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.
Friday, May 31, 2013
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.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Pink and blue all over.
As many of you know, I have walked in the Susan G. Komen 3Day for the cure many times and have been a strong supporter of their cause to cure breast cancer. I was about to sign up to walk in my 5th Susan G. Komen 3Day for the Cure, but something held me back.
Due to the political decisions SGK has made of late, not only have I lost some of my biggest financial supporters, but I myself am not sure if I can continue supporting a cause I have spent the last 6 years working to help.
I don't believe in abortion, but I do believe in women taking care of their bodies...even when they don't have insurance. Planned Parenthood is so much more than abortions. It's a place for women of all ages to get an annual exam who might otherwise not. It's a place for pregnant women of all ages to get prenatal care who might otherwise not. It's a place for women of all ages to get cancer screenings who. might. otherwise. not.
SGK keeps making these claims that those of us who are opposed to their choice to stop funding for Planned Parenthood are losing sight of the goal. They say we're not standing together as a family, that we can't let the negative talk surrounding this decision to get us off track. They say we will be bigger, better, stronger when we all stand as one going into this year's 3Day.
But there is a flaw in their logic. SGK isn't the only breast cancer supporter. There are other's working towards the same goal: a cure for breast cancer. A cure for cancer. My guess is that SGK's loss will be Avon and other's gain.
I had never known about or even considered the link between SGK and PP in the past. This is where I'm torn. I didn't know before that they supported PP and I walked in four 3Days. But now I know they no longer support PP. Should my allegiance change? If it's something I hadn't taken into account prior to all of this press, then I'm not sure that it should. On the other hand, it's not so much that they don't support PP, it's that they made the conscious and political decision to stop that bothers me. While I hadn't thought about it before, I now know that I wasn't just walking for women who have good health insurance. I was walking for every woman (and men, too) who face their own fight against breast cancer.
I'm not trying to start a debate. And I'm sure I don't know everything there is to know about this issue (I'm told that I shouldn't get all of my current events knowledge from Facebook). If you have an opinion, share it. Respectfully, please. I haven't made up my mind, but I know which way I'm leaning. And it makes me sad.
Due to the political decisions SGK has made of late, not only have I lost some of my biggest financial supporters, but I myself am not sure if I can continue supporting a cause I have spent the last 6 years working to help.
I don't believe in abortion, but I do believe in women taking care of their bodies...even when they don't have insurance. Planned Parenthood is so much more than abortions. It's a place for women of all ages to get an annual exam who might otherwise not. It's a place for pregnant women of all ages to get prenatal care who might otherwise not. It's a place for women of all ages to get cancer screenings who. might. otherwise. not.
SGK keeps making these claims that those of us who are opposed to their choice to stop funding for Planned Parenthood are losing sight of the goal. They say we're not standing together as a family, that we can't let the negative talk surrounding this decision to get us off track. They say we will be bigger, better, stronger when we all stand as one going into this year's 3Day.
But there is a flaw in their logic. SGK isn't the only breast cancer supporter. There are other's working towards the same goal: a cure for breast cancer. A cure for cancer. My guess is that SGK's loss will be Avon and other's gain.
I had never known about or even considered the link between SGK and PP in the past. This is where I'm torn. I didn't know before that they supported PP and I walked in four 3Days. But now I know they no longer support PP. Should my allegiance change? If it's something I hadn't taken into account prior to all of this press, then I'm not sure that it should. On the other hand, it's not so much that they don't support PP, it's that they made the conscious and political decision to stop that bothers me. While I hadn't thought about it before, I now know that I wasn't just walking for women who have good health insurance. I was walking for every woman (and men, too) who face their own fight against breast cancer.
I'm not trying to start a debate. And I'm sure I don't know everything there is to know about this issue (I'm told that I shouldn't get all of my current events knowledge from Facebook). If you have an opinion, share it. Respectfully, please. I haven't made up my mind, but I know which way I'm leaning. And it makes me sad.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Early Bird
Early bird gets the worm. That never enticed me to get up before I needed to...who wants worms? The only reason...and I mean ONLY reason I get out of bed is to have my cup of coffee. If there's not coffee, I could easily stay in bed all day, shouting orders to my children to bring me food, a new People Magazine, and more wine.
Unfortunately, my oldest child is an early bird. She always has been...and I fear that even as a teenager she will be up before dawn. And the worst part isn't that she's up. It's that she's happy. My son is usually trailing her down the stairs, but, like me, he'd rather still be asleep and came downstairs only because he was woken up. He sits in a daze on the couch, silent. Staring. But Sophie, like the rising sun, is bright and her beams of happiness reach out to brighten those around her.
"What are we doing today? Did you remember to sign that sheet? Can I have a sleepover tonight? I had a dream about bunnies living in our backyard and when I went outside they asked if I wanted to play. They were so cute! Do you have glitter for my poster? Can I work on it now? Where are the markers?..."
Only, I haven't had my coffee yet and I don't want to be brightened. And at some point I can't take it anymore. And, as much as, at any other point in the day, I want to listen and respond in a kind manner, my caffeine-deprived brain explodes in frustration and over stimulation and I yell, "SOPHIE! PLEASE. STOP. TALKING!!" And then, for just a second, there's silence. And she's broken. And so is my heart.
Unfortunately, my oldest child is an early bird. She always has been...and I fear that even as a teenager she will be up before dawn. And the worst part isn't that she's up. It's that she's happy. My son is usually trailing her down the stairs, but, like me, he'd rather still be asleep and came downstairs only because he was woken up. He sits in a daze on the couch, silent. Staring. But Sophie, like the rising sun, is bright and her beams of happiness reach out to brighten those around her.
"What are we doing today? Did you remember to sign that sheet? Can I have a sleepover tonight? I had a dream about bunnies living in our backyard and when I went outside they asked if I wanted to play. They were so cute! Do you have glitter for my poster? Can I work on it now? Where are the markers?..."
Only, I haven't had my coffee yet and I don't want to be brightened. And at some point I can't take it anymore. And, as much as, at any other point in the day, I want to listen and respond in a kind manner, my caffeine-deprived brain explodes in frustration and over stimulation and I yell, "SOPHIE! PLEASE. STOP. TALKING!!" And then, for just a second, there's silence. And she's broken. And so is my heart.
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