Dear Family,
I understand why you are leaving. If I were in your position, I would do the same. You are only doing what you believe is best. For your survival and mine. I wish it could be different, that we could handle this some other way. But alas, we cannot.
The Days Inn won't be so bad. I think they have a pool.
I will see you all on Friday morning. When my cleanse is over. And I start drinking coffee again.
With love,
Sara (or Mom)
Monday, August 5, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Join the Club
My kids are always creating clubs. Sometime it's a club with other neighborhood kids. Or it's a club for my older two, leaving out my little one. I usually butt in at that point and make them include her, but isn't that what clubs are all about? You're either in or you're out. My almost-fourth grader was in Student Council last year...which is kind of a club. She was also in a book club, which is definitely a club (it's right there in the name!). Once they reach middle school and high school there will be endless "club" options. It struck me earlier today that clubs don't end with childhood. As adults we might not call them "clubs" per se, but we all belong to some group or another
There's the Married Club. Babies Club. School-age kids Club. College Graduate Club. Oldest sibling club. Youngest and middle sibling clubs, too. Pet Owners. Home Owners. American Car Drivers. There are clubs within clubs. You're a Pet Owner, but do you have dogs or cats? You're in the Married Club, but what month did you get married? I'm in the "Married in October" club. Those of you that were also married in October just thought Oh, me too! because now you know we're in that club together. And that's just it, I think. Clubs are about feeling apart of something. Connecting.
Not all clubs are happy clubs. There's the Divorced Club. The Miscarriages Club. The Abuse Club. Almost three years ago my husband joined the "Lost a Father" club. A club he joined too early. But we find comfort in these clubs, too. When my father in law was dying, I was rushing to get to my husband, to be with him as he said goodbye to his dad. I called to cancel a playdate my daughter had with her friend. I had been friendly with this mom, we would chat for a while after setting up a playdate, but she wasn't one of my close friends. She wasn't apart of my inner circle. When I told her the situation, that I needed to get my kids to my parents and get myself to the hospital an hour and a half away, she swooped in to help. Within minutes of getting off the phone she was at my door with a card and a hug. She took my kids so I could get everyone packed without interruption. She even offered to get them to my parents. She told me later that a few years earlier her father had passed away. She knew that Wade would need me, so she wanted to do everything she could to make sure I was with him. That's what club members do.
Of course there is a reason I'm thinking about all of this. Three nights ago, one of my closest friends stood with her fiancé as his mother died. The funeral is tomorrow and their wedding will follow eight days later. I haven't lost a parent, but I have stood by as my husband did. I have held him as he sobbed, knowing there was nothing I could do or say that would lessen the pain. I can't tell my friend the magic words to say (because there aren't any) or that the pain will end (because it won't). But I can empathize. I have been in her shoes. I can listen and share and support.
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that whether it's a club you're in by choice (I chose to be a SAHM) or one you're in by circumstance, we're never really alone. We all need support, at times more than others. And when we know there are people we can turn to when needed, it can make the happy times happier and the hard times slightly...less hard. I guess all of the clubs my kids create and join are really just preparing them for the most challenging club of all. Being an Adult.
Friday, May 31, 2013
37 Blessings
Today I turn 37. I'm not ashamed of my age, and after hearing that another mom of three lost her battle with leukemia last night, I have realized that I am so very blessed to be turning one year older. Here are some of my blessings...
1.) A husband who loves and puts up with me.
2.) Kids who are usually well-behaved.
3.) Parents who are willing and able to take my kids for a night or a weekend.
4.) A sister who gives very good advice, even if I don't always listen to her.
5.) A brother who knows how to be a fun uncle (i.e. Uncle Funkel).
6.) A best friend who knows me better than anyone else on this planet.
7.) Friends with whom I can sit on the patio and enjoy a beer.
8.) A school my kids love.
9.) A preschool that has a drive-thru pick up and drop off.
10.) A church where we enjoy being involved and growing in our faith.
11.) Friends who, even though they have moved away, make an effort to see us on a regular basis.
12.) Friends who will take my kids for several hours...just because it's my birthday.
13.) Friends who like to go for walks.
14.) A home in a neighborhood full of great kids.
15.) A neighborhood in a town where I feel safe.
16.) A town in a state that lets everyone marry the one they love.
17.) A backyard full of trees.
18.) My garden.
19.) A neighbor girl who will watch my kids for an hour everyday so I can take a walk.
20.) The best nephew and sweetest nieces.
21.) Being a SAHM (most days)
22.) Sunshine...especially after months of cloudy days.
23.) Having coffee with a friend.
24.) A good book.
25.) Rabbit Lake.
26.) Costco.
27.) The fact that my husband could take two days off this week to go on fieldtrips with our kids.
28.) Pedicures.
29.) Friends who send me a gift, purely because they know it will make me smile.
30.) Kids who make pop-up birthday cards.
31.) A sectional sofa that fits all five us us, plus some.
32.) The promise of kitties in the next three weeks.
33.) The invention of the self-cleaning litter box.
34.)A son who is now old enough to pick up dog poop in the backyard.
35.) My minivan (this one was hard for me to write).
36.) Pinot Grigio.
37.) My health.
1.) A husband who loves and puts up with me.
2.) Kids who are usually well-behaved.
3.) Parents who are willing and able to take my kids for a night or a weekend.
4.) A sister who gives very good advice, even if I don't always listen to her.
5.) A brother who knows how to be a fun uncle (i.e. Uncle Funkel).
6.) A best friend who knows me better than anyone else on this planet.
7.) Friends with whom I can sit on the patio and enjoy a beer.
8.) A school my kids love.
9.) A preschool that has a drive-thru pick up and drop off.
10.) A church where we enjoy being involved and growing in our faith.
11.) Friends who, even though they have moved away, make an effort to see us on a regular basis.
12.) Friends who will take my kids for several hours...just because it's my birthday.
13.) Friends who like to go for walks.
14.) A home in a neighborhood full of great kids.
15.) A neighborhood in a town where I feel safe.
16.) A town in a state that lets everyone marry the one they love.
17.) A backyard full of trees.
18.) My garden.
19.) A neighbor girl who will watch my kids for an hour everyday so I can take a walk.
20.) The best nephew and sweetest nieces.
21.) Being a SAHM (most days)
22.) Sunshine...especially after months of cloudy days.
23.) Having coffee with a friend.
24.) A good book.
25.) Rabbit Lake.
26.) Costco.
27.) The fact that my husband could take two days off this week to go on fieldtrips with our kids.
28.) Pedicures.
29.) Friends who send me a gift, purely because they know it will make me smile.
30.) Kids who make pop-up birthday cards.
31.) A sectional sofa that fits all five us us, plus some.
32.) The promise of kitties in the next three weeks.
33.) The invention of the self-cleaning litter box.
34.)A son who is now old enough to pick up dog poop in the backyard.
35.) My minivan (this one was hard for me to write).
36.) Pinot Grigio.
37.) My health.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
A Goodbye Letter to my Cat
Dear Mona,
You were a good cat. Except for the snotty sneezes. And the fact that you mostly refused to use your litterbox. And the cat barf first thing in the morning. But somehow I was able to overlook all of that because you were sweet and soft and you always chose me over everyone else in the family.
Just a short 13 1/2 years ago it was you and I against the world. You made coming home to my one-bedroom apartment a joy each day. I remember pulling into my parking spot and seeing you sitting in the big picture window. By the time I made it to my door you were there, meowing on the other side, as I put the key in the lock. It's amazing how much has changed since then. We moved. I got married. We adopted a dog (you always thought she was such a sucker, wagging that tail and doing what she's told). You grumpily accepted each of the new members of our family as three children were born. And you grew to love them. Especially when they left just a little melted ice cream in the bottom of their bowls.
These last couple of years were tough, though. I often asked myself if you were still happy. Still enjoying your dark, quiet life. As a good friend said the other day, you were the Helen Keller of cats. Your soft fur was matted and the snot that landed on your face after a sneeze attack stayed there until I wiped it off. You wandered the house lost and confused, walking into walls and furniture. After searching and searching for the couch, you would slowly make your way up (I remember when you could jump from the floor to the top of the couch in one soaring leap) and hunker down for the day. As I came and went with my daily activities, the kids running and jumping around you, you never noticed. Never moved. The only time you raised your head was when one of their little hands would brush over you (Lily would say, "I pet your kitty, mom."). And you'd make that funny bird chirping sound you've always made when something surprised you.
But then, after the kids went to bed, the house would settle down and you would still manage to find my lap. We would cuddle and you would purr. And I would tell myself, maybe selfishly, that you were still happy. At least for those few moments at the end of the day. You were happy.
So when you were sick, and I had to lock you in the bathroom downstairs to keep you from making messes everywhere you went, I realized I had to face reality. I could fight to make you better, to cure whatever was wrong with your stomach, but for what? Cure you so you could continue to walk around, meowing in confusion, scared at every turn that you were going to walk into a corner or fall down the stairs?
You're better now. And I mostly believe I made the right decision. The one you would have wanted me to make for you. I don't miss the poop, or the puke, or the snot. But I miss you. And I love you. And you will always be my Mona.
Love,
Sara
You were a good cat. Except for the snotty sneezes. And the fact that you mostly refused to use your litterbox. And the cat barf first thing in the morning. But somehow I was able to overlook all of that because you were sweet and soft and you always chose me over everyone else in the family.
Just a short 13 1/2 years ago it was you and I against the world. You made coming home to my one-bedroom apartment a joy each day. I remember pulling into my parking spot and seeing you sitting in the big picture window. By the time I made it to my door you were there, meowing on the other side, as I put the key in the lock. It's amazing how much has changed since then. We moved. I got married. We adopted a dog (you always thought she was such a sucker, wagging that tail and doing what she's told). You grumpily accepted each of the new members of our family as three children were born. And you grew to love them. Especially when they left just a little melted ice cream in the bottom of their bowls.
These last couple of years were tough, though. I often asked myself if you were still happy. Still enjoying your dark, quiet life. As a good friend said the other day, you were the Helen Keller of cats. Your soft fur was matted and the snot that landed on your face after a sneeze attack stayed there until I wiped it off. You wandered the house lost and confused, walking into walls and furniture. After searching and searching for the couch, you would slowly make your way up (I remember when you could jump from the floor to the top of the couch in one soaring leap) and hunker down for the day. As I came and went with my daily activities, the kids running and jumping around you, you never noticed. Never moved. The only time you raised your head was when one of their little hands would brush over you (Lily would say, "I pet your kitty, mom."). And you'd make that funny bird chirping sound you've always made when something surprised you.
But then, after the kids went to bed, the house would settle down and you would still manage to find my lap. We would cuddle and you would purr. And I would tell myself, maybe selfishly, that you were still happy. At least for those few moments at the end of the day. You were happy.
So when you were sick, and I had to lock you in the bathroom downstairs to keep you from making messes everywhere you went, I realized I had to face reality. I could fight to make you better, to cure whatever was wrong with your stomach, but for what? Cure you so you could continue to walk around, meowing in confusion, scared at every turn that you were going to walk into a corner or fall down the stairs?
You're better now. And I mostly believe I made the right decision. The one you would have wanted me to make for you. I don't miss the poop, or the puke, or the snot. But I miss you. And I love you. And you will always be my Mona.
Love,
Sara
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Six
My son is a six-year-old first grader. Tomorrow morning I have to let him, and his older sister, go to school. I think it might be the hardest thing I've ever done.
I love our elementary school. We have amazing teachers and staff. It's an old building, and I love that when you walk in it looks straight out of the 70's, but when you stick your head in a classroom, the teachers are progressive and always striving to try something new, different. Better. Our principal is young and fun and up for anything. The kids love her and she knows them by name. The staff throughout the building is just as committed to the students as any teacher. And right now, I'm terrified of sending my kids to this place.
After we put the kids to bed this evening, my husband and I debated if we should have talked with our older two about what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary. While we were talking I thought it seemed like a good idea to at least mention it. I would want them to hear about it from us, versus kids at school or overhearing adults talking in the hallway. But now, as I'm getting ready to head up to bed myself, I am having a hard time formulating the words I would say. I don't think I can tell them, even in the barest of terms, of the horror that happened to those innocent children, and then send my precious babies off to school.
On the front page of the Star Tribune today were the pictures of the 20 children, six and seven years old, who were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut on Friday. I looked at those sweet faces, and then at my son, sitting at the kitchen table drawing. He came home on Friday afternoon and asked me if I'd ever been in a lock-down. My heart stilled as I tried to determine if he'd somehow heard about the shooting. I answered cautiously, saying that as a teacher I had been apart of lock-down drills, but I had never been involved in a real lock-down situation. Then I asked why he was wondering. He said that after lunch that day his teacher, a young, pregnant woman who my daughter also had two years ago, had them practice a lock-down. She shut her door, turned out the lights and had all of the students get under their desks. He knew nothing of the day's news, thankfully, but he knew that a lock-down means there is a bad person in the school. I asked him if it had been scary. He said no. And that he had tried very hard to make sure not a single part of him, not even a finger, was sticking out from under his desk. I hugged him and forced myself to say that his school is a safe place, even though I didn't believe the words coming out of my mouth.
I am not going to get into the gun control debate. Or the mental health debate. I have my views, but that's not what my post is about tonight. I am going to say, however, that I'm worried about the safety of our elementary students. Most high school have police officers on campus and podiums are set directly inside the front door, with staff requiring all visitors to sign-in. But I know our elementary school is not the only school where the only security measure is a sign on the front door that reads "visitors please sign in." I also know that fancy security systems, like Sandy Hook had just installed, won't stop someone who means to do serious harm. But there has to be a way to better protect these buildings, all across our country, filled with our most precious citizens.
I'm going to try to go to sleep now. So I can wake up, have my coffee, send my kids off to school. And pray.
I love our elementary school. We have amazing teachers and staff. It's an old building, and I love that when you walk in it looks straight out of the 70's, but when you stick your head in a classroom, the teachers are progressive and always striving to try something new, different. Better. Our principal is young and fun and up for anything. The kids love her and she knows them by name. The staff throughout the building is just as committed to the students as any teacher. And right now, I'm terrified of sending my kids to this place.
After we put the kids to bed this evening, my husband and I debated if we should have talked with our older two about what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary. While we were talking I thought it seemed like a good idea to at least mention it. I would want them to hear about it from us, versus kids at school or overhearing adults talking in the hallway. But now, as I'm getting ready to head up to bed myself, I am having a hard time formulating the words I would say. I don't think I can tell them, even in the barest of terms, of the horror that happened to those innocent children, and then send my precious babies off to school.
On the front page of the Star Tribune today were the pictures of the 20 children, six and seven years old, who were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut on Friday. I looked at those sweet faces, and then at my son, sitting at the kitchen table drawing. He came home on Friday afternoon and asked me if I'd ever been in a lock-down. My heart stilled as I tried to determine if he'd somehow heard about the shooting. I answered cautiously, saying that as a teacher I had been apart of lock-down drills, but I had never been involved in a real lock-down situation. Then I asked why he was wondering. He said that after lunch that day his teacher, a young, pregnant woman who my daughter also had two years ago, had them practice a lock-down. She shut her door, turned out the lights and had all of the students get under their desks. He knew nothing of the day's news, thankfully, but he knew that a lock-down means there is a bad person in the school. I asked him if it had been scary. He said no. And that he had tried very hard to make sure not a single part of him, not even a finger, was sticking out from under his desk. I hugged him and forced myself to say that his school is a safe place, even though I didn't believe the words coming out of my mouth.
I am not going to get into the gun control debate. Or the mental health debate. I have my views, but that's not what my post is about tonight. I am going to say, however, that I'm worried about the safety of our elementary students. Most high school have police officers on campus and podiums are set directly inside the front door, with staff requiring all visitors to sign-in. But I know our elementary school is not the only school where the only security measure is a sign on the front door that reads "visitors please sign in." I also know that fancy security systems, like Sandy Hook had just installed, won't stop someone who means to do serious harm. But there has to be a way to better protect these buildings, all across our country, filled with our most precious citizens.
I'm going to try to go to sleep now. So I can wake up, have my coffee, send my kids off to school. And pray.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Are We There Yet?
You know how you plan a family event, whether it's a trip or just an afternoon outing, and you think it's going to be "quality family time" but it really just turns into a mess of yelling, hurt feelings, disappointment and a drive home in stifled silence? When we planned to drive 7+ hours each way for a family wedding, that is exactly what I figured would happen. So you can imagine my surprise when I was wrong.
The drive out was easy. We caravanned with my parents (is caravanned a word?) and Sophie rode part of the way with them. About 5 and a half hours in they turned off to pick up my brother, who was flying in from Florida to officiate the wedding. We kept going on to Devil's Lake and checked into our hotel. After unpacking the van, Wade ran out to get dinner (and coffee creamer - because he knows better than to let me wake up in the morning without it). While he was gone the kids were, understandably, getting restless and getting on my nerves. So, I told them to line up in front of the television. We had a series of competitions - who could run in place the longest, who could freeze in place the longest, who could do the most jumping jacks - and surprisingly, it worked! By the time Wade got back the kids were ready to sit in peace and eat some pizza. Then we ensured they would sleep through the night by letting them swim until 10pm.
Devil's Lake might be in the middle of nowhere, but it's the center of some of my favorite childhood memories. Growing up, we would visit our cousins most summers. I remember games of Truth or Dare and swimming in Devil's Lake, until I watched my cousin Aaron pee off the dock, that is. But it's more than memories for my mom, who grew up in a tiny town about 25 miles outside of Devil's Lake.
On Saturday morning we stopped to visit Ruth, who I'm named after, and who is like a second mother to my mom. She's 90, and as sharp as ever. Next we drove out to Starkweather. Again, we caravenned with my parents (if that isn't a word, it really should be). My brother rode in our van while we had my phone on speaker and listened to my mom give us the tour. The quonset where my parents had their wedding reception. The church her family attended. The old soda fountain, now abandoned. My mom's elementary school.
That evening was the wedding. My cousin Aaron (who may have grown out of his peeing-in-the-lake phase by now) married Laurie, a beautiful bride, inside and out. Matt did a great job and gave a us all a reminder of what a marriage should be.
 |
| Lily is missing, but she had a full dance card and no time for pictures. |
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Summer
So...when does school start?
I had been so looking forward to summer. The relaxed schedule. Playing outside. More time with the kids. What was I thinking? We're just over a week into it and I'm at my wits end!
Yesterday I took all three kids grocery shopping. I hate to admit it, but I was that mom. You know the one. She's constantly saying things like "Get back here!" or "Put that back!" and "No!" "No!" "NONONONO!" Her tone of voice is strained, to say the least, and it's clear she's on the verge of losing it. She may have even mumbled "These kids are driving me nuts!" under her breath. Ok, fine. I definitely mumbled "These kids are driving me nuts!" under my breath.
So...summer is here. Only 74 more days to go.
I had been so looking forward to summer. The relaxed schedule. Playing outside. More time with the kids. What was I thinking? We're just over a week into it and I'm at my wits end!
Yesterday I took all three kids grocery shopping. I hate to admit it, but I was that mom. You know the one. She's constantly saying things like "Get back here!" or "Put that back!" and "No!" "No!" "NONONONO!" Her tone of voice is strained, to say the least, and it's clear she's on the verge of losing it. She may have even mumbled "These kids are driving me nuts!" under her breath. Ok, fine. I definitely mumbled "These kids are driving me nuts!" under my breath.
So...summer is here. Only 74 more days to go.
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