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."