Eyes on the Road

Driving home from my mother-in-law's the day after Christmas, I glanced at the car zooming up I35 in the lane next to us and saw the driver paying very close attention to her Ipad.  We were going 70 miles per hour.  I was immediately filled with rage.  I sat in the passenger seat of our car and stared at her.  Glared at her.  But, as she was too busy holding her Ipad in one hand and taking full advantage of the touch pad with the other, she never looked up to see me.  Or the road.

A couple of weeks ago I got together with some of my favorite girlfriends.  We got onto the topic of texting while driving.  I stated that I don't text while driving, but admitted that occasionally I will sneak a peek at my phone while at a red light.  One of my girlfriends admitted the same.  But the other two admitted that they will text and check email while driving.  I asked them to please stop doing that.  And then one said, "It makes sense that you don't text while driving.  You have your kids in the car with you."  But here's the thing, and I said this to her, she may not be driving with kids in her car, but while her eyes are off the road, she could easily hit my car filled with my kids.  Or your car, filled with your kids. 

I have started leaving the volume off on my phone.  I will readily admit that when I hear that little jingle announcing a text message, I'm consumed with the need to know what it says.  But when I don't know there's a message, then I don't feel the need to check my phone, and I'm a better driver because of it. 

So, to my friends who text and drive, there is no email, no text message, no phone call, that is more important than your safety.  Or mine.  Or my kids'.  And to the woman I saw "driving" on I35, I hope you back over your Ipad before you back over someone's child.  Please don't text and drive.  Please. 

A Letter to my Husband

Dear Wade.
Please hang my car keys on the hook after you have driven my car. 

If you hang my keys on the hook after you have driven my car, I won't have to check the pockets of all of your coats before I leave the house.
If you hang my keys on the hook after you have driven my car, I won't have to rifle through the stuff on the top of your dresser before leaving the house.
If you hang the keys on the hook after you have driven my car, I won't have to call you in a frenzied panic before leaving the house.
If you hang my keys on the hook after you have driven my car, I won't be late for 2nd grade reading group. 
Or the kids' doctor appointments.  Or happy hour.

This is not to imply that I always hang them on the hook after driving my car, but at least when I misplace them it's my fault.  When you misplace them, it's your fault.  And that's ten times more frustrating. And it forces me to say mean things about you in my head.  And under my breath.

Thank you for your thoughtful consideration on this matter.
Your loving wife,
Sara

After

They finished the front of the house yesterday.  Almost.  But it's done enough that I thought I'd post a picture.

Here's the BEFORE.  White.  Black shutters.  Orange brick.  Red door.  Like I said previously, I had never thought of changing it until we had this opportunity.  But once we decided to do something different, I was so excited.  Something I've learned about myself lately (and I'll be writing more on this soon) is that I really like change.  I kind of thrive on it.  I like the planning and the options.  I like creating a picture in my mind, and then changing it.  And then changing it again.  It drives my husband nuts. 

Anyway, here's the after!  In all honestly, it took me a day to get excited about it.  When I walked outside for my first look at the (mostly) finished product, I was pretty shocked.  It looks so different.  At least to me.  Which is what I wanted.  Only, when I first saw it I wondered if I'd made a mistake.  But this morning, walking out to the bus stop, I looked again and thought, "I like it."  And this afternoon, coming around the corner after running errands (with two sick kids - friends in the area, don't go to Costco or the Burnsville Super Target for a few days.  Sorry!), I thought, "I love it!"  Of course, we're not out of the woods yet.  Now I need to decide what to do with my glaringly white garage doors.  On my previously white house, they looked perfectly fine.  But now...?  

So, opinions welcome.  Leave them or paint them dark brown? 

It's funny to think about the fact that after months of planning and waiting, it's pretty much done.  And in a year, or even a month, it will be "normal" and I won't think about it anymore.  Oh, but don't get me wrong.  I'll be thinking about something.  There's always something!

I couldn't think of anything to write on my blog, so I stole this from someone else's

One of my favorite blogs, Rants from Mommyland, posted this awhile back:

They borrowed it from a blog I have never heard of, called The Badger Hut.  Rumor has it that the Badger also has a twitter feed filled with these first world problems, if you're interested in reading more. 

I have never claimed to be the smartest crayon in the box, so it took me some time to figure out what the title, First World Problems, meant.  So, in case you're as smart as I am, here's my explanation: our lame first world issues as opposed to very real and usually life-threatening third world problems.  But as I dealt with my own "first world problem" yesterday, I found myself thinking about this crying Dawson, and it helped to put things into perspective.

They started to put the wrong siding on my house.  FWP because: we are getting new siding for free through State Farm.  Not to mention the fact that I. HAVE. A. HOUSE. on which to put that new siding.  So, while yesterday I was in a tizzy about having this dumpster in my driveway for two more weeks, today I'm thankful that I got to come from the cold bus stop into my warm house to a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

A Recent Conversation

On Saturday I had a Norwex table at the grand opening of an adorable little store in Farmington, MN.  One of the other vendors came up to me and said I looked familiar.  Here is that conversation:

Jenny: Excuse me.  You look really familiar to me.
Me:  I do?
Jenny: Yes.  Were you ever a teacher?
Me: Yes.
Jenny: In Lakeville?
Me: Yes.
Jenny: At Kenwood?
Me: Yes!  That was a long time ago!  I can't place you because you're all grown up.
Jenny:  I was Jenny H----.  Ms. Ryman!  You taught English.
Me: I must have had you early on if I was still Ms. Ryman.
Jenny: Yup.  I think the year I had you was your first year teaching.
Me:  Ok, I'm no math teacher, but I taught for six years and I've been out of teaching for seven.  If my addition is correct, you were in my class thirteen years ago.

That made me feel old.  She's 27 now.  Married, hoping to have a family in the near future.  As we talked, I started to remember her from my 8th grade class all those years ago.  But Jenny and I went on to talk about where she went to college, having kids and the fact that we both had a crush on Mr. Minske, the young social studies teacher down the hall from me.  She said she remembered Independent Reading, where students would bring in a book and spend the hour laying under tables and in the isles between desks reading while I graded their daily journals.

It was fun to catch up with her.  As a teacher, I loved seeing that one of my students had grown into a smart, well-spoken, confident adult.  She told me she now loves to read.  I told her I'm going to take some credit for that.  

Inverse Proportion

Below is a graph of my kids eating habits:

It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to make a graph, but I believe this gets my point across.  In other words (or words, rather than lines), the more time spent on a meal, the less likely it is that my children will eat it. 

Siding

I'm waiting for the siding guys to get here.  One guy showed up yesterday, took some siding off the side of the garage, and then left.  I'm hoping for a little more progress today.

We had no intention of changing the way our house looked.  It's white with black shutters.  I've always liked it, to be honest.  But then we found out we have hail damage, and our roof was in bad shape.  Thanks to State Farm, everything is covered.  If we were getting new siding, then why not change it.  Right?

I had a designer woman come out to help me with colors.  We have orange-ish brick that I wanted to make sure looked nice with whatever color we chose.  I told her I had always liked it white, but wanted to know what my options were as far as something new.  Her response was rather untactful, "You've liked it white?  White is sooo BORING!"  

I was in a flurry of colors and color combinations and holding little paint chips up to the brick to see how it looked.  This is the kind of thing I can get really into.  I like change.  I like decorating.  But now that the time has come to actually start the work, I'm nervous.  What if it doesn't look the way I've imagined it looking?

Our roof was done a few weeks ago.  We had had a black roof, but the new one has a little more depth to it.  There's a tiny bit of orange, grey and some charcoal.  They laid it like shakes, and it looks beautiful.  Who knew I could get so excited about a roof!  So, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I will be just as pleasantly surprised with the new siding. 

"Before"

 

I've already taken the lower shutters off and painted them.  And you can get a sneak peek at the new color if you look above the downstairs windown.  You'll know if I like the new look when I post (or don't post) a picture of the "after."

A Letter to my Son

Dear Max,
I wanted to take a minute to address the sock problem.  Please take note of the lists below.

Places your socks go after wearing them:
the hamper.

Places your socks do not go after wearing them:
the family room
under the piano
in the toy box
the tupperware cupboard
the stairs
the backyard
the frontyard
the car
the comfy chair
your bed
the garage
anyplace that is not your hamper

I would appreciate your getting a handle on this sock issue at your most earliest convenience.
Love,
Mom

Aloha

A few days ago I got a text from a friend who was in Hawaii on business (tough gig, right?).  Her text said "I'm in heaven" and was accompanied by a picture of her lying on the beach. 

While she had been lying on the beach, I had been driving an hour to trade in the loaner minivan for my newly fixed Acadia.  I had had an hour of silence, and had another awaiting me on my return trip home.  I was in heaven!  Being alone in my car, or alone in my house or even alone in the bathroom, is a rare treat for me.  And besides the lack of noise, my favorite part about silence is that I get to hear myself think.

When it's quiet, I usually start off thinking about how much I love the quiet.  How nice it is to have a break.  To get away.  But then my thoughts turn to who I'm "getting away" from.  And that leads me to thinking about my kids.  Sophie, who is eternally happy and eager to please.  Max, who is funny in a smart way and smart in an even smarter way.  And Lily, who, at the grocery store earlier that day said "Thank you, mama," for every item I put in the cart.  Including the spinach.

That got me to thinking about my husband and the home we have made for our family.  I thought about my house, and how much I love living here.  In this house with this yard, but also in this neighborhood with our friends.  I love that we know our neighbors.  And we like them!   And we have so many other wonderful friends from college, church, work and many other parts of our lives.  We are so blessed.

I texted my friend back with a picture of me, alone in my car, with the words, "Me, too."  I'm sure she didn't understand what I was saying.  But it just so happened that as I got her message, surrounded by silence but rushing back to the loving chaos of my life, I felt like I was in heaven, too. 

Caught Up

My kids are still sleeping.  This makes me so happy I want to run around the house screaming, but that would wake them up, so I decided to sit down and write. 

I haven't written in a while.  I haven't felt that I had anything to say.  You've heard it all before...all the other times I stopped writing.  And then started again.  My neighbor said I need to start a new challenge.  She's right.  I'm shooting for 3 posts a week through the end of the year.  Challenge on!

So, here's what you've missed:
We got a new roof.
We're getting new siding.
Lily learned to say the word "butt."
Sophie loves school.
Max hates school.
I am taking over the bookfair.
I became a Norwex consultant.
I started teaching Sunday School
I am organizing Sophie's second grade fall party (not allowed to say Halloween, not sure why).
I haven't been sleeping well.
I have been losing my mind a little bit each day.
My husband and I celebrated 10 years of mostly wedded bliss.
I am secretly looking forward to the first snowfall so I can use my fireplace.
Once it snows I plan to complain constantly until it has melted (next July).
My cat has gone deaf.
My dog puked up her dinner on my new carpet last night.
The kids started skating lessons.
I've been driving a minivan for the past week and I kind of like it.

There.  I think that's everything.  And my kids are totally still sleeping!

Things I've Learned in the Last Decade

 1.)  I feel too young to have been married for ten years.
2.)  If you wait long enough, your husband will change the baby's poopy diaper.
3.)  My husband stops snoring when I elbow him in the side...this has taken me years to perfect.
4.)  My husband thinks I'm sexy...even in sweatpants.
5.)  The best reason to get flowers is for no reason at all.
6.)  If I could be married to anyone, the vast majority of the time I would choose my husband.
7.)  Watching my husband play with our kids is the sexiest thing in the world.  
8.)  I'm not always that easy to live with.
9.)  In the center of our marriage is our love for God.  And for Chipotle. 
10.)  10 years goes by really, really fast.

Happy Anniversary, Wade!

Sick Day

I want to start by saying that I realize how blessed I am to be able to stay at home with my kids.  I know that there are many parents who would like to have that option, but don't.  I know I am lucky that I get to put my two-year-old down for a nap and then watch Young and the Restless while I fold laundry.  I know that most working parents don't get to wear sweatpants all day.  I get to see my kids' first steps, hear their first words and rejoice when they finally go on the potty.  I like that I can hang out with my friends and call it a playdate for our kids.  My meetings involve building Lego starships and playing Pretty Pretty Princess.  I know all of this.  And I really do feel blessed.

Except when I'm sick. 

When I'm sick I just want to curl up in my bed and sleep.  I want to watch TV all day long with no interruptions.  I'd watch things I would never normally take the time to watch, like the Kardashians and Bridezillas.  I want to feel sorry for myself and mope around the house.  I want to eat soup and not share it with anyone.  I want to sit.  Just sit.

Staying at home means there are no sick days.  There is no PTO.  No vacation accrued each month.  I'm not sick enough to ask my husband to stay home from work.  And even if I were, it's awfully hard to ask him to give up one of his precious days off to cover for me. 

So, there will be no curling up in bed.  There will be no soup.  There will be no sitting.  There might watching TV all day (although, instead of trashy TV, it will be Clifford the Big Red Dog and Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot About That).  And there will be plenty of feeling sorry for myself.  But just for today. 

Bad Mood

Today I woke up in a bad mood.  It might have been the weather.  It might have been that I knew we were out of eggs. Or it might have been the fact that the two previous mornings I was able to wake up to a quiet house, drink my coffee in peace, and eat my eggs without having to share with a two-year-old, but now my kids were back.  

For the second time this summer my parents took all three of my kids up to the lake for a few days.  I feel so blessed that my parents are able to do that.  The kids love it and my parents, while exhausted and probably completely overwhelmed by the constant noise, love it.  And, if I'm being completely honest, I love it, too.  I miss my kids when they are gone.  And missing them is a nice feeling.  I don't experience that very often, so it's a nice reminder that I actually do like my kids.

I called the lake a couple of times and heard Lily's little voice over the phone lines.  Sophie told me all about a boat rescue and Max asked what I did all day while they were gone.  And I got a ton of stuff done around the house. 

I was so happy to see them when they got home last night.  I really was.  There may have been a little tiny part of me that knew my extended quiet time was over, but mostly, like 97.6% of me, was overjoyed to have them home.  The house was too still while they were gone.  Too quiet. 

And then I woke up this morning in a bad mood.  I realized, while I felt lost without them for most of the day, I really had enjoyed my mornings.  I liked getting up and being the only one downstairs.  I liked sipping my coffee without having to make someone else's breakfast.  I liked just sitting and watching the sky lighten as the sun came up.  This morning when I came downstairs Sophie and Max had iCarly blaring on the TV.  This was pre-coffee and I had already decided I was in a bad mood, so the first words out of my mouth were "Turn that down.  NOW!  I had this house all to my self for three whole days and it was wonderful and quiet and clean and no one asked me for snacks or pooped their pants or left their shoes in my way and now you're back and you're ruining everything.  EVERYTHING!"  Okay, I didn't really say the last part.  But I wanted to.

The day has gotten better.  And now Lily is napping and the kids are outside playing and I'm going to make myself a pot of coffee and pretend it's morning.  And enjoy the quiet. 

Things it Takes 3Days to Learn

Sole Inspiration - Jill, me, Sara G, Becky

This was my fourth 3Day for the Cure.  My plan is to continue walking this event until there is a cure, or my legs won't carry me anymore.  Whichever comes first.  There is no way to accurately explain what the 3Day experience is really like, but I'm going to try.

                         

Things it Takes 3Days to Learn

1)  After walking 20 miles, showering in the back of a semi-trailer feels a lot like heaven.

2)  Using the first few Porta-Potties, it feels strange to not flush a toilet.

3)  After the 3Day, it feels strange TO flush a toilet.

4) It takes about twenty-four hours
to start referring to your little pink tent as "home." 

5) Becky's long legs make her a perfect pace car! 

6)  No matter what, at some point during the 60 mile walk you're going to talk about farting.

7)  Sara G has a doctorate in blisters.

8)  It looks like fun to carry one of the remembrance flags.  It is not.

9)  It seems cruel that the miles we walk around the huge campsite don't count towards the 60. 

10) Air mattresses are a good idea.  In theory.

11)  It's entertaining to see the creative ways people decorate their tents.  And useful when trying to find your own (ie: my tent is across from the one that looks like a piece of watermelon).

12)  Jill can't say the word anonymity.

13) The men who walk the 3Day are rockstars (or "walk"stars - Ha! Ha!)...and treated as such!

14)  Of all the team names we saw, my favorite was These Boobs Were Made for Walking.

15)  After walking 60 miles and sleeping on the ground, with blistered feet and tired legs, you're still going to have plenty of energy for a dance party during closing ceremonies. 

A Miracle in an Animal Cracker Container

About a week and a half ago my kids found a chubby green caterpillar in our garden.  They let him crawl around on their hands and then asked if they could keep him.  We found an empty plastic container and they filled it with rocks and sticks and leaves.  They named him Suction Cup.  And we all agreed that we would let him go at bedtime.

But we forgot to let him go.

The next morning he looked like this:

And by the next afternoon he looked like this:

We did some research online and learned that he (Suction Cup is obviously a boy's name) was a Swallowtail.  They stay in their chrysalis for one to two weeks.  We left him on the kitchen counter.  The kids peeked at him every once in awhile, but with no change they were losing interest.

Then, this morning, as I poured myself a cup of coffee, out of the corner of my eye I saw a flutter.

Fly away, Suction Cup.  Fly away. 

"It's death and resurrection. A butterfly is not a bug with wings, it's a whole new creature."   -Deepak Chopra

Funny Things My Kids Said

I recently got out my little journal where I keep track of funny, interesting things my kids say.  Each time I add a new one, I like to flip back through the past entries.  I usually end up laughing out loud.  I know these might not hold the same weight for you that they do for me, but here are my Top 10 Favorite Things My Kids Have Said:

#10  Sophie, yesterday (at age 7): "Did Grandpa Don have any brothers or sisters?
Me: Nope.
Sophie: "Oh.  So he was a lonely child?"

#9  Sophie, while potty-training: "I've got a surprise for you, Mommy.  And it's BROWN!"

#8  Max, almost 3 years old: "I want the biggest piece of cake"
Me: "That's not very polite."
Max: "May I please have the biggest piece of cake?" 

#7  Sophie, at age 3: "I'm not pouting.  I'm feeling sorry for myself."

#6  Sophie, in first grade about her "boyfriend":  I think I'm going to marry him, but it's too early to tell."  

#5  Max, 3 years old: "Mom, do you think I'll EVER get to meet a garbage man?"

#4  Sophie's Christmas prayer, 3 1/2 years old: "Today we celebrate your birthday.  You are the best Jesus ever."

#3  Max, 3 1/2 years old, while Wade was pitching to him in the backyard: "I'm pretty great at this game." 

#2  Max, 4 years old, describing his tinker-toy creation: "It's an airplane stand that stands up...and makes babies laugh." 

#1  Sophie, 4 years old, while playing with a toy tow truck and her dad: "Daddy, pretend you are stuck and the hooker will save you.  The hooker will always save you."

Babying the Baby

Every once in a while Lily will throw her pacifier out of her crib.  And then cry hysterically.  Last night was one of those times.  I know that what I'm supposed to do is give it back to her and then leave the room.  But her tear-stained cheeks and out-stretched arms make that impossible.

I scooped her up and told her I would sing her one more song.  She put her head on my shoulder and waited for her favorite, Jesus Loves Me This I Know.  As I quietly sang and swayed back and forth next to her crib, I could feel her eye lashes brushing against my arm and I thought, I don't want this to end. 

Lily is my baby, but she's not much of a baby anymore.  She turns two on Saturday.  She's starting to talk more and more everyday.  She still has a pudgy tummy and chubby thighs, but if memory serves, it was between two and three that my other two slimmed down and lost the last of their baby fat.  She will cuddle with me, but only on her terms.  And she rarely gives kisses anymore.  They have become a precious commodity in our house.

So, as I held her last night, all the while knowing I was starting the cycle of crying for attention we had fought so hard never to start with Sophie or Max, I couldn't help but think that this was my last chance.  Pretty soon she won't want to be held anymore.  And soon after that she'll be too big to hold, anyway.  This is my last chance to sing Jesus Loves Me into the ear of my own child and have her listen rather than roll her eyes and tell me that my singing stinks. 

Is it wrong to want to savor these moments?  I know that it often means overstepping into the realm of spoiling the baby.  And I suppose that's what makes the baby of the family the baby.  The littlest.  The cutest.  But also the biggest brat?  The one who always gets her way.  I can see now how easily that happens when parents, like me, want to hold on to the last one.  Want to make it, babyhood, that is, last far longer than they would have with the others. 

After losing Lily yesterday, I couldn't help but hold her a little bit longer than I would have otherwise.  And I couldn't help but think about two years ago, when I would nurse her in the middle of the night and she would fit in the crook of my arm.  And I couldn't help but think about two years from now, when she's too big to hold and too busy to cuddle.  After just one more flit of her eyelashes on my skin I laid her down in her crib and read her one more book (bee-bo) and sang her one more song.  And then closed the door as she started to cry, still wanting one more of everything. 

A little lesson in being self-righteous

I sat down this morning to write a post about how irresponsible some parents can be.  I had started out this post quite holier than thou as I told of two separate times in the past week I had seen small children wandering in public and/or dangerous places while there was nary a parent in sight.  I was prepared to tell you how, at the zoo last Tuesday, my brother and I noticed a little boy, who could barely walk on his own, attempting to head outside without a grown-up.  I was going to tell you how appalled I was when Matt said, after taking the boy's hand and walking back into the zoo, the mother, upon seeing her son holding hands with a complete stranger, says, "Oh, there you are."  I also planned to tell you about a little girl, no more than 2, who was wandering aimlessly through a parking lot while cars drove by her.  My friend Jill and I were in the process of turning Jill's car around so that we could at the very least get this little girl out of harms way, when the girl's mother, I assume, casually sauntered over and got her.  I wanted to say things like, don't parents watch their kids anymore?  and who allows toddlers to wander unsupervised? 

That had been my plan.

And then I lost Lily. 

I didn't lose her at the zoo or in a parking lot, but right here.  At my house.  I'm watching the kids of some friends for the day so my house is slightly (only slightly) more chaotic then usual.  With three added children there has been a significant amount of going up and down stairs and going in and out of doors and moving from the front yard to the back. 

I have found myself constantly asking "Where's Lily?"

But then I started making sandwiches.  Some want cheese and some don't.  Some want mayo and some don't.  And one wants peanut butter and jelly (no cheese or mayo, he tells me).  I'm desperately trying to follow the directions of the five children able to give me their orders and I suddenly realize I haven't seen or heard from Lily is quite some time.  I run upstairs, where she has spent most of the morning annoying the other kids, but she's not there.  Not in the basement.  Not emptying the drawers in the bathroom either.  But the screen door to the back yard is open.  I run out yelling her name.  I'm wondering if she went into the woods behind our house or wandered into the neighbors yard (they have way better toys than us).  I make my way, yelling all the while, to the front yard where I worry about the street and the construction happening just across it.  I'm panicking.  And I'm thinking about the stupid post I had started and how now I couldn't post it because I'm one of those parents.  I don't have a car that fits all of these kids, so I'm wondering how I can drive around the neighborhood looking for her without putting my other five charges in jeopardy. 

And then I hear her giggle.  I whip around to my open garage door and see her.  Buckled in her stroller.  Ready to go to the park for our picnic.  Watching me run around like a maniac.  And laughing.

And I headed inside to rewrite my post.  

Good morning!

Some mornings my coffee is a bit too strong.  Or too weak.

Some mornings I accidentally put too much creamer in my cup.  Or too little.

But some mornings, like this one, the coffee and creamer join together in perfect harmony and I know it's going to be a good day.

A couple of days ago my friend (Hi Megan!) said, "I'm sad your challenge is over."  I hadn't thought of my challenge as "being over."  I kept meaning to write.  I just wasn't doing it.  And suddenly the days have turned into weeks and I haven't written anything so far this month.  I liked writing (almost) every day.  It was fun and therapeutic and something I would like to keep.  So, the challenge is back on.  Or still going.   

Today, with my perfectly-creamered cup of coffee and better-late-than-never post, I'm looking ahead to a cloudy, but good day. 

The Sound of Quiet

I try to get up before my kids in the morning.  I like to have some time before I have to be "on."  I like to drink my first cup of coffee as I check Facebook.  Feed my cat.  Wake up a little bit.  And I like the quiet.

Ahhh, quiet.  It's so rare, as a parent, to have quiet.  Silence.  I think parents tend to forget that silence is even a sound.  An option.  So many of the vibrations surrounding me are filled with crying, fighting, whining.  And asking.  And chatter.  Chatter chatter chatterchatterchatter.  


Sometimes, when I'm with my parents or other people who aren't necessarily around kids all the time, I find that I can tune out my kid's noise.  I don't realize I'm doing it until the person I'm with winces.  Usually trying very hard to ignore the screeching.  And that's when the sound hits me.  Like, sometimes when I first wake up, I don't hear the fan.  And then I do.  I don't hear my kids screaming at each other.  And then I do.  I guess it's just my brain's way of taking a moment of silence.  Even amongst all the noise. 

Oprah once said we should have ten minutes of silence a day.  I remember thinking, Ten minutes!  Only a woman with no kids could find ten minutes of silence.  But I agree with her.  When I have some time to enjoy the quiet, especially in the morning, I'm a better person for it.  Well, a better mom, at least. 

My Mug Overfloweth

I was at a family bridal shower yesterday.  My cousin, one of the hostesses, presented a devotion somewhere between opening presents and having cake.  I don't remember all of the Bible verses she referenced, but it was what she had to say about cups overflowing that got my attention.

I have heard that saying all my life.  My cup overfloweth.  I have always thought about it in terms of myself.  My things.  My blessings, too many to count.  How nice for me. It's about me.

But my cousin presented it in a new light.  She said God is the liquid (I imagined coffee, of course).  And it's God pouring into the coffee cup.  And he fills us up.  To the very brim.  And keeps pouring!  As she was talking I was imagining coffee spilling over the sides of my mug.  Spreading over my counter, creeping towards the edges and then cascading over in a golden brown delicious waterfall.  And then she said, "And the liquid spilling over is what we share with others."  Because God has filled us up, we want to share Him.  We want to be the carafe that pours Him into those around us. 

So, as I pour myself a cup of coffee this morning, I'm going to think about how I can pour God into the lives of the people He blesses me with today. 

Vacuuming

We're having some friends over tonight, so I've been cleaning my house so that when they get here they will think that this is how it always looks.  That's why we clean, right?  To fool our guests?  Anyway, as I was vacuuming the basement last night my $1200 Kirby started burning up.  Literally.  It smelled like it was going to explode and when I took the front off (if you have a Kirby then you know what I'm talking about, if you don't, then just bear with me) and the little thingy sticking out was red hot.  Like an iron in the fire hot.  Frick, I thought, now I can't vacuum. 

And then I thought (this time in a happy voice!), Now I can't vacuum! 

I spent yesterday evening, when I would have been vacuuming, not vacumming.  And this morning I kept not vacuuming until I had the bright idea to call Kirby and ask them how I go about getting my very expensive, yet broken, vacuum fixed.  They transferred me to Parts and Services.  The lady told me to check the set up inside the front piece, make sure it's right and then try it again.  I assured her that I had already done that and she insisted that I try again.  "Whatever," I said.  Actually, I said, "Thank you," because I'm polite.  But in my head I said, "Whatever."

I went down to the basement where my smoldering vacuum had sat all night and did as she instructed.  Did the same thing I had done last night and hadn't worked.  Of course, this time it worked.  And now I have to vacuum.  Stupid Kirby.

Currency

Not too long ago I could get my kids to do just about anything "for a high five."  That's right.  Slapping hands.  Up high.  "If you clean the basement I'll give you a high five."  "Brush your teeth and I'll give you a high five."  "Bring mommy her wine and I'll give you a high five."

But, they don't want high fives anymore.  Now they have started asking for things.  Like ice cream.  Or a dollar.  I thought I was so clever.  I wasn't bribing them with food or things.  But I guess I was bribing them, just the same.  And now that they are bigger, and a high five from mom is stupid and for babies, I'm at a loss.  Now we talk a lot about privileges.  Like TV and the Wii.  And that they need to be earned.  And then I end up threatening, and then following through on the threat, to take them away.  But that's punishing me far more than it punishes them! 

One thing that seems to work short term is losing my mind.  Quite literally.  Lately it seems, having all three kids home all day every day, I can't keep up with the mess.  The other day, after my high fives were shunned and Sophie still hadn't brushed her hair and there were still breakfast dishes on the table, I snapped.  "I JUST NEED A LITTLE HELP AROUND HERE!  I CAN'T DO THIS ALL ON MY OWN!"  Their faces reflected the insanity they saw in mine.  And guess what?  Things got done.  Fast. 

But I don't like losing it like that.  I feel guilty later and while the kids are doing what I asked, they are tip-toeing around me like I'm a sleeping dragon they don't want to wake.  And that just makes me feel like a monster.  So, I'll keep working on it.  There has to be a happy medium somewhere.  Right?  And in the mean time, I guess I'll have to get my own wine.  (Just kidding, Mom.  I have always gotten my own wine.)

Truce

I'm declaring a truce with my body.  We've been at war for almost two years now.  Oh.  Who am I kidding.  We've been at war since I turned 13 and started getting boobs, the first sign that my body liked to hang on to fat for dear life.  I've struggled with my weight for most of my life.  You've heard it all before.

I made a fatal mistake a few years ago.  I got really thin.  I was training for the 3Day.  Hardcore.  And without my really trying my body thinned out.  I have never been that fit and trim before.  That lasted for a summer and then that fall I was pregnant with Lily.  I will never know how realistic it was for my body to stay like that long-term.  But that has become my goal.  My unrealistic goal.

I hang on to those clothes in the hopes that I will fit into them someday.  I buy new clothes that are too tight, in the hopes that I will fit into them someday.  I bought a cute white skirt a few months ago.  It almost fits, but gives me a major muffin top and is just tight enough to make me feel uncomfortable.  A few weeks ago I got up early and met up with a couple of my 3Day teammates.  We walked 15 miles.  I came home, showered and got ready for a graduation party we were going to that afternoon.  I put on that white skirt.  It dawned on me later that because of how uncomfortable I was in that stupid skirt, I felt fat.  Even after walking 15 miles in under four hours.  That doesn't add up.

I do a lot of things right.  I eat mostly organic food.  I exercise every day.  Usually for an hour or more.  I cut down on snacking and I have been working on eating fewer carbs.  Our big cheat once (or twice?) a week is Chipolte, and I don't even get cheese, sour cream or guac on my burrito!  This is realistic for me.  And this is what my body looks like.  I need to stop comparing myself to my single, child-free, vegetarian sister.  And I need to stop comparing myself to myself-from-three-years-ago.

I hate when people say things like "You look great for having had three kids." or "You're 35 now."  But I'm starting to see the truth in that.  My body is different than it was in my twenties.  And three kids takes a toll on not only my body, but my time and energy.  Two things I need more of if I want to reach my "goal."   

I'm healthy.  I will never be thin, but I'm not overweight.  And when I wear clothes that fit me, I feel good.  So today I'm going shopping.  I'm going to buy clothes that fit this body.  Not the body I wish I had.  Not the body the media thinks I should have.  But, my body. 

New Do

I accidentally colored my hair.  Well, I colored it on purpose.  And I even purposely chose to do something a little different.  But I didn't mean to do something this different.  Although, it's not different bad.  I like it.  I really like it, actually.  And apparently it's not as different as I thought, as it took my husband three hours to notice.

I wanted to lighten my hair.  Not because blonds have more fun (that's a bunch of hooey) but because I am in a fight against gray hair and the lighter my hair, the less noticeable the little buggers are.  At least that's my philosophy.  So while I wanted lighter, I hadn't anticipated it getting this light.  It's not platinum blond...probably not even blond.  But it's drastically lighter than it was twenty-four hours ago. 

Now here's where I have to fight off not only grays, but also my anxiety.  As I drove home yesterday and snuck little peeks in the rear-view mirror at my new color, I would get a surge of excitement.  Yay, I would think, it's different and fun and summery!  But on the heels of that would be, What will everyone think?  What will Wade think?  What will MY MOM think? 

I went for a walk with my neighbor last night and she noticed right away (thank goodness I didn't have to walk for three hours in this heat!).  I'm one of those people who has a hard time taking a compliment.  She said she really liked it.  While I know the correct response would be to say "thank you," I can never seem to just leave it at that.  I dove into the whole explanation about not expecting it to get so light and does it make me look like I'm trying to look younger and I hate the whole What did you do to your hair? conversation because I can never tell if people are being sincere or just being nice.   

So.  Anyway.  Like my blog and my tattoo and my patio set, I am adding my hair to the growing list of things that I like and I will continue to work on letting that be enough.

Bad Business

I won't do this very often, but I'm giving a bad recommendation to a local company.  We have a sprinkler system and for years we used a "big" company to service it in the spring and fall.  A couple of summers ago we decided to switch to a smaller, local company: Systematic Rain.  We like to support small businesses and they had better rates.  Win.  Win.

I'm not sure what happened.  New management, perhaps, but this year they have been nothing but rude and unreliable.  For instance, earlier this spring when the guy (hereby known as TG) called the house, he asked for my husband.  I explained that Wade was at work and asked if he was calling to set up a time to come out.  He said yes.  I said that I was actually the one he needed to talk to about times.  TG responded, and I quote, "Ha ha ha (totally condescending laughter)...have him call me (totally condescending tone)."  I was livid and told my husband as much.  Wade called TG back and said "Give my wife a call to set up a time to come out."  TG stammered something about doing that soon.  He never called.

Weeks later we finally get an appointment set up and some guy (hereby known as SG) comes out.  He gets the sprinkler system up and running and explains that there are a couple of spots with low pressure, but nothing that should be a problem.  A couple of weeks later SG shows up, completely unannounced, at my front door.  He says he's there to fix a leak.  I know nothing of the leak and nothing about him coming out that day and tell him so.  He leaves.  A few days later we are informed, by our neighbor, that there is a massive leak in our system that is flooding part of his front lawn.  Wade calls.  We never hear back from TG or SG.  We call our "big" company (which I just earned is also local).  They were out two days later and have everything fixed.

Today, just a moment ago, as a matter of fact, I happen to look out my front window and see a man with two huge shovels walking across my lawn.  Not to my front door, but headed to the spot where the leak used to be.  I saw his Systematic Rain truck parked on the street.  No appointment.  No warning phone call.  I ran out to stop him before he dug up my front yard.  "We had a different company come out to take care of that," I said.  "Oh, " he said,  "Perfect."  Not a sarcastic perfect.  But a friendly, glad-you-got-it-taken-care-of-by-someone-other-than-us perfect.  What?

Is it just me?  Are my expectations too high?  Not returning phone calls and speaking like a male chauvinist pig to someone who wants to pay you money don't seem like traits on which to build a successful company.  Anyway, I guess the grass is always greener with the other sprinkler company.  

Lessons in Camping

I have just returned from a Moms Camping trip.  6 moms.  Out in nature.  Setting up our tents and cooking over an open fire.  Enjoying a beer while we tell stories about our youth and make fun of our husbands.  Oh, and try to keep track of the 13 kids we brought with us.

Actually, even with 13 kids running, eating, climbing and yelling (lots of yelling!) the trip was quite fun.  And educational.  Now that I have successfully completed my second camping trip, I thought I would share some of my expert knowledge with you. 

(Warning to men: just skip #3)

1) Camping with 19 people isn't nearly as awful as it sounds.  Especially after a couple of beers.

2) Your little boy will no longer want a kiss for his boo-boo when he gets hurt playing football. 

3) If you get your period while camping, it will be the heaviest period you've had in the past year.

4) Kids can play in the sand for hours.  And hours.

5) There will be no left over donuts.

6)  There will be left over carrots.

7) Even though 13 kids spent the evening running without abandon while yelling, screaming and shrieking, it will be after they are sound asleep in bed that the park ranger shows up and asks the moms, still sitting around the campfire, to "take it down a notch."

8) If you are completely prepared for and expecting it to rain, it will not.

9) Surprisingly, if it's made over a fire, kids will eat it without complaint.

10) After camping with someone you have just met, you will have completely forgotten that you didn't know her as of three days ago.

11) This magical machine will be painstakingly slow as it brews coffee...but the coffee will totally be worth the wait!

12) While walking through a Wisconsin State Park, it is obvious that it is not only legal, but required to have alcohol in plain view.

13) The lady at the nature center knows a lot about snakes, but very little about entertaining children.

14) It takes approximately 24 hours for a group of 13 kids to find their groove.
 
15) Racoons, after opening your cooler and taking out a package of hotdogs, will spit them on the ground once realizing they are not kosher.

With these few tips, you are now ready to take 18 friends, ranging in age from 4 to 42, into the woods for a successful camping experience.  Good luck!

Mom Power

Tomorrow morning I head out with five other moms on a "moms camping trip."  Moms...and kids.  Last year was our first time going and my kids have been talking about it ever since.  They are besides themselves with excitement!  The other night I asked them what they remember the most from last year.  I waited for answers like "playing at the beach" or "sleeping in a tent."  Sophie answered, "Getting juice boxes out of the cooler."  Ok.

I, however, am excited for different reasons.  I'm excited about being in nature.  About setting up our tent.  About hiking.  About cooking over an open fire.  Making coffee.  Taking kids through the woods to the bathroom in the middle of the night (ok, I'm not really excited about that one).  And I love showing my kids that women can do all of this on our own.

I want my kids to know that women are strong.  That women are smart.  That it's good to be independent.  I love that our kids will see us moms discussing, planning, problem-solving, and fixing.  We'll have to cooperate, communicate and compromise.  We'll laugh.  Maybe cry.  Probably yell a little bit.  But mostly, we'll laugh. 

So, I'll be gone for the rest of the week.  (That's the other thing I love about camping.  No computer.  No television.)  I'm sure there will be a recap when I return.  Last year I came back with a better understanding of my fear of edges.  Maybe this year I will learn more about my fear of large groups of children.

Gone Flossing

I'm out of floss.  I never used to floss.  Not never, but not often.  I would floss everyday.  For two days.  And then not again for a week.  Or a month.  Or just before my next dentist appointment.

But then my hot dentist told me that I had a cavity.  I'm not sure if you've ever had a cavity filled (because I hadn't), but it sucks.  It hurts.  And it's uncomfortable.  And you have to worry about the hot dentist seeing your nose hairs.  And it's hard to feel attractive when the dentist and his assistant have both hands (that's four total) and a drill in your mouth. 

So after that I started flossing every day.  And at my last check up, a few weeks ago, my hot dentist said I had beautiful teeth!  And if you read my Model Dentist post, then you know that's all I ever really wanted.  Success!

But now I'm out of floss.  I've never actually run out of floss before.  And knowing myself as I do, if I don't get some soon I'll stop flossing.  And get more cavities.  And I'll have to see my hot dentist more often. 

Any suggestions on how to look casual and flirty while having dental work done?

Follow Through

I'm pretty good at doing laundry, if I do say so myself.  I get the clothes sorted. In the washer. Moved to the dryer.  Into the basket.  And folded.  But that's where it ends.  I'm good at doing the laundry, but I'm not very good at putting it away.

It's the same with the dishes.  I'm fine loading the dishwasher.  And, oddly, I actually enjoy washing up dishes in my sink.  And putting them in the drying rack.  And then leaving them there. For days.

Does this say something about me?  That I don't have follow through?  I'm trying to think about other aspects of my life.  Other examples I could use.  But I honestly can't think of anything else that I do in a day besides half-doing the laundry and dishes.  And raising my kids.  And so far I haven't pooped out on doing that.  But they're young.  There's still time.  (Just kidding, probably.)

Un-famous

My kids are making a movie today (I'm the Horrible Witch who gets shot in the face).  They are creating costumes and writing a script.  My husband has unknowingly agreed to video this award-winning film when he gets home from work this evening.

All of this has reminded me of a time my friend and I decided to make a movie.  My friend was named Allison and she befriended me the moment I showed up in her 4th grade class as "the new girl."  I soon learned why she was so quick to be my friend.  She was moody and bossy and, thankfully, moved away later that year.  But that move was my first experience at having to make new friends and I was thrilled that someone wanted to hang out with me.

So, one day in her backyard, we started coming up with a storyline.  Something about two lost girls.  I don't remember exactly what the story was, but here's what I do remember.  I remember thinking it was so much fun.  The pretending.  The planning.  And then she said, "My dad says this movie could make us famous!"  She said this with excitement.  A gleam in her eyes.  She wanted to be famous!  But I was terrified.

The fun was gone.  The movie had lost it's charm and I didn't want to do it anymore.  The thought of being famous had ruined it for me.

This memory pretty much sums me up.  I'm not like my brother, the punk rocker turned pastor who is completely at ease in front of a crowd.  Or my sister, an actress who has spent her entire adulthood in front of cameras.  Once the pressure is on, I'm turned off.  So, I'm not going to lie.  I might not give this current role my all.  Although, I probably could handle being type-cast as a horrible witch my entire acting career.

Murder at Rabbit Lake

Okay, so there wasn't really a murder at Rabbit Lake. At least not to my knowledge. But there was a brief period of time when my father and I thought there may have been.

Every once in a while my dad and I would take a weekend and go up to the lake just the two of us. It was on one of these weekends that we uncovered a mystery. Sort of. Very soon after arriving we hopped in the boat and made our way around the lake. Not too far into our cruise we noticed a boat floating in the weeds. We watched it for a minute. There may have been a "if this boats a-rocking..." joke made. We went on our way.

The next day we took our boat out again. Sure enough, the other boat was still there. Our interest was piqued. It was quite far into the reeds so we couldn't get close enough to get a good look. We started coming up with many scenarios, but the one that seemed the most plausible, or the most intriguing, was that a murder had been committed.

We started coming up with the details. I'm not going to give anything away (we may write a book someday!), but we certainly got into it. We went into town one morning for lunch and a moment after the server walked away my dad said, "She's definitely a suspect." Later my dad had to take the lawn mower in to be fixed. He came back and described the place he'd gone. It had old parts hanging on the wall and several mowers, snow blowers and other things scattered about the yard. "It's a perfect location for the initial argument," he declared. We'd be sitting around the fire and one of us would suddenly blurt out a new idea or a plan for what had happened next. We took the boat out one more time just to see if the abandoned boat was still there. It was.

Pretty soon our weekend was coming to an end. We had a lot of speculation, but we didn't have any answers. We had to know. My dad convinced me to go with him in the canoe. I hate riding in a canoe, but this was our weekend and I wanted to be a good sport. Plus, I was just as curious as he was.

We paddled out of our bay. The boat was in our sights. We were slowly making our way over, when a man came walking down his dock. My dad is a friendly guy and my parent's had just build their lakehouse, so he whispered that we should stop so he could introduce himself. "And he could be a suspect," my dad added.

We pulled up next to the dock and my dad reached out his hand as he said his name and explained that he had just built out on the point. The man leaned down to shake my dad's hand. It was early and the lake was still very quiet. I think by way of explanation the man said, "I'm just out here waiting for a friend of mine to come around from the public access." We were about to share with him why we were out on the lake so early when he added, "He's going to pull my boat out of the reeds." He pointed to the boat, our boat. "It blew off the lift a few days ago."

So, mystery solved. And no murder, to boot. But my dad and I will always remember that weekend. And every once in a while one of us will see another potential suspect.

A Letter to my Husband

Dear Wade,
Please put the Pam Cooking Spray back on the correct shelf when you are done using it.  It has always gone on the bottom shelf.  With the other cooking-type oils and such.  Always.  It has never gone on the top shelf.  With the popcorn popper.  Never.

I realize the shelves are fairly close together.  And if you squeeze it into the right front corner of the top shelf, letting it precariously hang over the edge, ready to fall on me as I prepare to make my morning eggs, it does fit there.  But on the bottom shelf, where it belongs, there is plenty of room for it to stand, uncrowded, and amongst it's friends Extra Virgin Olive Oil and Red Wine Vinegar.

I think we'd all be a little bit happier if the Pam Cooking Spray was put back on the correct shelf when you are done using it.

Your loving wife,
Sara

Bird Dog

Yesterday my dog killed a bird.  I know some dogs are hunters, but my dog isn't.  She's more of a barker.  Or a lie-arounder.  But, for some reason, yesterday she found her killer instinct.

It's finally gotten nice outside.  Summer finally feels like summer.  And, as such, I make the dog stay out all day.  The rest of the year, as I sweep the kitchen floor or vacuum the family room, she follows behind me, shedding.  Negating the work that I'm doing as I'm doing it.  But when I clean in the summer I get a full 2 minutes to enjoy the clean-ness before my kids undo it all.  However, this summer, until this week, at least, it's been rainy and muddy and I haven't been able to leave my dog outside for hours at a time.

But this week the dog has been able to spend her days lounging under the patio set.  We have a bit of a bird sanctuary in our backyard and this surprises me since we also have a 50 lb. black lab.  But the kids made birdhouses for Father's Day and I bought a bird bath earlier this spring.  We've had a bird feeder out back for years, but this summer I can't seem to keep enough bird seed in it (and it's not squirrels...they have never been able to get into the feeder we have).  So, ten feet from where the dog is half passed out in the shade, birds are flying.  Everywhere.  Robins and cardinals.  Sparrows and mourning doves.  Little black and white birds.  Chubby browns ones.

So yesterday, as the kids were playing, the birds were flitting, and the dog was lounging, I heard a scuffle and the the kids started yelling.  They yell a lot, so this wasn't anything that grabbed my attention right away, but then I realized they were yelling "Bad dog!  You're a bad dog!  Stop it, bad dog!"  Either the dog was quick enough or the bird was slow enough (my guess is the latter), but somehow there was a bird in Sadie's mouth.  My yelling children were able to get Sadie to drop the bird by the time I got to them, but the poor little thing was scared to death and hopped into a bush.  I put the dog in the house and we kept an eye on it for a while, and eventually I swear I saw it fly out.  I really thought it had recovered from it's paralyzing fear and flown away.  We checked underneath the bush and didn't see it anywhere.  I let the dog back out.


Sadie ran over to the bush and sniffed around a bit and then walked away.  I turned to the kids and said "See, the little birdie wasn't hurt after all.  It was just scared and now it's gone."  The second that I finished my little pep talk there was another scuffle.  And a dead bird on the patio.  I looked at the kids and said, "I'll get the shovel."

Challenge

I'm challenging myself to write something every day.  For a month.  I'm nervous.  And excited.  And now, seeing it written out like that, a bit overwhelmed.

Maybe you've noticed that, once again, I haven't been writing.  Or maybe you haven't, and that's okay, too.  What's important is that I've noticed that I haven't been writing.  I think about writing.  And I want to be writing.  And it's not that I don't have the time.  I have been able to make the time in the past, so there's really no reason that I can't make the time now.  Nothing has changed.  Except that I don't write anymore.  I've been thinking about it quite a bit lately and I think I've figured out what's been keeping me from my blog.

It's you.

Well, more accurately, it's me worrying about you.  Worrying about what you're going to think.  About me.  About what I write.  If you'll like what I'm writing.  How I'm writing it.  If you'll think my ideas are dumb.  Boring.  Wrong.  Not funny.  Too serious.  I got too wrapped up in the image I was portraying.  And when I ran out of ways to portray myself the way I thought other people, you, wanted me to be, I stopped writing.

But the thing is that I started this blog for me.  I invited you to join me on my journey.  But somewhere along the way I let go of the wheel.  I started thinking too hard about where you wanted to go.  And I let the pressure get to me.  I let it get into my head.  It became about being "good enough."  I was trying too hard to entertain you rather than just write.  For me.  For fun.

I want it to be fun again.

So, I'm going to write every day for a month.  Well, every day for a while.  It might not always be good.  It might not always be entertaining.  It might not always be pretty.  I'm guessing many will be short.  Some will probably be fairly boring for people who don't live in my head.  And for that I apologize.  Actually, I take that back.  I'm done apologizing for what I write.

Conflicted

Last night, as we were getting into bed, my husband looked at his blackberry and gasped.  "Bin Laden is dead," he said.  We came downstairs and turned on the television, waiting for President Obama to officially make the announcement.  The moment he did, fireworks went off in our neighborhood and Facebook exploded with jubulation and cheers.  This morning's headlines declared "We Got Him" and "Rot in Hell."

But I'm having a hard time being happy.

Don't get me wrong, I feel immense relief that the United States is a huge step closer to bringing home our troops and the world is a safer place because of Bin Laden's death.  I do not disagree with the decision our president made in sending those Navy Seals in to that Pakistani compound.  I am grateful everyday for the troops who put their lives in danger to save mine.  There is no other good way this could have ended.  This is for the best.  His death was necessary to our nation's freedom and the world's safety.

After we got into bed for the second time last night, I laid there wondering why I wasn't feeling that elation.  All morning, as I listened to more reports and saw more Facebook statuses rejoicing, I struggled with my conflicting emotions.  And then I saw my brother's status.

"I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:11

This Bible verse says exactly what my heart is feeling.  While I do rejoice in the step towards ending terrorism and the victory for our country, I feel sadness that the only positive outcome was in taking a life.  I believe, truly believe, that Osama Bin Laden was evil.  I believe that capturing him alive would not have stopped him from spreading that evil to others and that his death was the only way to end it.  But I also believe that his was a life created by God, and I believe that Jesus would not be shooting off fireworks or shouting for joy at the loss of Bin Laden's soul.

I realize that what sounds like celebrating a death is really a celebration for the relief that particular death has brought the world over.  And I realize that our country uniting is a good thing.  I have not forgotten what Osama Bin Laden and Al Qaeda did to us.  Sitting in my classroom, watching a room full of 8th graders as they watched the World Trade Center come crashing down is forever burned into my memory.  I tear up every time I hear the Darryl Worely song Have You Forgotten.  I am proud to be an American.  But I'm foremost a Christian.  And as such, my heart breaks that it ever needed to come to this in the first place.

Shut the Front Door

So, what I'm about to say is going to surprise some people (and Mom, I ask that you stop reading at this time).  I really like the F-word.  I know that's not appropriate for a mother of three, but it's true.  I like to use it in all of it's forms.  I say it all the time in my head.  And under my breath.  And after I've had a few drinks.  When I'm angry I like to vacuum and grumble curse words so no one can hear me.  Very therapeutic...I recommend you give it a try.  I consider myself a fairly polite person so I rarely say it in front of other people.  And until today I had not, to my knowledge, said it in front of my children.

This morning, as I'm cruising down the highway, I was surrounded by semis that kept me from seeing the signs directing me to the lane I needed until a split second before I realized I was in the wrong one.  I zoomed across two lanes and saw a shiny BMW coming up in the lane I needed to be in.  It was clear that I was about to drive off the road (which I briefly did) into the V between two major freeways, and that I needed to get in ahead of him, yet he screamed past me without even pretending he might slow down.  Frustrated, as I maneuvered the wheel to keep my new car, not to mention my children, from being sucked into the ditch, I apparently allowed a series of expletives to escape my mouth.  With the car back on the highway, my nerves calming, I hear Max, my five year old in the back seat, ask, "Mom?  What's a f--k-wad?"

Up to this point my favorite "child saying swearwords" story happened when Sophie, now seven, was about two and a half.  We were driving up to a Bible study I was in and she was excited about hanging out with her friends in the church nursery.  She asked how long it would take and I responded, "Not long if this stupid truck would get out of my way."  Sophie, who, like most kids, was prone to mispronouncing words, said "Stupid f--k?"  For the rest of that car ride, and weeks to come, she would point to any truck we saw on the road and ask, "Is that a stupid f--k?"  Eventually she stopped asking, and soon after that was able to correctly pronounce the word truck.  I love this story because it's funny, and it's not my fault.

 But this morning it's all on me.  I explained to Max that it's a very mean word and that it's not okay for anyone, kids, teenagers or grownups, to say.  I said I was sorry and that I never should have said it.  I almost added in front of you, but I didn't.  I said that if I ever hear him saying that word I will take away his Wii minutes for the day.  But I could not stop laughing.  I'm not sure how much of my do-as-I-say message was portrayed before he broke into giggles, too. 

I don't know why I couldn't stop laughing.  I should have been appalled.  I should have been panicked that my innocent child is now going to become a foul-mouthed heathen.  But it struck me as hilarious.  Maybe it was his little voice saying those words.  Or the fact that when he asked what it meant he had no idea it was such a terrible thing to say. Whatever the case, I laugh out loud every time I think about it.

It remains to be seen if Max will use his new vocabulary word in polite conversation.  I half expect to get a phone call from his preschool teacher, Miss Connie.  And I fully expect that Max will say it while talking to my father, who will look at me in horror.  And when this happens, I will, as threatened, take away all of Max's Wii minutes for the entire f-ing day.

Lessons in Less

First, a confession.  I took a couple of days off the flush to enjoy a weekend up north with my girlfriends.  And yes, I had coffee.  Glorious, beautiful, mind-numbingly good coffee. But, as of Monday morning, I have been back on the flush. 

I've learned a few things over these last few days, so I thought I would share them with you.

It works!
It worked before, so I'm not too surprised that it's working this time.  Five years ago when I did the flush, I did it to the letter.  No cheating.  Since then I have attempted to do it a few different times, but always on my terms.  I could still have creamer-laden coffee and popcorn.  Or I would only follow the plan the first part of the day.  Dinner was whatever I wanted.  Surprisingly, I didn't get the results that I wanted.  So this time I promised myself that if I was going to do it, I was going to really do it.  I haven't cheated once since Monday morning.  When I woke up today I felt different.  When I got ready to take my shower I looked different.  Of course, I stood looking at myself long enough to dwell on all of my flaws, but initially I could see just a hint of change in the right direction.  I decided not to weigh myself throughout this process.  The scale and I have become mortal enemies and I decided that rather than torturing myself, I am just going to do what's healthy and focus on that.  But who am I kidding...after all of this, I had better lose some weight!

It's empowering!
Wade sent me an article about the pressure put upon us to eat a certain way based on where were are or who we are with.  Family expects us to eat what they serve and are disappointed if we don't.  Friends out to dinner scoff when someone at the table is too picky about what they order.  It's looked down upon to have opinions about what we eat.  I used to be picky.  I used to be so careful about what I put into my body.  But I let my guard down, and slowly I started eating what was put in front of me without much thought to where it came from or what it would do to my body.  The flush is getting me back to my old ways and it feels good.  It feels really good to be so aware of my choices.  To know that what I'm putting in my body is purely good for it.  And I'm starting to remember how good it feels to not eat something, even if others are offended.


Food is Fuel
Food is yummy.  Food is fun.  Food is company.  But more than anything else, food is fuel.  My daughter actually made a great analogy the other day.  We were talking about eating healthy and I was explaining that what we eat has a direct effect on how we feel, or how smoothly our body works.  Sophie said, "It sounds like a car.  It needs gasoline to run the right way.  But it wouldn't work right if you put in something else."  Bingo!  Just because something is tasty, or cheap, or both, does not make it okay to eat.  The flush has reminded me that eating is purely about energy.  And as nervous as I was about giving up all the fake stuff, it turns out I really like the way real food tastes.


I don't miss what I'm not eating
I have not had a carb in three days (other than fruit, I was just informed by Wade).  I haven't eaten a crust off of a kid's plate.  I haven't even licked my finger after making peanut butter and jelly.  After doing the flush for the first time, I was able to stay away, for the most part, from chips and other unhealthy carbohydrates.  I'm not saying I never had a carb, but they were something I was often able to pass up.  But when I was pregnant with Lily I craved Doritos.  They were my downfall.  Once I spent nine months giving in to my temptations, it was too easy to give in to my carb cravings on a regular basis.  But now that I haven't had even a single one, I am reminded once more that my body works better when I'm not loaded with potato chips.

Be mindful of mindless eating
Lastly, I have realized how often I would reach for food without thinking.  Now that I have to think about everything that I eat, and am so limited in what it is I can eat, it's clear that I was mindlessly eating often throughout the day.  I have caught myself, on several occasions, reaching in for a handful of animal crackers.  Or opening the cupboard looking for who-knows-what, even though I'm not hungry at all.  Today, however, I didn't do that at all.  Something has clicked, and I think my body is running more smoothly now that it's had a few days off, um, fake food.

Today, day three (I'm not counting the days last week, since I cheated, knowing I was going to take the weekend off) has been the easiest day so far.  I hope that trend continues. 

However, I really can't wait to have a cup of coffee. 

My Life WITHOUT Coffee

For the next few weeks, should you choose to accept, you are going with me on a terrifying adventure.  It will be fraught with hard work, exhilarating highs, deep cavernous lows and probably quite a bit of whining (on my part, but quite possibly yours as well).  I'm starting a new plan today.  I'm getting back to my true, organic self (and hopefully losing some weight along the way).  I'm going to follow the Fat Flush Plan, which focuses on eating vegetables, lean protein, and fruit.  But no caffeine.

That means no coffee.

While following this plan (and I'll get to why I want to do this in a bit) I will have to cut out many things.  For a while. I will have to cut out the handfuls of animal crackers I eat throughout the day.  And the chocolate-covered blueberries.  I will have to stop eating the peanut butter and jelly crusts off of Max's plate.  I will have to not eat my left over fried rice from Chang Mai Thai that has been taunting me every time I open my refrigerator.  But, by far, the biggest sacrifice will be giving up my coffee. 

I gave Weight Watchers a try for six weeks.  I lost no weight.  None.  Zero pounds.  Pants are still tight.  Wasted six weeks of the nine leading up to my Arizona trip.  I think the new Weight Watchers points system is a crock and I don't recommend it at all.  According to my points, I could have eaten pretty much anything I wanted and stayed within my range.  Well, eating whatever you want doesn't usually lead to weight loss, so I guess I'm not too surprised that I didn't see any results.

Five years ago, after Max was born, I did the Fat Flush Plan.  I didn't lose a ton of weight, not right away, but I lost some.  I'm not gonna lie, I am doing this plan so that I lose weight.  But when I did it before, something unexpected happened.  I started thinking about what I ate.  I started paying attention to ingredients, thinking about exactly what I was putting into my body.  I realized that I like vegetables.  I learned to try new foods!  In other words, and I hate to sound overly dramatic here, it changed my life.  It really did.  I'm hoping that's what happens this time, too.

I blame Lily for my tumble off the healthy wagon.  I was able to maintain a healthy weight for three and a half years.  Then I got pregnant and (I've written about this many times before, I know) decided that I was going to have one last fling with food.  For the last 18 months I have been meaning to get back to eating healthy.  It's been on my "to do" list to only buy foods that I believe are made from real ingredients and not preservatives and fillers, but I get to the grocery store and it's easier, cheaper, to just grab what I need off the shelf and be on my way. 

Last week I thought about starting the flush, but once I decided that I was going to do it, I got angry.  I was mad that it had even come to that.  I didn't want to make the changes I know I need (and actually want) to make.  But over the past week something in me shifted.  I feel ready.  And in telling you that, I feel held accountable. 

I wasn't planning to tell you about this process.  I thought that it would bore you (and it probably will).  But then I remembered that this is my blog.  And I started thinking that it will be good for me to write about it, good for me to share how I'm feeling, good for me to hear any feedback you may want to share with me.  Don't worry.  I'm not doing anything crazy.  This is about health.  Weight-loss, too.  But mainly about getting back to healthy.  It's not some crazy diet, it's me working towards making the changes in my life that I believe are necessary.

So, along with pb&j crusts and handfuls of animal crackers, I will be giving up coffee for the next two and a half weeks. After this one last cup, flavored with hazelnut creamer and tears. 

Content

I have been promising my husband, since writing the post on love several months ago, that I would write a flattering post about him.  Here it is!

Yesterday was Valentine's Day and I got nothing.  To be fair, he did give me a card he made out of printer paper on which he drew a heart.  In the past I've gotten flowers or my favorite Dove chocolates.  Or, a million years ago, a weekend away somewhere.  But this year I'm perfectly content with my printer-paper card.  No, seriously, I really am.

I don't need Valentine's Day to know that my husband loves me.  I don't need flowers, or fancy dinners, or jewelry or candy.  Because, everyday, I get so much more than that.  I get respect.  And security.  And comfort.  Wade has given me a family and a house and the ability to stay at home, in said house, to raise said family.  And he also gives me independence and encourages me to do things outside of him, like writing.  Or flying to see my brother or sister. Or spending three days walking around Minneapolis and St. Paul to put an end to breast cancer.  Or to get away with my girlfriends for an evening.  Or a weekend. He knows when to stand back and let me have my way (tiling the floor twice in one year) and when to put his foot down (tearing our house apart so that I could have main floor laundry).  He puts the kids to bed almost every night because he knows that it's my least favorite part of the day. 

Rosanne Barr was on Oprah yesterday, and while I never would have thought of her as some kind of relationship guru, I actually found her rather insightful.  When asked if she's happy with her life partner, she responded that she doesn't like the term happy because it implies that you have to come down from feeling that way.  She said she's content.  I like that.  I am often happy in my marriage.  Rarely, I'm frustrated or hurt.  Or even a little bit bored.  But the vast majority of the time, I am content. 

I hate that being content is looked at as being less than happy by so many people.  I don't see it that way at all.  Once upon a time I was in a relationship that was all ups and downs.  It was understood that the ups made up for the downs.  Made the downs acceptable.  Made it okay for me to be treated poorly.  Because the next day I might be treated like a queen.  At first those grand gestures, all that being swept off my feet, was thrilling.  But then, once I wised up and saw what was really going on, once I understood that the up was only paving the way for the next down, I realized it was exhausting.  I think, as women, we are led to believe that being "happy" is what's important.  But what's "happy" if it's not contrasted with the opposite?  And if you're reasonably happy most of the time (if you say you're happy all of the time, you're lying), if there's nothing more you could want in a marriage or partnership, isn't that being content? (It is, I looked it up on dictionary.com)   I'll take steady, stable, satisfying contentment over that terrifying roller coaster ride any day. 

I don't mean to imply that Wade is boring.  Sure, sometimes he brings me flowers or takes me out to a nice dinner downtown.  But that's not what shows me he loves me.  He shows me he loves me when he unloads the dishwasher or makes me popcorn after the kids are in bed.  I suppose, by most standards, we're both pretty boring people.  Most evenings will find us watching television.  And an exciting night out for us is playing a board game with friends.  But, honestly, I don't need or want anything more than Wade's company.  My perfect evening would be going out for sushi (or better yet, getting take-out sushi and bringing it home) and then curling up on the couch and watching Modern Family with my husband.  Heaven on Earth!

In full disclosure, I should say that I didn't even give Wade a card yesterday.  I bought him a pair of socks and a box of Dots (which he promptly opened and ate, except for the yellow and green ones).  Then I left for the evening.  Without him.  Valentine's Day came and went and I'm still content.  I don't love my husband any less today than I did yesterday and I know the same goes for him, too.  As a matter of fact, I think he might love me a little bit more.