Health Nut

For my birthday, my friend gave me this little pin.  It makes me happy every time I look at it.  Because it's cute, for sure.  But also because when she gave it to me she said, "When I saw this I thought of you." 

I know I'm a health nut.  And I like that I'm a health nut.  But lately I've been having a hard time finding balance.  I'm fine when it comes to me.  I have my guidelines and I follow them 90% of the time.  But when it comes to my kids, I really struggle.   I want them to be healthy.  I want them to learn to make the healthy decisions on their own.  But I also want them to have fun and enjoy being kids! 

On the one hand I have guilt over letting them have peanut butter and sugary jelly sandwiches.  On the other hand, I feel bad when I hear that other kids have Oreos in their lunch and my kids' dessert is an apple. 

The other night we met my parents at a restaurant.  We placed our orders and I must not have been paying attention because the next thing I knew the server showed up with a chocolate milk, a lemonade and a Sprite.  I said, "What's this?" and my kids said, "Dad said we could order what we wanted."  Had I been privy to that conversation I know I would have made them order waters.  And I had to work really hard not to be annoyed that my husband had let them order glasses of sugar with their pizza.  But I reminded myself that it was a treat and treats are ok sometimes. 

I have cut sugar out of my diet almost completely (expect for my creamer...that's my vice.  And the occasional ice cream cone).  But lately I have noticed that I'm seeing sugar every where I look!  I'm not that tempted by it anymore, but when I see my kids eating a bowl of cereal (8g of sugar per serving) it's like I am watching them shovel spoonfuls of pure sugar in their mouths. Even watching them drink a glass of milk (12g of sugar!!) makes me cringe.  I am trying to switch them to almond milk (0g of sugar), but they don't like to drink it.  I insist they have it on their cereal, though, so they aren't having 20g of sugar to start off the day. 

Speaking of almond milk, am I going nutty?  Both my husband and I have struggled with our weight our entire lives.  I don't want to watch my kids go through that.  But I also feel like I'm fighting a losing battle.  My husband, who grew up on sugary junk food, has come a looooong way, but he's definitely more relaxed about what the kids eat.  Therefore, he's the fun parent...letting the kids put chocolate syrup (20g of sugar) on their waffles and giving them juice (26g of sugar!).  I'm the one who swoops in and says, "That's more than enough syrup!" and makes sure they have half a glass or less of juice.  My husband takes them to the school carnival and lets them get candy.  I'm the one who throws it all away when they aren't looking.  They aren't shy about letting it be known who they prefer to hang out with.  And, frankly, if I were 8 and 10 years old, I'm not sure I would want to hang out with me either.

Maybe I should be grateful that I have a husband who keeps me from going completely over the edge.  Who lets our kids have a treat every once in a while.  And maybe, just maybe, those same kids will thank me someday. 

Unsweetened

I am 1 1/2 days into a 3 day sugar detox.  So far so good, but I would gladly give away any one of my children for a piece of chocolate right now.  Just pick one...totally your choice.

My goal during this detox is to reset myself.  Over the past three weeks, and due to a series of circumstances, I relaxed some of my "rules" when it comes to eating.  I stayed gluten-free.  I still had very little dairy.  But I started eating a little more sugar.  And then a little more. Three weeks ago, when things began to slide, I was aware of the slippery slope but made the conscious decision to go a little easy on myself.  I was struggling with some hormone stuff and, while I'm sure the sugar wasn't helping my situation, it was mentally soothing.  But then my eating slid out of my control. 

I can tell you the exact moment I lost control (and anyone who knows me knows that I do not like when I don't have control!).  For Sophie's birthday party we ordered pizza.  Usually, when I know I'm going to be around something tempting I have a plan.  I make sure I have something gluten-free that I am looking forward to eating.  I think ahead and don't let myself get in a situation where I'm feeling deprived.  But we'd had a busy day.  Wade was gone, so I was on my own for dinner.  All of the kids were running around outside playing with Sophie's new football and the left over pizza sat on the counter staring at me.  Ok, fine.  I was staring at the pizza.  My mind was carefully weighing my options.  But my hungry stomach took charge.  I quickly stuffed one piece of pizza into my mouth.  Then second.  Then a third. 

And then I waited.  I waited to feel bloated.  I waited for my stomach to revolt against the bready crust and the cheesy cheese. 

But nothing happened.

I went to bed that night definitely feeling guilt over my transgression, but also thinking that maybe gluten didn't really have much of an effect on me afterall. 

Had the last 9 months all been for nothing?

The next morning I felt sluggish.  Lazy.  And I had cravings like I hadn't had in months.  I craved bread.  I craved carbs.  I snacked all day long.  No gluten, but I had chips and GF cookies and these GF buns that Wade had bought that I didn't even like.  I kept telling myself that it was ok because it was gluten-free, conveniently forgetting that carbs and I don't get along.

The next morning was more of the same.  And each day, as I had these carby cravings, I felt powerless as I constantly gave in to them.  One full week and five pounds later, it occurred to me that this is how I used to feel.  All the time.  When "evil gluten" was only something I heard annoyingly healthy people talk about. 

I am very aware that I am now one of those annoying people.  When I asked a friend of mine, who had done this detox with me last summer, to remind me what the rules were, she responded, "No gluten.  No dairy.  No sugar.  So pretty much what you've been doing for the last 9 months." And I suppose that's true...until I wasn't.  It only took three weeks to completely derail everything I had worked really hard to achieve.  I was finally at a size and weight where I felt good.  Healthy.  I was where I wanted to be.  But once I let my guard down my pants got tight and I lost my motivation to stay on track.  Hence, the detox.

But it's not all bad.  Along with the five pounds, I've also gained the knowledge that I really do feel better without gluten, and with limited amounts of dairy and sugar.  That being said...I'm serious.  Any one of my kids for a piece of chocolate.  The offer still stands.

Handle It

My favorite coffee cup is breaking.  It hasn't officially broken yet, but it's going to happen.  There is a crack where the handle meets the mug and I can hear it creaking when I lift it to my mouth to take a sip.

I bought this coffee cup when I was sixteen or seventeen years old.  At a coffee shop in Saratoga Springs, NY called Madeline's; I spent quite a bit of time there when I was in high school.  I remember seeing it on display with other coffee cups, all designed by kids. I was new to drinking coffee, but I bought it because I loved the stars and the Earth and the faces, and I figured buying a coffee cup made me an official coffee drinker.

It went to college with me.  And then to the house I shared with some girlfriends.  To my first apartment.  Then to the house Wade and I bought after we got married.  Now here, where I like to make sure I can see it in the cupboard with the glass door. 

One day I was taking it out of the dishwasher and I noticed that I had inadvertently named my daughter after my coffee cup.  Seriously!  And now my Sophia is nine years old, the same age as the coffee cup Sophia when she drew this picture.


I know it's just a coffee cup and I had intended to end this post with something like, "I know it's just a coffee cup, but it holds a little bit of my history."  Blah Blah Blah.  Something like that...I hadn't thought that far ahead yet.  But, on a whim, I googled "Save the Children coffee cup" and guess what showed up at the top of the list?!  I forwarded the link to Wade who just informed me that the delivery date is March 6th.  Even though it won't be the same mug, it's close enough.  And I can totally handle that.

65 Degree Mom

Today I need to clean bathrooms, fold laundry and vacuum my whole house.  So, I decided to sit down and write a blog post instead.  My first of 2014!  I love Tuesdays.  All three kids are at school and I usually don't have to go into work, so it's a day all to myself.  But, it's 9:30am right now and, in the blink of an eye, it will be 3:30 and Lily will be dropped off and I'll be heading out the door to pick up Sophie and Max.  And the quiet will all be over.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my kids.  I would give my life to protect them.  But lately, I worry I might strangle them with my own bare hands.  The constant fighting, the constant messes, and the snotty attitudes are wearing on my last nerve.  This winter has turned me into a terrible mom.  Too much screen time.  Too much yelling.  Too many days trapped inside.  Lily keeps saying, "It's almost summer, Mom."  But she's wrong.  I'm losing faith that I'll ever see summer again.

I'm a better summer mom than I am a winter mom.  I don't like to do winter things.  The one and only time I've ever been downhill skiing my brother left me in a heap on the side of a mountain and it left a bad taste in my mouth.  I'm not coordinated enough for ice-skating and it just looks like a whole lot of cold anyway.  Snow-shoeing and cross country skiing sound like more work than fun with a four-year-old in tow.  I'm chilly even on a warm day; I'm just not built for these long Minnesota winters.

I like heading to the park to play Monster tag (moms are monsters, kids run and scream a lot).  I like sitting on the patio with a glass of wine while my husband grills dinner and my kids run around with the neighbor boys.  I like hiking (no cliffs!) and camping and going to the beach.  I love being outside...but only when it's above 65 degrees.
 
But somehow I always manage to survive.  If only because of hot coffee and my electric blanket.  This is the worst winter that I can remember, and I suppose I'll survive this one, too.  But maybe a shot of Bailey's in that hot coffee wouldn't hurt.

One Size Fits Few

I was in my car running errands the other day and I heard a radio ad for a weight loss company.  They were interviewing one of their "success stories" and she was saying that until this program she had back problems, was tired all of the time and over all wasn't enjoying her life (that was the message she gave, at least).  Then they asked the big question...how much did she lose?  Her answer was "I went from a size 8 to a size 2."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!  My GOAL is a size 8.

I get that these companies target overweight people (mostly women).  I understand that when you are 20, 30, 50, 80 pounds overweight that those extra pounds do things to your body that you don't even realize they are doing.  But unless you are under 3 feet tall, a size 8 is a healthy weight.  A beautiful weight.  And to target women who are at a healthy weight...to imply that unless you are a size 2 you need to lose weight...well, that's bullshit.  (Sorry mom!)

A couple of years ago I made a vow on this very blog to stop talking about my body issues.  And I'm not going to start again now.  But I am going to say this...  I eat a gluten-free, almost sugar free diet.  I exercise 5 - 6 days week for 1 1/2 hours.  I can't say that none of that is for my weight, but I can say that each day that passes it's less and less about my weight and more about how I feel.  I may not have reached my goal (I'm close!), but for anyone to imply that my size 8 isn't good enough...isn't thin enough...that because I'm not a size 2 I need to lose another 40 pounds, that really gets my goat.

I'm sure you've all seen this by now, but it's something that I think all women, not just young girls, need to see.  We have unrealistic expectations for ourselves and for others and it's destroying healthy female self-esteem throughout our entire country.

http://www.upworthy.com/see-why-we-have-an-absolutely-ridiculous-standard-of-beauty-in-just-37-seconds

I'm going to forget about what the scale says and what size pants I buy...my new goal is to teach my daughters (and son, too) to eat healthy and to love their bodies and the beautiful array of bodies God has created.  Even bodies that aren't a size 2.

Happy National Coffee Day!

This morning I woke up and my entire family was still sleeping.  My kids are very early risers, so this rarely happens.  I decided to take advantage of it!  I started a pot of coffee, and because I am an impatient person, I waited only long enough for one cup to have brewed and then I poured it into my favorite mug.  I enjoyed that first cup in pure silence and it was bliss.  I hope your day got off to such a perfect start as well.

HAPPY NATIONAL COFFEE DAY!!  

 

A letter from the College of Veterinary Medicine

This just arrived in the mail today.  Doesn't make losing our dog any easier, but makes me love our vet even more than I did before. 

 

Thanks, Dr. Melbo!

The Sand Momster

This past weekend I went camping with my family.  Just the five of us.  It went remarkably well.  I did forgot a few minor things, like plates and the kids' toothbrushes.  And one major thing: coffee cups.  I forgot the thing that gets the coffee from the coffee pot to my mouth.  But my husband bought these to get us by. 

I'm sorry, Mother Nature.  Coffee won this round.

We hiked (it was really more like a glorified walk) to the Willow River Falls.  Beautiful.  And the kids loved exploring the little caves along the shores of the river.  They saw a crayfish.  And a stick bug (or Phasmatodea...I looked it up!).

 
That afternoon we went to the beach.  The kids quickly made friends and spent several hours building sand villages.  It was perfect!  They were having a great time and I got to sit in my camping chair with a beer (I love Wisconsin!!). Then, just off to the left, in front of where Wade and I sat, a family planted themselves.  I casually watched as the mom and three kids started building their own sand world.  They were digging, filling and emptying buckets, shaping hills and decorating their sandy land with tiny trees.  Guilt set in.  This mom wasn't sitting back, watching her kids play.  She was in there, hands filthy and knees caked with sand.  I looked over at my kids, Max almost completely buried in sand by his sisters and their new beach friends.  I should be over there.  With them.  I glanced back at the good mom.  By this point their village was sprawling, with rivers and valleys.  I focused in for just a second, eavesdropping on their family memory.   As I listened, I heard the mom say, "Not there.  No no, that's not where that goes.  You have to start it over there.  Build it to that corner and then dig to this wall."  The kids scurried to do as they were told.  I couldn't help but keep listening and I started to realize that this mom wasn't really playing with her kids.  She was directing them.  This wasn't their beach habitat.  It was hers.  Before I sound too judgemental, allow me to finish my thought.  I realized, watching this mom and letting my guilt dissipate, that had I gotten down on my hands and knees in the sand with my kids, I would have been the. same. way.  So, my kids played down the beach, checking in from time to time, usually wanting a snack.  And my husband and I sat and watched.  Drink in hand.  Not a grain of sand above my toes.

I will leave you with this lesson in making the best of a bad situation...a popped air mattress.

(Turn the volume down, the sound quality is terrible.  Sorry.)

Seventeenth

The other day a friend told me that my suburb, Apple Valley, MN, is ranked #17 on Money Magazine's list of best places to live.  In the United States. In full disclosure, Chanhassen, MN is #4 (something about bouncing back and a festival with ice-fishing). But I'll take #17.  Less pretentious.  More Minnesotan.

http://money.cnn.com/magazines/moneymag/best-places/2013/snapshots/PL2701900.html

I got the job!

Interview

I had an interview this morning.  It went well, thanks.  At least I think it did.  It remains to be seen how the interviewers feel about it.  It's for a part-time job at our church.  A job that I think I would be good at and would really enjoy.  It's in God's hands now...literally!

It's funny to think about going back to work.  It sounds a little bit daunting.  A little bit scary.  I haven't gone to work in over nine years.  As in, I haven't walked into a building where other people are working to go to work myself in over nine years.  And prior to this interview I thought, What am I going to talk about?  When they ask about my organization skills, should I tell them how I have a specific way I like to load the dishwasher (and how my husband STILL hasn't figured that out)?  When they ask about my experience recruiting volunteers, should I mention how I often ask my friends to babysit for free?  When they ask about my comfort level planning and leading events, should I explain that just getting out of my house in the morning takes an immense amount of planning...and yelling.  Maybe I'll leave out the yelling part. 

At first, during the interview, I found myself relying on my teaching experience, which seems like a lifetime ago (my nine year old's lifetime, actually).  But as I got more comfortable, I realized I have experiences from these last nine years that, even more so than my teaching career, have prepared me for a job out there. In the workforce.  I, with my two co-chairs, run our school's book fair, the biggest fundraiser our school has.  And we ROCKED it last year.  That alone covers recruiting, planning and organization skills.  For six years I was an organizational tutor.  I was second in command at that same tutoring company, where I handled all of the day to day stuff.  Yes, I sat on my couch with my computer on my lap while making and taking phone calls, entering hours to bill families and sending out paychecks.  I may have been in my pajamas, but I was professional in every other way.  And I was good at it.  And I grew my Norwex business and built a team of 5 recruits.  On any given day, I do more than just yell at my kids to turn off the T.V. and get their shoes on.  Although, it's easy for me to forget that most of the time.

I'm not saying I do more than other stay at home moms.  I'm saying just. the. opposite.  I think stay at home moms, like me, don't give ourselves enough credit.  We do work.  And we work outside the home.  We volunteer at our kids' schools, sporting events, churches and more.  We may or may not get paid for our time and energy, but we do it nonetheless.  We hold the mute button so the person on the other end of the phone can't hear the tantrum being thrown by our three-year-old because she wanted her pretzels in the purple bowl instead of the green one, but we make those fundraising phone calls anyway.  And, like all moms, working or not, we run a household.  That in and of itself should qualify us for just about any position we want.

I don't know if I will get this job (fingers crossed!) but I do know that I'm qualified.  Being a stay at home mom doesn't have to be a death sentence for a career.  Off to organize my dishwasher.  Again (will he ever learn?). 

Missing Sadie

If you know me, you know my dog drove me nuts.  I complained about her daily.  The way she was always standing in my way, no matter which direction I turned.  The way she jumped, impressively high, straight up in the air at the screen door when she wanted to come inside. The way she would wait until no one was looking and then sneak a sandwich off the counter. 

Sadie was not an easy dog.  She had separation anxiety, which meant she could never be alone in the house.  Whenever we left the house she had to go in her kennel until we returned.  (For those who don't know what separation anxiety entails: animals get so nervous when left alone, they lose control of their bowels).  She was a rescue, so it was understandable in the beginning, but rather than getting better over time, she got worse.  She started having accidents at night even though we were home and sleeping in the same room she did.  So we bought a kennel for our bedroom and kept her locked up at night.  Eventually she started having accidents simply being alone in a room.  I had to clean up after her once a week or so.  Which, as you can imagine, led to a significant amount of frustration on my part.  Like most dogs she would run to the front door (although, in the end it was a slow trot) barking at whoever was waiting on the other side.  But unlike most dogs, Sadie could jump several feet off the ground.  Straight up in the air.  This was both frightening and impressive to everyone who visited us.  And of course there was the dog hair.  Always the dog hair.

I have always been pretty vocal about the things that bothered me about our dog.  But I realize now that I wasn't always so vocal about why we kept her.  Loved her.  Sadie was gentle.  She was timid and kind.  You could take a bone right out of her mouth and she would let you.  Dropping it and stepping back with a what's mine is yours look on her face.  When Luna and Solei, her two best friends (who, together, are less than half of Sadie's size), were over, Luna would undoubtedly end up with Sadie's treat.  Sadie would watch Luna chewing, never trying to take it back.  Once, many years ago, I took Sadie to a dog park.  I would throw her frisbee and she would bring it back.  Until I threw it and another dog got to it first.  Sadie watched that dog run away with her toy and then she ran back to me empty handed, but happy.  The kids, when they were little, used her as a step to get up on the couch.  Or they would sit on her back and pull on her ears.  Or stick their fingers in her mouth.  And she took it all with a smile.  Quite literally, she would have a smile on her face.  I always heard that you're not supposed to trust a dog with young kids, but I always trusted Sadie.  And she never proved me wrong.  Her eyes said "love me" and how could you look into them and not?  We used to say she was a like a super model; pretty, but dumb.  But she wasn't dumb.  She knew she was loved and she loved us unconditionally in return.

The hardest park about loving a pet is knowing when it is time to end their pain and suffering.  We could have come up with endless excuses not to put Sadie down, but in the end she was getting noticeably sicker every day.  The growth in her throat made her cough and gag constantly throughout the day.  And made eating difficult and possibly even painful.  The cancer in her stomach made her once sleek 50 lbs. body look skeletal at only 34 lbs.  As much as we hated to admit it, it was time.

I used to daydream about not having to sweep up the dog hair.  Or vacuum the stairs several times a week.  Or about taking the kennel out of our bedroom.  There is still some dog hair around, I'm sure we will be finding it for a while yet.  But the empty spot in our bedroom, where the kennel used to be, breaks my heart.  And, so much more than I thought I would, I miss seeing this sweet face.

Thank you Michelle Trombetta for this beautiful picture.

A Goodbye Letter to my Family

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)

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.

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.

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

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.

Are We There Yet?

I love fall and I love my kids, so I thought I would post this cute fall-ish picture of the three of them (plus Sophie's garage sale stuffed dog named Princess) in a big pile of leaves.  This photo was taken after a 7 hour car ride home from Devil's Lake, ND.  As you can see, they somehow managed to not kill each other.

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.

 And then we drove the 6 miles out of town to the farm.  The part behind my mom and I looks exactly as I remember.  But we all agreed that the farm quonset looked different, newer (and we later learned that the old one had been taken out by a tornado years ago).  And the farm house has a big, brand new addition and has been painted, so it was hard to tell that it's the same little white house we ran around 25 years ago. But even with the changes, being out there as an adult, with my mom, gave me a whole new appreciation for where she comes from.  We also stopped at the cemetery just down the road from the farm, where my grandparents and my mom's baby sister are buried. My kids once again surprised me by listening to grandma's stories and showing respect at the grave sites.  I loved watching my mom tell my kids about her life on the farm.

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.

The drive home on Sunday was uneventful and, again, went far better and faster than I imagined it would.  I'm glad to be home, in my own bed and with my own coffee maker, but it was one of the best weekends I've had in a long time.  I plan to go back again soon (as in, less than 25 years from now).

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.

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.