to Olaf and the picture was passed around because of the likeness in both physical appearance and occupation. "Doesn't this look like Great Grandpa Olaf" turned into "This is Great Grandpa Olaf". Even Olaf’s last surviving son, who died in 2008, resisted the notion that our claim to fame was just a big misunderstanding.

Researching our family trees is a beautiful way to understand who we are. Then again, sometimes it's about understanding who we aren't.

And They Call it Puppy Love!

2010-11-04T07:42:00.001-05:00

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

2010-09-18T10:34:00.000-05:00

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

2010-08-12T13:19:00.000-05:00

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

2010-08-12T13:16:00.000-05:00

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

2010-08-12T13:13:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-28T10:47:00.000-05:00

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

2010-05-23T15:39:00.005-05:00

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

2010-05-21T15:09:00.003-05:00

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

2010-05-18T18:18:00.003-05:00

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

2010-05-18T08:37:00.005-05:00

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

2010-05-04T16:28:00.003-05:00

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 spiralling 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 at 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

2010-05-01T08:40:00.002-05:00

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

2010-04-23T16:48:00.005-05:00

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

2010-04-19T18:22:00.004-05:00

"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

2010-04-13T12:07:00.001-05:00

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!

Our Disney Trip (Day Three): The Little Engine That Could

2010-04-13T11:56:00.004-05:00

If I was to name the most memorable part of our time at Magic Kingdom, I would point to the first roller coaster ride for our entire family. Elise was tall enough--and brave enough--to ride Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. It reminded me a lot of Six Flag's first roller coaster, the Mine Train. Only the Disney one had a little more kick to it.

As it turned out, we sat in the last two cars of our train. Tony sat with Elise for protection. I think we were both a little apprehensive of how she would do on it. Up to this point, the only ride that packed a punch was Splash Mountain, which she loved. But, nonetheless, there are a lot of people who cannot handle roller coasters and Elise is only 5.....

But off we go. I glance behind me and while she is wide eyed and tense, she's smiling, too. Yet, we make the final incline inside a mini-tunnel, only to come to a slow crawl, and then after inching forward, to a stop. The animated voice coming from the tunnel for "special effects" repeats his phrase three or four times. Then it stopped. It occurs to me then that maybe something is wrong. The ride has broken down while we're on it.

Making the most of the situation, I am thinking "This is cool. How often do you get to break down on a roller coaster. What a story to add to our Disney adventure. And for Elise, what a great story to tell about her first roller coaster."

After sitting on the track for at least five or ten minutes, I decide it's a good time to break out the camera and snap some pictures from our eagle eye's view. After all, how often to you get to take pictures on the track? Tony broke out the video camera and filmed, too.

Waiting. Waiting....

Waiting some more....

We were in the final turn of the track and before it stopped completely, we had leveled out on the track. Once I realized the train was going nowhere and we'd be making an "emergency exit" , I did glance to the side to see our walking path, which included steps leading to the exit. The back end of the train tracks was up higher than the front end, and it was going to require someone hoisting me and the kids out of our seats and down to safety. When the workers came seat by seat to release us, they most likely breathed a sigh of relief I wasn't 300 pounds as they lifted me over. It occurred to me that had we been only four people behind in line, we would have missed the ride altogether and instead, been turned away from riding at all.

Much to the chagrin of the frazzled teenager in charge, I snapped one more picture exiting the ride. At least we were all handed fast passes for any ride in the park for our time and trouble. What did we use it on? Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Once it was up and running, of course!!

Unexpected Sightings at Disney World

2010-04-13T11:11:00.002-05:00

Lilo and Stitch. Peter Pan and Wendy. Cinderella's fairy godmother. Pocahontas. Those are just some of the character sightings on our week-long trip. I suppose in my first blog about Magic Kingdom, I've placed a lot of emphasis on who we saw and took the time to stand in line for. I was probably more enthusiastic about them than the kids. Then there were the characters I wanted to see: Chip and Dale, Ariel, Monsters Inc. characters. Maybe even Pinocchio and the Seven Dwarf's. For me, that is part of the magic of Disney. Where else can you get up so close and personal. The joy on Elise's face was priceless, too.

What struck me, though, was the frequency we ran into people we did know from back home. On our first day in Magic Kingdom we were in line for the Dumbo ride. We met a nice family from Texas, Dave and his wife Janie, and their two daughters. We chatted while we waited. After discovering we were from St. Louis, we talked about his brother who lives just 10 minutes from us. We talked about the church we attend and the church where he works. We also talked about this being our first big Disney trip and they gave us a run down on their itinerary. Lovely family. Lo and behold, just three days later we run into them at Animal Kingdom. Again, we stopped and chatted about how our trips were coming along. We joked about how exhausting and overwhelming the parks had been, yet how much fun we were having at the same time. As luck would have it, we ran into them one more time two days later at Downtown Disney, outside the Lego shop. Seriously, what are the odds? Hundreds of thousands of people and we run into them not once, but twice more? In hindsight, I wish we had exchanged numbers or emails. It would have been fun to swap stories and pictures.

On that same first day at Magic Kingdom we ran into the Patton's from Adam's school and cub scout den,while in line to see Buzz Lightyear. As luck would have it, we ran into them again exiting the raft water ride at Animal Kingdom. We also ran into some kids from Adam's church class in Tomorrowland.

Just days before leaving on our trip, I discovered that we would be there the same week as a friend from high school that I hadn't seen since graduation 25 years earlier. Keith and I exchanged numbers and decided that on Thursday of our trips might be the time to try to meet up. Sadly, we missed the opportunity by about 30 minutes. We were driving to Downtown Disney just moments after they had left. It was frustrating to be so close and yet for the timing to not work out. At least we tried.

I told Adam that most likely we would run into people we knew at some point, but to run into the same families multiple times? Who would have thought the odds of seeing familiar faces from home would actually be easier than seeing Dopey? Go figure.

Our Disney Trip (Day Three): Magic Kingdom (Part 2)

2010-04-13T09:03:00.004-05:00

Our second day in Orlando started out much the same as the first. Clear, sunny skies with a high of 70 degrees expected. Since temperatures had reached 71 the day before, we knew it would be another perfect day. I must admit there is a learning curve to the parks. Certain rides have incredibly long waits in the high-traffic season. It is certainly smart to use their fast pass option. You place your admission ticket into a machine of the attraction you want to ride and it spits out a pass with an hour long time slot for you to return and by-pass the line. It took until the second day to really get the hang of it. It certainly saved us a lot of time in line and we found ourselves moving through the rides at a much quicker pace.

The first ride we went to was Space Mountain. Of all the rides at Magic Kingdom, this is the one Adam talked about the most. He was very patient in waiting until the second day to ride it, so it certainly was our priority on day two. Elise was not tall enough to ride, so we also utilized the ride share/ride switch option. When I talked with Adam about the rides, I really encouraged him to ride everything. For years his classmates had talked about their Disney experiences and created a lot of buzz about Space Mountain and Splash Mountain. It was finally Adam's turn to be part of that group of kids and I knew he would regret chickening out at the last minute. I also promised him a "I Rode Space Mountain" t-shirt if he conquered his fear. Fortunately, he did ride it and we had twenty less dollars in our pocket. Again, money well spent. Adam was proud of himself and loved the ride.

What was interesting about this day is that we had a lot of the scarier rides left, which meant that Elise's opinion of "rides" was probably going to change. From there we went to Splash Mountain. It's a water ride with a roller coaster element. There is one incredibly steep drop, which Elise had never experienced. Fortunately, she LOVED it. We couldn't resist buying the print the park offers. We thought our expressions were pretty hysterical. The fact that Elise is tucked down into the seat is pretty hilarious too. She was scared in the moment but had so much fun in the end.

Another highlight for Adam was the Monsters Inc. Laugh Floor. It is an audience participation comedy show. In the opening sequence they flashed Adam up on the jumbo tron screen, which he thought was the most awesome experience. Out of literally hundreds of people, they singled him out. They had a "name" for Adam underneath his image, but we don't remember what it said now. He said he was famous in the Disney world now. OK....we'll give him that one. No need to burst his bubble. The show itself was not one of Tony and my favorites but the kids really enjoyed it.

What surprised me most was how busy the Frontierland section was. I couldn't figure out if there was less walkway or what, but since there was only a half dozen rides and shows, it certainly didn't seem like it should be so jam packed. Insanely busy. Truly insane. It was here we enjoyed Elise's first real roller coaster, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Like I said, my daughter was fearless, entirely eager to ride everything she could, including this one. I liken this coaster to our Mine Train with a kick. The four of us had the last two cars in the train, with Tony and Elise riding in the caboose. Her reaction when it was over? Well, I am saving that for my next pictorial blog. This ride ended up being the most memorable of the day. It deserves it's own blog. Really.

Our big restaurant of this day was the character lunch at Crystal Palace. It was here we ate with Pooh bear, Piglet, Tigger and, my favorite, Eeyore. We had done this lunch with Michael and Brandon 11 years ago and knew it would be fun for our two. We love the 100 acre woods friends. With the efficiency of the princess breakfast, I was sorely disappointed with the lack of coordination with this luncheon. First, I missed Eeyore, which had nothing to do with them, but it really irked me that I was in the buffet line when he donned our table. After Eeyore, Pooh came by in orderly fashion. But then it took what seemed like forever Tigger to come by the table. And Piglet was just missing in action. We were done eating and ready to leave, with my fingers tapping on the table, wondering why he was absent. I suppose I assumed their greetings were done in orderly fashion like the princesses. Not that I wanted to rush through our meals, but we had a lot to do yet, and I did not want to waste any time. Perhaps a server noticed the angst in my face, or heard me kvetching, but finally she asked who we had yet to see. Within 5 minutes, Piglet made his way to our table. Of all the restaurants we dined over the week's time, this was certainly the one I felt lacked the Disney professionalism.

By the end of our second day, we had experienced 35 of the 40 shows and rides (with Cinderella's Carousel being ridden 3 times in the two days. It remained one of her favorites!) It was also at the end of our first day that I realized that Tony and I had come on this trip with two different expectations. He intended on staying until the parks closed each night. On the other hand, I was content to stay only as late as we had energy. We found ourselves at odds a bit the first night at Magic Kingdom. After 12 hours, I was exhausted and my feet and legs ached. I was ready to go home. He wanted to stay for the parade. In the end, I won out. On the second night, we knew we would stay until the park closed.

By staying, it allowed us to ride Speedway a second time (which Elise drove with me the second time. And can I just say she was a better driver than Adam. It was seriously funny and I joked around with Adam about it later) and ride a few rides that had longer lines earlier in the day. It was also when we finally made our way through Mickey and Minnie's Toontown, which is where Mickey and Minnie stay for character greeting. Much to Tony's chagrin, we waited in line for about 30 minutes to finally meet them. I could not fathom leaving the park without seeing them. I was concerned that our odds of finding them at the other parks would be lessened. Now or never mentality.

The parade was certainly a highlight. We saw a lot of characters we had missed throughout the day. Often times, if I saw a character but we didn't want to stand in line, I'd take a picture from a distance. Sometimes a random child would be in my photograph but a girls got to do what a girls got to do. While I wanted to make character sightings a priority, I also did not want to waste all our time in line either. It was a fair compromise. Anyone who comes to Disney and misses the parade is missing the essence of Disney. It was magical.

Leaving Magic Kingdom, we were exhausted but pleased with how much we had seen and done in two days. After the monorail experience the first day, we opted to ride the ferry back to the parking lot. It was cold and windy, but a lot of fun for the kids. This trip they were experiencing plane rides, subway-type train rides (in the airport between terminals), the monorail and now a ferry. Awesome.

Our Disney Trip (Day Two): Magic Kingdom (Part 1)

2010-04-12T15:58:00.003-05:00

On our first morning in Orlando, we awoke to a crisp blue, sunny sky. It allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief. The bad weather that had plagued Florida the previous few days happily departed upon our arrival. High temperature for the day was slated to be about 70 degrees with sunny skies. Perfect weather. After a travel day that was more frustrating than rewarding, I was thankful to be getting off to a strong start. Tony and I carefully packed our day bag together: money, tickets, snacks, camera, camcorder. Checked and double checked, we were ready to make our drive to the parks.

First up, princess breakfast at Cinderella's castle. Leading up to our vacation, if you were to ask Elise if she was excited about our trip, she would probably give you a vague shrug of the shoulders and answer "I guess". Rather than stemming from over-indulgence and being spoiled, her answer comes from blissful ignorance. Even though Adam and I had gone to Six Flags a dozen times in the last 5 years, Elise had never been to an amusement park. Call me cheap or lazy, but with prices being what they are, my kids generally do not don the doors of our local Six Flags until they are about 6 years old. When we tried to explain she would be riding rides and seeing shows, she really had no concept of what that actually meant. In our attempt to encourage excitement and enthusiasm we switched emphasis and told her we would have breakfast with Cinderella, Belle, Snow White, etc. on our first morning---and meet up with Mickey and Minnie and other Disney characters throughout the day. That helped create the buzz of excitement for her. Having said that, Elise is definitely not as into the Disney princesses as some girls her own age. She likes them and all, but she does not spend her day wanting to play dress up and having tea parties. But having taken this trip 11 years ago with Tony's two older boys the princess breakfast was one experience we didn't have before, so we thought it a perfect opportunity. We were hopeful that it would be a highlight of her Magic Kingdom rememberances. At $149 for two adults and two children to eat breakfast, we sure hoped so, at least!

We make our way into the parking lot and ready to board the tram promptly at 9 a.m. when Tony grabbed our backpack and said "Got the video camera?", to which mine was a resounding "No, I do not. We must have left it at the condo." Lovely. Since the still camera was with it, we had no choice but for Tony to drive back to the condo to get it. There was no way I would spend our first day without it. But make no mistake, I was mad. Not at myself or Tony. It was not necessarily anyone's fault and nothing was going to be made right by placing blame. But I was thinking "Not only will Tony miss our first big event, but I won't even have a camera to capture the moment." Honestly, it just sucked.

Still, we had to make our way forward. I plod forward with the kids, riding the monorail across the parking lot to the park gates. My initial reaction? Recession. What recession? A sea of people have flooded the entrance. From my perspective, Orlando is still the most magical place on earth. Consider the economy stimulated. Sheesh. It was enough to make your head swim.

Arriving at breakfast, I explain that not everyone was there and Tony is at least 30 minutes or maybe even an hour behind us. There was good news and bad news. The good news is that they will hold your reservation but you must wait until your whole party has arrived to be seated. The bad news is that I had both cell phones (yeah, I know!) and I had no idea how long we would be waiting. I knew in the end I would be happier for him not to miss it and to have the cameras to capture it. Still, waiting with the kids was maddening. We wandered along the general area of main street, even allowing the staff photographer to photograph us in front of the castle and enjoyed the mosaic piece inside the castle. But having to stay in plain sight of Tony definitely limited my ability to entertain the kids. They were understandably hungry and anxious.

We really did enjoy breakfast. In addition to the princesses listed above, we also had Aurora and Jasmine come by our table for photos. We wondered if they would add the Princess and the Frog, which they did not. And, Ariel. She was missing. Because she is a mermaid, they keep her in her grotto in Fantasyland. You have to stand in a line to meet her. (The line to see Ariel was always incredibly long, and in the end, we never did see her, which was alright by Elise. I think she was so dazzled by everything going on around her, she really did not notice her absence.) Honestly, the breakfast was so well done that even Adam really enjoyed himself. For the boys, they handed out swords, and for the girls they had magic wands. And "wishing stars" for both. (Jasmine was my favorite. Her abs were amazing and she was dazzling in her costume. I would think Tony would be in agreement with me!) Plus they give you an 8x10 of your kids with Cinderella and an 8x10 of the castle as part of the package, tip included. It was money well spent.

We had lost a solid hour but since we would have two days in this park, we definitely felt like we could pace ourselves. My personal goal was to make sure Elise was not overwhelmed as we began the rides. While we were waiting for Tony, Elise had her eye on the carrousel. I like carrousels as much as the next guy, but really? At Disney World, THAT is what she wants to ride? It's named Cinderella's Golden Carrousel but it is like any other one you would find elsewhere. Certainly nothing spectacular about it. Still, she was hell bent on riding it, so we went there first. We stayed in the Fantasyland portion of the park for the better part of our first day, much to Adam's chagrin. On our plane ride, he and I had mapped out the rides he was looking forward to at each park. Adam was looking forward to the big rides, Space Mountain, Splash Mountain, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and Pirates of the Caribbean. Somehow riding Dumbo and Winnie the Pooh wasn't necessarily his first choice. Still, watching Elise's excitement and joy riding these rides was infectious. I promised him that we would get to all his favorite rides, too. We did briefly make our way to Tomorrowland to ride Speedway. We also rode Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin, which is much like our Scooby Doo ride at Six Flags. Being spring break we certainly encountered some waiting in line for each ride, but this was by far the longest wait at an hour. I'd have to say that it was the one ride that I didn't feel like was worth the wait. :(

The kids enjoyed their first 3-D show experience, which was Philhar-Magic. I probably watched Elise reaching out in front of her to grab the image as much as I watched the show. Tony and I discovered early on that Elise was fearless. When other kids were cautious or downright scared, she was all smiles.

For me, character sighting was a huge part of what I was looking forward to. I knew that this would be the one trip to Disney that both kids would probably agree to be photographed with them. I had memories of having a lot more character sightings 11 years ago. Perhaps they employ less, or keep them contained to certain areas of the park, but when we managed to get to the end of the day without a glimpse of Mickey and Minnie, I was shocked. Despite some disappointments from an adult perspective, at the end of our very tiring day, we certainly counted it a success.

Our Disney Trip : Travel Day

2010-03-27T18:47:00.005-05:00

If you were to ask someone how they read a book, I guess most people would say "From the beginning. Duh." Or maybe their response would be "From page one" or maybe "From Chapter One". A few years ago that might have been my answer too. But now I would answer "At the dedications and acknowledgement page." Or maybe even "The Table of Contents". Surely many people skip those and jump right to the heart of the story. Still, I think that any good story has a story behind the story. An author will often set the tone for the pages that follow the opening pages. I figure if they take the time to include it in their book, shouldn't we take the time to read it.

Such is the case with our trip to Disney. Isn't there always a story behind the story? For those who know me and Tony well, it comes no surprise that we are planners. We booked our trip months ago, with our park restaurant reservations, condo/hotel booking and flights firmly in place. It's always the last minute details I find to be the most stressful. Honestly, for me I felt the stress begin to creep in about a month before our trip when Elise started to present with upper respiratory symptoms. Sadly, she rarely goes two months between illnesses and with her compromised immunity, it is almost always turns into a bacterial infection needing antibiotics. The good news is that she was getting this illness out of the way in enough time to get really sick and to be on (and off) the prescribed drugs before our trip. Or so you would think. Three trips to the doctor in three weeks and three separate prescriptions for antibiotics later, she finally recovered. (Running 104 degree fever five days before our trip after two solid weeks on prescription drugs had me stressed to say the least). True enough, the pink stuff was going to go to Disney with us, but alas, her coughing was minimum and she was mostly healthy. During that medical fiasco I found myself visiting my beloved eye doctor not once but twice fighting not one, but two , separate eye infections. Packed alongside Elise's pink antibiotics would be my eye drops. Swell. But, alas, we're off and running and pumped for a GREAT vacation.

With the crazy week of cleaning, shopping, errand running, bill paying and packing behind us, my dad drives us to the airport without a hitch. Plane was on time and we're all pleased with how stress-free our trip is so far. The kids are equally enthusiastic about their first ever plane ride. Well, actually, it was Adam's second. We flew to Arizona to visit Bil and Thel Keane of the Family Circus cartoon when he was 14 months old. But that really doesn't count, right? The flight attendant catches wind of it being their first flight and even welcomes them aboard by name over the loud speaker. It truly was a great start. The flight itself was a little bumpy--literally. As we left St. Louis we approached some inclement weather the closer we get to Georgia, which was from where we were catching our connecting flight. Turbulence rocked the plane pretty steadily the entire flight. The good news is the kids were none the wiser. As far as they knew, it was par for the course. For me and Tony... well, we hoped it wasn't Oceanic Flight 815 all over again.

Fortunately, we had plenty of time to walk to another concourse to catch our second flight. The bad news is that our second flight was delayed. At first it was only by about 45 minutes. But over the course of time, the delays mounted to 3 1/2 hours. Ugh! The torrential rains in Orlando was not helping matters. Frustrations mounted for me and the kids. Our proposed time-line was perfect. Reach Orlando around 3 p.m. and drive to our condo, do a little grocery shopping as a family to stock our kitchen for breakfasts and snacks in the park and in the evenings, and a nice first dinner to kick off the trip. Ahh, perfection. But it was what it was and now our flight was arriving around 6:30 in the evening. So much for our plans. Still, we plod forward and reach our destination albeit tired and hungry. Enter condo check in. Picking up a bucket of chicken for dinner, we drive to the resort. The first mistake is that we wait in the car while Tony picked up the keys. With three very hungry peeps waiting on him, Tony is taking FOREVER! The aroma of KFC is wafting through the car. The kids beg to eat while we're waiting but its a rental car and eating greasy fast food chicken in the car may not be wise. I don't want to own the car when we're done paying the fine for grease stains. I tell the kids that it should only be another minute. After all, he's already been gone 20 minutes. After 30 minutes and a whole lot of impatient glances in the rear view mirror looking for him, I finally call him. It is 8 p.m. and did I mention we are tired and hungry?? Ten more minutes and Tony's back in the car. They were trying to sell him a time share. What?? We're using a time share that we own....well, more to the point, Tony's parents own, which I guess is the fact that they were blissfully aware. SALE...DOLLAR SIGNS....STUPID. All kind of things they must have seen when we stepped foot on their property. Sadly, Tony is kind and wasn't forceful enough to put an end to their sales pitch. Apparently a family in the car didn't matter to them. Back at you, stupid salespeople. Thanks. I feel better getting that off my chest.

The night ends pleasantly enough. We ate and unpacked, marveling at the beautiful condo we have for the week. Sweet. Tony takes pity on me and Elise and leaves us to get some sleep while he and Adam venture out to get our food from Wal Mart. Weather was peaceful for now, forecast was great for the week. Despite a few bumps in the road, we're off to a good start.

Amazing Race or is it just a Rat Race

2010-01-22T16:48:00.004-06:00

Reality TV took off and running with the premiere of Survivor a decade ago and a slew of reality shows have been born ever since: Hell's Kitchen, Big Brother, The Bachelor(ette) and, our personal favorite, The Amazing Race. And those are just the ones that have stood the test of time on network TV. Even several seasons later, I tune in to The Amazing Race faithfully. On Sunday nights I try not to move my behind from the couch as I watch teams race around the world for the ultimate prize of one million dollars. It's a fun way to be introduced to various countries and cultures, with entertaining challenges to complete. But it's the people watcher in me that keeps me entertained. The 12 competing teams are comprised of two people each, often related, but not always. There are also best friend teams and dating or engaged teams. I think once there was even a divorced couple teaming together. Hilarity ensues when you watch these people running around foreign countries, completing difficult, dangerous or entertaining challenges.

I've been known to joke with Tony that the show would be the demise of our marriage. Actually, I think I am smart enough to know that I would never entertain the thought of auditioning for a show like that with my beloved husband. While I love my husband, he can be a control-freak. And I am not exactly a door mat. I think we would butt heads. He would yell and I would cry. All I can say is that the camera men would love us. Who doesn't enjoy a little wife bashing and throw downs? In theory Tony would be a good partner. He is very intelligent and has a great sense of direction on foreign streets. Dangerous or difficult tasks involving heights would not be a problem. But.....I have more common sense. While he's got the brains, I've got more common sense. Tony is more impulsive and when I would make a persuasive argument of why he should listen to me, I think my pleas would fall upon deaf ears. I don't see us working well under pressure for extended periods of time. I think that would be more the issue. We've weathered enough crises in our marriage to know that we do pull together when we need to. But for weeks on end with the stress being continual? Nope. Divorce would be a definite possibility.

With the determination of a contestant and having the need to accomplish as much as possible into my day, I squeezed in two weeks worth of grocery shopping today between dropping Elise off at school at noon and needing to be at a board meeting at 1. Clearly doable in my mind without my daughter to slow me down. Even taking into account the drive time and putting away the groceries, I seemed to believe I could tackle it. In reality, this adventure began an hour earlier when I decided that with about 45 minutes before school drop off, I could hit the large local warehouse for some bulk shopping for the church. If I actually stuck to the three items on my list, it was a no-brainer. In and out with time to spare. Ohhh, but how often do you actually stick to the plan? Thirty minutes later I am checking out with my $110 worth of personal goods on top of the church list, which had to be rung out on two separate check outs to keep the receipts itemized. The plan sort of took a nosedive when I realized Elise had to be at school in 22 minutes and I've forgotten to plan for lunch. OOPS! It was while she was eating her ginormous piece of pizza when the cashier from the check out lane from whence I had come tapped me on the shoulder. "Ma'am, two items got separated from your orders. You forgot to buy and pay for the paper towels and napkins." Clearly Mom brain had affected my ability to notice the 12 rolls of paper towels and 2,000 count of dinner napkins had been left behind. After waiting for the person ahead of me to check out and watching the clock while Elise is choking down her pizza in the store and then in the van, we get out of there and to school with precisely 1 minute to spare. Breathe.

But, no....Not yet. Remember, I still have intentions of going to the grocery story. Heaven forbid I spend an hour in down time before my meeting. Nope. Gotta squeeze one more place in. And like I mentioned, it's not exactly a short list. My heart rate had recovered enough that I felt up to the challenge. And, man, what a challenge. For the sake of time, I chose the Schnucks next to Elise's school, which is close to her school but not close to home. Not a moment of brilliance since the drive home will offset the time savings...But anyway.... While I've been in this particular store a handful of times, it's not my Schnucks of choice. And, unlike most of my trips to the grocery store, I failed to re-write my list in order by which the foods are found in the store. Yes, I am one of those people who groups like-items together so it reads like a map of the store. Today was a lesson in reinforcing why I take the time to do that. I spent 15 minutes in the store and never left the produce section. Back and forth on my list -- even venturing into the meat section ever so briefly to only find myself back in produce to find the fresh ginger that I missed the first pass. Oh, and don't get me started on not being able to find the green onions. The Friendliest Stores in Town? Maybe I would know that if I had actually found someone to help me. Just so you know, there is a wall aisle completely hidden from the rest of the produce section where they keep the green onions. Once I actually successfully left produce, I knew the next few aisles would be where I could find mango chutney. Or so I thought. Finally a stock person told me where I could find it and even escorted me two aisles over to find it. Maybe it was the look of exasperation that told him I was about to lose my flippin' mind. But yes, he was friendly. When I was officially done with my list I realized that I had forgotten the fruit snacks. They weren't on the list. I didn't remember actually being in that aisle so instead of asking I did a pass back through the store. Couldn't find them. They ended up being in the cereal aisle, which makes sense because that's where they are in my usual store. Can I say that while I kept my composure on the outside, I was seething on the inside and felt that my blood pressure had to be high for the moment. Stress over fruit snacks. Stupid.

When all was said and done, I made it home, got the refrigerated and freezer stuff put away before venturing back out for my meeting. I was only 5 minutes late. Kudos to me. But lesson learned, my friends. Apparently, navigating through a new grocery story proved to be as much challenge as my little heart could manage. Amazing Race is probably not cut out for me, ya think?

What a Difference a Day Makes

2010-01-19T13:06:00.008-06:00

As I reached for Elise's little hand to fit snugly into mine leaving Bible study this morning, I glanced over as she eagerly accepted, skipping to the time of my step. I smiled back at her, thankful that she still embraces the public affection and declaration that she and I belong together.

Yet each passing day reminds me that she is only "mine" for a time. Soon her days will be filled with full time school, friends, after school activities and boys and you will find my name at the bottom of her priority list. God was really smart when he designed children to grow up slowly, gradually, and over 18 years. Can you imagine us humans weaning our babes and pushing our babies out of the nest in the first 2 months? It would never happen. Never.

It's also in God's grander plan that the steps are baby ones along the way. Those milestones are God's way of telling us as parents to back down just a bit and allow those same metaphoric baby's wings to stretch to prepare for flight.

Our household is no different than any other with a preschooler living in our midst. She's graduated from the diapers, the crib and high chair -- and most recently her toddler bed. That was my first "aha" moment this year. After spending a week refurbishing old furniture to become her new furniture and creating a "big girl room" she slept in her new room for the first time January 1. Along with the toddler bed, the rocking chair that adorned the room was cast aside. It didn't seem to "fit" in the scheme of her grown up room. Though surprising to many, Tony and I still rocked Elise each night, with her taggie blanket firmly in her right hand. The said rocking never lasted more than one minute, maybe up to five if she was feeling particularly needy. I imagine the rocking was more symbolic than practical at this point, still clinging to a routine that was familiar and comforting. When I told her we would have to go into the playroom to use the rocking chair, she said that was OK. She didn't need to be rocked anymore. My heart strings pulled just a little knowing that the last time I had rocked her was, well, the last time.

All these little transitions were going smoothly and I felt surprisingly OK with my little girl suddenly being a bigger girl. It reminded me of Adam several years earlier making those same changes and also being so excited about them. I suppose it's because I was taking all this is stride that it caught me off guard when she announced along with the rocking chair, she no longer needed to sleep with her taggie blanket. "OK, honey. If you say so." I told her several hours before bedtime. I didn't believe her. Her taggie was to her what an imaginary friend or a favorite stuffed animal is to another child. It was a part of her. From early morning until bedtime her taggie was by her side from the time she was old enough to consciously make it part of her day.

It was while Adam was in his second year of preschool that I received this blanket as a gift from his preschool "assistant" Diane. Her mother had lovingly hand made a blanket adorned with tags of different textures, patterns and colors. This was a phenomenon I had known nothing about but has since gained its popularity here in town. Diane presented it to me and I treasured it in her first year, laying it along side her in the crib. When she grew old enough to choose it as a "lovey" she did. Much to my chagrin, it would follow her all day like a faithful companion. It only left the house to go to the hospital with her when she had rotovirus and was very ill, when she had surgery to remove her adenoid and tonsils, and when we travelled out of town. Otherwise, in the interest of not losing it, it stayed in the house. I even scrap booked a page about her blanket, mentioning the one particular tag that Elise seemed to be drawn to. As far back as we can recall, Elise would turn her blanket around in the dark, searching for the one tag that brought her comfort. She would take that particular tag between her thumb and index finger and stroke it as she fell asleep. On more than one occasion, I would check on her at find her taggie still clutched to her heart.

When she publicly declared her independence of her taggie, I didn't believe my ears. I blew off her warning because I knew better. This was one habit not easily broken. But to my consternation and to our utter shock and amazement, she planted that taggie at the foot of her bed at bedtime and snuggled in to sleep that first night without batting an eye. And there it stayed, night after night, tucked into the foot board like a discarded toy. Tony and I had more than one conversation that week feeling like we needed to intervene. This was her baby and being a big girl didn't mean she had to give it up. My heart sank. Night after night I would kiss my girl good night and find her taggie in the same position as the night before. No amount of coaxing could convince my independent daughter that it was OK for her to still want her taggie.

The blanket has only moved twice since that time. When her new bedding finally arrived, she placed her taggie on top of the shelf with her well-loved stuffed animals. But when her reconditioned night stand was finished behind the other furniture and placed in her room only two nights ago, she moved her taggie to its final resting place. It sits on the bottom shelf of the night stand, neatly folded. Not used anymore but at least still in view and, in her view, a place of honor.

I guess this is the start of many "aha" moments for me that my little girl is growing up. I guess I don't want to take any experience for granted anymore though. I never realized before what a difference a day makes.

Confessions of a Novice Cook

2010-01-03T17:25:00.003-06:00

I think I established in a previous blog that I don't make New Year's Resolutions. I have aspirations one might say. Things that I would like to do differently, more efficiently or just plain better. Cooking is one of those things. Over the years I think I have become a good cook but certainly not a great one. Until I got married I had only made a handful of actual meals. It wasn't until my last name changed by marriage and I became a full time family of 4 that I realized things had to change. Never mind me. I had made do over the years but my husband and two boys had to eat.

As good as my mom was at being a cook, she wasn't a varied one. I could probably take 10 minutes and write down all the recipes she made while I was growing up. Once I got married, I probably asked for a handful of those recipes, but honestly, after eating them for so many years, there weren't too many I wanted. So I launched into my year-long quest to establish myself as a cook. I subscribed to Quick Cooking (the best kind for a full time employee with a full time family of 4) and began to cook away. Every night I would lovingly prepare a new recipe to be met with a thumbs up, thumbs down, or in our lingo, a do over or never again status. My grateful husband's accolades were often countered by my exceptionally picky step sons' dislikes. It was after our first wedding anniversary when I remember Brandon looking at his beef stew with the most perplexed look on his face.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Beef Stew." I answered. "Why"

"We've HAD this BEFORE" , he said in disgust. It was in that moment that I realized that maybe it was time to close the magazine and start making something for a second or third time. I was creating monsters. Clearly.

Here I am 12 years down the road and it's only in the last 2 1/2 years that I have re-opened cooking magazines -- this time Cooking Light and Family Circle recipe inserts -- to expand my cooking horizons. Time to take my 2 inch cooking binder of typed recipes divided by category, and start updating my cooking. Not that any one's complaining. Over the years I've kept my cooking fresh and new and, honestly, I have so many recipes I could probably go a full two years without ever having to repeat a dish. But in the last few years Tony's cholesterol has elevated and both of us have had to watch our calories a little more than in past years. Something about being 40....blah, blah, blah.

Like I said, I'm a good cook, but not a great one. Friends will post statuses and links to these fabulous sounding dinners and amazing desserts and I realize I want to be better. Sure, I make some fancy sounding dinner at times And they are good. I make some mean mashed potatoes, awesome asparagus.. And my chicken tenders--the best I've ever tasted. But I realize I could be better. I want to use more varied vegetables and learn to make those fancy dishes I read about. And that is where my New Year's Aspirations kick in.

Tonight, leeks are on the menu. Potato and leek soup actually. Give me bok choy, eggplant, or a spaghetti or acorn squash, I'm your girl. But until this week, if you had handed me a leek, I would have asked you what it is and what do I do with it. Yes, leeks. It's what's for dinner.

Wish me well in the kitchen, please. I sliced the tip of my pointy finger tonight chopping the potatoes. A few months ago it was my pinkie finger. I have serious issues with knives. A knives safety class might be a really smart part of my 2010 cooking adventure. Stay tuned!

Sleepless in the Suburbs

2009-12-31T15:51:00.006-06:00

As I lay on the couch last night in the middle of the night, awake for the umpteenth time, I was thinking how the previous several hours felt like a comedy of errors. The story actually begins about the 19th of this month when Adam started complaining of a sore throat. His throat was indeed red with his enlarged tonsils. Whenever he has a sore throat, it takes me back to the end of February 2007 when I proverbial kick myself for not getting his tonsils out while we had his adenoid removed. But lest not I digress. No fever, no other symptoms but we keep him from helping out in hospitality at church and keep an eye on him, giving him our preventive medicine prescribed by the doc for just this situation on top of cold medicine to sleep. And I pray, hard. Not that there is ever a good time to be sick, but this was an especially bad time to have the symptoms creep up on us. Adam's cello and chorus concert was just a mere 3 days away, as his class party, and lest we not forget, Christmas. Just a few weeks earlier he had suffered through the stomach flu so this just seemed especially bad timing.

By Monday, Adam's sore throat is not as sore but he gets the sniffy nose. Typical progression for him. But no fever and he's not feeling all that bad. But enter Elise. She is starting to sniffle too, throwing away Kleenex as if they grew on trees. There was a box of Kleenex lining the trash can looking as if they belonged back in the box. Seriously. One little wipe on the nose does not mean the Kleenex is used. Arggh. But again, I digress.

I tell Adam, "You are going to the concert whether or not you are sick. You can't miss it. No way". He agrees. Just get through Friday, I think to myself. After Friday, feel free to be sick. Please. God had mercy on us and Wednesday came and went, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day. We made it. No worse the wear. By Christmas weekend, Adam is fine.

Elise being who she is with the chronic sinus issues begins to cough at night. Only at night. The cough lingers all week progressively getting worse. Which leads me to last night. If you follow me on Facebook, you know that Tony has been sanding, refinishing and painting new furniture for our little darling and started painting her room yesterday. Because the room was empty, Elise needed alternate sleeping arrangements. On her old mattress on our bedroom floor was the plan. Our plan. Not Elise's. God love her (and us, too!) she can be stubborn. Maybe it is typical little girl strong willed bent, or the second born temperament, but she is headstrong. And anything having to do with food or sleep can be an especially difficult issue to force. Trying to pacify her, we cajole her into obedience by saying she can sleep in our bed and we'll use a night light in our bathroom. Agreed.

Elise is tucked away into bed, fully medicated and quiet. Battle won. The next battle for me was deciding to up my sleep medicine that night. No small undertaking at this stage in the medication challenge. After my latest frustrating sleep study results, it is decided that I need to pursue resolution to this stubborn problem an entirely different direction with new meds. A gradual increase by 100 mg. per week for 6 weeks until my medicine reached the maximum dose of 600 mg. Sounds like a lot but for seizures (the true use of this drug) the medication is usually dosed at 1,500 to 2,000 mg., so my dose is actually quite small. However, with each 100 mg. dose it is reported dramatic day time sleepiness for the first two to three days of increase. Thus, the increments need to small and infrequent, and to this point was every Friday night so that if drowsiness was going to occur, it would be on a weekend when I had my husband for back up. Usually when the doctor has warned me of this grogginess (feels like a sleepy hang-over), it hits me like a mack truck. Making my final leap to maximum dosage was going to be the toughest and there really is no good time for it. Since Tony is home on vacation through Sunday it really needed to be now or never.

We hear her coughing in bed for about an hour and decide to up her medicine dose. This quieted her for about an hour, long enough for me to crawl into bed on the other side of her. What I didn't realize is that the previous hour would be the quietest of the night. No sooner am I tucked into bed next to her, groggy from my sleep meds, does she start snoring--and then coughing--snoring some more--coughing some more and just for a bonus, kicking me in the back at regular intervals. This was definitely not working for me. Not at all. After laying there for about an hour, watching the clock near 11 p.m. I leave the comfort of my own bed to lay on her crib-sized mattress on our floor. Maybe if I hadn't been so tired it would have occurred to me to move her onto the floor and for me to stay in the bed, but I was too tired to think clearly. Obviously. Maybe being a few feet away from her coughing would make it easier to sleep. You'd think anyway. Finally, midnight approaches and I ask for back up. Tony has wisely grabbed his pillow and a blanket and had been crashing on the couch. I don't know if it's because he saw me on her mattress or heard her coughing every 5.5 seconds but he was wise enough to sleep far, far away. He obediently comes upstairs to re-medicate her, probably bordering on a dose big enough for Adam, but we were desperate. Here is where True Love showed herself by Tony offering me the couch so that maybe I could get a few hour's sleep. The bad thing about sleep meds is that you have to sleep a minimum of 8 hours to not be groggy the whole next day. And with the risk of that anyway, today was not looking good.

The rest of the night I slept fitfully on the couch. Not that I am complaining; I'm not. I certainly had the better end of the deal. Poor Tony's been working his little heart out all week on Elise's room. He needed a good night's sleep more than me. But he also knows how I am when I'm extra sleep-deprived. Again, I'd say it's not pretty. My night's end came around 5:30 when I feel my precious little one tap me on the back. "Time to get up now, Mommy?". Back to bed, honey. It's still dark out. As far as I know she complied. Until 6 a.m. Repeat. Finally at 7 a.m. she made one last attempt to get up. For the life of me I couldn't figure out how she wasn't sleeping until 10 since she had been coughing all night, but here she was ready to start the day. Blindly, I turn the TV on for her and crawl back into my bed. Certainly not a finest Mommy moment but too tired to care. I vaguely remember mumbling something to Tony about her being awake. I'm not sure but I think he dozed back off. At some point though, he did get up with the kids while allowing me to sleep until 9.

Come to find out she asked to sleep in her bed on the floor at some point during the night--or maybe it was during the early morning attempts at starting her day. Apparently Tony's sleep was not exactly quality. All I can say though is that I'll be glad to leave 2009 behind as long as I can leave behind our own version of musical beds and start fresh with 2010!

Humble Beginnings

2009-12-17T19:10:00.002-06:00

"Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you. You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger (because there was no room for them in the inn.)" (Luke 2:12b,7b).

Arguably this is one of the most well known and retold stories of all time. Growing up I can imagine Jesus asking his mother to retell the story time and time again. The odd circumstances surrounding his birth -- from his conception to his actual birth. A miracle given from God for all time. I also imagine Mary never expected her first born child to be born under the intrigue and hand of God Almighty himself.

Personally, I look at the details surrounding my birth and find them rather unremarkable. Yes, I had the RH Factor resistance and received 7 blood transfusions pre- and post-birth after being given almost zero chance of survival. My mom said you have never seen a needle until you see one long enough to be inserted through your abdominal wall and into your womb. Never mind the little injection needles; they are nothing, she would say with a smile. Perhaps my story is fascinating enough that my children, particularly Elise if she is lucky enough to be blessed by children, would enjoy hearing retold over time.

I suppose it is the ordinary nature under which most of us are born that I never really thought much about my parent's early years either. Obviously my mom has a unique story of her childhood, but honestly, I never really took a closer look into the life she lived before the internment until this last spring as I watched the SHOAH Foundation tapes.

She was born one wintery day in the late 1930's in a little village named Veliko Srediste in the South Banat district of Yugoslavia. Despite the translation in German for Veliko to mean "large", this small Serbian town is often not found on maps. The largest town nearby would be Vrsac located near the Hungary border. Before the Russians invaded her small village, my mom recalled beautiful trees and gardens that cascaded across the acres often found between homes. Mountain peaks were visible along the outside of town. The small homes were overshadowed by the beauty of the countryside. Yugoslavia was a beautiful green, lush country.

Born to mother Anna and father Franz Bohn, her earliest rememberances began around age 5 while living with her mom's parents Anna and Thomas Dernetz and her Uncle Josef, who was approximately 15 years old. It was not uncommon for multiple generations to live under one roof. The house the six of them lived in was a small white-washed home with dirt floors. When asked about the details of the home for her visual history testimonial, she could only recall two rooms, the kitchen and a bedroom. The central piece of the kitchen was the homemade kitchen table and chairs. The memory of the bedroom was limited to one, recalling sitting on the edge of a bed playing with her doll as her mother said goodbye-- the prison guards waiting nearby to escort her to go by coal car to Russia as a slave laborer.

When asked she could only recall a handful of happy memories from the first few years of her life. Sadly, even the earliest of memories distinct from the concentration camps were marred with abuse and hardship. Her favorite memory was of a beautiful mulberry tree in her yard. The fruit was plentiful and she recalled being covered in red juice from eating as much as her belly desired. She also remembered going in the orchards with her mom as her mom worked. She would run and play and explore nature, gathering small flowers, trying to keep out of her mother's way. Times were not easy but my mom remembered them being carefree days since my grandma insisted she was too young to help out.

As she was recounting memories, it struck me that what she did remember was solitary. The other children she remembered interacting with were older school aged children, who were too busy with school work and helping out with chores to take time out to play with her very often. Having grown up as an only child without memories of having friends until she was in America, my mom was very purposeful in providing us siblings and to create a lot of happy memories for us growing up. Every generation wants their children to be happier and have more than what they had the generation before. My mom was no different in that desire. And neither am I. I want to give my kids as good a childhood as I had, if not better. We cannot change or re-write our history but we can preserve it by talking about it and making sure that we do not leave this earth with stories that are better shared. Every day we are creating that 'history' for our children to one day talk about with their children and the generations to follow. And that legacy is one I am proud to claim as my own and pray will become a family tradition.

Sweet Silence of Relief

2009-12-15T10:54:00.002-06:00

Happiness. Contentment. Peace. Joy. Agape love. Romantic love. Accomplishment. Satisfaction. These are all common attributes and emotions that if asked, what is your favorite, likely one of these would be your answer. Afterall, who doesn't want to be happy or joyful? We all want to experience love from another human being. Content and peacful in the midst of our circumstances. They are all emotions any of us would like to experience at any given time.

In our day of want and greed and keeping up with the Joneses, I'd bet that a lot people polled would answer accomplishment. Men in particular are driven by their careers and find a lot of their identity wrapped up in their successes at work. As a mother, I certainly judge my accomplishments by the house I keep, the raising of my children, and the health of my marriage. Are my kids polite, well behaved, educated? Is my life in order or chaos? Would my husband see me as the Proverbs 31 woman, finer than gold, satisfying his needs so that he is not tempted by pornography or by other women? Accomplishment is a big one for sure.

While there is certainly nothing wrong with any of these "answers" mine is actually quite different. For me, my favorite emotion is relief. Oh, the joys of relief.

Finding the right combination of medication to be free of pain.

The relief of financial burdens by an unexpected gift or raise or bonus. Or in today's economy, finding a stable career after under- or un-employment. Relief that the mortgage or rent is paid and you have food on your table.

Finding your lost keys or wallet. Relief.

The relief of loneliness and fear when your loved one returns from serving our country in war-times.

Whether it is the simple every day moments you find yourselves breathing a sigh of relief -- the grouchy child has just fallen asleep at naptime, or your to-do list is checked off and you can sit back and relax -- or the major moments, selling a home and moving or completing a huge project by its deadline--relief is an awesome feeling.

Whereas I look at being happy or joyful as being more subjective and elusive on some days, relief is something I find myself feeling several times a day. Ahh...you can almost hear it.

New Year's Resolution

2009-12-10T12:39:00.006-06:00

With Christmas just around the corner, the new year is also almost upon us. New Year's resolutions. Those 3 words can evoke a myriad of negative emotions: fear, doubt, angst, terror, defeat. In a perfect world they would rather inspire or challenge you to let go of a bad habit -- smoking, over eating, alcohol bingeing, etc. It might encourage you to develop patterns of preferred behavior -- exercise, healthful eating, spending more time with your family.

I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions in the traditional sense. Being a rule follower, I don't live my life in extremes. As far as lifestyles go, I am pretty balanced. Imagine my surprise when at my physician's office last week he suggested that to encourage better sleeping, I cut out my two cups of coffee per day, tweek my eating habits and add a minimum of 30 minutes of cardio exercise on the days I do not go to the gym. I looked at him like he had two heads. Aren't I already ahead of the curve? Work out 7 days a week--really? There have been several weeks where getting to the gym my usual 3 days a week is a stretch. Of course, I have my various work out DVD's that I could pop in front of the TV to exercise from home. Am I likely to do it? Not so much. Let's just say that if I were to work out even 5 or 6 days a week, give up all my caffeine and eat even more healthy than I already do, I am going to register for the Gateway Naturals Bodybuilders Competition. That kind of discipline had better have some pretty big perks. Seriously, he's nuts.

Having said that, there are areas of my life where I could use a resolution or two to improve upon things. Speaking more kindly to my husband and kids is a big one. Isn't it a shame that the people we love the most are often the ones who we can be the most short-tempered with? Mine stems from two sources: Fatigue and maybe a little too much face time. Please don't misunderstand me: I love being a stay at home mom. The last nine years have been a huge blessing and I've been there to see all their milestones and have shared memories with them. But having a child home with me full time over the last nine years has had it's challenges. I rarely get the opportunity to "miss" my kids, to appreciate a time apart. Regarding Tony, again, I love him dearly. But men and women don't always understand each other and we've had our share of disagreements and flat out wars over the years. A peaceful household is a definite resolution toward striving for--starting with ME.

Another big area that could use some tweeking is finances. Despite the recession, Tony has earned a few substantial raises and promotions in recent years. For that we are grateful. Years of annual family court modifications and appearances, years of child support payments, and just the cost of raising 4 kids, we are managing year by year. Deciding to be a "one income family" has had it's challenges and good financial stewardship is a must. My parents taught me well and fortunately, Tony and I are both financially responsible people. However, I could certainly be a bit more thrifty and responsible. As the sole bill payer of our family, it is up to me to see that we are wise with how the money is spent. In the last few years I've attempted to track our bills and income -- watching where some careless spending is occuring. Perhaps a personal goal for me is to track our expenses in 2010 more closely. Fortuantely, child support will likely end in the next twelve months -- the two sets of braces we are paying on currently will eventually be paid for -- no more preschool tuition after April. Many areas of financial freedom are forthcoming. I would love nothng more than for my husband to get the car of his dreams in the next 18 months. He's been driving an 11 yr old old (faithful) car and it's his turn to enjoy the fruits of his labor. That would make me really happy for him. Yes, financial stewardship is a goal for me -- one that will bring security for my family and help us sleep easier at night.

Personally, I like that the only New Years Resolutions I make is to not make any. That is the one I can keep!

Why Women Should Not Take Men Shopping

2009-12-10T10:59:00.003-06:00

After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Target. Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter from the local Target.

Dear Mrs. Samuel,

Over the past six months, your husband has caused quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against your husband,

Mr. Samuel's offenses are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.

June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in other people's carts when they weren't looking.

July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in House wares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

July 7: He made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.

July19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in House wares. Get on it right away'. This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her Supervisor
that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing management to lose time and costing the company
money.

August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.

August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department to which twenty children obliged.

August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?' EMT's were called.

September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.

September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.

October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the Mission Impossible' theme.

October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna look' by using different sizes of funnels

October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!'

And last, but not least:

October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here.' One of the clerks passed out.

Old Man Winter

2009-12-08T13:42:00.004-06:00

I am a snow baby with this being my birth month. According to the Zodiac, I was also born under the sign of fire. Heat versus cold....heat will edge out cold for me any day!! Can I just put it out there that I really dislike winter. I know I have several friends who live for winter. They love snowmobiling, skiing -- basking in the snow. Not me. At all! I. do. not. like. winter. Just so that we're clear.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter. That would sum of my favorite seasons in descending order. Maybe I'd like it more if we had true winters. I've never researched it but I think we must be the ice capital of the mid-west. Cold temperatures definitely, but we don't see a lot of snow. It rains a lot, which I think is odd. It's raining today. And since it is in the 20's, it's cold nasty rain. What's up with that? At least with snow, it's pretty and predictable. But with cold rain, it's just yuck. And when it freezes into ice, stay off the roads. St. Louisans really don't know how to drive in anything but sunny conditions.The overcast sky that takes up temporary residence, often not showing the sun for weeks at a time, adds to the ick factor. Seasonal mood disorders from a lack of sun. Pretty depressing. Literally.

Prediction for an inch of snow? News coverage around the clock; the grocery stores have stampedes like it's Thanksgiving eve. Really? Stupid people.

What I dislike about winter is having to bundle myself and my kids before leaving the house--coats, hats, gloves, scarves. Hassle to buckle my daughter into her car seat in the winter. The summer no problem. With a pair of flip flops and cute little short/top outfit, you are good to go. Much more forethought into leaving the house in the winter. When it does manage to snow, it's the melting gooky snow left behind from tire tracks and footprints that end up on your car floorboard and kitchen floor that is just gross. Yep, I am not a fan of winter.

Of course there are a few things I love about winter. An excuse to snuggle up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows. And soup. I love making soups once or twice a week. Definitely love the warm comfort of food in the winter. Changing over my summer wardrobe to winter clothes is kind of fun, too. To be clear, it's a necessary evil to change over my kid's clothes, too, which is decidedly on a top 10 list of things I do NOT like. But for me, I like it. I find sweaters and boots I had forgotten about--or a a find a reason to add a few pieces of clothing to my wardrobe. And I do love the quiet falling snow, undisturbed by people or animals. It can be beautiful to watch while in the comfort of your warm house.

Oh, there is one more thing I like about winter.....When winter has officially arrived, I can start the countdown to my favorite season and I know when it arrives in March or maybe early April I have a full 8 or 9 months to enjoy before having to deal with old man winter. Yes. THAT is my favorite part about winter.

Tis the Season

2009-12-08T07:20:00.004-06:00

It may surprise many people to know this, but I struggle with getting into the Christmas spirit. And that has been true for most of my adult life.

Actually, I think there are several elements interfering with being joyful this time of year. As a young adult, it started with the fact that my two sisters, my mom and myself have November-December birthdays. It's always been a challenge for me to focus on Christmas when there are several birthdays that are immediately before it. Then enter married life. I recall meeting Tony's extended family at Easter and them asking when my birthday fell. When I said the date, they all reacted the same "Of course it is". Their reaction was fitting. Why? Tony and his twin, their sister Holly, sister in law Karin, my father in law and oldest niece all have December birthdays. Add that to the mix of Olsen birthdays and it's enough to make any one's head spin. Talk about stress coming up with double the gift ideas--and double the money. Unfortunately, the financial stress in November and December doesn't help matters. A few of my best friends also have December birthdays. Seriously, couldn't we spread the wealth just a little?

Decorating the tree, decking out the house--interior and exterior, baking special Christmas treats, planning and shopping, wrapping gifts, Christmas parties, Christmas shows, school productions. The list is endless this time of year. When you are already busy the insanity of this time of year is mind-boggling. Yes, I struggle to actually enjoy and appreciate this time of year.

Jesus. My Christian roots are really what's important and yet somehow the Christmas season is less and less about Him and more about the hustle and bustle of traditions and keeping up with how everyone else is celebrating. What it comes down to for me is that all this attention is focused on our Savior's birth--Carols are sung, manger scenes are proudly displayed, Jesus buttons appear on lapels--and it's accepted, even encouraged. But come December 26 it's over. And for another 11 months society will tell us it's NOT alright to proclaim his name or boldly talk about Christ. Yes, getting in the spirit is difficult for me. Society's contradiction squashes down my excitement.

I don't need Christmas to celebrate the greatest man ever born; my Savior and Lord. I do that 365 days a year. And I do it authentically, consistently and passionately. I'll gladly put away my Christmas tree, put away my Christmas music and cookie recipes for another year. Jesus for me is more than an abstract concept to be celebrated once a year. He's in my heart every day.

What's in a Name

2009-12-04T15:13:00.005-06:00

When asked "What is Elise's middle name?" I usually smile as I answer "Kathryn, after my mom." It's not the name that makes me smile...it's the story behind the name that cracks me up.

My mom's first name is Hilda--an Ethnic German name meaning "Battle woman", which I think is appropriate for a woman with her heritage. Yugoslavian born, she was given a common name for the time. Her mom used to call her Hilde, with the distinct pronunciation difference. I wonder if her birth certificate would have actually shown the alternate spelling rather than the "a" With birth certificates of that time destroyed, we will never know. Those documents simply do not exist--anywhere.

My mom's middle name is Kathryn, which does not in my mind jive with her first name. Totally not ethnic German; in fact, Kathryn is Greek for "pure". My mom did not know why her middle name was Kathryn -- although I think I have an explanation. Maybe. My grandma had an older sister who died at the tender age of 6 months. Her name was Katharina. It wasn't until my mom discovered a little booklet with birth and death dates--and dates of their internment in the camps--that we even knew she existed. By the time we knew of Katharina, my grandma had died, so there was no one to ask the details. It makes sense to me that my mom was named after her deceased aunt.

Being so young at the time they emigrated from Yugoslavia, my mom never was able to explain how they could make "legal" travels without proof of who they were. My grandma wouldn't explain, either. My mom seemed to believe that there were a lot of falsified documents along the way and it was only by God's grace that they were never caught--and able to declare naturalization as citizens after they came to the United States. I wonder if my grandma gave my mom a more Americanized identity and intentionally changed her middle name from Katharina to Kathryn. Just a theory, I suppose, but Katharina translates to the American Katherine. Totally plausible if not substantiated.

One day while in my last trimester of pregnancy with Elise, I was visiting my mom at my parent's house. She asked me to grab her driver's license from her wallet. Glancing at the license, I notice her middle name was Catherine. Red flag for me -- her granddaughter was going to be named after her.

"Mom, that is not how you spell your middle name." I said, matter of factly."You know I am naming Elise after you and we are spelling it the way I know it to be."

"Oh, honey." she responded. "I never remember how to spell my middle name. It never mattered before."

"Well, it matters now since I am naming her after you. At least after the part of your name that you like." adding with a smile. My mom never liked her name, which is probably no surprise. She even went by the nickname Kitten in high school. Thankfully, her nickname did not follow her into adulthood. At one point as a young adult, she had considered changing her name, but did not want to offend her mom--and she wasn't trying to alter her past so figured it was best just to keep it "Hilda." I recall a horribly stupid television show called The $1.98 Beauty Pageant. It ran back to back with the equally horrific The Gong Show. My mom was horrified when one of the contestants was a fat slobbish housewife named Hilda Olsen. Yeah. That was not my mom's favorite moment. It wasn't funny at the time--and truthfully, I don't think she ever found the humor in it.

Fast forward to early to mid 2007. My mom was completing a "Grandmother Book" for my sister's daughter at a request by my sister; hopefully, putting onto paper the Grandma her young daughter would never otherwise know. Fortunately my sister had the forethought to do that since her daughter would barely be two at my mom's death. Because she was working on this book, my mom called me on the telephone one day.

"Honey, now HOW do you spell my middle name again?" she asked.

I remember smiling on the other end of the receiver. Well if nothing else, my mom was consistent. And we all know the answer to that question now. Everyone except maybe my mom herself!

....As the Candle Burns

2009-12-01T18:54:00.006-06:00

For the first time I noticed a candle today at my dad's house. A large light red candle with dried wax along side of it's awkwardly-shaped remains. It certainly was not a pretty candle--one that I imagine wasn't pretty to start with. It sits on the second shelf over my mom's computer desk. And there it still sits even two years after her death. From the looks of it, the candle was well-used and now sat dormant along side the corner of the office free of use.

My parents each had their own desk with my mom's being far more elaborate and useful than my dad's. From the looks of it, my mom's desk is generally untouched. My parents converted our old billiards room in the front of the house into their office or den area. For not working outside the home for many years, my mom's desk was utilized fully. She had files for her very successful E-Bay business; had filing cabinets full of her animal charity work--and even some files dating back to the days when she worked for her attorney-friend sending out collection letters.

Most noticeably, though, are the trinkets and personal affects that adorn the shelves. My favorite piece is the ceramic baby harp seal. That was the first animal rights cause my mom joined. In fact, I wrote a very well-received term paper my senior year about the plight of the baby harp seals. That cause was a platform for my mom to realize that there were a lot of animals who needed human intervention to keep them safe and protected. That seal speaks volumes to me in who my mom was, what she believed it, and what she was passionate about.

Another favorite piece is a beautiful ceramic African elephant planter. She got that as a gift from the neighbor across the street on her last Christmas. This was just one of many elephant pieces she owned. Honestly, I never understood where she developed a love of elephants. On a Friday, Pam and I spent a day cleaning their house as a surprise for when she came home from the hospital. I remember so vividly dusting the shelf that proudly displayed several elephants, carelessly breaking off the trunk of her favorite one. I got disproportionately upset about it , knowing even in the moment that it wasn't really about the elephant. Fortunately, my dad was able to repair him. Unfortunately, my mom never made it home.

Gazing across the desk, I also noticed a box of tissues. It seemed oddly out of place. Opening her drawer, looking for a paperclip I scanned the contents. Surely my dad had rummaged through the office supply drawer looking for a post-it-note or highlighter, but it struck me how largely it was untouched.

Even today, as I entered the front door to my parent's house, I gazed to my left as if looking for my mom. It was at her desk she spent most of her time -- either working or playing games. Gem Shop was her favorite game, although she loved Iggle Pop and Jewel Drop, too. It was at that desk that my mom grew suspicious of the cancer growing inside her. She started experiencing back and belly pains and often noticed it while at the desk. The doctor had suggested getting a new chair. I think even the weeks leading up to the diagnosis--one that should not have taken so long to get--she knew something was wrong beyond the ill-fitting chair the doctor claimed it was. Although my dad would defend the doctor, my mom shared with me her frustration in the 3 months it took to be diagnosed--even with all the advancements and clear indicators of a serious illness. Three months is valuable time lost with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis and she knew it. My mom was rarely sick -- rarely ever visited the doctor-- so for him to put her off for so long really "irked" my mom, as she would say.

My dad has been steadfast and diligent in remodeling the house--directing his grief in a positive manner. The office is one of the next projects. Although "next" seems to be the operative word. He has acknowledged that my mom's desk would be better suited for him--that it would be beneficial to combine work spaces and get rid of excess furniture. Easier said than done, I wonder. As he remodels the house, it has become his space -- one that does not include her. The office is the last space in the house that still embodies her and can tell a story of her life.

Maybe the day will come when the desk will be dismantled, the ceramic animals dusted and put away. And maybe that day will be sooner rather than later. And as ugly as it is, the candle will find its way home with me. It's time to burn it again--and see what was so special about the ugly red glob that graced her desk.

Capturing a Moment in Time

2009-11-25T13:15:00.003-06:00

Twinkle is definitely her mommy's bird. As her main caregiver that is probably no surprise. Seeing her choose Adam over me or Tony is pretty rare. One night while Adam was reading, she decided to come over and check him out. I asked Adam to stay still and ignore her so I could grab the camera to capture the moment. At this point, Twinkle was merely assessing the situation, probably thankful that Elise was not in the room.

Adam was obediently allowing this scene to play out. Here Twinkle is giving him kisses while he continues to read. She hasn't quite gotten his attention. If you know Adam well enough you can tell that he has a smile trying to emerge. This was very fun for him to experience such deliberate attention from her.

Adam is giving her his full attention and they are fully engaged in little luv kisses. Adam was giggly at this point but still just trying to respond to her in such a way that I could take more pictures without her getting spooked and flying off. She luves him!

Adam had been stroking the nape of her neck and petting her to give her the attention she was obviously seeking. In an act of submission, she lay her head down to be nuzzled. Every once in a while she'd kiss his chin as he stroked her head. Twinkle cotinually rubbed her head along his face to encourage a connection between them.

This is my favorite picture. Adam was so pleased to be the chosen one--over me or Tony. Here she is expressing 100 percent submission to him. It was such a sweet interaction between the two of them; I love that it shows how even the least of God's creatures have their own little personalities. Who needs a dog when you have such a loving little 90 gram bird!

The Statement Behind the Question

2009-11-23T16:47:00.002-06:00

Now that I am firmly in my 40's I'm much more comfortable in my skin. The insecurities that we're like a conjoined twin that plagued me in my teens and into my 20's slowly started to dissipate once I was in my committed relationship with Tony. I am a firm believer that a healthy relationship will allow for personal growth and change, and Tony has been lovingly aside me as I've done just that. Between the security of the love of my husband--and life experiences--I've certainly come into my own; and I think it's been mainly positive growth.

I suppose it's because I finally like who I am and am confident in my life choices that it always surprises me when someone asks me "Once the kids are back in school full time are you going back to work?" And, honestly, I am surprised how many times this subject has come up now that Elise is approaching traditional school age.   I suppose it's what I am hearing behind the question that always takes me by surprise and I feel myself get a little on the defensive. What I am hearing is "As long as you have kids at home full time you can stay home; society will make allowances for you not contributing to your family income. But once your kids are in school you will have all sort of free time and become a free-loader, so it's time to get a job". Isn't that the implication I"m hearing? OK, so maybe I'm holding onto my insecurities just a little....

When I married Tony in 1998 I became a wife and a full time 24/7 step mom to Tony's two school aged boys --nearly 6 and 9 1/2 years old -- and sadly, they were broken, hurting boys at that. Not only was I learning how to be a wife and learning to share my life on a day to day basis with him, but I was also thrown into being a mom. Oh, did I mention I worked full time for the electric company, too?  For two years I continued to work full time until I finally quit my job when Adam was born. Those first two years were very difficult years and ones that I don't think back on very often. There were not a lot of positive interactions and experiences and I keep them buried in the deep recesses of my mind. They are safer there. Really.

One of the reasons why Tony and I were so compatible, I think, is that we both came from traditional backgrounds. Our parents had both been married 30 plus years and our dads were the bread-winner, while our moms only worked part time throughout our childhoods. We both valued the stay-at-home mom and that was the example we wanted to set for our children. Being a stay-at-homer was a no-brainer for me and a family value that Tony and I embraced.

Over the last 12 years I have worked full time with kids in school, been the proverbial stay-at-home mom, and have worked part time. All three have their benefits and drawbacks. Working full time while taking care of my family was physically demanding and emotionally draining, while financially feeling very secure. There was an air of being partners and I enjoyed contributing to the household financially.

Following Adam's birth I stayed at home full time for 5 years, with Elise arriving near the end of that 5 yr period.  Financially we had to cut back but we managed nicely raising the three boys (and toward the end, adding our little girl). Tony did not love his job but it was secure and he was home for dinner every night. Being at home full time with an infant./toddler/preschooler is challenging. Not every mom is cut out to do it but I think I made the most of my time with Adam and I look back very fondly on those years. Being there for him in those early years is irreplaceable in my heart.

About the time of Elise's birth we found ourselves reverting custody back to Tony's ex wife and paying her child support. Plus we had purchased a bigger home to accommodate all 4 kids. When they unexpectedly moved out after our move, we found ourselves in dire straits financially for the first time. That is when I started working intermittently. The last 5 years have been my "part time" years. For 18 months I babysat my niece in our home 40 hours a week. She is 5 months younger than Elise so it was a lot like having twins. I loved having a playmate for Elise but it was certainly challenging keeping up with two kids and found myself more house-bound than I was with just Adam. I did not have the freedom I was used to and that was definitely difficult. I also worked as a gymnastics coach for 6 months but they had to replace me after I could not return to work quickly enough following umbilical hernia surgery. By then Tony's job had changed and his hours also changed dramatically. Once he started his endless travels and 12-14 hour business days, working wasn't going so well for me.

Which, in turn, takes me back to the point of my blog anyway. So why are people so concerned with whether or not I am going to go back to work anyway?  To answer the question simply-- No, I don't plan on returning to work so long as my husband provides for us. I will gladly leave what jobs are available to those men and women who need them. If I worked outside the home it is certain that we could live more affluently and the perks of it are nice, but I don't need brand new cars, a yearly jet-setting vacation, high definition flat screen televisions and cable television (Nope. Just regular TV for us. Shocking!).

Clearly, it is the people who do not know me as well who are asking that question. No grass is growing beneath my feet. I am actively participating in the lives of my children, volunteering at school and church and in our community. Our house is (usually) neat, clean and orderly and errands are run. Empty laundry baskets grace the bedroom floors and dinner is on the table on most nights by 6 p.m. After years of raising my step sons and now completing my first decade of raising my own, I feel that I have succeeded quite nicely with the life I've chosen. I may never stop hearing that question but that's OK. Tony's happy, my kids are happy and I am happy. Who can really ask for more than that?

Never Assume

2009-11-20T16:02:00.004-06:00

The inner klutz in me often surfaces near knives, as was reinforced in last month's mishap with frozen hamburgers and the knife I was using to separate them. Oops, I separated the tip of my finger instead. Yuck!

I've also been known to injure myself around water. The most serious time was when I was about Adam's age. I was showing off for my parents doing crazy stunts off our diving board of our in-ground pool. Carelessly, I hit the side of the pool upon impact, knocking myself unconscious. All I remember is vomiting profusely into a towel in my mom's lap as my dad drove us to the hospital. I remember x-rays and still vomiting uncontrollably. Fortunately, I suffered no lasting effects from that other than staying away from diving boards ever since. I don't even enjoy watching the Olympic diving because I think I traumatized myself for life. I sure hope my kids decide to be on the swim team, not the diving team. I think it would send me to an early grave.

More recently, I remember a time when I was in the shower and slipped. Elise was a baby at the time and I was the typical sleep-deprived Mom. She was napping and Adam was quietly playing downstairs. Fortunately, despite my lack of coordination, I caught myself and prevented serious injury. What I remember, though, is the fear that gripped me. What if I had been seriously injured, would 4 year old Adam know what to do? It was time to ask him.

Presenting various scenarios Adam did know the right answer. "If you are ever sleeping and I can't wake you up, or if you have hurt yourself and can't get to a phone, I am supposed to call 9-1-1." Good. As parents we had trained him properly. But the Holy Spirit was tugging at me. Yes, he has head knowledge, but I want him to actually DO it. Have him use the phone. Being obedient, I handed Adam the phone. "Show me."

Adam looked at the hand set and pointed to the numbers....but then said "How do I turn it on?". Huge light bulb, fellow moms and dads. In theory Adam knew how to do it but putting it into practice, a whole different thing. I learned my lesson that day and I am grateful that it came without a price.

A Potty Mouth

2009-11-20T14:54:00.004-06:00

It may surprise many of you but I believe in evolution. I really do. Okay, not evolution like humans evolved from fossils...blah blah blah. Nope. What I am referring to is parenting evolution. Parenting has really evolved for me in the last few years.

For the first three years I would call it the Physical Attachment era: In the first year, it's all about taking care of the baby's most basic needs. Lots of diaper changes, feedings, baths--and in Elise's case, keeping one step ahead of her colic; on the flip side of that is the attachment aspect. Getting to know them personally and bonding with them--hopefully teaching them that they can trust us and rely on us. The second and third years can be even more demanding as they learn to walk and talk and begin to gain a sense of self and independence. There is a lot of danger intervention in these years trying to keep one step ahead of the next potential accident. Put on your running shoes for about 3 years, parents. Game on!

In our household, with a 5 and 9 year old, we have evolved into one of my favorite eras. This is what I call the Communication phase. Starting around age 4, I really noticed a sense of independence and increased confidence in my kids' abilities to take care of their needs. Adam has been making his own breakfast and packing his own lunch for a few years now. He makes his own bed, takes showers and is a self-starter when it's homework time. What is interesting, though, is watching Elise blossom into her own little person. She dresses herself (albeit often mismatching), brushes her own teeth, makes her bed. I am finding myself having to do less and less for both kids--which I am totally alright with by the way.

However, I am doing a lot more talking. A lot. That's why I call it the Communication phase. They have a lot of questions between the two of them. Adam is in that "not a baby but not a teenager" phase. 9 is the new 13 so I think its safe to say that he is officially a pre-teen. He is noticing things--lots of things--and has questions, and some tough ones at that. We talk about what dating and marriage is about. Even sex comes up in little spurts (thank goodness for the slow entry into this one!) We talk about school and taking personal responsibility. We talk about what peer pressure looks like and why kids tease. We talk about what his personal beliefs are and why we believe the Bible is the Word of God and why we pray. Adam has always been a good talker. From preschool days on I've always been able to get a dialog going about what happened during his day. He'll tell me who he sat with at lunch and what games they played in p.e. Adam will share what book they are reading aloud in class and what book he's reading with his reading buddy. Which special class did he have that day. Yes, there is a lot of talking going on in my house.

Elise is stereotypically a talkative little girl. She loves to pretend, having long conversations with her stuffed animals, doll house family, and sometimes just to herself. She is also the one who asks the toughest questions like "Was Moses the first baby talked about in the Bible?" Wow, good question. I know the answer is no, but I had to think about who was mentioned first in baby form. I think it was Isaac, but you know I'm not even exactly sure myself. Most of the more well known people of the Bible were already adults before they are mentioned so the fact that she even asked that made me know she's always thinking.

As of late, her biggest obsession is with writing words and sounding out letters. Rarely will she go more than 5 or 10 minutes without telling me what a word starts with, or without asking me to spell a word for her. So last week while I was making dinner it didn't really phase me when she asked me to spell ICUP. For those scholars out there, I know icup is not a word but again, I would have to say this is typical Elise. She loves to combine letters and ask if they form a word. Surprisingly, some of them do. Like when she spelled A-S-S on a pretty picture she was making to give away. Nice, Elise. Good job!

In that haphazard way where our focus is really on one task, but asked to focus on another, I answered her I-C-U-P. I said it slowly, ready for her to copy the letters as I say them. But, alas, no paper in hand so she says "No, Mommy, slowly". Again, I repeat I-C-U-P and say, "Do you have that now?" and turn back to the stove. For some reason she appeared a little bit huffy as she left the room, like I was not playing along, and I certainly noticed that her carefree attitude had switched. In just a few moments time, I hear Adam and Elise talking in a quieted hush. Nothing like a little whispering between your two kids to notice that is there is something fishy going on.. That is when Adam came into the kitchen and asked "Did Elise ask you to spell icup?" to which I said "Yes, twice. What's up?"

"Spell it again, Mom. slowly this time" He said in a voice that sounded exasperated, just like his sister. Giving him my full attention I repeated "I C U P". Adam smiled....then I got it. I-C-U-P. I returned his smile, "Oh, I see you pee. Cute, Adam. Very cute."

Oh, I had forgotten this inevitable stage of life: Potty Talk. That's OK. I could use a few good laughs.

Coming to America

2009-11-11T11:39:00.003-06:00

On this Veteran's Day there is a lot of buzz about being an American and the freedoms that allows us. I wonder how many of us really contemplate what that freedom truly means? I presume that for many Americans it's not something they think about --except on holidays such as this or Memorial Day, Independence Day, and maybe Thanksgiving. And that is sad.

For me being an American is part of my family heritage and an important part of my testimony. My mom emigrated from her Yugoslavian born heritage via the Queen Elizabeth, arriving at the port of New York's Ellis Island on February 24, 1950 at 11 years old. After escaping the third ethnic cleansing camp Gakowa (also known as Kakowa and Gakova) on August 10, 1947 a few months before her 9th birthday, they walked over 100 miles to the first steps of freedom crossing into the Hungary border. Can you imagine their relief and elation taking a step into a country where they were no longer in daily fear of losing their lives? To understand what 'Freedom' looked like, you have to understand from the situation in which they came. For three years they were under the Russian Red Army control. Over the duration of three years they lived in three Yugoslavian towns -- Molidorf, Gudriz and Kakowa -- converted into concentration camps, surrounded by armed guards. They had been stripped of all their worldly possessions and all the documents that gave them their identity. They were prisoners of war who had no proof of who they were or where they came from. They did not exist in the government of Yugoslavia and had nothing to present to explain their identity. All the documents of today: birth certificates, passports, driver's licenses, state identification cards. None of them existed for them any longer. They had all been destroyed in the attempt to wipe out the Yugoslavian country. They were people without a country. Literally. Stepping out of a country of bondage to the first steps of freedom. You can almost hear the sigh of relief.

The third camp Kakowa was known as the 'escape camp'. If you were fortunate enough to be taken there and had the financial or physical means to bribe a guard, escape was entirely possible. My family is among the 'lucky' ones who were able to convince the guards to turn a blind eye to their escape, even aiding them to start out on their trek for Hungary. Walking was done only at night in the darkest hours so they could not be seen. Refuge from the day had to be found in fields or barns and often in the safety of homes and farms along the way who were sympathetic to their cause. No one had much in this time of war but people were generous in sharing what they had. Our family had nothing but a kind smile, a thankful word and a grateful heart to give back. The journey lasted nearly a month. Another image plays in my mind when I think about this long, arduous journey. My great grandparents were in their late 40's by this time but their bodies were broken. To quote my grandma's newspaper interview "My mother was beaten with slats with nails in them because she would not tell where (her husband) was. She could not. She did not know. She was like a clump of dead meat, all black and blue. She died several years ago, never able to fully recover from the mistreatment she endured". My grandma who was sent to Russia to work as a slave laborer while the rest of the family resided in the camps in Yugoslavia endured her own terror as she would worked to the bone, nearly dying from overwork. These physical ailments had to be overcome to travel the hundreds of miles that lay in front of them. And my mom at the tender age of 8 -- incomprehensible to me to endure what she did in what should have been a carefree childhood. Personally, I cannot wrap my brain around the pain and fatigue and fear that accompanied every step.

From Hungary, my mom, my grandma and great-grandparents then traveled on foot to Austria where they lived with distant relatives. It was reaching Austria that they finally felt safe. Now in neutral territory they no longer had to fear being turned over to their homeland. From Vienna via the train, they travelled to a refugee camp in Schalding, Germany. It was there they found a sponsor, a distant relative (The Andersen's) of my mom's to leave from the port in Cherbourg, France to sail to America on the Queen Elizabeth. From New York they traveled to Chicago to work for the Andersen's as indentured servants for three years.

To finally arrive in America and to live in freedom for the first time in many, many years was nothing less than a miracle. God's hand of protection was with them at every turn. They were given a second chance to create a life--a new life. And they did. They worked hard taking nothing that they had been given for granted. They learned the language and worked hard to become honest citizens of this great country of America but never forgetting the life that they had left behind and the men and women who sacrificed to save them.

The Cardinal Bird

2009-11-10T16:12:00.005-06:00

Last year on the last day of August, Adam stepped onto our front porch and heard a rustling deep within the prickly needles of our bush. There was a sweet baby Cardinal trapped within the confines of the buds, eagerly flapping his wings, hoping to find footing in this chaotic environment in which he found himself.

Without hesitation, I scooped him up into the safety of my hands. Certainly still a baby, he had soft gray and brown downy feathers. Upon closer inspection it was clear why this baby appeared to have been abandoned or had fallen out of his nest: His left wing was badly injured. Having little to no experience with birds, I called a local wild bird rehabilitation center. They were an organization I knew and trusted. The first Mother's Day following my mom's terminal diagnosis she asked in lieu of buying her a gift to donate to one of her animal charities. Knowing my mom's deep affection for birds, particularly hummingbirds, I had selected this local group.

They confirmed for me on the phone that most likely the bird, who was probably born in late July, was being forced to become independent by his frustrated parents. The dependency on parents is very short for wild Cardinals--often being forced out of the nest as young as 3 weeks old. The harsh reality was that the parents were probably tired of caring for him and despite his health, or actually because of it, over time they would abandon him completely.

Not fully aware of the extent of his injuries and hoping that she was wrong and perhaps he had fallen out of his nest and his parents might still be looking for him, I conclude that he should stay in our yard to see if his parents would come. Under my watchful eye, I hoped he would improve and I would not need to bring him to the center. Our next door neighbors became aware of the situation and the teenage daughter Kate helped me prepare a small box to serve as his nest.

While I really didn't know much about birds or what was involved in caring or rehabilitating them, I did know that this little bird was going to be my answer to prayer. Just 11 days earlier, we had to put our dog Boo to sleep after a lengthy illness and my own selfish attempt to keep him with us. With the death of Boo, we were pet-less. Our two cats had passed away in the previous two years and I found myself without a pet for the first time in my life. Ever. The silence in the house without Boo was deafening. Not that my sweet old dog was loud; to the contrary he was just an old dog who did little else than sleep--he certainly wasn't capable of running and playing like in his golden days. But he was still my faithful little companion for 14 years--before husband and children--my little guy, and my life was a little too quiet now.

Having this bird to care for filled that void. I diligently fed him water from an eye dropper and fed him seeds and fruit, while Kate collected insects to supplement his diet. I nursed his wing, hoping that while he may never use it, the wing would heal and he could live a quiet life. During the day we kept him outside, where his parents did in deed come back to sit with him and feed him. Yes, they found him and when we were not outside with him, we saw his parents taking the time to care for him. At night we brought him indoors. Coyotes, deer -- even stray dogs and cats-- were a threat in the night. He certainly wasn't able to defend himself and did not want to make him easy prey.
So this schedule continued for a few days. The kids enjoyed holding the baby bird and caring for him the best we knew how. The parents were on-looking in a nearby tree, never too far from where their baby was. But, alas, he wasn't healing and I knew that my feeble attempts to take care of him wasn't cutting it.

Perhaps I already knew it in my heart, but when Carol looked at him from Wild Bird Rehab she said that his injuries were too great. In my ignorance, I did not notice that under the soft belly and downy feathers laid his intestines partially outside his body. There was no way to save him. We were doing all the right things for him and he seemed to not be experiencing discomfort, but he couldn't recover from this. Taking in a deep breath and sighing heavily, this was almost too much for me to hear. I had lost all three of my pets--and my mom-- over the previous 2 years. Could I at least take him home and care for him until he dies naturally, I wondered aloud. To my utter shock and disgust, I heard the words "No". Wild birds are federally protected. Caring for him in a home-care situation was against the law. She could not let me leave with him. While I totally understood the precarious situation she was in, I was at a loss. Really, I thought to myself. I understood the nature of the law -- to prevent people from taking in wild birds and domesticating them, interrupting the nature of the life-cycle. But this was extenuating circumstances. Surely there was a loop hole. To my frustration, I left with my empty homemade nest and two children who believed that he was going to be treated and released. They didn't need to know the truth. They saw their mom doing the right thing and I was going to give them the happy ending.

At the end of that day knowing that I had unintentionally sent him to his demise, I had the peace in my heart that my intentions were pure and my motives honest. I took the time to care for the least of God's creatures. In the end I had only bought him a few days time--or maybe I had shortened what time he would have had if we had not intervened, but this experience had taught me that as much as it hurt losing one pet after another -- and having to say goodbye to a mom I thought I'd have another 20 years with -- I could love again. Perhaps the baby Cardinal was the just the little soft whisper I needed to hear from God to embrace the idea of another family pet.

Enter Twinkle, our cockatiel. But that story, my friends, will wait for another day.

Meet the Kruegers

2009-10-29T16:45:00.006-05:00

Bonnie a/k/a Mommy

Emotional. Analytical. Approval seeker. Insecure
Blogger. Writer. Cropper. Genealogist. Cook.
Leader. Extrovert. Bold. Dreamer. 80's music fan.
Ice cream fanatic. Breakfast skipper. Mom misser.
Stay-at-homer. Volunteer. Organizer.
Bible reader. Christ follower. Truth seeking.
Strength trainer. Insomniac. Animal lover. Good listener.
Wife. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Friend.

Tony a/k/a Daddy

Hard Working. Dedicated. Driven. Meticulous. Devoted.
Introvert. Unempathetic. Short-fused. Bone-marrow donor.
Mr. Fix-It. Sound man. Ice sculpture carver. Christ Follower. Lamborghini wanter. Blue Angels fan. Travel lover.
Boy Scout. Mountain climber. Imaginative.
Selfless. Talented. Family Leader. Brilliant.
Husband. Father. Brother. Son. Uncle. Friend.

Adam

Third born. Lego brick master. Medalled Gymnast.
Basketball player. Cellist. Cub Scouter.
Bike rider. Tree climber. Ice cream lover.
Sensitive. Follower. People pleaser.
Loyal. Role model. Kind. Rule-follower.
Servant's heart. Diligent. Son. Brother.
Grandson. Nephew. Cousin. Friend.

Elise

Youngest child. Dramatic. Talkative.
Spirited. Leader. Adventurous. Performer.
Taggie blanket-lover. Dog lover. Shoe lover.
Confident. Curious. Learner. Artistic.
Secure. Rule breaker. Leader. Independent.
Intuitive. Compassionate. Loving. Daughter
Sister. Granddaughter. Niece. Cousin. Friend.

Michael

First born. Adult. Independent.
EMT. Mind-changer. Free Thinker.
Risk-taker. Emotion driven.
Dreamer. Drifter. Approval Seeking.
Son. Brother. Grandson. Nephew. Cousin.
Friend.

Brandon

Second born. Teenager. Dish Washer.
Rebellious. Tattoo wearer. Avoider.
System challenger. Bold. Leader.
Gadget lover. Impulsive. Talkative.
Extremely intelligent. Unapplied.
Music lover. Car lover. Plane lover.
Son. Brother.Grandson. Nephew. Cousin.
Friend.

Lesson to Be Learned

2009-10-26T17:20:00.004-05:00

My heart is burdened today. I've just come off a refreshing three day scrap booking retreat. Along with completing multiple pages, I took the time to really slow down my life. I enjoyed three leisurely solitary walks along the paths of the retreat center. The weather was gorgeous...a short but appreciated Indian Summer, if you will. I drank in the sun, saying goodbye to the warmth and brilliance in yellow, preparing my heart and mind for the short days and long nights of winter--my least favorite of all the seasons. I lost myself in the second book of the Twilight series, recalling days of my youth when falling in love was new and totally intoxicating. Good food, good conversation and even a little restful sleep.

Returning back home, my mind shifted to the demands of the week....a cooking class with my daughter, a den leader's meeting, fall parties, Halloween, sending in the corrections for the school fundraiser, and at the top of my list, finishing my Bible study for this week's time of teaching and worship. I'm studying the book of Esther, a specially designed study guide for women by Beth Moore. Esther has been a revealing look at God's character, his faithfulness and how He provides for those who trust Him, even through events most of us would see as tragic. The struggles of life recorded in Esther between 460 and 350 B.C. and the struggles of today haven't changed much and are still quite pertinent. Along the way I've learned a lot of historic facts of times and places and political/social climate in those pre-Christ days and have noted over and over within these pages that history has found a way of repeating itself into the 20th and 21st centuries.

On Thursday night I found myself mid way through my Bible lesson and emotionally drained. This week was a tough lesson. Genocide, ethnic cleansings, a pre-Hitler holocaust captured and recorded within the pages of Esther. As I closed the book telling myself I would finish the lesson on Monday, a heaviness began creeping in my heart and stayed with me. Even during those quiet walks I found my mind wandering back to the lesson and they continued to sow heaviness and sorrow within my heart and mind. Returning to that lesson today re-opened those raw emotions for me.

One of the greatest gifts we have in today's century is the ability learn about those past events, both blessed and horrific, that have shaped us as a people or nation. The Holocaust is undoubtedly one of most horrific events experienced in our {parent's} generation and there has been a wide array of publications--books, newspaper and Internet articles--even a historically accurate film Schindler's List--to educate and remind us.

For me the Holocaust is personal. Way personal. From October 1, 1944, to August 10, 1947, my mom Hilda, my grandma Anna and my great grandparents Anna and Thomas were imprisoned in the Yugoslavian genocide and slave labor camps that were established by the Russian Red Army under communist Marshal Tito in retaliation of the war. Few people are aware of this genocide. Two million ethnic Germans died in this massacre. No, they are not considered part of the Holocaust nor are their numbers included in the estimated 11 to 17 million people victimized in the hate crime. It is important to make the distinction between the Holocaust and this Donauschwaben account. While linked by the revenge of war, this genocide was a slap in the face to the Germans.

As a society, we are tragically uneducated in this part of our history. Even my own mother was dismally mis-informed of her own history. Let me go back to 1993 and the release of Schindler's List. I grew up with knowledge of my mom's history and when asked, she would speak of those years she spent as a child in the camps. The movie release started a dialogue in our country and Steven Spielberg created The Shoah Foundation (Hebrew word for Holocaust) to educate and document actual eye-witness testimony in a visual history format. While my mom openly spoke of her experiences, my grandma would not. My mom was the tender age of 6 when they were initially taken from their homes but my grandma, a very young mother, was only 22 years old. Because she was young, healthy, strong and beautiful, the Russians sent my grandma to Russia to work as a slave laborer. Her experiences were so horrific, so terrifying and so life-altering she could not and would not speak to us about what it was she suffered. Up to her death my grandma refused to speak of those days. Those emotional and psychological wounds were too deep and by sharing her story, she would be sharing the pain--or so she believed. My mom pleaded and begged her to give account--to leave the history for her grandchildren and future generations. Ultimately probably in part because of my grandma's silence, my mom gave me her blessing to contact Steven Spielberg on her behalf. I smile in amusement as I recall her stating that while what her mom went through was important, nothing a 6 year old lived through would have any impact on the world. Mr. Spielberg, she added, would never be interested in her story....

"Never" came in 1997 when they contacted my mom and came to her home to videotape an interview for their visual history file. My mom died nearly 10 years to the day of this interview and I cannot convey in words how important those tapes are to me. It gave my mom a safe place to talk about what she saw, heard, felt and experienced. She was able to share about the years leading up to the imprisonment and what it was like to be an immigrant stepping off the Queen Elizabeth in 1950. She shared how those experience shaped her as a wife, a mother, a daughter --and the hand of protection God gave her from beginning to end. Fifty years had passed as she spoke of those events but she could recount beautiful and terrifying images. No, her story is as important as any other. While my grandma went to her grave with secrets and pain, my mom was able to alleviate some of the burden she felt about those days and lay them at another's feet.

In the shadow of Shoah, it became abundantly clear to Tony and me that while my mom recalled the dates and experiences, they were not lining up with the Holocaust. She was too old for the war. It was in the awesome age of Internet that Tony and I spent probably hundreds of hours researching her history. I began meeting other survivors via the Internet, finding books published about these special camps. In a year's time we were able to present to my mom details of what she went through and why. We began to grasp what it was my grandma had suffered and lost. It was in my quest to understand my mom's heritage that I began to understand the importance of leaving a legacy for our children and to preserve the history. For our history to be correct and documented.

In the final months of her life my mom wondered why she suffered so much in the beginning of her life -- and now again in the end. Hadn't she paid enough as a child? I told her that I didn't know why God would allow one person to suffer so much but I said that her testimony gives hope to the hopeless. She not only overcame the obstacles in her life, she triumphed and chose victory over defeat, determination and will over failure, and God over Godlessness. Her story needed to be told....needs to be heard.....Maybe now my heavy heart will find that peace.

Pleasantville

2009-10-02T16:05:00.002-05:00

Upon retrieving a bowl from our fake lazy Susan cabinet, my finger stuck to the wood. Then just one step to the right, I opened the utensil drawer and my hand brushed across the grain near the handle and it was sticky--again. Related? Probably. Any less gross? No, not really.

Keeping a clean house is a challenge for me and I am a self-proclaimed neat freak and Type A personality. Everything has a place; everything in it's place. So what's the problem here? Sometimes I just get overwhelmed at the task at hand. I like the whole house to be clean and all at the same time. Therein, my friends, lies the problem. Who has the time or energy to do it and to do it well?

Let's take my kitchen as an example. I am messy around food. Chef Ramsey would complain I use too many pots, pans and mixing bowls and I am as big a mess as my surroundings. Once the meal is made I am fairly efficient at loading the dishwasher or hand-washing the big stuff. I'll even wipe down the counter tops; but that doesn't make the kitchen clean. The single man who remodeled the kitchen shortly before selling was brilliant in choosing a white corian counter top. White, really truly? The stainless steel appliances were a beautiful choice too--unless you have children who think it is their job to keep the fingerprints freshly adhered to them. Even our back splash is stainless steel. Impossible to keep clean.

Walking across our ceramic tile floors your toes will collect a plethora of food particles, dried bird droppings, dust bunnies, etc. The list of possibilities is endless. How often do you move your refrigerator and stove out to clean behind and beneath them? Good Lord, just the amount of food stuck to the sides of my appliances would feed our hamster Little Dude for days. And the inside of the oven? Self-cleaning. Uhh. not really. As duly noted above, my cabinets could really use some attention. Sticky, stained and dirty cabinet faces breed just as many germs as our frequently wiped down counter tops. When I wipe up spills I seem to catch the counter tops and the floors, not really thinking about the pretty little liquid line adhering to the cabinets on the way down. Anyone think to clean their floor boards lately? Then there's our butler's pantry. Even though it is in the kitchen, it seems to collect less food and more paper and dust dirt --that is when you can actually see the counter top. Normally it is piled high of papers, bills, school work, mail and magazines. Our cute little white TV in the kitchen isn't so white anymore. Years of neglect has tinged it an ugly little shade of dust. No matter how much I work for it to regain its beauty and crispness, it's just gone, gone, gone.

Back to the bigger picture. We have an average sized home at roughly 2,000 square feet with 2 1/2 baths, 4 bedrooms. That is still a lot of house to keep clean, much less be diligent enough that all the bathrooms, bedrooms and floors are clean at the same time. Cleaning service? The thought makes me laugh--not that I am not totally in support of it for my ever-growing group of friends who use them. Most of the women I know who use a cleaning service are full time stay at home moms. No judgment coming from me. I tried to get my husband on board with that one, but alas, he couldn't wrap his head around the idea that someone who doesn't "work" can't make the time to keep house. His suggestion was to cut back on my other commitments. Point made but when the activities often revolve around the kids, I have to wonder what exactly should I not be doing in their lives, something that I can actively give up. I don't think that cleaning should trump being present in the midst of the Fall Party, or taking Elise to a Kid's in the Kitchen class. Granted, I get busy filling roles within the school, church or cub scout pack where there is a need. I have found that "high profile" involvement helps you know what's going on in your child's life--getting to know the other families while serving. Even when I am crunching numbers for the fundraiser, which doesn't directly involve my son, I am gaining a sense of community and of the families I do and do not want my son to know better. Believe me, if my husband would agree to just once a month cleaning service, I'd be like a flea on a doggie. I won't be holding my breath on that one, though.

I daresay my house is more neat and orderly than clean, which is totally not the way it should be. I suppose I am in the mindset that if the piles are minimum, the toys are put away, and dishes in the dishwasher then I can call my house clean. Just don't do the finger test to see whether I've dusted any time in the last week. Just thought I'd put this out there for anyone who in recent weeks have given me accolades to being a Superwoman (Supermom, Superwife), amazing and high-energy. I appreciate the kudos--really I do--please don't stop believing the best in me because I truly do my best to do it all--and well. I need to know I am not alone.

But if you'll excuse me, I think I have a cabinet or two to wipe down before my company arrives!

Move over, Cookie Monster....."C" is for Crappy

2009-09-27T18:58:00.005-05:00

I would venture to guess that most people don't think about sleep. It's something second nature--like breathing. At some point in a 24 hour period you usually do it. The positives of sleeping are endless with a lot of physical, mental and emotional benefits. I would also venture that the only time sleep is on the table for discussion it's because a. you're not doing enough of it b. you're doing too much of it or c. your crappy at it. I fall under the "C" category.

For as many years as I can go back, I can relate to sleep troubles. Until two years ago, I really thought the problem was frequent night wakings, thus on most day, not feeling refreshed or restored. When I was a kid, even though I knew I wasn't sleeping well, I did enough of it that I did not really feel the effects. As a teenager, it definitely started catching up with me. Between school, working part time (usually 20-25 hrs per week) and my social life, I was beginning to feel drained. I could easily sleep until noon and still be tired all the time. College was the time when I was subjected to being the butt of many jokes about going to bed so early (by 10 p.m. most school nights). True, I was also the one who often scheduled the 8 a.m. classes but there was definitely more sleeping going on by me than my numerous college buddies. My friends often existed on half the amount of sleep than me, and yet our sleep debt was probably equal. I was always tired and my friends razzed me about it frequently.

In the early 90's I did an overnight sleep study and they found nothing of consequence. Yes, I woke frequently probably averaging 5 to 7 wakings in one night but nothing "treatable". Up to that point I could only remember sleeping "through the night" one time. It was the night I came home from Trout Lodge 6th grade camp. I slept 10 hours consecutively without remembering any wakings. That was heaven.

Fast forwarding to the late 90's I attributed my chronic fatigue with the demands of being a new wife, and full time step mom to Tony's two young school aged sons and still working 40 hours a week at the local power company. The demands were great and the quality of my sleep had reached an all-time low. Unfortunately, adding my first newborn child to the mix did not help matters. I was a stay-at-home mom at this point and with the continued demands of (step) mothering and being a wife, while dealing with an interfering ex-wife, I was convinced that whether I had sleep issues or not, stress would keep the quality low. Adam was sleeping through the night by 9 weeks old and I was wondering what was wrong with me that my newborn son could achieve something I could not--restful, sound sleep.

Elise was my breaking point. God love her, she was a lousy sleeper. She finally slept more than 3 or 4 hours at a time at 13 months old. But by now I was at an all-time critical low. I was literally exhausted and had nothing to give back into my marriage. My marriage--my family---my life was all in crisis. I felt I had nothing left to give Tony once the kids were down for the night. I was too tired to care. Our counselor suggested looking into my sleep issues again. Fifteen years had elapsed since my last sleep test and surely technology had advanced. Maybe someone could get to the bottom of it.

During the summer of 2007 I began treatment at a sleep clinic. The initial visits were profiling my risk factors. The highest risk group for sleep disorders include overweight, smoking and drinking males. Over-weight, no; smoker, no; drinker, social only; male, nope. However, profiling my youth showed strong indicators. Growing up I was prone to frequent (weekly) sleep walking, snoring and night terrors. My risk just got greater. We inventoried my sleep patterns and behaviors and by all accounts by the doctor, I was doing everything right and sleep-conducive.

Once the history and likelihood of finding something was established, I participated in an over-night sleep study through our local hospital sleep clinic. Properly attached to 25 to 30 electrodes I was ready to sleep. I was given from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.. No more, no less. Fortunately, I feel asleep quickly, which actually was quite the norm. Falling asleep was never the issue--staying asleep was. That night was typical, as typical as it can be for having three sleep technicians watching your every movement via the little mini-cameras set up around my bed and having 25 to 30 wires protruding from about every area of your body. I recalled waking up my average 5 to 7 times over the course of the 8 hours, easily falling back to sleep.

Upon wakening I asked the technician 'how I did'. Well, you had some mild sleep apnea episodes-about 3 or 4 an hour, but nothing remarkable, The doctor will let you know". I must say I left there somewhat dejected. OK, so not breathing 3 or 4 times an hour is acceptable and will likely be overlooked. What else could they actually find, I wondered.

Well, wonder no more. My sleep doctor had an impressive file in front of her as she sat me down in her office. She reiterated that I had mild apnea, not necessary to treat. She explains that the average person will have up to 2 to 3 apnea episodes per hour that is acceptable. I am probably pushing the upper limits of acceptable, but we're going to table THAT. However, she continues, I found something almost unimaginable. You woke up 162 times in 8 hours. For good quality sleep you should be in REM stage 40 to 60 percent of your night. Bonnie, you stayed in REM .2 percent. Basically, honey, she says with a sympathetic tone, you aren't sleeping. Your brain is waking you up idiopathically every 3 minutes. There is no quality of sleep. No wonder you are tired.

Wow! I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or devastated. Perhaps I was a little of both. For the first time in my life I felt validated and actually vindicated that after 40 years of crappy sleep there was a cause--a real medical reason. Over the years I had been harassed and given a hard time by various people in my life. Finally a cause. But the hard part, a solution had to be found. The real work was about to begin.

Unfortunately, sleep medicine research is still a work in progress. Right now, it is more about managing than curing. And, unfortunately, it involves medication along with behavior modification. The good news is that I had already established healthy patterns. I am thin, exercise regularly, eat healthy, non smoker and limited alcohol. I also only consume only 2-3 cups of caffeinated beverages a day. All the right behaviors.

Medications, however, are plentiful but a surprising mix of drugs. For the most part they use old school drugs that were once used to treat psychosis, depression and other mental illness to treat sleep disorders. Quiets the brain and causes drowsiness. Initially there were definitely more misses than hits. All the medications had various side effects: initial drowsiness until the body adapts, often lasting up to 2 weeks, restless leg syndrome, insatiable appetite, weight gain; headaches...the list was endless and, unfortunately, it seemed like I was plagued by the possible side effects, often not tapering off with time. Just one night with the restless leg and I was going to create sleep problem for my poor husband, much less curing mine! The increased appetite was so severe in one case I literally could not stop eating. I was gaining 2 pounds a week. That is fine short term, but long term, it wasn't going to work. Curing one problem but creating another.

During the last two years my dedicated physician has added another doctor to my team. To quote her she said "You are one of the worst cases I've ever seen. I'm a little stumped how to help you You are one of the toughest cases I've ever had". These two years have been both frustrating and enlightening for me. I guess I had hoped for the "miracle cure" when really all we can do is hope to manage it. Insurance only pays for a sleep study once every two years so I will participate in another one this fall to see if they can see anything new. They are always making advances in medicine and sleep research is no different. They are able to look at brain patterns and see what neurons are firing and misfiring. The medication helps and for that I am grateful. But at the same time now that I know that I should feel better and feel more rested. The doctors and I are curious what sleep patterns I have while on medication. Obviously, I don't remember waking up 162 times so I don't know how much the drugs are really helping.

My current situation is that I sleep anywhere from 4 to 6 hours uninterrupted, but then I have hourly awakenings, if not even more frequent than that. The bottom line is that I am still tired--far more than I had hoped two years down the road. But as I told my doctor. "I feel better today than I did two years ago...if this is as good as I'll ever feel then I'll live with it. In the meantime, we'll keep working toward something better".
My amazingly dedicated doctor left me at my last appointment with encouragement. She said that the fact that I get out of bed each day and am not only functional, but highly functional and contributing is amazing. I should be applauded for not letting this be my excuse for laziness. You fully engage your family, your community and are honest about your limitations.

I silently suffer and I am often met with lack of understanding of how difficult this is because it is not able to be seen or touched. Unless you've been there for extended periods of time, you really can't relate. But I have someone on my side--and for that I am grateful!!

Emparted Words

2009-09-19T19:19:00.003-05:00

In a treasure cove of old family documents -- marriage certificates, death certificates, Honorable Discharge papers---I find several hand written poems. The first one, Ode to the Pill Box appears to be an original poem where as the second one is accredited to an anonymous writer. Apparently she found it amusing in her advancing age. These were handwritten by my great grandma Arliea Longbottom Rau. She had passed away before I was born so I never had the pleasure of meeting her, and honestly, don't know much about her life. I think her sense of humor shows through in these poems and apparently a woman of faith.

Ode to the Pill Box

There are many pills for many ills, your doctor will prescribe 'em.
In different shape and sizes, you eat 'em or imbibe 'em

There are pressure pills, both high and low, and pills to help your liver
As well as those for jangled nerves and some to cure a shiver.

Some pills will keep you up when dull
and some when you are duller

In capsule and in tablet form, they bloom in techn-icolor.

My Get-Up-And-Go Has Got Up and Went

Old age is golden, or so I’ve heard said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I crawl into bed,

With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
As sleep dims my vision, I say to myself:
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?

But, though nations are warring, and Congress is vexed,
We’ll still stick around to see what happens next!

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

When I was young, my slippers were red;
I could kick up my heels right over my head.
When I was older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.

Now I am older, my slippers are black.
I huff to the store and puff my way back.
But never you laugh; I don’t mind at all:
I’d rather be huffing than not puff at all!

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Open the paper, and read the Obits.
If I’m not there, I know I’m not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed!

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

Journey

I do not know what the future holds --
of joy or pain
of loss or gain --
Along life's untrod way

But I believe
I can receive
God's promised guidance day by day.

So as I securely travel on
And if at times the journey leads
through water's deep, on mountains steep
I know this unseen Friend.

This love revealing
His presence healing
Walks with me to journey's end
So I securely travel on

I wish you enough

2009-09-17T07:42:00.002-05:00

Recently I overheard a Father and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the Father said, 'I love you, and I wish you enough.' The daughter replied, 'Dad, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.'

They kissed and the daughter left. The Father walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?'

'Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?'.

'I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral,' he said.

'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?'

He began to smile. 'That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone...' He paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even more. 'When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.' Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

He then began to cry and walked away.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them; but then an entire life to forget them.

Take Time To Live..

To all my friends and loved ones, I wish you Enough !