3 boys o' mine

Scuppernongs

2011-09-20T12:52:00.003-06:00

After finishing up our first year on a good note, I was feeling much more confident about our decision to homeschool. We had endured the state mandated standardized tests that showed the boys were right on track, but considering my general disdain for standardized tests, I took the results with a grain of salt. The further we got from public school, the more natural things felt. And the more I learned about the origins of the current antiquated system (yikes!), the more grateful I felt for the opportunity to keep the boys home, where they belong.

In planning for our next year, I'd settled on a curriculum called "My Father's World". As a unit study, it covered everything from literature to geography, science to art. And it could be used for all three boys. Everyone I talked to said they loved it. I was fortunate enough to stumble upon some used books in a curriculum sale and then filled in the blanks on Amazon. All summer I was feeling pretty prepared. But insecurity was lurking just around the corner.

At football practice I'd hear parents talking about how their sixth graders were going to use scientific calculators this year and thought, woo. We'd had to back track with Cole to undo the damage that the "Everyday Math" curriculum had done and were not nearly at a place needing a fancy calculator yet. (Come to think of it, I'd never needed a scientific calculator in my entire life and had somehow managed the household finances for over a decade. Go figure.)

As the summer wound down my anxiety level went up. The stack of books on my bedside table had hardly been touched. The big expectations I'd had for The Well-Trained Mind were diminished when I read a book mocking people who believe in training their childrens' minds that way. Who could I trust?

The answer came unexpectedly.

One day, a couple of weeks before our new school year was to start, we were reading a book together and came upon the word scuppernongs. Scuppernongs? We all scratched our heads and wondered what in the world a scuppernong was. I said I'd look it up later on and we continued the story.

Just a short while later it was lunch time. After making a sandwich I logged into facebook to check in on my friends. As I scrolled down the page reading everyone's status updates, my eyes were caught by a photo. It was a picture of some grape-like things in a bowl and it said, "This is why I love my brother! He sent me some scuppernongs from Georgia!" Holy cow. That was weird. In my entire life I'd never heard of such a thing and now it had come up twice in one morning. What were the odds?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was no coincidence. It was the Lord sending me a message. He was letting me know that He was the one who had started us on this journey and He was going to see us through. He would provide the knowledge we needed, when we needed it. Homeschooling was not about me and what I knew, there was a much bigger picture to remember. I could breath a sigh of relief when I felt like panicking at the prospect of being responsible for the boys' education because it was not on my shoulders at all.

A few days later as I recounted the story to a friend, I decided to look up scuppernongs to read more about them. What was this strange fruit with the funny name anyway? I had to smile when I read that the oldest cultivated grapevine in the world is the 400 year old scuppernong "Mother Vine" growing on Roanoke Island, North Carolina. (Wikipedia)

Although I love the sound of Mother Vine, Father Vine would be more like it. May we continue to grow in Him as we continue our journey together.

freedom

2010-12-15T21:32:00.004-07:00

It’s been a couple of months since we pulled our boys out of public school and began our adventure in homeschooling. Although it’s feeling more and more “normal” I still wake up some mornings and feel like we’re all playing hooky and someone’s going to show up at the door with a badge. I always make sure to have my make-up on and hair brushed, just in case.

When we meet new people and they ask what school our kids go to I still have an out-of-body experience when I hear myself saying, “Actually…um…we’re homeschooling our kids.” The reaction we get has become so predictable that I feel slightly amused and slightly annoyed when I see that first look of amazement their face.

As their eyes narrow in their reassessment of who they think I am (since I apparently appear to be sane and normal), the first thing they want to know is, “Why?” It’s the most logical question but a tricky one to answer since I don’t want to offend them with the truth. We live in one of the best school districts in the state so I start with the disclaimer about how we’ve always had nice, dedicated teachers but we’ve just come to see education in a different light. It’s not the teachers we have a problem with, it’s the system. The soul-sucking, institutional, government run, bureaucratic, politically correct, watered down, broken system that can never be fixed. But I say it with a smile and not so many words.

The next reaction is usually a wide-eyed observation that, “Wow. You have to be with your kids all day, every day.” And to be honest, that was the thing that scared me the most when we decided to take on this endeavor. I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for over a decade but had been looking forward to having all the boys in school. I had an extensive list of things I wanted do with all that “me” time. When I kept getting nudges from above that we were supposed to go in this direction I thought, “Seriously, Lord?” But from past experience I’ve learned that His plans are a lot better than anything I’ve ever come up with.

I have to admit that before I really looked into it I had the false perception that homeschoolers were reclusive, over-protective, religious zealots along the lines of the Branch Davidians. Besides the fact that they won spelling bees I didn’t know much else about them. I soon found out that homeschooling families are independent minded, self-reliant people who not only want the best education for their kids, they’re going to personally make sure they get it. And they are as prolific as they are diverse.

After I met with several veteran homeschooling moms and attended a day-long seminar I learned that when you’re with your kids all the time you have no choice but to civilize them and build their character. And when you deal with the character issues then the academics naturally fall into place. Of course it’s a character building process for me, too. Things I need to work on like my temper and patience are brought into focus whether I like it or not. As one mom put it, “Parenting is God’s way of bringing you closer to Him and homeschooling is His way of growing you up.”

But one of the most unexpected things I’ve found as we’ve adapted to spending more time together is the boys actually get along better and I enjoy them more. We’ve had several days that went so well I found myself wishing we’d started homeschooling years ago. Gone are the harried mornings filled with lunch packing, homework gathering and rushing out the door. I no longer sit in endless lines to drop them off and pick them up just to deal with their decompression time (bickering) on the way home. Without the cloud of homework looming over our heads we can read, take walks and relax in the evenings. It’s surprisingly liberating to have the boys at home all the time.

I’m also liberated from the endless fundraisers, book orders, over-the-top “Winter Holiday” parties run by busy body classroom mothers involving specific napkins to bring and games to play. I no longer have pages and pages of papers requiring my signature. No more parent teacher conferences where I tell the teacher my son isn’t getting it and they smile and say, don’t worry, he’s fine. No he’s not! I can now state unequivocally that I am the P and the T in the PTA and we’re in agreement on what my kids understand and don’t understand.

I look back on the days when I peeled their little arms off my legs to send them to pre-school and cried as I walked away. I wish I hadn’t done that. I could have taught them their ABC’s just as well. I recall the times I had lunch with them in the dreary, institutional cafeteria with the depressing food and grouchy lunch people barking at them. They’d always look up with their sad eyes and beg to go home with me. They knew I’d say no so they’d sigh and stoically line up with their classmates as they watched me walk out the door into the sunshine.

These don’t seem to be things people want to hear because the next thing they say, the thing that causes me to take a deep breath and bite my tongue is, “Well I could never do it because my kids need the socialization.” In my head I think, really? If you think that locking a group of thirty kids of the same age in a room for years on end teaches them about the world and how to interact with those of different backgrounds and ages, you’re kidding yourself. Homeschooled kids have plenty of opportunities to interact with a wide range of people on fieldtrips, volunteering expeditions, support group meetings, and extra-curricular activities. The possibilities are endless.

I volunteered in the boys’ classrooms for years and could never get over all the crap those teachers had to deal with. The amount of time wasted dealing with the trouble making children was frustrating to watch. And from what I could tell, a kid had to practically pull out a knife before they’d send them to the principal. Children in school settings look to their peers for approval and acceptance. Home schooled kids look to their family. Who do you want your kids to model their behavior after? But instead of saying that, I just smile and say, sure. People that think schools provide healthy socialization aren’t going to listen to anything else.

This inevitably leads to the next response: the nightmare story. Everyone has one. “I knew a family that homeschooled their kids and they were awkward and wore high waters.” Or, “I know some people who got sick of it and ended up putting them back in school. Those kids never fit in.” To this I say that for every nightmare story there is a success story. I’ve met families with homeschooled kids who are now doctors, lawyers and entrepreneurs. And more importantly, they are emotionally healthy and well-rounded adults.

I hear nightmare stories about schools on a daily basis. Just turn on the TV and there are the bullies and pedophile teachers, the lock-downs and shootings. And don’t forget the drugs and sex and indoctrination. When I hear those stories I breathe a sigh of relief that the boys won’t have to go through all of that.

Then sometimes I have moments of, oh my gosh, I’m responsible for making sure three human beings are equipped with the tools they need to earn a living and provide for their families some day. Those are the moments I remind myself of everything I never learned in school. I made A’s and B’s so according to school standards I was a successful student. But I couldn’t tell you much about world history or algebra. I can recall hours or watching the clock, waiting for that bell to ring so I could escape to freedom. I look forward to re-learning things along with the boys and can’t wait to bring history and science and literature to life with them.

I also look forward to showering them with time and attention because in school they had been shy, well-behaved students that got overlooked in the classroom. I don’t blame the teachers for that. The squeaky wheel gets the oil and there were plenty of squeaky wheels to deal with. The boys no longer fear asking if they have a question. With just three students in our class there’s plenty of time to answer questions and go over things as many times as needed. And they can even use the restroom without permission. It’s almost like treating them as if they’re humans who deserve a little privacy now and then.

The final but unspoken question that people imply but are too polite to ask is, “How are you qualified? You didn’t even finish college. You hate math. You have no training in education.” And to that my reply is I’ve been teaching my children since the day they were born. Nobody knows them better, loves them as much or has more of a vested interest in their education than their own mother. My goal is not just to teach them facts and figures but to help them discover what their God-given purpose in life is.

I’ve come to see that education and furniture making have a lot in common. Public school is a lot like IKEA, functional and inexpensive. Private school is more like Ethan Allen, a higher quality and unrestrained by the political correctness of government entities. But homeschooling is a hand carved, dove-tailed kind of education. An education tailored to the child, not the other way around.

I’m fortunate to have this opportunity to spend this time with my kids. They will be grown and gone in the blink of an eye. I know it won’t be easy but it will be worth it. Just the other day my eight year-old who has always preferred numbers over words said, “I never realized how much fun writing could be, Mom!” That comment alone should get me through the first year.

school

2010-08-05T23:09:00.005-06:00

So here I am, on the eve of what I've been looking forward to for the last decade. Through all the diaper changes, nursing babies through the night, pick-ups and drop-offs at pre-school and kindergarten. This is the place I thought I'd find the time to find myself again. Where I could be a little self-centered. When I had all of my children in school, all day long. Five days a week. But things have taken an unexpected turn.

I think that God has a knack for placing certain people and even certain books in our lives at critical times. It's been a long time since this has happened to me. The last time was when I read The Birth Book, after having the worst experience in my life during the delivery of my first son. It caused me to rethink everything I thought about nature and hospitals and why we assume certain people know more than we know instead of trusting our own instincts.

After reading that, I went on to deliver my second son in two hours with no drugs, to delivering my third son, au naturale as well. Ten pounds, six ounces, no drugs. It wasn't easy but I'd never felt so empowered in my life.

And now I find myself here. After ordering a copy of Dumbing Us Down by John Taylor Gotto, I knew before I even finished the introduction that this book was about to change everything. Everything he said resonated with everything I already knew intuitively, as a student myself and from what I've witnessed in the public schools with my boys over the past five years. Before I finished the first chapter I knew that I could no longer subject my children to the soul sucking of public school, or even private school. It is all wrong.

This revelation came as a surprise to me. I'll admit to being someone who has judged home schoolers before. I saw their parents as paranoid and over protective and wondered, "Do they really think their kids are that much better? Why isn't our school good enough?" My opinion was that children should be innoculated, not sheltered from the world.

But after reading further, everything I've ever felt was wrong with our schools was perfectly verbalized by the author, a New York school teacher who won several impressive awards for his teaching. The boredom, the indifference, the mass production, and none of it leading to any grand results. Yet people still wanting to throw more money at it.

It basically boils down to families. Our families are falling apart. And according to the author it's no surprise considering the "education" we are given. School is a false community that does not fulful our spiritual and emotional needs like a family can, yet promotes itself that way. Homework is something that cuts into our already limited family time but contributes little to learning. I've always felt resentment about it, especially when my kindergartners were assigned homework, but this book affirms my perception. Homework is just another way for schools to tighten the reigns and keep us in check.

I can't begin to describe the ways that the author explains the problems with our current "education" (i.e. schooling) system so you should read it for yourself. All I know is that with every page I read I was awakened and validated in my feelings toward what I grew up with and what my sons have been through.

I've been an involved parent and through my volunteering I've seen some disturbing things. From the depressing, drab experience that is 'lunch time' in the cafeteria, to the fact that the art teacher would have a melt down if the kids didn't create pictures that were basically the same, to the problem of trouble making students taking up much of the teacher's time and attention.

I have a decision to make.

As someone who has purposely brought three human beings into the world, I owe them the best. As far as time goes, I have the unique opportunity to give it to them. I am smart enough to figure out the best way to facilitate it. As far as I'm concerned, Ben Franklin and Abe Lincoln were self educated and they turned out just fine. The system that we have now is based on nothing more that power struggles for money and influence and I choose to opt out of that.

As I've had a few days to digest this information, more and more things come to mind that I know to be true. If I were to home school, I could instill values in the boys that are important to our family. We could actually have a "Christmas break" instead of a "winter break." We could open our day with the pledge of allegiance and a prayer (gasp). I could talk to them about the theories of evolution and creation (double gasp). We could actually discuss and explore ideas together, as a family.

They could find themselves at the same time I find myself.

Our country is at a turning point. Our government, churches and schools are for the most part corrupt and in need of a complete renewal. So I'm going to choose to be a part of that. I'm going to take a deep breath and trust in God.

Here goes...

13.1

2009-05-04T13:04:00.015-06:00

I don't remember what first made me want to try it. Maybe it was because a couple of my friends had done it and I figured if they could, why couldn't I? Or it might have been because I'd overindulged during the holidays and figured if I had a solid date with a real goal I would force myself to get back into shape.

So about three months ago as I was sitting at the boys' swim lessons, flipping through some sporting magazine, I came across the ad: 'The Colorado Marathon and Half-Marathon, Colorado's fastest and America's Most Scenic Course,' it proudly proclaimed. I signed up that day, envisioning myself crossing the finish line in a few months as a very different being than the pale, soft, wintertime person I'd become.

But training for the race didn't go the way I'd hoped. I don't do treadmills and I don't run in snow, so it was hit or miss getting myself out on the trails during the inclement Colorado springtime months. Just when I'd make some progress, a storm came along and kept me indoors for a week or two. Then, for the first time in years, I was hit with a stomach virus and knocked off my feet for a few days.

I started to think about ditching the whole race and trying a different one later on in the year. I didn't think I was ready yet. The farthest I'd been able to run was just over eight miles and to me it seemed like a stretch to jump up to thirteen in a couple of weeks. Surely it would backfire on me and I'd have to ride the lag wagon to the end. So embarrassing.

I also freaked myself out by clocking my distance everywhere I went in my car to see how far thirteen miles really was. Like to drive to our nearest Sam's, which feels very far, was only eleven miles. Holy COW, I thought. I can't run that far! What kind of crazy person would try such a thing??

As the race loomed closer, I'd pretty much decided against it. But then things changed. The weather warmed up and I got in a few really good runs. I pictured how I'd feel on the morning of May 3rd if I decided to stay home. If I woke up and looked at the clock knowing that at that moment I should've been running along a river in Ft. Collins instead of sleeping in, I would have loathed myself.

So at the last minute, I booked my hotel room and started getting my head ready for thirteen miles. It gave me butterflies and terror at the same time. But it was something I had to do.

On Saturday I packed my stuff and headed North. After stopping to have a delicious lunch with my sister on the way, I arrived in Ft. Collins. I'd never been there before but always heard about it. It's ranked the number one city in America to raise a family. It was very charming and not in a contrived way. The University campus was gorgeous and the rows of eclectic shops downtown brought back memories of my own college town, San Marcos. I started feeling a little sentimental on top of the butterflies and terror.

I headed to the Hilton to pick up my race packet. It was swarming with people and excitement. After getting my race t-shirt, bib and timing chip, I wandered around to check out the "expo" where they try to sell you fancy shoes and things. One of the displays they had was a map you could stick a pin in to mark where you were from. It was interesting to see that people had come from all over the US and several other countries to be in the race. Very cool.

It was starting to get a little drizzly and gray when I left the expo and I drove around town to get my bearings. I stopped at the grocery store to stock up on bananas, Gatorade and energy bars and then made my way to the hotel to get settled in.

I'd never stayed in a hotel by myself before and was pretty excited about it. But before long I realized why some people decide to end their lives in hotels. Being in a hotel by yourself is like the loneliest thing in the world. Before long I was back in my car looking for the nearest Schlotzsky's.

After my sandwich was ordered, I sat at the counter and waited. By then it was really raining. As I gazed out the lonely window at the dark clouds overhead, a college student came in and sat down beside me. I couldn't believe it when he tried to strike up a conversation and seemed to actually be flirting. I was thinking that I could literally be his mother and that made me feel even more blue. I couldn't believe it had been so long since I'd been a college student myself. Thank goodness I only had a couple hours until bedtime or I would have worked myself into a serious pre-race funk.

I headed back to the hotel and sorted out my things for the next day. After setting the alarm for 4:00am and watching a few depressing sitcoms, I turned out the lights thinking, "This is it. When I wake up it will be time..." Yikes. It was only 7:30 but I managed to fall asleep right away. Benadryl helps.

Of course I spent the night having recurring nightmares that I'd overslept and missed the race. The good news was that in the dreams I was actually disappointed, not relieved, that I'd missed it. That made me feel that at least on some level I might be more ready that I thought. I tossed and turned all night and finally got up at 3:30 for good. No need for the alarm after all.

I ate my breakfast of bananas, cereal and boiled eggs and tried not to worry that it was still raining outside. I do better in cool weather anyway but who wanted to run in the rain for that long? I'd never drank so much OJ and Gatorade in my life. By the time I left the hotel and headed to the parking area I was feeling very hydrated. Very, very hydrated.

It wasn't hard to find a parking space in the garage and I'd gotten there early so I sat in my car a while watching the other runners arrive, sizing them up. You could tell the serious runners right away and then there were the people like me, who looked like they were just hoping not to embarrass themselves so they might be able to go home and post on their facebook status that they'd run a half-marathon that day.

Before long it was time to get on the bus and head toward the starting line. It was still dark but the rain had stopped and I could see a faint glow on the horizon. The buses filled up quickly and slowly pulled away and headed out of town. It seemed like such a strange thing for over 1500 people to be riding buses to the middle of nowhere at 5am so they could voluntarily run thirteen miles back to town. And then there were the marathoners who had already left for their starting line an hour earlier. Crazy.

The ride seemed exceptionally long since the whole time I was thinking how I'd be running the whole way back. Most people were pretty quiet and contemplative but a few were chatting away with their seatmates about their previous races and conquests.

When we arrived at the staging location the sun was halfway up and the clouds were clearing out. It was starting to look like a very good day. We were dropped off in a field filled with what looked like hundreds of port-o-potties and a large tent. Once I got my eyes past the potties I realized we were in a beautiful canyon with the Poudre river running just a few yards away. It was gorgeous.

But it didn't take long to realize it was also freezing. It was in the thirties still so everyone headed to the tent to huddle and wait for an hour or so until the race started. Before long I met a group of women who were very friendly and fun to talk to. Once again I was honored to be in such a diverse group of amazing people. I don't know why but it seems like most people I meet at races are exceptional.

The time flew and pretty soon I was in line for one last restroom stop. The butterflies came back but it was a thrilling feeling. Runners started heading down the road to the starting line as one big herd of people. I positioned myself toward the back of the herd since I knew I'd be running slow and steady.

Finally, it was time. Slowly, the first half of the pack pulled out and the rest of us started jogging up to the starting line. Hoots and hollers went out from the runners and the police escorts cleared the road ahead. Not that there was much traffic out there yet. I turned on my tunes to what I'd decided on as the perfect starting song: Halo, by Beyonce. It had an anthem-like beginning and seemed fitting. This was it. No turning back now!

The crowd of runners thinned out over the first couple of miles as the fast people made the most of the downhill beginning. It was touted as the fastest course in Colorado with 1200 feet of elevation drop. Most of that happened in the first four miles or so. Funny how fast the miles go by when you have gravity on your side. But even though I felt like tearing up the downhill part, I bided my time and paced myself, afraid I'd burn out too early.

I normally don't drink energy drinks or eat power bars when I run but they really made a difference for me that day. Things were just clipping along when I saw the road sign. 'Fort Collins 10 Miles.' Well that's funny, I thought. Ft. Collins is where I'm going. Ten more miles, huh? Once again I was jarred by the reality of how far I was trying to go. I tried to suppress the slight panic that rose for a moment. One mile at a time. That was my mantra.

It was a scenic route and that helped the time go by. We ran past picturesque farms with horses stomping around, dogs barking and the smell of the country. Some good smells, some not so good smells. Volunteers handed out sports drinks every two miles and there were more potties at each station. It was a very organized race.

But the funnest part was when we ran by the crowds that had gathered at various points to cheer us on and support their friends and family. People had cowbells and children gave high-fives. I still remember one woman who was standing quietly on the side of the road. When I passed her she made eye contact and quietly said, "Good job." That was at about mile four and just hearing those two words got me through the next couple of miles easily. I don't know what it is about encouragement from strangers, but it is powerful. At least for me.

At mile six there was finally an uphill stretch. I'd been training on hills more than on distance for the last few months and I felt a surge of pride as I topped the hill without even slowing my pace. There were more volunteers up there to hand out drinks and they were dressed as clowns. Very random. I couldn't say enough good things about the volunteers all along the route that day. They were fun and enthusiastic and really made my day.

When mile eight came and went I realized I was in uncharted territory. The good news was I was feeling just great. It's true how race day adrenaline and excitement can really get you through. I started to think crazy thoughts like, "I think I'm actually going to do this!" followed by the other voice in my head, "Shut up. You still have four miles to go. Wait, make that five. Eight plus four is twelve. And you are going thirteen. That leaves five so calm down, sister..."

I couldn't believe I wasn't in pain. I couldn't believe it almost seemed easy. But I tried to stuff those over-confident thoughts down deep so I wouldn't mess up my head. Soon we were closer to town and it was a very level course. We ran through a park and over a bridge. By then some of the elite marathoners had caught up with us and were passing us. Keep in mind that they only started an hour before we did. I was in awe as they breezed past me, their sinewy legs in an almost full sprint. Amazing what the human body is capable of.

Mile nine, mile ten, mile eleven. I started feeling it. My feet had pretty much gone numb a few miles back except for the blister that was rising. So what, I told myself. It's not like I have a bone sticking out. It's just a blister for heaven's sake. Some people had already started walking around mile seven so I was feeling pretty good about keeping up my pace. I also felt like if I stopped running I'd never be able to start again.

As we got closer to the end, emotions started welling up in me. I couldn't believe I was going to do it. Thirteen miles. Make that thirteen point one miles. I thought back to just two years earlier when I first started running and could barely make it down the street. I remembered how I used to loathe running and be annoyed by people who loved it. I picked up my pace.

One of the most inspiring sights I saw during the last part of the race was a man who had to be at least seventy-five or older, trudging along. His head of white hair was tucked and his eyes seemed to be almost closed. I could see it was taking everything he had but he was not going to stop.

After passing the twelve mile mark I grabbed one last cup of water, gulped it down and tossed it in the trash. The last mile. No freaking way. I started scrolling through my music to find the right song for the finish. Steve Perry's voice rang out singing, "Don't stop believing..hold on to that feeeeeeeelin'!" Cheesy, but perfect.

That last mile was a long one. Finally, I came around a corner and saw it. A big sign hanging over the cheering crowds: FINISH. Is that really it? Could it be?? I wanted to savor every last step. I turned down Steve so I could hear the people. I ran across the last timing mat and suddenly, it was over. Someone handed me a medal and said congratulations and I stumbled out into the crowd.

That was it. I had done it. How could it be? And what now?

I sat down for a minute and gathered my thoughts. People were milling around eating bananas and cookies and eyeballing each other. The marathoners strutted around with their fancy 'Marathon' medals, looking down their noses at us half-marathoners. Okay, maybe they didn't but it sure seemed like it.

That critical voice in my head wasted no time in trying to belittle my achievement. "Well it was partly downhill," she said. "And it did take you two hours and thirty-two minutes." But I put a stop to that right away. "Listen, bitch. I just ran thirteen point one miles without stopping. So shut it."

On my way back to my car I saw so many happy faces. People were on their phones calling their peeps and one guy was even sitting on the curb, crying. I think they were happy tears.

I called my family and made my way home, feeling amazing. It wasn't until later that night as I was wiping down the stovetop when it really hit me. I had actually done it. Then I finally shed a few tears of my own.

so this is it?

2009-01-12T14:47:00.003-07:00

It seems that for the last ten years we've been trying to get somewhere. We've been in constant motion: Changing jobs, changing houses, even changing states. Having babies, raising babies, trying to survive the babies and always trying improve our situation.

On New Year's Day it all seemed to stop for me. Instead of being excited about what may come, I felt like I'd hit a wall. Like I was just about to live another rerun of last year. No longer were we trying to get somewhere, we had finally arrived at the place we'd wanted to be for so long. The place we'd worked so hard to get to.

This is it. We've reached the point of inertia. We have all the children we'll ever have, we're in the home that we'll most likely be in until the boys are raised and maybe even after that, and my husband has the job he's worked years to get and will probably retire from in 30 years or so (and that's if all goes well). This is it.

From here on out, each day will be very similar, and that's if we're lucky. Work, school, laundry, dishes, homework, bathtime and bedtime. Hanging out with friends now and then, a few good shows to watch on TV, a vacation here and there and before we know it, BAM. We're dead. And what was the point?

I know I sound ungrateful but I'm not. I'm more than thankful for my husband and healthy, beautiful children. I'm thankful for my own health. I'm thankful for our home and my husband's job. Believe me, I don't take these things for granted. I actually love my life, I'm exactly where I always wanted to be. But now that I'm here I just think there has to be more.

This just can't be it.

should i be scared?

2008-11-19T13:28:00.003-07:00

This is a hand-drawn picture of the guy Cooper claims to see lurking around our backyard these days. Note the pink reptillian eyes, the tiny black wings, the bony legs. Totally creepy.

But the strange thing is, it doesn't freak him out. He completely believes this guy exists but when he "sees" him he just comes in and says, "I saw that guy in the backyard again. You know, the black guy with pink eyes." Like it's no big deal. When he first described him to me I asked why he wasn't screaming when he saw something so scary. He just shrugged and walked away.

I guess that's what it's like to be four. You see things peer around trees while you're on your swingset and they are just another part of the big, strange world you live in. And when you believe your big, strong Dad can protect you from anything, I guess a skinny, pink-eyed creature in your backyard wouldn't seem so bad anyway.

two americas

2008-10-23T22:30:00.014-06:00

There's a theory floating around out there that there are actually "Two Americas," one in which opportunity reigns and the other in which people still live under oppression. I personally don't there are two Americas in that context but I do see a division that I don't think can be overcome.

Some may remember how a few months ago Senator Biden proposed a plan in which Iraq would be split into two or three sections since the Sunnis and Shias and what not could not live together in peace. Obviously, as far as Iraq was concerned, that was a retarded idea. It has since been proven that the Iraqis can get along (even though the American media has decided not to report that story). Anyway, I thought I might steal Biden's idea and try it out here in the good ol' USA, because as I see it our country is so divided there's no way we can co-exist in peace any longer.

In my proposed plan, we'll take the West coast and call it Amer and the East Coast will from here on be referred to as Ica. Everyone who leans to the left can migrate toward the West and the right, to the East. Makes sense to me.

I'd now like to paint a portrait of what each new country would look like.

In Amer, the Liberal nation, anything goes. Since people who choose to live in Amer don't want to feel guilty over anything but things that happened at least a hundred years ago, there is no right or wrong. Moral relativism reigns.

As far as abortion goes, they are free, paid for by the government. Not only can they be performed at any time during a pregnancy, they can be performed up to a year after a baby is born because as any mother knows, that first year is a son-of-a-bitch and there's no way a newborn could be considered "viable" anyway. The way they completely rely on their parents for food, shelter and love, how dare they? It's just plain unreasonable.

As for borders in Amer, there are none, except the one that exists right down the middle, between Amer and Ica. They allow a free flow of immigrants from the North and South, West- but not East because of those darn Icas. Since people who live in Amer are ever so compassionate and morally superior, they are thrilled to pay for the education, health care and incarcerations of the people who flow into their fledgling country. It makes them feel like good people (especially after the whole baby killing thing). And who cares if the new people assimilate by learning the language of everyone else??? It's not nice to expect that of them.

When it comes to the military, the Amers have none. A military force is way too aggressive and powerful and might just offend other countries who might like the Amers. Being liked is of the utmost importance. They'd rather get bombed by terrorists and win the pity of the world than defend themselves. And besides, even if they wanted a military it'd be hard to find any men to join since they'd all be castrated. Anyone knows that in order to lift women up, you must tear men down, and what better way than to cut off their manhood??? Duh.

Amers have all faith in their government, to whom they've surrendered all personal responsibilty and power. They own no guns, no property and pay their entire paychecks to the government directly. Direct deposit, even, it makes it soooo much easier.

Things in Amer look pretty good for a while. They don't mind hearing about the Icas on the other side of the barbed wire fence, who are prospering and thriving. The Amers have done away with all traditional ways. There is no more marriage and no more God. It's just fun from here on out!

But as anyone with common sense could predict, the fun soon wears thin. The Amers soon find themselves bankrupt. Who would have though that unlimited government programs with unlimited population growth wouldn't work? Especially when no one's working any more. Why work when the government takes it all? And why work when the government will take care of you???

Soon they are overtaken by the barbarians from France and forced to learn a new language. No fair!! The Amers are completely perplexed as to where they went wrong. But logic and reason are not their strong suit. They prefer to feel everything, and they do feel so very deeply. God bless 'em.

And God bless Ica.

second chance

2008-09-17T11:51:00.003-06:00

All summer I'd been meaning to sign up for a race but with our move and the boys starting school in July, the time just slipped by. Finally, last weekend I was able to give it another try.

It was the exact race I ran last Fall, complete with the hills and noon start time. But this time I felt much more prepared. I'd been training on the steep trails that wind through our neighborhood and even been able to work my distance up to eight miles, so a 5K seemed a lot less intimidating. I'd also bought myself a white hat to reflect the hot sun from my head.

As I checked in and pinned the bib on my shirt and timing chip on my shoe, I felt so excited to be there. Races are just so much fun. The loud music playing, the runners getting warmed up, it's like a party really. And I'm always so impressed with the other runners. I saw people in their seventies and even eighties who were in much better shape than I am. They were tan, sinewy and strong. I was also impressed with the young moms who ran the race pushing their babies along in strollers with them. That is hard!

The moment we'd been anticipating finally came and the race was on. This time I had positioned myself toward the back of the crowd because I hate to be in the way and I hate to get passed. I also didn't try to start out at a sprint like I did last time, instead settling into a comfortable pace as we headed down the first hill.

At first, people were passing me. A lot of them, children and moms with strollers included. But I knew the course and didn't worry. I was saving myself for the three hills that I knew were going to take these passers down a few notches. We headed up the first long, slow hill and suddenly I started passing people. Last year, that had been the hill I'd started to lose my energy on but this time I felt strong and solid.

After circling a park and grabbing some water, I headed back down-hill and had some time to recover before I came to the next big hill, the one where I had given up and started walking the previous time. It was hot again, but my hat was definitely helping. I took the turn and started my way up. I could feel my legs fighting it but in my mind I was thinking: 'I am not stopping! I am not going to stop!' And I knew that this time I wouldn't stop. It was also at this critical point when my favorite running song came on my iPod. What timing! There was Coldplay singing just for me:

Lovers, keep on the road you’re on
Runners, until the race is run
Soldiers, you’ve got to soldier on
Sometimes even the right is wrong.

I made it half-way up and was not struggling. I was even passing men who looked like hot, sweaty Marines. They were walking that hill, muscles glinting in the sun, but I was soldiering on. It was an awesome feeling.

I reached the top and headed back downhill, and then came to the final hill. 'What kind of people created a course like this?' I thought. Sadists! But I dug deep and headed up, much of my energy coming from knowing I was almost there and I could do it this time. I was not going to walk even if it killed me!

As I reached the top of the hill and the finish line for the 3.2 miles, there was one more challenge. A 100 meter race that started where the 5K ended. Rat bastards! Who thought of such a thing? Seriously? But I took a deep breath and sprinted down the home stretch, crowds cheering on either side of the track. Of course, they weren't cheering specifically for me, but for all the runners, and it felt great.

I finally reached the end and stopped to catch my breath as someone cut the timing chip off off my shoe. I must have looked pretty hot and exhausted because before I knew it, I had ice for my neck and a cold drink in my hand. Race volunteers are just the best. After cooling down for a while I headed back to my car feeling like I had really achieved something.

Yes, it was only a 5K and it's not like I placed in it or anything, but I have come a long way. Just a year and a half ago I could hardly run a half-mile without feeling faintish. I used to even say I hated running. Now, it's something I look forward to. It keeps me sane and helps me manage stress, control my weight and feel energetic. It is meditative and cathartic. And recently I heard of a study that showed people who run live 16 years longer on average than non-runners. Just another reason to keep pounding those hills.

To anyone who has never run down a trail at sunset to see blazing reds and pinks behind purple mountains, then have a fox cross your path as you wipe the sweat from your forehead and watch a flock of black and white Magpies land in a tree by a sparkling blue lake, I highly recommend it. It will lift your spirit higher than you can imagine and inspire you to keep running on.

friends

2008-08-12T14:15:00.002-06:00

As I walked down the street with a mint plant in one hand and my son's tiny hand in the other, I felt a little apprehensive. We were on our way over to our new neighbor's house. A neighbor with a son the same age as mine. I'd met her at the bus stop and she seemed very nice, but still, it can be tricky making new friends. You just never know if someone is going to 'get' you. What if she thought I was a dork? What if she was a dork? What if she was one of those moms I can't stand who is way over involved with her kids? I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. There was only one way to find out.

I'll admit it. I'm very picky when it comes to friends. I'm hard on people and expect a lot. And I don't click with just anyone. I'm drawn to women who are smart, down-to-earth, and funny. Funny is a must-have quality. To me, laughing is very, very important.

I've been blessed with many great friends throughout my life, most of them I still keep in touch with. There's J, who I've known since we were babies. She's one of the strongest people I know and inspires me in many ways. She's a marathon runner and one of the most disciplined people I know. She basically makes me feel like a slacker most of the time but I love her for it.

Then there's M, a childhood friend who grew up on the same street as I did. We spent afternoons riding bikes, spying on my little brother, and hanging out at the local cemetery. I could tell her anything and she would not judge. That was the case 25 years ago and is still the case today. The girl gives good, solid advice and is one of the best listeners I know. She's also an awesome mom, no surprise.

I also have fond memories of another childhood friend, L. During our middle school and high school years I practically lived with her for days on end. Her family was so much fun and made the best food. I would hang around until dinner, hoping to get fed, and thankfully they didn't mind sharing. We spent weekends out on their boat, water-skiing all day and then we'd go back to her house, sunburned and exhausted and stay up until four in the morning talking about boys. She still makes me laugh now, even though she's recently become a single mom with an enormous amount of stress to deal with. I hope I do the same for her.

Once I got to college I met a new life-long friend, T. She was wild and carefree and got me to relax a little. Okay, a lot. We lived together for four years without a single fight. I still love to see her when I get to Texas because I know it will be just like old times. Never mind that we both have husbands and kids now, she makes me feel like my old self, back in our college days: Funny, young and hopeful.

During my first years as a Mom I was very isolated and exhausted and I didn't really make any new friends. There were casual, play-date kinds of relationships but nothing meaningful. I went along like that for so long that I didn't even realize what I was missing out on. But when we moved to Colorado, a few new friendships were in store for me.

My first friend in Colorado was S, the wife of my husband's co-worker and good friend. At first I was thinking I would be "forced" to be friends with her since our husbands were intertwined. But after one meal with her at the California Pizza Kitchen, I knew I liked her. She was simple, like me, and ordered a plain pepperoni instead of the other fru-fru food on the menu. Since then I've seen her become new mom to a beautiful boy from China. They are our boys' godparents are we are their son's. I guess when you click with someone, you just click.

Another friendship evolved with a neighbor, J, who was a few years younger that I and up to her eyeballs in babies. When I met her she had one toddler and a baby on the way. But it wasn't long before the third one arrived. I went to see her recently and felt like I had taken a trip back in time to when I was completely swallowed up by the needs of children. With two in school I feel like my life is a piece of cake now. Seeing her flutter around, in constant motion: Feeding, cleaning, putting them down for naps, it was exhausting! It made me appreciate her more and also realize just how hard I worked in the last few years to get my boys to the point they're at now. I think it's a good idea to have friends who are older and younger than yourself. It gives you great perspective!

My friendship with anther neighbor, B, kind of snuck up on me. We lived across the street from each other for two years before we really started talking. It turned out we were a lot alike. We both liked our space, almost to the point where we missed out on getting to know each other. With a husband who travels a lot, she is extremely independent. She inspires me by how much effort she puts into her two sons. She goes way above and beyond and also makes me feel like a slacker (join the club). She's also very funny and interesting to talk to, especially after a few glasses of wine.

The most unlikely friendship started almost a year ago. Through an online website, I heard from my husband's old flame, C. She was the girl he had considered marrying before we ended up together. Even after years of marriage, I had wondered about her and been curious about the "other woman" my husband had loved. How could he possible have loved anyone but me? Turns out she is very smart, funny and interesting to correspond with. She's a stay-at-home mom, too, and loves to write. I look forward to hearing from her because I know she's going to have something insightful or sarcastic to say. We've gotten to know each other strictly through email, exchanging recipes, discussing politics and keeping up with each other's daily lives. It freaks my husband out, of course, but he's learned to live with it. You just never know where you're going to meet a friend.

Sometimes it's someone from the past who you might re-connect with to forge a new friendship out of old roots. I recently heard from an old high school acquaintance who was on the dance team with me. She was pretty much the only girl I liked on the dance team. Turns out she lives in Colorado, too, less than two hours away. We had her and her family over for dinner the other night and it was so much fun. We'd both changed as far as being more outspoken, especially me, since I was painfully shy in high school. But mostly we were the same, even after 17 years. We're going camping together next month and I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other.

**********************************************************

My neighbor answered the door and we went in, our sons running off to play together without even looking back. We made some small talk about owning 80's houses and laughed about our popcorn ceilings. It didn't take long to learn we had a lot in common. She was an artist, too, and they had a house full of various pets. When I handed her the mint plant she gasped and said, "I was just saying I needed a mint plant the other day! I guess I should wish for things more often."

As we sat in her shady backyard watching the boys play in the sand box, I realized I had been blessed yet again to have a new woman, a new friend come into my life. And a friend that lives just down the street!

When I was a Brownie we sang a song that said, "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold." I don't know about silver and gold, but to me they're all priceless.

so there

2008-08-10T10:09:00.003-06:00

Some said it couldn't be done, it shouldn't be done, that is was just plain wrong. They held firmly to old-fashioned beliefs and were not willing to consider that things may have changed.

Then there were those who said,

"Go for it!"

"You won't regret it!"

and,

"You'll love it, I promise!"

Thank goodness I listened to them and followed my heart. And because I was brave and determined, I can now present to you photographic evidence that proves....

IT IS OKAY TO PAINT BRICK!

In fact, if it's really ugly brick, you have a duty to paint it.

Here's our fireplace before:

And after!!!

I rest my case.

WoooOOOoooooo!

2008-06-30T13:15:00.002-06:00

After returning home from work last week my husband started helping me put our bedroom back together after my day of painting it. I finished screwing the switch plates back on and put the screwdriver down. A few minutes later we needed it again but couldn't find it. We looked everywhere and then gave up and got a different one. A few minutes later I returned to the room and saw the original screwdriver laying on the bed. "Oh, you found it! Where was it?" My husband turned around and said, "What?" He had not found it and yet it was laying there in plain view and none of the boys had been around to explain the mysterious incident. His eyes grew wide and he said, "We are so outta here." I was laughing too hard to take him seriously. Once I got a hold of myself I said there must be a logical explanation. We just had to think like Jason and Grant! So after brainstorming, we figured out that we had placed something on top of it (a candle) and when we moved it we just didn't notice the screwdriver there right away. We were official de-bunkers!

Normally something like a lost screwdriver would not cause such a stir as it did, but since moving to our new place it was not the first unusual thing to happen. A couple weeks ago, Cole came downstairs to tell me he saw dark shadows in my room and he was freaked out. He's not normally skittish and I reassured him that it was just the trees outside blowing around and there was a full moon so that would explain the shadows. He was not convinced so I walked him to his room and showed him there was nothing in mine. He finally went to sleep.

A couple nights later he came down again and said he heard strange noises. My husband and I said it was just a different house than he was used to and it made new noises. He went back to his room but returned within minutes and said he had seen the bathroom light turn on by itself. My husband rolled his eyes and walked him back to bed. When he returned he looked freaked out and said that the light really was on. And since Cole's room is the closest one to the bathroom he would have seen Clayton walk by if he had. And Clayton never turns on the light anyway because there's a night light. Hmmmmmm. I was getting pretty excited while my husband was already making plans to relocate.

We agreed not to mention it and to play it down if it came up again. But the next morning I suddenly remembered that on the second night we were here I had gotten up around 4am and noticed Cole's light on in his room. I mentioned to him the next day that he had gone to sleep with his light on (which he has never done before) and he looked completely surprised and said he had not. Hmmmmm.

The final freaky thing before the screwdriver incident was when Cooper asked me, "Mom, who was that in the kitchen with you?" to which I said, "No one. What are you talking about?" He said, "The man in the white shirt?" I tried not to act freaked out so he wouldn't think that was a great way to get Mom's attention, and he hasn't mentioned anything like it since.

This house has no bad vibes or heaviness about it so I think if there is something here, it's not a negative thing. I keep turning around expecting to see 'someone' but so far, no luck. They say that when you have your first true paranormal experience you will not even be able to wrap your brain around it. I hope it happens to me and not my husband or we probably will have to move again. He's not as ghost-friendly.

And for the record, I never let the boys watch Ghost Hunters or anything like it. When they ask me if I believe in ghosts I just say, "Some people do, some people don't and what do you think?" They just blink and walk away.

Just the other days Cole asked, "How long have the Ghost Hunters been ghost hunting?"

"About 10 years, I guess."

"With no success?" he asked.

"No, Cole, they've never seen a doggone thing..."

snacktime

2008-06-24T08:51:00.003-06:00

The very first kid's CD I ever bought came with a book called Howdi Do by Woody Guthrie. Cole was just a few months old and I had not yet been introduced to the sub-genre of children's music. I popped it into the car CD player on the way to pick my husband up from work and was amazed at how baby Cole immediately grew quiet, listening intently.

Howjee, heejee, hijee, hojee,
Howdi do, sir, doodle-do.
Howdi doosle, doodle-doozie,
Howdi do, howdi do.
Howjee, hojee, heejee, hijee,
Howdi do!

It was so fun and catchy and it has since become a family classic. They love to read the book and listen to the song over and over.

But since then, the only children's music I've heard is either sung by what sounds like creepy ghost children in a choir or the terrible "Kid's Bop" CD's they advertise mercilessly during Spongebob. Twelve year-old girls dressed up like hookers singing Brittany Spears songs and making me very glad I have all boys.

...Until this week. On my way somewhere (Lowe's' probably since I practically live there now), I heard a song called Pollywog in a Bog by, believe it or not, the Barenaked Ladies. It was so cute and so catchy that I went right out an bought their new CD, Snacktime.

It's a collection of 25 songs, written and performed by the band, just for children. The great thing about it is it's really good music, not just dreck someone whipped up to make a buck off an innocent crowd. The boys love it and I find myself listening to it even when they're not in the car with me.

So for anyone who has children, or doesn't have children, if you want to hear some music that will make you smile and even laugh out loud, this is the CD for you. Just don't tell the little ones the name of the band like I did. You'll never live it down.

at last

2008-06-17T17:01:00.004-06:00

So we've been here for 11 days now and we feel more at home than we ever did at our last place after three years. This place is totally us. We love it.

Moving day went well and the boys were thrilled to get here. When we left our old house for the last time I asked if they would like to walk around one last time to say 'goodbye'. They said no and ran to jump in the car. Even as I mopped the floors for the last time and wiped down the counters where thousands upon thousands of meals and snacks had been served, I did not feel one pang of sentiment. All I thought was if I had to mop those floors one more time I was going to burn the house down.

When we arrived at the new place I made the boys lunch and gazed out the window at our new view. Then I turned on the radio and I kid you not, "Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver was playing. I hadn't heard that song in years! But it was so fitting. We were finally moving into our "Colorado house".

The boys spent the first few days in the backyard exploring and catching bugs. One time Cole was running off into the open space and almost tripped over a barbed wire. My husband shouted at him to be careful and said, "That would ruin your day if you tripped on that!" Cole wistfully replied, "Dad, nothing could ruin this day!" Later on the boys got in an arguement over who would get to live here the longest. They were annoyed that Coops will get 14 years while Cole only gets 10.

Buying a new home has its perks but so does owning an older home. For instance, I get my own mailbox at the end of the driveway. No more walking a block to open my little box with a key. Also, older homes sometimes have interesting things the previous owners left behind. Like a 6x6' beveled mirror in the basement! COOL.

I've got to get the boys roller skates right away. But my favorite places are the deck overlooking the beauty and slendor of the Pines, and the lower screened-in porch. I can't wait to sit out there with a good book. Soon. It is summer after all.

So it was all totally worth it. The packing, unpacking, mountains of paperwork, and other moving hassles. We've been in Colorado for three years now but we're finally home.

time

2008-06-04T15:55:00.004-06:00

As fast as time passes these days, sometimes it's fun to look back and take a measure of things. Like for instance,

~ 17 years ago at this time I was about to graduate from high school. I was barely 18 and had no real idea what to expect from college. I was still attached to my high school boyfriend, Roy, but itching for freedom.
~ Ten years ago I was a newlywed working at a mortgage company in San Antonio. Looking back I can't believe we weren't scared to death of our financial situation but I guess we were too young to know any better.
~ Eight years ago, I was days away from becoming a mom for the first time. I was huge, hot and impatient. I could not even imagine what changes were brewing. We lived in a two bedroom apartment and shared a car so that I could stay at home with baby Cole. It's one of the things I feel most proud of.
~ Four years ago I had just delivered our third son and we were living in Comfort, Texas. As far as we knew we would be there forever. Ha!
~ Three years ago, we were living in temporary housing and packing for our move to Colorado. I was stressed out, excited and exhausted at the same time. The boys were just 5, 3 and 1 when we moved here. And Cooper had a cast on his arm which he used to thump me with on the airplane all the way from Texas to Colorado while I tried to keep him still and happy.
~ Two years ago at about this time, I had just recovered from hitting rock bottom in a depression I now think had a lot to do with my hormones being haywire from having three babies in four years. What was I thinking?
~Just two months ago we were getting our house ready to sell and hoping for the best. Little did we know we'd be moving in weeks!

And now the exciting part to anticipate:

~ In just three DAYS we'll be in our new place and out of this one! There's a lot that has to happen between here and there but everything has gone so smoothly we couldn't have hoped for better. During the entire process of selling our house and buying the other, the only glitch that came up was when we realized we had somehow bought a house that had no air-conditioning. As Texans the thought had never crossed our minds that such a thing was possible so we didn't even check for it. To us it's like not having a roof! We had one installed and can't wait to feel the cool air pumping through the vents. Aahhhhhhh.

The next time I write anything here will be from our new home...life is good.

memorial day

2008-05-26T15:07:00.005-06:00

Today we attended the Memorial Day ceremony at Fort Logan Cemetery where over 92,000 have been laid to rest. It was a moving and sobering reminder of the reality of war and the true cost of our freedom. Once again I had a renewed appreciation for those who gave their lives during the course of many wars. There were few dry eyes in the large crowd as they played Taps, sang the National Anthem and had a fly over. The Governor of Colorado said a few words and it was concluded with bagpipes playing Amazing Grace.

It was the first time the boys had been to a cemetery like that and they couldn't really grasp the concept that there was a person buried at each marker. It still blows my mind every time I see the rows upon rows of white stones.

All I can say is 'Thank You' to the ones who have served and to their families. You are not forgotten.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us, who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~Col. John McCrae

childhood dreams

2008-05-17T15:44:00.004-06:00

I'm in the middle of reading a book called, The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch. It's about a man in his mid-forties who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given just months to live. As a college professor, he decided to give a "Last Lecture" as a gift to his children whom he'd not live to see grow up. It's a summary of his life and the wisdom he wanted to pass along. His courage and optimistic outlook, even in the face of death, is inspirational. He makes me want to follow his advice and consciously choose to savor each moment and every day.

One of the main lessons he imparts is how important it is to hold onto your childhood dreams as you become an adult. He was fortunate enough to live out most of his, from working with Disney as an Imagineer, to winning the biggest stuffed animal at the carnival. His stories are humorous and heartfelt.

My childhood dreams were simple. I wanted to become an artist and I wanted to fly. I used to duct-tape huge cardboard wings on my arms and run down the hills by our house on the Army base and I swear my feet actually left the ground at least once. But that wasn't the end of my flying experience. Years later, my husband and I were driving along a back road one day and saw some aerolight planes circling above us. We decided to find out where they were coming from and found a small, make-shift airport nearby. The people hanging out there looked more like members of a motorcycle gang than bonafide pilots, but they were very friendly. After trying to sell us some "classes" and having us decline, one guy offered to take me up for free. I shrugged and said sure.

It was awesome. Because it was so light, it felt like riding on a flying bicycle or a kite. The plane consisted of a simple frame, a couple seats, a small engine and of course, wings. The air rushed past and as far as I can remember there was no windshield or any thing between myself and the air. He circled us around the airport and I could see my tiny husband waving from below. I had butterflies the entire time. I didn't even consider how bad it would have been if we'd crashed. That was before children so I didn't think about those kind of things back then. A few years later when we signed up for life insurance, it actually asked on the application if I'd ever flown in an aerolight plane. I guess it can be the indicator of a propensity toward risky behavior. I think I kept it to myself.

As for becoming an artist, that road has been long and windy. As a child, I spent hours in my room gluing, cutting and drawing. My favorite subject in school was always art and I looked forward to class every time. When I chose a college, I was the only one in my family to buck tradition and not go to Texas A&M. They didn't 'do much art' there, so instead I headed to SWT in San Marcos as an art major. During the first semester I was not quite the star I had been in high school. There were multitudes of talented students and I was discouraged by how lacking I seemed to be. If I'd had more confidence I would have stuck it out and tried another semester of art classes, but instead I changed my major to elementary education. Big mistake. It was the first of a couple changes that ultimately led me to burn-out and drop-out of school. If I'd only had more faith in my artistic abilities to start with it could have saved me a lot of frustration (and my parents, too).

Years later, after a few babies, I missed creating (art, not babies). I began to dabble in paint and clay again and it felt great. It was the outlet I needed to keep sane with three little boys under the age of five. Problem was, there was no real time to invest. I remember painting at the kitchen table as I nursed Cooper, his little arm reaching out to swipe at my brush every now and then. But I didn't give up. Every free moment I got, I grabbed my brushes and paint. It was amazing how short nap-times seemed to be when I was in the middle of a project.

After selling a couple of things and getting positive feedback from family and friends, my confidence grew and I realized, hey, I don't have to have an official degree to do what I want to do. My validation doesn't have to come from a university. I love to create and I'm pretty good at it! Heck, I'm really good. It's my thing. Not everyone has boxes of paint, beads, clay, ribbon and tools in their basement. And not everyone get breathless when they walk into Hobby Lobby. But I do.

At our new house, I'll have a 400 square foot basement to turn into my very own studio. It'll be my own little slice of heaven and the fulfillment of a childhood dream. To top it off, after months of searching and waiting, I found an electric potter's wheel on craigslist for a fraction of the cost of a new one. They are high in demand, believe me. I'm also doing my first craft-show next month in Colorado Springs to sell my glass and clay pendants. It should be an educational experience and maybe the beginning of "expanding" things. Things are moving right along.

Recently, while ordering some business cards for my home-based business, I had to fill in the field for job title. I thought about it a minute and then typed in "artist". Hell yeah.

Childhood dreams rock.

who knew?

2008-05-08T10:34:00.005-06:00

Last fall I walked into a conference with my kindergartner's teacher and walked out feeling like I'd had the wind sucked out of me. For the first time as a parent, I had been told that my son was struggling and behind where he should be in class. At first, I was just in shock. How could he be in trouble with reading? We are a family of readers. We read to our kids, we read in front of our kids, we love to read! The advice she gave me, to read to him and show him reading videos, were things we already did.

After thinking about it for a few days, I calmed down and remembered that my first son had not really, truly gotten "into" reading until first grade. I could still remember his teacher saying that first grade is where the magic really happens. He said we would not believe how much they grew that year. And he was right. My oldest son blossomed last year and this year he's one of the best readers in his class. He loves to read and write. So what about his little brother? Could they be that different?

I decided right away that I was not going to be one of those moms whose identity is so wrapped up in their children's accomplishments that they make them feel like they have to perform. I did not want to pressure him or send him the message that there was a problem. The more I thought about it, the more resentful I felt. I mean, his teacher was awesome and meant well, but I just knew there was nothing wrong with Clayton. I didn't read until first grade and I turned out okay! In fact, when I was in kinder, we took naps and finger painted all day. What is the big hurry these days? It seems like schools think that kids have to learn everything earlier, faster, sooner. Why???

So the Spring-time conference came and the teacher had the same kind of feedback. She said he was still behind and just so I knew, they did have a "reading-recovery" group he could join in first grade if it came to that. Reading recovery??? Seriously? I wanted to say, "Lady, this is kinder ****ing garten. Chill out!" He's one of the youngest in his class and he'll get there!

Boys' brains develop more slowly than girls so that might have been another factor, but I knew him and I knew that he was a brilliant child. He said and did things all the time that surprised us. Anyway, long story short, I felt more and more convinced that all he needed was time.

Then, yesterday, as I dropped him off at school, his teacher stopped me. She said that she had just done end-of-year assessments and he completed them all with flying colors. He was exactly where he should be! Well surprise, surprise, I wanted to say. Who knew?

This little exercise has taught me to trust my maternal instincts even more. As a mom I am constantly second-guessing my choices and judgement but this time I was right. I knew my boy better than anyone.

trees, trees, trees! continued

2008-05-06T13:48:00.003-06:00

On Saturday we headed out to our "new place" for the inspection. Halfway there, our realtor called to say the inspector was going to be a little late so we decided to stop by the lake to wait. It was a beautiful day and the boys were so excited to see the place they'd be living in for the next few years. They played by the lake while my husband struck up a conversation with an older man and his son who were there. After discussing Jeeps, fishing, children and a few other topics, the man asked why we were hanging out there. My husband told him we were waiting to get a house inspected and the man said, "Oh, I know who you are!" Turns out he was the seller of the house we are buying. Small world. We figured we weren't supposed to be consorting since we were still in "negotiations" so we went our separate ways and headed to the house. It was nice to meet the people we were working with, though. They seemed very nice and reasonable.

Once we got to the house the boys did a whirlwind tour and made a beeline to the backyard. I could hear Clayton giggling giddily as he headed out into the open space.

I started to think that letting a seven, five and three year-old roam free on thirty-five unfamiliar acres might not be such a good idea so I took them for a walk to explore together. We came over a hill and found a gaggle of little boys dragging branches and making a pile. They seemed surprised to see a woman in what was clearly little boy domain but they were very gracious and offered to show us some of the forts they had made. After following a small trail that was probably made by animals, we came to something out of the Blair Witch Project. They had stacked branches upon branches against the trunk of a huge pine tree. Our escort scurried up the pile and into the tree with the agility of a cat. Cole looked worried and said, "He's a better climber that me." I reassured him that in no time he would be as fast. He'd just never had the chance to climb a real tree in our old neighborhood!

Before long, he was also in the tree and it took some serious threats to get him down. As we headed back to the house I could see and hear a couple more groups of small boys in different corners of the open space. It was a wonderland for children, ripe with possibility for adventures and projects.

But the boy's domain isn't the only part of our new home with fabulous trees. One of my favorite things about the house is the huge Ponderosa right outside the kitchen window. It seems to be standing guard, protecting the house.

Things are moving along in the process and if all goes well, we'll be in our new place in a month. It really seems like a dream come true.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

-- Joyce Kilmer

trees, trees, trees!

2008-04-29T09:39:00.004-06:00

One thing that's possibly more fun and nerve-racking than ghost hunting is house hunting. We've been looking at listings online for months (actually, years, but only seriously for months) and Sunday was the day we finally got to see things in person.

On Thursday of last week a new house came on the market in our target location and I decided to drive by to check it out. I was antsy because we had several more days to wait before the official hunt. I'd been able to rule out several houses by driving by them, so that saved us time later.

As I came up the winding street I had a feeling. It was an older neighborhood with lots of trees and had a homey atmosphere. The description of the house on the listing made my heart flutter. It said it had 35 acres of open space behind it. A perfect place for little boys to wander. Also, it was walking distance from a small neighborhood lake. I saw the "For Sale" sign in the yard and pulled over to take a look. It appeared to be very well maintained and had a basketball hoop over the garage. I could picture the boys shooting hoops already. I pulled up more to peek around the corner and caught a glimpse of the space behind it. Trees as far as I could see! I started to freak out and called my husband.

"I'm sitting in front of our house and we need to see it asap!" I just knew it was going to sell before we got a chance at it. He called our realtor to find out if we could possibly see it before our scheduled Sunday trip. Our realtor called back and said the owners were not going to show it to anyone until Sunday. Perfect!

So I suffered through Friday and Saturday, the minutes ticking by and dragging on. I kept telling myself that if it was meant to be, it would happen and I just had to calm down. But it was hard. Besides, we hadn't even seen the inside yet. It could have been completely wrong for us.

Sunday finally came and we made the rounds with the realtor. After seeing about eight houses we determined that that house was indeed the one for us. Our realtor congratulated us for the fastest offer after the fewest showings. We just knew what we wanted so we didn't have to mull anything over.

Our offer was submitted on Sunday afternoon and we waited all day yesterday for word. Would they accept our offer? Would they have multiple offers to choose from? Would they counter? We could hardly think of anything else all day. Every time the phone rang my heart skipped a beat.

Finally last night around eight we got word that they had countered. It was a fair deal and we agreed to the terms. We also heard that another family was going to try and get in a last minute offer if they could. Our realtor emailed the contract, we signed everything in record time and faxed it off. With it being official now, they shouldn't be able to take any more offers.

But we're still waiting, holding our breaths, to hear more confirmation that it's really, truly ours. Obviously, at this point in the game there are tons of things that could go wrong. But if it's meant to be, it will happen. And then we'll have the yard we have been dreaming of for years. A perfect place for childhood memories just waiting to be made.

answered prayer

2008-04-20T19:07:00.006-06:00

Sometimes the answer to a prayer comes in time. Sometimes a little and sometimes a lot. Sometimes the answer is a gracious Yes, but then sometimes, for reasons unknown, the answer is No. Whether I like it or not.

Sometimes prayers are answered in subtle ways. And then there are the times that always shock me for some reason, the times when a prayer is answered immediately and so clearly that I have no doubt in my mind it was from above.

For the last few weeks I've been wearing myself out. I've been cleaning, organizing, packing and yes, praying, the get ready for the sale of our house. I've had the carpets shampooed, I have scrubbed the bathrooms 'til they shine, I've wiped down the baseboards and windows. Heck, I've even dusted our lightbulbs, people. I've made multiple trips to various nurseries and spent a lot of money on plants and flowers to brighten up our yard so that the 'target buyer' will walk in and be so amazed at the cleanliness and beauty that is our house, they will make a full price offer on the spot.

I am exhausted.

So, after all this work, all this effort, guess who bought our house? A cash buyer from out-of-state who has never even laid eyes on the place. Hahaha! Once again I can hear God laughing at all my plans and schemes because once again, His were even better! He sent us a buyer who is qualified, motivated, flexible and reasonable! We can move out whenever we find a new place because he's not on a deadline to move in. We could not have imagined a more perfect situation.

So to anyone out there who sent prayers our way, thank you. They have been answered.

home sweet home

2008-04-14T13:14:00.004-06:00

This week is the week we've been talking about for years. The week when we'll bite the bullet, take the plunge and in a grand effort to get out of the 'burbs once and for all, list our house! Over the last few weeks I've been purging our closets, touching up paint and even refinishing the banister. This place was pristine when we moved in due to the former owners being child-free, and our family has taken its toll. Believe me.

With all the preparations, all the hoping for a great buyer right out of the gates, yesterday was the first time I felt a pang of sentiment about this place and realized I had never paid proper homage to it, as I did with our first house. So here it is...

***********************************************************

When my husband accepted the new job that would take us out-of-state, I had very mixed emotions. Our children were really just babies, at 5, 3 and 1, and we had been making plans to live very close to my parents and two of my best friends in the world. So when the plans changed, I was not exactly thrilled.

We were already living in temporary housing since we had sold our home and were in the process of building another, so that gave us some flexibility, thank goodness. I started doing realtor.com searches in Colorado to get a feel for the housing market. I almost fell over! The houses were three times as much as in Texas and for less space. We had been in a 100 year-old house on half an acre and it looked like we were going to end up in a cookie-cutter house with no yard. Once again, I was not thrilled.

To make things even more dramatic, we had just one weekend to find a place. I became obsessive, making lists of MLS#'s I wanted to see once we arrived. I felt like hyperventilating every time one of my listings disappeared before our trip. Thank goodness we had a great realtor who took charge.

My husband flew up a day earlier than I because of the kid situation. I called him all day asking if he had found us a place. He sounded disoriented and said he'd seen so many places he couldn't even remember any of them. That made me even crazier. I had no control in the situation at all. I flew up a day later and recall seeing a rainbow from the plane window as we were landing at the Denver airport. I took it as a sign.

The next morning, the realtor came to get us and start the hunt. My husband was absolutely right. We saw dozens of houses and they were basically all the same. Nothing really jumped out at us. I had been praying that we would "know it" when we found the right place and so far my prayer was not being answered.

By the end of the day we were exhausted but had managed to narrow it to one or two that would work for us. Like I said, they were basically all the same so it wasn't a matter of finding the "perfect" one. We made an offer on one that had a good feel to us and was close to a school, even though it really was not big enough. Our realtor said he'd contact us in the morning as soon as he heard something. The same morning we had to fly back to Texas.

We went to dinner to celebrate and then back to the hotel. I did not sleep very well that night. I think my gut was trying to tell me we were rushing things.

The next morning the realtor called and said that the people would take our offer but they needed a 60 day closing. We only had 30. They threw out some weird options like having us buy the house but rent it to them for a month and things like that. We said never mind. From our past experience, the 'right thing' was never that complicated. That's when our realtor said, well, guess what? There was one new listing just that morning that sounded like what we wanted.

He picked us up and first took us by a couple of the places we'd seen the day before that were "okay" with us. They looked a little better to us the second day since the pressure was on. We said we'd probably put an offer on one if the new listing didn't pan out.

Then he took us to the new listing. We were the very first ones to see it. They didn't even have a sign in the yard yet. And the price was less that any of the others we'd seen. We walked in and after a quick look around, we "knew" that this was the house for us. It had exactly what we needed and was within walking distance of the elementary school! As we looked out the windows upstairs my husband sighed, "Look...we can see the mountains from here," but my mind was somewhere else, "Look, we can see the grocery store from here!" We each had our priorities and as someone who'd been commuting 20 miles to a grocery store for four years, I knew what mine were.

We signed yet another offer, left it on the realtor's hands, and headed to the airport. We were doubtful that the owners would take our offer since we were the first ones to even see the place. As soon as the plane touched down in Texas we turned on our phones to check for messages. There was none.

We rounded up the boys from my parents' house and headed back to our temporary apartment. Halfway there the phone rang. "Are you sitting down?" our realtor asked. "Yes!" I said. "They accepted your offer and have already signed off on it!" We screamed in the car and explained to the boys that we were on our way top start a new life in Colorado. They just blinked at us.

After all my lists and lists and anxiety, we ended up with a house that had not even gone on the market until hours before we had to leave the state! I think God must have gotten a kick out of that. A good reminder that I'm never in charge so I might as well just relax.

*************************************************************

I tell this story to explain that although it turns out we are not suited to living in the suburbs, we have been very blessed to live in this home for the last three years. Although there were no new babies brought home here, no first steps taken or first words spoken here, this place is were we started our new life. A life in a beautiful place where we've been fortunate enough to meet some really great friends and create a lot of happy memories.

Hopefully it will sell quickly and the next people will also love it and be more 'burb oriented. Then, we're off to find our third home together. A home with a big tree for a treehouse, a big yard for playing games and basically some fresh air and space. The home where we will finish raising our boys. I can't wait!

super cooper

2008-04-07T09:16:00.005-06:00

You just never know what you're going to get with Cooper. Sometimes he'll do anything for a laugh. The other morning Clayton came downstairs for breakfast and casually asked, "So Cooper, do you still have that popcorn kernel in your nose?" Cooper started giggling and said, yes, he did indeed still have the popcorn kernel in his nose. He'd apparently put it there the night before for the sole purpose of entertaining his brothers. I started to panic but then thought, 'Surely, he's just kidding. He couldn't have slept all night with popcorn in his nose!' I tilted his giant head back and peered into each nostril. Lo and behold, there was a kernel in there. I started to picture the trip to the doctor and the tweezers they would have to use to extract it, when suddenly I remembered reading something about that exact predicament just a few weeks earlier. With my husband's assistance, we covered his mouth, his empty nostril, and told him to blow out hard. Poof! Out it came. We discarded the offending object and ranted and raved for a while about how dangerous it could have been. To him, it was totally worth it to gain some respect from his big brothers

He's not always fun and games, though. Sometimes he takes the moral high ground. The other day when I picked him up from pre-school one of his fellow classmates waved good-bye to him but he just ignored her. I said, "Hey, she's waving to you. Why don't you wave back?" He furrowed his brow and said that she had said some very "tacky" things to him in class that day and he was mad at her. He said it was so tacky he had to cover his ears to keep from hearing it during snacktime. I had to wonder what on earth a three year-old little girl could say that was so offensive to my son's not-so-delicate sensibilities. But he would not tell me. It was just too bad. I kept prodding him and finally told me, after warning me once again how bad it was. He said that she said.....'Grandma's underpants.' I could not help myself and burst out laughing. He was not amused.

We're also surprised by him in other ways. The other night we went for a walk down the trails that wind through our neighborhood. On the way back, Cooper was tired so he rode on his Dad's shoulders. My other two boys challenged me to a race and I beat them again and again. They don't quite know how to pace themselves yet. After watching all this, Cooper asked to get down and race with us. On your marks, get set, go! We set off down the trails together. It wasn't long before the older two sprinted themselves out and had to stop and rest. But Cooper kept running. And running. I was right behind him and he was not running slowly. He was actually going about the pace I usually run at. It was so funny seeing his little arms pumping and his little feet slapping the ground. He had really good form. I said, "If you need to take a break, it's okay!" But he said no, he was fine. He wasn't even out of breath! I could not believe how far he went. We went up hills and down hills until finally, he stopped at a bench that was the designated finish line. He'd run at least a quarter of a mile easily.

"Mom, are there running shoes?" he asked, pointing to his feet.

"They are now!" I said.

Who knows what's in store for Cooper. I can't wait to see.

portrait of a thirty-five year old woman on a ghost hunt

2008-03-31T10:35:00.007-06:00

First of all, to those of you who read my last post and didn't immediately contact me to say, "Hello Nicole, you're forgetting a FLASHLIGHT!" I will never forgive you.

Now, I will tell you about my trip. This will be a long post so sit back, kick up your feet and be prepared. I'm still processing everything I saw and heard and feel pretty emotional about the whole thing. It really was a trip of a lifetime for me.

At the retreat, they asked us to consider our motivation for taking time out of our lives and spending the money to participate in an event like the Spring Thaw at the Stanley. Was it curiosity? Thrill-seeking? Or soul searching and confirmation about the afterlife? For me, it was a mixture of all three (with time away from children thrown in as well).

I met up with my fellow ghost hunter, S, on Thursday afternoon and after lunch we headed toward the mountains and beautiful Estes Park. The drive itself seemed to set the mood for our adventure as it was almost ethereal, the pine trees white with snow and a low fog hanging around in the valleys next to the winding road. We discussed our plans and how we might create our own paranormal investigative team and call ourselves the Colorado Rocky Mountain Paranormal Society (CRMPS for short). Yes, the Cramps. It was perfect.

As the Stanley came into view it was breathtaking. I'd been to Estes once before but somehow missed seeing it. From a distance it was striking. A stark white building with a red roof, set back close to an amazing rock formation. We were so excited we could have burst!

We parked and headed inside where we discovered everyone else had been as geeked out as we were and showed up exactly on time. The line of people wound its way through the lobby and we made our way to the end. We met a really cool girl in line who was there by herself from Houston. She asked if she could hang with us for the rest of the weekend and we said sure. We found out there were 200 hundred people there and the entire hotel belonged to our group for the weekend. I was really surprised to see that at least 85% of the crowd looked totally normal and friendly. There were only a few unstable/goth-like characters lurking around. The crowd was a demographic cocktail with people of all ages, education levels and socio-economic status.

When we checked-in we found out we'd been assigned a room on the 4th floor, the one I'd requested. It's supposed to be the most haunted floor, where countless people have reported hearing children playing in the hallway and rolling a ball. After getting our badges and signing up for a ghost tour we went up to our room and were not disappointed. It was huge and had views of the mountains from two windows.

After settling in we headed down to the meeting room for the first event, a "Tech Talk" with the Ghost Hunters, Jason and Grant. The room was buzzing with excitement and when they came in you could hear people whispering, "There they are! There they are!" It was so cool to see them in person. Their talk was very entertaining and humorous and they really worked the crowd. Then they opened it up for questions. One smart-ass in the audience asked, "Grant, exactly what is an EVP?" which was pretty funny since they explain that on each and every episode of Ghost Hunters. It was also funny to find out that the Ghost Hunters and most people that watch them think the guys over on the show Paranormal State are a joke. When someone asked if they believed in 3am being "dead time" a collective groan went up from the crowd. Personally, I've always wanted to know about the experiences that triggered their interest in the paranormal and transformed them from Roto-Rooter plumbers to rock stars, but alas, they would still not share that with the public. All Grant would say was that no one would believe him if he told his story. It must be really wild.

After the Q&A we ran out to grab some dinner and have a drink or two before the meet and greet/autograph signing. It was my 35th birthday after all so we had to celebrate! We stopped at a liquor store to grab some bourbon (who wants to pay full price at the bar?) and the store employee noticed my badge. After explaining to him why we were at the Stanley he asked me, "So do you believe in ghosts?" Well duh! I said yes and he just stared at me with a curious look. Seriously, who doesn't believe in ghosts???

After returning to the hotel I gathered my things to be signed, grabbed my presents for the Ghost Hunters, and we headed back to the meeting room. We were near the front of the line and I was strangely very nervous about meeting them. My heart started to flutter and my hands were cold. Good thing I had drank me some liquid courage before then. Imagine what a basket case I would have been without it! We finally got to their end of the table and I handed them the boxes with the bookmarks in them. For some reason I'd thought everyone would be bringing them stuff but apparently they don't get a lot of gifts. I told them they should open them later but Grant opened his right away and was very gracious. They were the nicest guys. They seemed to genuinely enjoy meeting everyone and didn't make us feel like we were annoying Ghost Hunter groupies or something (although there were some there and I would totally be one if I wasn't married with kids).

By the time it ended it was getting late so we headed upstairs for a couple more drinks in our room. I normally go to bed by ten so I was getting pretty tired. S is an insomniac so she was fine. After a couple more drinks we were giggling like idiots about how awesome Jason and Grant were when it dawned on us: we had crushes on the Ghost Hunters. It was nothing sexual, and of course we only love our husbands, be we were completely geeked out over Jason and Grant. The fact that they were both married with kids just made them more likable. And Grant had three sons, too. We had so much in common!!!

As tired as I was, when I climbed into bed I could not sleep. There seemed to be a pipe in the wall next to me that would go: knock...knock...knock..knock knockknockknock!!!!! I was sure it was not a ghost but it still freaked me out. Our room was also next to the stairway and we heard people clomping up and down all night chasing ghosts. I slept in a semi-conscious state, expecting to feel something cold touch me or hear the children in the hall but nothing happened. I was a little disappointed and a little relieved at the same time.

The next morning we headed to the 9am ghost tour with Billy the historian. I swear, the guy had to be related to Chris Farley. He had the same body, the same mannerisms and even the same talking cadence. He gave an interesting and informative talk about the hotel that gave us a good background. The Stanley is one of the most beautiful, amazing places I've ever been and even if it wasn't haunted I would put it on my list of favorite places ever.

The rest of the day was filled with talks from a variety of speakers. We learned about techniques for collecting and reviewing evidence from Dave Schrader (Darkness Radio host). Then John Zaffis told about his 30 year career as a demonologist and exorcist. We also heard from Chris Fleming, a celebrity medium who appears on the show "Dead Famous" on the biography channel. He shared some stories and experiences that were very intriguing. We got to hear an EVP he recorded at a place where Billy the Kid had killed two people that sounded exactly like gunshots. Then we had a talk from Adam Blai, also a demonologist, about how to protect yourself during an investigation. It was a later talk by Adam that really affected me.

Because S and I were in group 1, the group that would be going on the ghost hunt that night, the anticipation had been building for us all day. I was feeling a mixture of excitement and fear. Thankfully we had time to run out and grab a couple flashlights before the big night (no thanks to you people). In preparation for the investigations they blacked out all the hallways on the second, third and fourth floors. When we made one last trip to our room to gather our equipment we gasped as we came around the corner and were staring down a dark hallway. Too bad they say you can't drink before ghost hunting. No more liquid courage. We took deep breaths, turned on our flashlights and headed up. Before heading back down we held hands and said a prayer together. It made me feel a lot better.

Everyone was gathering in the meeting room so they could break us into groups. We would be investigating in groups of 25 in some of the most active areas of the hotel. Most of the people there were first-timers like us and you could sense the excitement in the air. We got into our group and were sent off to the first location where we would be for an hour: room 401. The room where the glass broke on Jason's bedside table and the closet door opened.

Half of our group went to 401 while the other half headed down to 418. Twelve people is a lot to have in one fairly small room. We all settled into different corners and on the bed and started fiddling with our equipment. I turned on my DVR to start taping. S and I were sitting right by the closet door which was a little freaky. Then Chris Fleming, the medium, came into the room to get us started. Someone had a thermal gauge and said the current room temperature was 73 degrees. Chris stared talking to any spirits in the vicinity and asked if they could lower the temperature to make their presence known. What do you know, the temp started to go down. Within a couple minutes it was at 70 but he asked it to go to 68 so we could be sure it was with us. It went to 68. Someone else in the room had a K2 meter which is another way to communicate with spirits. It's a simple hand-held doo-dad with lights on it. You can ask the ghost to light it up, once for a 'yes' and twice for 'no'. It's a controversial technique, but really, what isn't. We asked some questions but got no response. Chris had left the room to go check on the other people down the hall and after he left the temp went back up and it got boring pretty quickly.

After a while that seemed like an eternity, someone came to our room and said, "Hey, if you're interested there's some pretty cool stuff happening down in the other room." It was like a stampede down the hall since we were getting itchy for some real action. But as soon as we tip-toed into the room we heard Chris say, "WOW. That was remarkable. Please send me a tape of that," as he was getting up to leave. Dammit! We missed it. From what we heard later, he had asked a spirit to project certain emotions on a person in the room and it had worked. He thought about "sadness" and a girl began bawling. Then he thought about "joy" and she immediately burst our laughing. I remained skeptical about that incident since there were plenty of people there that would have been willing to fake it to get attention. Believe me.

Our next location was room 1302, the room featured on the show where the table lifted off the floor in front of Grant. We had heard that the night before the TV had turned on by itself in that room and Chip Coffee, another celebrity medium, had sensed a lot of things in there. For us, it was a bust. It consisted of sitting in a stuffy room with 25 people who seemed to be having gastro-intestinal problems and hacking coughs. Poor S had to sit next to a woman we had dubbed "Estees" since she was an Estes Park native but couldn't pronounce it correctly. She had a know-it-all attitude and bragged how she had been "studying the Stanley for seven years" yet she did not know any correct facts as far as we could tell. It's surprising how annoying people can be on a ghost hunt. Nothing happened at all in there. The ghosts were probably as annoyed and grossed out as we were.

After that, we headed over to the Music Hall. It's a beautiful building where sadly, a homeless woman and her dog had frozen to death in the basement years ago. Guess who was waiting for us on the porch...none other than Jason and Grant. Grant touched my hair and said, "Hey, I like the pigtails," and I blushed like a school girl. Really, I am a nerd. He led us inside and said that when the last group had been there and asked for a sign, a table that had been leaning against the wall fell over and crashed to the floor, scaring them half to death. Finally we might actually see something!

We went to the basement greenroom where performers used to prepare for shows. Grant started an EVP session for us and then left us on our own. Of course things went downhill after that. People could not be quiet and one goofy girl said she saw a shadow that was obviously not there. S and I were getting a little giddy from being so tired and spun up at the same time. Once again, nothing happened (except that Grant had touched my hair, hehe).

On our way back into the hotel as we were heading up the stairs, the medium guy Chris came running down the hall saying, "Did you see her??? Did you see her??? She was coming this way!!" Holy moly. We never got to find out exactly who or what he was chasing. But he's psychic so he probably sees things we can't see anyway.

The next stop on the ghost hunt was room 217. From the historical ghost tour we had learned that this was the room that had exploded years ago from a gas leak. A maid had been in the room and dropped through the floor. She broke both legs but survived and after that the owner of the Stanley took really good care of her for the rest of her life. It was also the room Steven king stayed in when he was inspired to write The Shining. According to the story, when he went to dinner with his wife, he returned to find all his clothes hanging up neatly in the closet (compliments of the ghost maid).

It was in that room we had our first real activity. John Zaffis was holding a K2 meter and someone else was measuring the temp. We began asking questions and things started to happen. The temperature dropped eight degrees and the K2 meter started to respond. From the myriad of questions we asked, which I won't bore you with, we determined that the maid was with us along with a few children. She said she enjoyed working at the Stanley and liked our company. When we asked about her falling through the floor the meter went crazy. I didn't personally "feel" anything but it was really cool to see what appeared to be a ghost who wanted to talk to us. At the end of the hour the radio host guy pounded on our door and about gave us all heart attacks.

Next stop was the basement. Now if you've seen the live Halloween special you may remember the creepy tunnel where they heard a woman's voice say, "Hellooo? Helloooo? Teeeheeehee..." It was one of the creepier things I've seen on the show. We were expecting great things from the basement. The funny thing is, it's really not that creepy. What you don't see on TV is that there is a sidewalk that runs right by the tunnel and leads to a fluorescent-lit employee office. I actually went in the tunnel, in the dark. It was no big deal. The same tunnel that when I saw it on TV I told my husband, "There's NO WAY you could make me go in there!" Now, I have something disappointing to tell you. If you've seen that episode, anyway. When we got to the basement, the radio host guy said, "Do you want to Hollywood version or the real version of what happened here?" Of course we wanted the real version. He said that after the live show had been taped, they found out that there were a couple of women that worked in the night auditor's office upstairs that may or may not have been messing the the Ghost Hunters. He said that sound can carry through the venting. But he also said that when they thought they had debunked the whole 'Hello, hello" incident, they heard a voice again and that time there was no one upstairs. So I don't know. It casts a lot of doubt on that incident but doesn't completely debunk it. But still, disappointing. Nothing happened for us down there that night.

We were thoroughly exhausted by 2am when the hunt was over. We considered if we should continuing investigating on our own but were just too tired to focus. We still had one more night, after all.

The next day was spent attending more lectures from different speakers. The previous day I had been extremely impressed with the speakers. They were educated, experienced and very credible, in my humble opinion. The second day was a little different.

One of the speakers gave a talk about "Electronic and Photographic Spirit Communication." He appeared to be a really nice guy and the first part of what he had to say was very positive. But then it went south. He went off on a very long tangent about humans from the planet Marduk who colonized Earth before their planet was destroyed. He said that humans have been on Earth for at least 3.9 billion years. He got his information from spirits that he communicated with through his radio and from what I can tell, those spirits must be laughing their asses off. You could hear people turning their recorders off and trickling out the door shortly after he got to the part about Marduk. I had to pinch myself to keep a straight face and I was disturbed by the number of people who appeared to be listening with rapt attention, but I stayed. Turned out he's from Boulder. Surprise, surprise.

The next speaker was also disappointing. It was supposed to be a talk about "The Stanley Hotel Effect" and how maybe the hotel wasn't haunted but instead the mountain under it was. Instead, he talked about crop circles for an hour. It was interesting enough, just not what I'd hoped for. S bought his book but when we got to our room and had time to flip through it she said, "Oh no. I won't be showing this to my husband after all." It had a chapter about Lizard People and a one about sex with aliens. He lost a little credibility after that.

Throughout the day we heard stories from different people about their ghost hunting experiences. Some people there were using a "Frank's Box" which is some kind of modified radio you can use to actually hear spirit voices. It's really creepy to hear and I've only seen it on TV before. The actual inventor, Frank (duh), was at the Stanley with us. One woman told me that she was in room 401 and got to talking to a ghost through the box. It seemed agitated and she asked the ghost what was wrong. He said he was horny. Seriously. He then started to go on and on in very vulgar language and made disparaging comments about women. They tried to get him to leave so they could talk to a different ghost but he wouldn't go. I asked her if she'd taken the historic ghost tour because I'd heard about a real SOB ghost named Dunraven who was haunting the 4th floor. In life he was a shyster who owned brothels in England. She had not heard that story and it really freaked her out. It kind of freaked me out, too, since I was staying on the 4th floor. I had already wondered if 'anyone' was watching me in the shower.

After hearing a lively round-table discussion with the Ghost Hunters and other speakers, the last event for us was another talk by psychologist and demonologist Adam Blai about the "Psychology of the Paranormal and Demonology from a Roman Catholic Perspective." I had really enjoyed his earlier talk and looked forward to hearing more from him. The people who had heard him the night before while we were ghost hunting said his talk was very powerful and worth hearing. They also said it was good that we had gone ghost hunting before we heard what he was about to say.

He started out by explaining his credentials, his background as a Roman Catholic and his experience. He said he was not promoting his religion and did not discount other religions, it was just that Christianity was his faith system and was what he had seen work in demonic possessions. He was not there to give us a thrill by freaking us out with scary photos and stories, he was there out of concern for the general public and the recent explosion in paranormal interest. He said that basically, people were getting bored with ghosts from all the shows and were now looking to darker things such as demonic possessions. He had been approached several times to make a show and turned it down flatly. Disturbingly, he said it won't be long until someone does make a reality show about exorcisms.

He then discussed psychological things that sometimes led people to believe they were experiencing paranormal phenomena when they weren't. From there he talked about ghosts and different theories on why they're there. His theory was that ghosts were human spirits who for some reason are 'trapped' in a purgatory-like existance, probably waiting for their final chance on Judgment Day. He reminded us that they once had families, jobs, hobbies, and even addictions just like us. He said that we should evaulate why exactly we though it was necessary to "go in a dark room, poke around with a stick, get a ghost to talk to us and then leave them there." He asked how we would feel if we'd been stuck in a room for 40 years and someone came in, asked to communicate and then just walked out after we did. He basically made us feel like big jerks.

As someone who already believed that demons are real, I was not as shocked by the rest of what he said as some people were. But believe me, I was disturbed. He said that unlike ghosts, demons were never human. As a refresher for anyone who already knows this, when God decided to create humans, and create them as beings above the angels, some of the angels got ticked off and rebelled. Satan, the leader, and other fallen angels were cast out of heaven. They were not sent to Hell, but cast down to Earth. Unlike humans, angels are able to see the future and results of their decisions so therefore they are not subject to the same grace as we are. Since the rebelling angels were able to know the consequences of their actions before they made that decision, they were damned forever. So basically, they hate us and they have nothing lose. Not a good combination.

As an exorcist who worked for the Roman Catholic Church, Adam had seen some mind-boggling things and although he didn't tell us even a fraction of them, it was enough to almost give me a panic attack. I really had to concentrate on my breathing to calm myself. I could picture what he described in my head and it was not a pretty picture. I was not the only one freaking out. He took a look at the audience once after one of his descriptions and asked, "Are you all okay?" I felt like saying, "No!" How could we be with demons lurking around out there???

What he did was definitely a calling and not a choice. When he first entered the field his to-be mentor asked him if he had any children or pets and thankfully he didn't. The mentor told him it was best for him not to have a family at all because it was such dangerous work. Things come home with him sometimes. Because when you cast a demon out, it doesn't just disappear.

He explained that demons can take the form of an animal, human and even a combination of the two. They can read your thoughts and even look like a dead realtive of yours. But they are not able to look completely human so he advised that if you see an apparition and don't know if it's a ghost or demon, look for deformities. Often they will have black eyes, white eyes or partial limbs. He helped one woman who was being tormented by a legless demon who crawled across her floor with its arms and into her bed every night. It was worse than a horror movie.

Not only can they disguise themselves as people and animals, they can deceive us by pretending to be non-threatening spirits. For instance, a person may be communicating with what they think is the ghost of a little girl. "Help me find my mommy! I'm scared!" the little girl ghost might say. "Well of course I'll help you little girl ghost!" you might say. And by opening yourself up to the spirit you have inadvertantly given a demon a foothold. And that is why the Bible tells us in at least seven places not to communicate with spirits. Not to keep us from having a little fun, but to keep us from being destroyed and devoured.

Demons envy our bodies. Adam said that from his experience they even have a twisted desire to create babies and have the ability to rape. Their ultimate goal is to cause the people they possess to commit suicide. They are very, very real whether or not people or churches want to acknowledge it. I am absolutely convinced of it.

There was good news though! Thank God! He said that the spirit world is very legalistic and governed by strict laws. Demons cannot possess a person without their permission. Well why would anyone give their permission? you might ask. He cited examples of demons making promises of money, power, fame and even sex to convince people. They would follow up on their promises but then pull the rug out once it was fulfilled. Then the person was stuck with a demon inside them intent on destroying them.

I was so grateful to Adam for taking the time to share his knowledge with us and also grateful to the Ghost Hunters for being fair enough to invite someone with a message that might hurt their business to speak at their event. I think that really shows how honest and well-meaning they are.

Needless to say, after the talk we decided not to go ghost hunting that night. We went back to our room, changed into PJ's and crashed out. I had not been that sleep deprived in a least three years. I was still edgy but slept until about four when S had to shake me awake because my snoring was out of control. I went right back to sleep but was awakened again at 5:30am. Jolted out of my coma-like sleep by a blood curdling scream. I snapped to attention and sat up, wondering if what I was hearing was real. I heard what sounded like a young woman in the hall outside our door hysterically screaming and sobbing at the same time. She was not screaming anything like 'help, help' because she was scared beyond words. Her lack of coherency made it even more frightening. It's what someone might sound like if they were about to be killed, I would imagine. I'll never forget how it sounded. S was up, too, and ran to look out the peephole. She said there was nothing there which scared me even more. Was is a screaming ghost? It had become very quiet and I did not hear anyone else opening their doors to see what was going on. What if someone actually needed help? I worked up my nerve and tip-toed out into the hallway. I could hear voices coming from around the corner and soft crying. I peeked around slowly and saw a crowd of mostly men standing around a girl who was in a heap in front of room 401. I think Jason and Grant were there, too. "Is she alright?" I asked. "Yeah, she was just a little startled." A little??? Do ya think? I wanted to get closer to be nosey but decided against it. Instead I went back around the corner and strained my ears to hear. "It was pushing back on my head," I heard her say. "Four times." She said she was so embarrassed for screaming. The funny thing is, they had auctioned that room off at the fundraiser, so she had actually paid extra money for the opportunity to sleep there. I guess she got what she paid for, a real-life paranormal experience. I got my money's worth, too, just hearing her reaction. That was good enough for me, believe me.

So after yet another mostly sleepless night we dragged ourselves out of bed and looked out the window. Crap. There was snow. Lot and lots of snow. S began to panic. What if we got snowed in? What if we had to spend another night there? We packed ourselves up in record time, check out and hit the road. Thankfully, we made it home safely. Back to our homes, free of any spirits but our own and those of our husbands and children.

***********************************************************************

What I took away from this trip is that ghosts are indeed real, angels are indeed real, demons are indeed real, and most of all, God is indeed real. I now see myself and other humans as spiritual beings more than ever. While in the midst of daily mundane, hum-drum things like washing dirty laundry and dishes, filling out permission slips for field trips and making grocery lists, it's easy to forget that we are more than the sum of our parts.

I saw how so many people are starving for spiritual nourishment and looking for confirmation in places like the 'Spring Thaw' at the Stanley because in my opinion, they are not getting it in places where they should, like church. I know that I learned more substantial and important information in that one talk from Adam Blai than anything I've heard in church in years. Hearing his message and experiencing what I did on my ghost hunt made me realize in a very real way just what's at stake: My life, and my soul. We are precious to God and there are forces that would love to tear us apart. There is real spiritual activity and warfare all around us every day.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. ~Ephesians 6:12

Now, more than ever, I believe.

the stanley or bust!

2008-03-26T11:47:00.005-06:00

I've never packed for a ghost hunt before so I hope I haven't forgotten anything! I figure, when in doubt, you can never go wrong with accessories. I've got my ghostie earrings:

My Stanley Spring Thaw 2008 t-shirt and fabric pen to get the Ghost Hunter's signatures on it:

My St. Benedict pendant for protection (yes, I can see you rolling your eyes):

My digital voice recorder to tape conversations with spirits and what not. My compadre is bringing the camcorder and other cameras so I think we're covered:

My presents for Jason and Grant...handmade bookmarks with Ephesians 6:12:

They look like they read a lot, right? Well maybe they can give them to their wives.

Baby powder to sprinkle around in case of ghost fingerprints (hey, it works at the ghost tracks in San Antonio):

And who could forget a reliable night light:

But it's not like I'm scared or anything!

I really hope to have some cool stories to share when I get back, but if nothing else, at least I'll be staying in a luxury hotel for three nights with no children so how bad could it be?

I shall return! (hopefully)

ten years down, forever to go

2008-03-21T19:48:00.004-06:00

Today is our ten year anniversary but we celebrated last night because it worked out better for the family that kept the boys while we were gone. Months ago we had entertained the idea of going on a week-long cruise for this anniversary but circumstances did not lend themselves to that we so we downgraded our plans. Turns out it was better this way because we were missing the boys almost instantly and couldn't imagine being away for a week on a ship far away.

Instead we stayed the night at a historic B&B in Denver called the Castle Marne. I found it online and was drawn to it because it looked haunted (I didn't tell my husband this of course- he doesn't go for that kind of thing). Once we checked in and were settled, I sat in the living room area to read the scrapbook they had with clippings about the home. Lo and behold, I didn't have to read far to find out it was haunted! There was the story of a little girl who knocks on the door of a certain room and when no one opens it she walks right through and transforms into a mist. Another story was about a crew of workers doing renovations in 1989 that witnessed the apparition of a little girl come running down the stairs, out the front door and into a stagecoach waiting for her. It then vanished. They even had an article that listed the Castle Marne on a list of haunted hotels in the Denver area, just second to the Stanley...where I'll be in just one week with the ghost hunters! Hot damn! I was so excited. I kicked myself for not bringing my new voice recorder to practice my EVP work. But I guess that's not exactly a romantic thing to do on an anniversary date.

The B&B was beautiful and the hosts were so welcoming and gracious. Our room was on the third floor. It was described as the most private room in the home, which was true, but they forgot to mention it was tiny. The hot tub took up the entire balcony. Then we made the mistake of reading the journal they had out for guests to write in. ICK! You wouldn't believe what those people wrote! There were a few normal people who said things like, "We enjoyed our stay at the Castle Marne and hope to return soon. Very relaxing and beautiful." But then there were pages and pages of stories about what people had done in that room on their honeymoons, anniversaries and basically any other occasion you can think of. They wrote about their trysts in the hot tub, the claw-footed bathroom tub and also pointed out how creaky the bed was. We were grossed out. Who wants to think about hundreds of strangers sleeping in the bed you're in who, guessing by their writings, lack any class or character. Yuck.

Anyway, after taking a stroll around the historic district to see the amazing old houses (which was like a breath of fresh air to two people who live in the plain jane suburbs, believe me) we headed to dinner. It was a restaurant recommended by the B&B owners and it did not disappoint. Our waiter was perfect and the food was dee-lish. And for once we didn't over do it and eat to the point of discomfort. After dinner we headed to "Sing Sing," a piano bar down by Coors Field. We were the early birds and one of the first couples there but it slowly filled up. The piano players were awesome and had lots of entertaining bits like turning on a smoke machine during Bohemian Rhapsody and flashing disco lights across the crowd. It was really fun and we plan to go back on a regular basis.

After that, we headed back to the B&B where we relaxed in the hot tub with a bottle of champagne. We didn't stay in there long and took a hot shower before going to bed. I still don't feel clean (really, what compels people to share so much information???).

I forgot to mention that it was a double bed and after being used to a king, we were hardly able to sleep a wink. On a better note, I swear I heard small, child-like footsteps in our room this morning and I didn't freak out. Maybe I can handle the Stanley after all.

***************************************************************

I really can't believe it's been ten years. Years ago I remember my mom saying that choosing the person I'd marry was the most important decision I'd ever make in my life. That turned out to be very true advice. Thankfully, I made the right choice. I have been able to share my life with a man who loves me, builds me up and has never hurt me in any way. He is a blessing in my life, more than I could ever have imagined or hoped for and I thank God for him every day.

jam or ham or cucumber, any type will do...i like sandwiches how about you?

2008-03-10T10:22:00.005-06:00

Cooper has been having a growth spurt for the last couple of weeks and eating everything in sight. As soon as he wakes up he asks for a snack to hold him over 'til breakfast. While he watches me prepare his lunch he begs for anything to nibble on while he waits. As soon as he finishes a meal he asks for dessert, while he's still chewing! It's been getting very, very old. Sometimes I get so sick of fixing food I could scream!

That's what happened last Friday. I had just finished cleaning up the lunchtime mess when he asked for dessert. I put him off a while, hoping he'd forget about it but he didn't. He just kept nagging and nagging. How could he possibly be hungry??? He just had a huge lunch! "No more food until dinner!" I told him. He burst into tears.

That's when big brother came to the rescue. "I'll fix him a sandwich," Clayton said. Yeah, right, I thought. No one in this house has ever fixed a sandwich except for me and my husband. Cooper's eyes lit up and he followed his brother downstairs. I waited, expecting to hear whining about 'where was this or that' and how he couldn't reach something. But no whining came. A few minutes later I went to see what happened and there was Cooper chowing down on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Clayton was perched on the counter-top making sure everything was to Cooper's liking. "Do you want it cut?" he asked. "Yes, please." Cooper said. Clayton grabbed a butter knife and split it down the middle.

Cooper ate every last bite and proclaimed, "Clayton, that is the best sandwich you ever made me!" Clayton mumbled that it was the only sandwich he had ever made him, but I could see he was very proud of himself. I congratulated him and made a big deal over it so he would hopefully be likely to do it again (I need all the help I can get).

For the rest of the day, every time I saw Cooper, he had some kind of food in his hand, provided by five year-old Clayton. He had discovered the joy of feeding someone else, a joy I'd lost a few years ago (somewhere in the middle of wiping food off walls and hosing highchairs down in the backyard to prevent roach infestations).

Later on at bedtime, I said, "Clayton, I think I'm going to call you Ratatouille from now on. You may end up being a cook like your Dad."

"But I can only make sandwiches," he said in his raspy little voice.

Well you gotta start somewhere, and he had reminded me that a good attitude is the first ingredient in making a meal for anyone. Especially for the people you love.

measure of a man

2008-03-07T09:56:00.007-07:00

Yesterday I stumbled upon a manuscript that was given to my husband by a co-worker on his birthday last year. It's really funny and insightful so I thought I'd share it and add a few points of my own. After working with my husband for a few months, this woman had a good understanding of his psyche and summed it up, entitling her list:

"Real Men 101: As Articulated to me by ways of JDD and other Real Men from Texas."

Real Men Don'ts

Real men don't take cream in their coffee.
Real men don't ask for directions.
Real men don't drink from straws.
Real men don't eat yogurt.
Real men don't put A1, Worcestershire or any other sauce on their steak.
Real men don't drink tea or any other beverage from a tea cup.
Real men don't wax anything (except their vehicles).
Real men don't split the lunch or dinner bill, they insist on paying the whole thing.
Real men don't wear sandals.
Real men don't shop for hours.
Real men are only touchy-feely with their mates (never with people at church).

And the Real Men Do's:

Real men do cry (if they feel the need).
Real men help the helpless.
Real men fight for what is right.
Real men move furniture.
Real men open doors.

And last but most important...

Real men believe in integrity, honesty and of course, love.

She really nailed it but there are some more I'd like to add:

Real men cook.
Real men help with the kids.
Real men are great lovers.
Real men tell the truth.
Real men respect and honor the women in their life.
Real men are faithful.
Real men fight evil even when they are afraid.
Real men don't whine.

I'm so happy to be married to a real man. To me he's the person I look forward to spending time with every day and for the rest of my life. For our sons, he's a solid, healthy example for them to aspire to be like.

It's not easy for men these days, seeing as they are one of the only groups left that's okay to bash publicly without any backlash (along with Christians and Republicans). As the mother of three future men, I hate how men are made fun of and mocked on commercials and sitcoms. Seriously, the next time you see someone portrayed as ignorant, clueless or just plain stupid on tv, I'll bet you it's a white male. They would never get away with treating women or minorities the same way. It is blatant sexism against men and an attempt to marginalize the importance of fathers. I don't want those messages seeping into my boys' subconsciouses and shaping how they feel about themselves. Women shouldn't have to tear men down to build themselves up.

As a mom I couldn't do this alone and maintain my sanity. Because my husband is a real man (all joking aside) our boys are thriving, happy and secure. They know that he loves me and would do anything for any of us. They watch closely how he treats me and I know that will influence them to grow up and be loving, generous husbands and fathers.

Just the other day my five year-old son said, "Mom, I know you love me and all that, but I think I like Dad better." He seemed distraught, like he thought I was going to cry or something. I said, "That's wonderful! You have so much in common with him and I know you love me, too." He seemed relieved and went traipsing off to do boy things.

Hooray for real men and little boys! Let's give them a lot more credit. They deserve it.

personal revelation

2008-03-02T16:36:00.009-07:00

What does your sexuality mean to you?

Is it strictly a means of making babies? Something to be subdued and controlled? Is it a negative thing, something you avoid and dread, or something you find fun, exciting and fulfilling? It is your way of showing affection to the person you love? A way to relieve stress and burn a few calories? A great way to make up after a fight. Whatever it is to you, that's your business.

When it comes to the Bible and God, I've always thought that the guidelines given are for our own good, not just to keep us from having fun. When followed, they can protect us and keep us from hurting ourselves and others with the powerful force know as sex. Sexuality is a gift and a huge part of who we are as humans. It is something that can enrich our lives and relationships when used in the 'right ways' or tear us apart and break hearts when we abuse it.

Lately, for the last few months actually, there's been something weighing on my heart and mind. Something that's tearing apart the church and even dividing the country. Homosexuality.

As a Christian, I was raised with the teachings that say homosexuality is an abomination to God. Meaning it is repulsive, unnatural and wrong. I was told that it is a choice. That gay people can change if they really want to. And why wouldn't they? It must be hell to live a life that a majority of Americans frowns and even spits upon.

But as I've grown older and lived a little, my opinion has started to change. I've heard things that made me wonder. For instance, there are scientific studies that show homosexuality is a genetic trait. Looking back, there were homosexual children I went to school with that were obviously gay, even as far back as third grade. I'm sure they didn't know it until later, but everyone around them did. I also learned that homosexuality is not limited to humans but is seen in the animal kingdom.

But most of all, I've seen the hatred, fear, and anger expressed toward the gay community. Most of that hatred coming from the Christian community.

Wait a doggone minute. I thought Jesus explicitly told us to love each other and not to be the judge? What happened to that? Wasn't Jesus the one who embraced the outcasts of society and showered them with compassion and love? Why is it okay to ignore the entire message of the Bible when it comes to gay people??? Homophobia boils down to fear and loathing. That doesn't sound like the message God was sending.

Christians do a lot of good in the world and it's a shame that this issue is dividing them and alienating them from the rest of society. Because of it, they are often perceived as hateful, intolerant and judgmental. I know that if I was gay I would feel very resentful and hurt by what is said by Christians. I would not want anything to do with their God. Why do they hold so tight to a message that goes against everything else the Bible teaches? No wonder people are leaving the church in droves.

I did more research and found out that homosexuality is only mentioned about 12 times in the Bible and never by Jesus himself. In the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, the men who brought the wrath of God down on their city were not just gay, they were rapists who wanted to rape the angels who were visiting. There's a huge difference in that, to me.

But the most prominent passages used against homosexuals are in Leviticus. In chapter 20, it says that if a man lies with a man as with a woman, he should be put to death. Interestingly enough, the verses before and after that also say that adulterers and people who curse their father or mother should be put to death. We surely don't follow those guidelines anymore, do we? If so, half the country would be dead! Leviticus chapter 18, verse 22 is the clincher that most Christians love to quote, that it is an abomination for a man to sleep with another man.

A few days ago I came across a documentary called For the Bible Tells Me So. After determining it wasn't a Christian bashing movie along the lines of Jesus Freaks, I rented it out. After watching it with my husband, I felt so relieved! All the inner-turmoil and questions I've been having were addressed in this film. It gave me a look into the lives of families who dealt with the gay issue first hand. It was fascinating and enlightening, even for someone watching it with a skeptical eye. There were also interviews with everyone from Dick Gephardt to Desmond Tutu.

One story was from the perspective of a mother whose daughter was a lesbian. When the daughter "came out" to her mom, her admission was met with the attitude her mother had learned from Dr. James Dobson, a man her mother had listened to for years. After the rejection she faced from her family, the woman hanged herself. (I have read one of Dobson's books, Bringing Up Boys, and thought it was almost comical how he really believed one of his gay friends had been "cured." And after his miraculous conversion he was only caught in a gay bar one time, but went back to living happily with his wife. Seriously, he believed that.)

The movie also told the life story of Gene Robinson, the first openly gay Bishop in the Anglican Church and how he came to that position. He actually had to wear a bulletproof vest on the day he became Bishop and the hate mail he received could curl you toenails. It was unbelievable. We were members of the Episcopal Church back when that happened and I remember that many members of the church quit on the spot.

One of the things I took away from the movie the was understanding that the Bible should be interpreted by the context and culture of the day in which it was written. For instance, in biblical times the word "abomination" did not mean what it means to us today. It meant "that which is forbidden or unclean according to the religion," or was a violation of cultural norms. Things change, believe it or not. It is not okay for men to have more than one wife as it was in those times. And men don't "acquire" their wives anymore, either. In most modern cultures women actually have a say about who they marry and are not owned. Slavery is another instance of something that was "okay" back then. Once again, not okay anymore, thank God.

One of the most profound things I heard was from Desmond Tutu, who summed up everything I have been struggling with. He said, "I can't for the life of me imagine that God would say, 'I will punish you because you are black- you should have been white. I will punish you because you are a woman- you should have been a man. I will punish you because you are a homosexual- you should have been a heterosexual."

I have come to the conclusion that all loving, committed, monogamous relationships should be honored. Straight people who sleep around or use other people for their own gratification are just as despicable as gay people who do the same. I am not defending the freaks that parade around naked for the gay pride parade in San Francisco, I'm standing up for the homosexual people who love their partners and just want to have a normal happy life. There are just as many, if not more, hetero perverts and pond-scum as homo perverts and pond-scum. And with the divorce rate over 50%, straight people aren't exactly noble and perfect, are they? Like Dolly Parton once said, "Sure gay people should be able to get married..they should have a chance to be as miserable as the rest of us!"

Even if it was actually up to me to be the judge (and it's not), I would rather err on the side of compassion and love than on the side of hate and intolerance. I don't want to be a Pharisee, upholding my understanding of the letter-of-the-law rather than honoring the spirit of it. If you're on the same side of the issue as Iran's Ahmadinejad, you might want to re-think your stance. But then again, there are no homosexuals in Iran so he doesn't even have anyone to hate.

I think that in time our nation will come through this. One day we'll look back at the persecution of this group like we look at slavery and the oppression of women. We'll wonder how in the world the Word of God was interpreted in such a way to justify such hatred, intolerance and injustice.

oscar mayer weiners (and I don't mean that in a good way)

2008-02-24T19:21:00.006-07:00

Why oh why can't they just make their little movies, take their little trophies and shut their stupid mouths? I swear, I can't take it anymore. For some reason I felt compelled to watch the Oscars this year but I tried and I just can't do it.

It started on the red carpet with some ditzy actress showing off her orange ribbon so proudly and saying it was for Gitmo. "We have to close Guantanomo because it's creating danger in the world," she gushed. Let's see, when the terrorists capture one of our guys they behead them, burn their bodies and drag them through the streets. When we capture one of their guys, they get three meals a day and special diets in keeping with their religious beliefs. The same religious beliefs that inspire them to kill us, the infidels. That doesn't make us evil, that makes us suckers. Of course Michael Moore was next and he couldn't help but apologize to the world on behalf of America. What nerve. He and all the other Hollywood assholes are living the American dream and biting the hand that feeds them. They're dripping with diamonds, wearing multi-thousand dollar gowns and have the audacity to act like they really, really care about things that matter. The reason they're dropping like flies from overdoses and heading to rehab like lemmings is because they actually don't care about things that matter. They don't even know the first thing about what really matters.

Never mind that most of them have barely finished high-school and most never even dabbled in higher education. Yet the American public laps up the dreck that pours out of their pretty little mouths like it's golden. The most terrifying thing is that these morons actually affect public opinion and shape public policy!

I hate them. I hate their materialistic, socialistic, shallow, vapid ways. I resent the fact that they actually had to give the Oscars a PG rating for language because they can never predict what will come out of those low-lifes mouths on live TV. I hate the fact that they had Jon Stewart as the host. He may be funny but everyone knows he's a left-winger and we would all be subjected to his personal remarks about Bush and the war. Would they have considered for one moment having a conservative equivalent of Jon as the host? Hell no. That's the thing about the Hollywood liberal elitists. They are the most intolerant, hypocritical jerks in the world.

I hate them.

Wow it felt good to get that out.

* Denzel Washington is excluded from this rant, just FYI.

i'm gonna miss this

2008-02-11T17:05:00.000-07:00

I had just dropped off all three boys at their respective Tuesday morning classes and could hear the call of Freedom as I peeled out of the parking lot and watched the school get smaller in my sideview mirror (I had no rearview mirror anymore thanks to some monkey who'd torn it off a few years back-I won't name any names). It was one of the two mornings a week I got two whole hours to myself with no children and my mind was racing as to how I should best spend it...Should I shop? Work out? Blog? Play with clay? The possibilities were endless.

Lately I'd been having more than my share of those days when I was awakened by demanding little boys and thought to myself, 'Just 14 hours until they go to sleep again and I can have some peace!' I had a stack of books on my bedside table I'd been unable to get to, hours of movies and shows on the DVR still unseen, and untold numbers of ideas floating around my head that evaporated as soon as I heard whining and fighting. The time I spent on my computer keeping up with friends and my online shop were overshadowed by the guilt I felt for not paying 100% attention during that time. The lyrics to "the Cat's in the Cradle" ran through my head several times a day, at least.

I turned the radio on and was thinking how wonderful it was to actually hear it for once since there was no sibling rivalry to deal with in the back seat, when a song came on that I'd never heard before. It was called, "You're Gonna Miss This." By the end of it I was in tears, blubbering like a baby. Damn that country music! How I hated to be emotionally manipulated by a hokey song! But it was a good one, at least.

It really seems like yesterday that I was in high school, even though it's been 17 years now. And in 17 more my youngest will be 21, and my oldest 25. And who knows, I might even be a grandparent.

There are so many things I don't want to take for granted as a mother. Moments that slip away and can never be brought back. Like hearing Cooper's stream-of-consciousness thoughts as soon as he walks out the door from pre-school, telling me about the snack he had and the art he made, what his teacher said and who he played with. I'll especially miss holding his soft, warm little boy hand in mine. He's the only one who still allows me that pleasure.

I'll miss waking up to my husband's handsome face and then seeing small replicas of him come plodding into our room in footed PJ's, climbing into bed to snuggle or wrestle like bear cubs as soon as they shake the sleep off. One with his face, one with his build and one with his love of words.

I'll miss their baby voices and how Clayton still says 'gwull' instead of girl. And how Cooper loves to use the word 'except', but instead pronounces it 'ec-sumpt.'

I'll miss hearing Cole's stories and poems and what he dreamed about the night before, always recounting it in vivid detail. I'll miss seeing the look on his face when he learns a new word that's just what he was looking for. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he turns out to be famous some day.

It will be sad when no one gets excited when the trash truck comes or a plane flies overhead. "Mom! Mom! Look!" with tiny fingers pointing high. And what will I do when they no longer want to go to the zoo or a park with me, instead choosing to hang out with their friends.

I'll miss having drawers full of crayons, play-doh, construction paper and glue and walls filled with colorful children's art. I may even miss the plastic toys I trip over all the time that somehow always stab me in the soft part on the bottom of my feet. Maybe not.

But one of the things I'll miss the most is living with a group of little people that still assumes the world is good and people always mean well. I wish I was still a child in so many ways. And I wish my boys' childhoods could last for many more years.

The words ring true:

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

I am going to miss this part of my life when it's gone. The kisses, the smiles, even the rivalry between brothers. Small boys, together under my roof, safe and sound. These truly are some good times.

a cure worse than the disease

2008-02-04T11:15:00.002-07:00

I sat there alone and miserable, hardly able to swallow. Suffering from strep throat, I was burning up with fever and felt awful. The dry heat blasting into the cave-like waiting room made it even worse. Six hours later I was finally called in to see a doctor. He took a culture from my throat with a long, scratchy swab and gave me a prescription for some antibiotics. From there I went to another waiting area to get the drugs that would hopefully give me some relief. That was not a short wait, either.

As the daughter of an Army Officer, my healthcare was provided by none other than the U.S. government. When we needed a check-up it was wise to make it well in advance. Several months, at least. Then once we actually got in to see the doctor, the "service" was sub-par. We never saw the same doctor twice and were treated like cattle, herded through the process as quickly as possible. After all, thousands more people were in line behind us.

For cases like strep throat and other emergencies, they did have ER services in the basement of the old hospital building on base. My mother, siblings and I spent untold hours of our lives waiting on help for various childhood ailments there. It totally sucked to say the least. But there was no point in complaining about the level of service because no one cared. Since it was run by the government there was no competition that could run them out of business for poor customer service.

Once I was out from under that government sponsored "umbrella" of healthcare, there was a period of time I was completely uninsured. Thankfully, I enjoyed excellent health...until I got appendicitis. But even without coverage, I was able to go to a nice hospital, get help from an excellent surgeon and be released a couple of days later. It was not ideal to be uninsured, but it wasn't like they threw me out on the street or something. In fact, the surgeon ended up waiving his fees for the surgery out of the kindness of his heart.

Years later, when I got married and especially when we started our family, healthcare coverage became top priority. My husband and I sought out jobs with companies that offered great benefits, even if the pay was not. We loathed those jobs but we were grateful to have what we had.

One time my husband took a job that didn't offer healthcare benefits so we paid out-of-pocket to have coverage, just in case. As a family of five living on one income and even sharing a car to cut down on costs, it was not cheap or easy. It was just life. Another bill to be paid. It never crossed our minds once that the government should be paying for us to have healthcare. Besides, I knew first hand what kind of care the government could offer. There were no rose-colored glasses on my eyes.

The statistic I've heard is that there are about 50 million uninsured Americans. That means about 250 million are covered in some way. Many of those uninsured choose to go without coverage. I'm not sure if a less than 17% uninsured rate constitutes a true crisis.

How can anyone truly believe that the same large, incompetent, inefficient government that mishandled the Katrina crisis and manages to lower the bar every time I have to buy a stamp or register my vehicle could possibly run a national health care system? Would you ever trust your health records to the same people who lost the original footage of the moon walk? Or the same people who have mismanaged social security and medicare for so long? Seriously?

Call me selfish but I wouldn't want to wait months to have surgery for breast cancer or years to get an MRI or hip replacement like many Canadians do. The cancer survival rate is 16% lower there, by the way. I don't want to go back to six hour long waits in the ER for a treatment I can get in less than an hour right now. I like that I have options of where I go, what doctor I see and can even get a second and third opinion. My husband and I have worked hard and made decisions and sacrifices in our lives that allow us these choices. I don't think the level of care we get should be lowered because of people who expect the government to take care of them from cradle to grave.

There's got to be a solution that doesn't involve a nationalized system. For instance, putting a stop to frivilous lawsuits would lower healthcare costs for everyone. If doctors and hospitals didn't have to pay through the nose protect themselves it would benefit us all. It would also help if everyone took personal responsibility for their own health and that of their children. Imagine the savings if people stopped smoking, ate healthier, got off the couch now and then and didn't pop a pill for every ailment under the sun.

Basically what I'm saying as a person who has experienced being "taken care of" by the government and been on both sides of the insurance fence is: The system will never be perfect, but things could be a lot worse than they are now. And they will be if we close our eyes, turn off our brains, hop on the feel-good wagon and buy into the nationalized healthcare sham.

Semper Fi

2008-01-30T13:51:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago as I was perusing iTunes, hoping to find some new music to get myself motivated during this endless winter, I stumbled upon something pretty cool. It was a collection of songs called "Running Cadences of the United States Armed Forces."

After listening to a couple of the samples I smiled because many were very familiar to me. Songs and chants I've heard my husband use with our boys when we're out hiking sometimes. It made me realize just how much Marine culture had permeated our household. Thanks to my husband, the boys are affectionately referred to as Death Dealers, Devil Dogs and Snapperheads. Sayings like, 'Blood makes the grass grow, Marines make the blood flow!' and 'Pain is weakness leaving your body,' are common around here. They love to hear their Dad say, in his best marksmanship instructor voice, "Shooters, you may commence firing when you’re Dog targets appear! Standby! Taaaarrgets!"

Luckily for me, I had experience with military culture long before I got married. My Dad was an Army Lt. Colonel and helicopter pilot, so growing up I often heard weird things like, "Five minutes 'til lift-off!" when we were getting ready to go somewhere. Then he would sit in the "cockpit" of the family car and adjust all the mirrors, vents and seats before we departed. Each and every time. He still does that to this day. When we went on family vacations they were run with military precision. Bathroom stops were scheduled and checkpoints had to be reached to keep us on time. No exceptions were made. Ever. And I mean ever.

So I happily downloaded the running cadence songs (only the Marine ones, no offense, Dad) and went to the gym. I couldn't wait to hear my new music! It was awesome. I felt like a real Marine!

You can make it! If you try! Motivated! Dedicated!
Your Corps! My Corps! Marine Corps!

And,

Give me that good ol' Marine Corps spirit! Give me that good ol' Marine Corps spirit! Give me that good ol' Marine Corps spirit! Cause it's good enough for me!

And,

I'll be a Marine 'til the day that I die...Motivated and Semper Fi!

I could hear the boots of the Marines as they ran and really feel the camaraderie. It kept me going and I loved it. But I didn't realize how much it had seeped into my subconscious until a few night later. In a very realistic dream, I joined the Marine Corps. It was all figured out: The salary I earned would go to hire a nanny to replace me while I was at war. It seemed so real and like such a good idea until I had the terrifying realization that I could actually get shot. And it might not be a quick, over with it kind of death, but a horrible, painful wound. I started having second thoughts. Did I really want to actually die for my country? Like for real? Did I truly feel that strongly about it?

Thank goodness I woke up and didn't have to worry about going AWOL. After telling my husband about my dream I asked him how he did it. How did he sign up for something he knew could be the end of him. He laughed and said that he didn't think like that, he never considered it would or could actually happen to him. As an 'invincible' young man, in his mind only other people actually died. He also said that if I joined up and he had to get a nanny, she'd better be good at dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, bill paying, and be a concubine as well. It also wouldn't hurt if she was about 18 years-old. Someone young enough to keep up with the boys, ya know? Of course he was joking! Calm down you women's libbers!

But on a serious note, I want to say how thankful I am that there are brave men and women that really do sign up for the Armed Forces, and not just in their dreams. I'm also happy to hear that 42,000 of them are scheduled to come home by July, thanks in part to the awesome General Petraeus. That fact has been little reported in the mainstream media because it's actually good news!!! Also, there's a housing boom going on in Baghdad right now because so many people are moving back since it's safer now. I'll bet most people haven't heard that either.

Our military is the best in the history of the world and I am proud to be the daughter of a Veteran and the wife of a Marine. Semper Fi!

domo arigato, mr. roboto, or not-o

2008-01-29T11:57:00.001-07:00

I still recall, back in the late 1900's when I was in 6th grade. My school got its first computers and we were assigned a brand new class: Computer lab. For a semester we learned how to write programs in MS-DOS that would do breathtaking and useful things like make a happy face or other design on the screen. It was not very impressive, but the age of computers had arrived.

Years later, in my high school computer class I think the teachers were just as clueless as the students about what computers should be used for. There was still no Windows, at least at my school, so again I found myself writing useless programs for a semester. Life went on and eventually, in my sophomore year of college, I took another computer course, dubbed 'Computer Science'. Once more we had to learn about bits and bytes and all that, but they also kept mentioning this thing called the 'internet' and 'email' and how someday everyone would be doing everything with computers, even banking. Yeah right, I thought. One day I finally wandered down to the computer lab and figured out how to log in and get on the internet. Holy Moly. I couldn't believe there hadn't been a bigger deal made over that! How could I not have heard about it sooner??? And email? WOW. Instant gratification. I walked away feeling a little overwhelmed with the whole experience, but I was hooked.

Today, as a stay-at-home mom, my life has been profoundly affected by modern technology. My computer is used to pay bills and file taxes, keep up with family and friends, sell creations in my own shop and of course, write stories in this blog. It's an outlet I can't imagine living without. Being able to shop online is life changing for me. When you don't have to drag three boys from store to store and hope to get the best deal, instead easily comparison shopping online, the cost of shipping is worth every penny.

There's also WebMD, a great source to draw from when one of us get sick (even if it annoys our doctor). And I like to think that life is made a little bit harder for child predators out there since many people know where they live. I love the freedom my computer has given me. Also my iPod, digital camera and DVR. We have saved untold hours of our lives being able to skip past commercials.

However, there is a downside to this hyper-techno culture. Mostly having to do with the boys. Our family has been slow to buy up every electronic toy available for entertainment and I almost wish we hadn't caved in at all. Ever since my son got his Nintendo DS for Christmas, he as all but stopped his writing endeavors. Whenever he has a moment of boredom, he heads straight for his video games. We're beginning to put a stop to that but it still worries me. Sometimes it seems like the things that are supposed to bring us together, the amazing variety of communication and educational gadgets we have, are actually pulling us apart and dumbing us down.

A while back I read a child-psychology book that had an entire chapter dedicated to TV and other electronic influences. By the end of the chapter I was very alarmed and told my husband, "No more TV for the boys. Ever." That was a little extreme, but after what I'd read, it seemed to be the best idea. The book basically said, in very persuasive terms, that by plugging a child into the TV you are stealing the chance for them to develop a rich inner life and depriving their imaginations of room to flourish. Basically, TV cheats them of their childhood. Pretty scary, if you ask me.

But TV is always going to be part of our culture and our home so I just need to manage it better. I'm really trying to cut down on the mindless, obnoxious cartoons the boys love so much. It's been very hard to break the habit of turning it on when they get bored and start jumping on the furniture. Sometimes I really need some time to myself to get things done or just make a phone call uninterrupted, and the TV comes in very handy for that.

At least I know that I'll never buy a car with a TV in it. No matter how convenient it may be for me, I think the boys need that time to just let their minds run wild. A little boredom in the car can lead to new ideas, plans and schemes. I still recall gazing out the window of our blue VW van and daydreaming as we rolled down the road, counting telephone poles and wondering how far they went. Or thinking of a new project to work on when we got home. That's what I want my boys to remember, not reruns of SpongeBob.

So I'll continue my love/hate relationship with all the techno doo-dads in our lives and try to make the best decisions for my kids. Life in the information age can definitely be a blessing and a curse. So until someone comes up with a time machine to take me back to Walnut Grove and be best friends with Laura Ingalls, I guess I'll just have to deal with it.

obama

2008-01-27T17:10:00.000-07:00

I wish I could do it, I really do. I wish I could abandon all reason and critical thinking skills and jump on the Obama bandwagon. He's the only politician in recent memory that I actually turn the volume up for when he speaks instead of cringing. Just today I saw an interview with Mike Huckabee that almost put me to sleep. But Obama is on fi-yah and I really enjoyed seeing Hillary get her butt kicked this weekend. If only I could be a fly on her wall right now. It must be pretty intense over at the Clinton camp these days.

It really says something good about our country that we have a woman and an African-American who are serious contenders for the Presidency. America has come a long way and we should be proud of that.

It's very easy to get swept away by Obama's powerful, stirring speaches. He talks about change and hope with heartfelt conviction. He's got a gift and he says all the right things. These days everyone is so divided and tired of the status quo that he seems like a breath of fresh air. I'm a conservative but am no fan of "Dubya." I've been very disappointed in how he has ignored the border crisis and been one of the biggest spending presidents in the past 30 years. As for the war, if we had not gone in Hussein would still be in power, raping and pillaging his people. He would still be thumbing his nose at the impotent UN and proving that no one would do anything about an insane dictator who'd love get his grimy hands on some nukes. So it's hard to say if it was a mistake to go in in the first place. But now that we're there we can't just walk away. If we leave before things are under control, thousands and thousands more innocent people will die. And it will change nothing for us. It's not like the rabid Islamic extremists will say, "Wow, I think I like those pesky Americans now! Let's stop plotting their demise every minute of the day and go get real jobs!" The war will not be over if we leave Iraq. Not even close. But that's the rhetoric that everyone seems to be lapping up from the left. And that's the problem I have with Obama. The main problem, at least.

I'm not one of those nutty people that thinks he is actually a practicing Muslim in disguise. I have, however, heard some things that concern me. I have a feeling he will beat the Clinton machine and get the Dem's nomination and so he needs to be scrutinized very carefully. Here's a clip from an article I read last week talking about the church he attends and the pastor that is Obama's personal spiritual leader, Reverend Wright:

Addressing his congregants last week, Wright was quoted saying that, as president, Bill Clinton had done for black people what he had done to Monica Lewinsky. In a 2006 radio sermon attributed to him and now being circulated on the Internet, Wright lists what he says are America’s evils: its role as the No. 1 killer in the world, its imprisonment of Nelson Mandela, its support for Israel without regard for Palestinians, its radiation experiments on citizens, its creation of the AIDS crisis and its refusal to help blacks in this country.

In the sermon, Wright says America is selfish, self-centered, arrogant and ignorant. “In light of all these facts,” he says, “God has got to be sick of this s***.”

WOW. That is pretty ugly stuff. I know that if I were attending church and my pastor said anything remotely like that, I would be outta there. But instead, here's what Obama said:

"People who are familiar with the black church tradition know that Reverend Wright’s considered one of the greatest preachers in the country. Our church, Trinity United Church of Christ, even though it is part of a 95-, 97-percent white denomination, very much draws on the historical black church tradition, and Reverend Wright’s sermons do as well. And that means that sometimes he’s provocative in ways that I’m not always comfortable with and in ways that I deeply disagree with occasionally,” Obama told the Web site.

Only occasionally????

He also said that:

...he is “proud of Reverend Wright and what he’s done in his life.”

You can read the entire article here, if you're interested.

I don't think I would use the word "proud" in the same sentence as "Reverend Wright", especially if I were running for President.

And oh yeah, it would also be nice if Obama would give some actual specifics about all the hope and change he has in store for America. But I guess when you only allow yourself to be interviewed by Tyra and Ellen, and warm-fuzzy feelings are more valuable than substance, specifics are not required.

earning his keep

2008-01-22T19:00:00.000-07:00

Chinese Water Dragons are pretty cool. And captive reptiles really live the life. They get to bask in the sun all day and eat food they barely have to chase. As I enviously watch my son's lizard lounging in his cage, many words come to mind...beautiful, exotic, peaceful...and surprisingly...

Compliant!

Don't worry, this lizard was not harmed in any way. Humiliated, maybe, but not harmed. There aren't too many things to do with a helmet from a Pee Wee Herman doll but here's one of them. Long live compliant lizards!

nature vs. nurture

2008-01-21T16:45:00.000-07:00

As a parent I always worry about mistakes I make and how I might affect my children in a bad way. What if I damage them when I lose my temper and yell? Will I break their little spirits when I try to rein them in too much? What if I change the very essence of who they are? But then things happen that reassure me I couldn't change who they are even if I wanted to. They were born a certain way and that's just who they're going to be.

Like Cole, for instance. I've made jokes about him having OCD because he's a lot like me. He's very conscientious and particular. But the other day he really surprised me. Out of nowhere he actually said, "Sometimes my head feels funny if I leave something the wrong way and I have to go back and fix it."

"WHAAAA??" I asked, trying not to sound alarmed that my son has voices in his head telling him what to do.

"Well, if I don't clean up all the pencil shavings or if I drop a paper on the floor, my head feels funny and forces my body to go back and clean it up."

Whoa Nellie.

In some ways I guess I should feel happy that my son is a neat freak, but I really just feel freaked out. But I know I can't change him. He is who he is. He hasn't started compulsively washing his hands, counting his steps (yet), or talking about watching Judge Wapner, so I think he'll be okay.

And then there's Clayton. The middle child. Last weekend we had a couple of the boys' friends over and were waiting for the pizza to arrive. Clayton was angry with his Dad for some reason and said he hated him. My husband said, "It is unacceptable to talk to me that way so until you apologize like you mean it, you get no food."

Once the pizza was delivered and the boys were scrambling for their plates, Clayton looked a little concerned, but still resolved in his stance. He's not one to apologize. But after watching everyone else devour the hot, cheesy pizza he weakened and said, in a barely audible voice, "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" we prodded, trying to get him to admit his wrongdoing. The answer we were hoping for is, 'I'm sorry for saying I hate you, Dad.'

Instead, in true Clayton style, he said, "I'm sorry for hating you."

The boy can't tell a lie.

This is the same boy who, years ago, was having a battle over brushing his teeth. My husband said, "You are going to brush your teeth, and we can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's your choice."

Clayton looked him dead in the eye and said, "Okay, Dad. Let's do it the hard way," and leaned in to be put in a head-lock.

He'll be a Marine for sure.

So if nurturing is the strongest force in shaping a personality, it couldn't be possible for Clayton and Cooper to be related at all, much less be brothers. Cooper is the most easy-going, silly, loving, happy guy. He's in love with me and is not afraid to show it. He's the only one of the boys who loves traditional boy things: Cars, trains, and blocks. And being a monkey.

So I'll still try not to scar or hurt them in any way, but I feel relieved that I'm not solely responsible for how they turn out. Although they were conceived and born from my body, they were created by Someone much greater than I.

january in colorado

2008-01-20T12:05:00.001-07:00

You know it's January in Colorado when...

~ They say the high will be 28 degrees and you think, "Great! It's warming up!"

~ Your skin is so pale it's almost translucent but black is the only color you feel like painting your nails.

~ The already grossly obese family cat is gaining weight by the minute and sprawls on his back on the living room floor because he can hardly breathe anymore.

~ You run the risk being crushed by an avalanche of coats, hats, scarves, mittens, and other cold weather gear when you dare open the coat closet.

~ Even your son's lizard refuses to come out of his cave and the crawdad has been in hibernation for five months and counting.

~ Your supply of Burt's Bees, Vaseline and Eucerine is getting very, very low. And your lips are still chapped!

~ When your kids wake up and don't have a cough or runny nose it seems abnormal.

~ After recovering from a recent cold you find you are addicted to Benadryl and can hardly sleep without it now. Bourbon helps ;-)

~ The voice in your head telling you to just "eaaatttt and sleeeep" is winning out over the voice that tells you to get to the gym.

~ When you wake up and the driveway doesn't need shoveling you think, "There goes my exercise for the day."

~ You actually miss the Texas summer (you know you've really lost it now).

I must remember how glorious the Colorado spring, summer and fall are! It will all be worth it soon...

Well in about four months anyway.

winter "wonderland"

2008-01-15T14:32:00.000-07:00

This is what our cul-de-sac looked like a year ago after two consecutive blizzards:

Those are all my neighbors digging their way out of several feet of snow since the snow plows had bigger fish to fry. And here are the boys and me in front of the pile my poor husband had to shovel from our driveway:

Thank goodness we haven't seen anything like that this year! It has been snowing consistently though. Every time the grass starts to show again it doesn't last for long. I'm getting a little winter weary so I'm going to try and focus on the good things about it.

Like the new sledding hill we found!

And building forts!

So to borrow a little poem from Roy McKie and P.D. Eastman, in their profound book that I have had the honor of reading hundreds of times entitled, Snow:

Snow! Snow!
Come out in the snow!

Snow! Snow!
Just look at the snow!
Come out! Come out!
Come out in the snow!

I want to know
If you like snow.
Do you like it?
Yes or no?

Oh yes! Oh yes!
I do like snow!

Well at least the boys do. And that's what counts!

angels, ghosts and the devil inside

2008-01-10T22:43:00.000-07:00

When I was in first grade, I awoke one night to see an angel sitting on my bed. We had a conversation, the contents of which I don't remember, and then I fell back to sleep. Then I distinctly remember dreaming about a line of angels in white gowns carrying candles, walking slowly in an unbroken circle around and through our church. As if they were guarding it. I remember telling my first grade teacher, Mrs. Sisson, about it the next day.

"I saw an angel last night," I said.

"Really?" She replied, but then changed the subject. Even as a six year-old I understood that she didn't believe me, but I didn't mind. I knew.

A couple of other small but strange things happened when I was very young. One day, on the way to my piano lesson in downtown Leavenworth, Kansas, I asked my mom if she'd ever seen anyone on a motorcycle get hit by a car . She said no. After my lesson was over that day, I recall walking down the street with her and hearing the sound of sirens. I knew in my gut what it was. As we came around the corner, a motorcycle was laying in the street and a man was being taken away in an ambulance.

On another day I was at the movies with a friend of mine. That was back when it was safe to drop your kid off at the theater alone and I was still no older than eight. My friend and I went to buy some candy and when the cashier added the tax, we were short a penny. Without even thinking, I walked over to a corner of the foyer, pulled back a loose piece of carpet, and found a penny there. It was sticky but I handed it proudly to the woman and my friend and I walked away with our candy.

I don't recall any other unexplained psychic events since then. Maybe as an adult my head has become full of other noises. Maybe I don't have enough quiet to really listen anymore.

But one thing I have discovered over the last couple of years is the show, Ghost Hunters. It has been my guilty pleasure to watch as often as I can. I love Jason and Grant and believe they are honest, skeptical guys who are just looking for answers. They have each had experiences with the paranormal that propelled them into their field, stories they won't tell anyone. I watch the show out of curiosity and wonder. I am a Christian and I believe in Heaven and Hell. But I also think there is an "in-between". Not purgatory, but something else. As a child I was taught that anything "in-between" is either demonic or angelic, and I don't think that is completely false, just maybe not totally true. I think it's more complicated than that.

From the show and other things I've read, I've become familiar with residual hauntings, intelligent hauntings, human and non-human entities and just plain old energy. Since energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it only makes sense that it would be around even when our bodies are no longer living.

But why and how can it hang around?

Recently I was watching the show and thought to myself, 'I would love to go on a hunt with the Ghost Hunters!' I pictured myself in the dark with my EVP recorder and thermal camera, stalking down the halls of some ancient corridor. 'I feel a cold spot! My batteries are being sucked dry!' I would whisper...then see a full bodied apparition appear before my eyes...

Not long after that fantasy crossed my mind, I came across a website advertising the Ghost Hunters "Spring Thaw" retreat at none other than the Stanley hotel, here in Colorado. Less than two hours from where I live! It is even on my birthday weekend! But it is not cheap. I sheepishly mentioned it to my husband (begged) and he graciously told me to get a ticket. It will be my birthday present.

The Stanley is the place where Steven King wrote The Shining and it is the site of more than one very exciting episode of the Ghost Hunters show. There are ghost children who play in the halls of the fourth floor. There are spirits who open closet doors, grab your wedding ring off the bedside table and disappear into the closet, never to be found. There are ghosts in the basement and ghosts in the ballroom. And I can't wait to see what happens!

Thankfully, I have a very good friend who is also completely intrigued with the whole thing and she is going to share a room with me for that weekend. We will get to go to seminars, meet the celebrities, and even go ghost hunting with them from 10pm until 2am one night. Sadly, we have no real equipment, but at least we can scrounge up a camcorder and digital camera.

I really just want to see if anything happens. I'm not sure exactly why, but I think it may answer some questions for me. Or create new ones.

reflecting on 2007

2008-01-04T13:01:00.000-07:00

I normally don't really do anything to mark the new year but this time I'm going to participate in a meme from Babs' blog, just for fun! Here goes...

What did you do in 2007 that you’d never done before?
This was actually a great for me. I started running in March and ran my first 5K in September. I also started a small (very, very small) home business.

Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't do resolutions.

Did anyone close to you give birth?
Almost everyone! My sister-in-law, my best friend and my neighbor. All healthy, beautiful babies!

Did anyone close to you die?
The mom of one of my close friends.

What countries did you visit?
None and I'm really not disappointed about that.

What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
None in particular.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Losing weight and getting back in shape.

What was your biggest failure?
Gaining some of it back over the holidays :-o

Did you suffer illness or injury?
None, and that's something I'm very grateful for.

What was the best thing you bought?
A soldering iron, glass and colored paper..to make pendants with.

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Britney. Paris. Li Lo.

Where did most of your money go?
Cost of living! No fun at all...

What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Making a trip to Texas by myself in November to visit some good friends and see one of them run a marathon. That same friend just qualified for the Boston marathon on New Years day! Congrats, Jen! Twenty-six miles in three hours and 35 minutes..you are AWESOME!

What song will always remind you of 2007?
Big Hard Sun- Eddie Vedder

Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder?  b) thinner or fatter?  c) richer or poorer?
I am thinner, happier and better off financially. Woo hoo!!!

What do you wish you’d done more of?
Savoring each moment instead of constantly planning the next big task.

What do you wish you’d done less of?
Having to deal with cafeteria ladies, dentists and other pains in my a**.

Did you fall in love in 2007?
Every day ;-) With my husband, of course!

How many one-night stands?
Not necessary :-O Believe me.

What was your favorite TV program?
Ghost Hunters.

What was the best book you read?
It's hard to decide between Water for Elephants and The Memory Keeper's Daughter.

What was your greatest musical discovery?
Rodrigo y Gabriella, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, Loudon Wainwright III, Eddie Vedder.

What did you want and get?
A ticket to the Ghost Hunter Spring Thaw at the Stanley Hotel!!!!

What did you want and not get?
A camcorder.

What was your favorite film of this year?
No Country for Old Men.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 34 and went on a date with my husband.

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Becoming independently wealthy, of course!

What kept you sane?
Exercise, a new creative outlet, my husband and bourbon (not necessarily in that order).

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
None. I can't stand celebrities.

What political issue stirred you the most?
The border crisis and how we are being overrun by people who sneak into our country, expect us to educate their children, pay thir hospital bills and still don't have the courtesy to learn our language. And to make it worse we accomodate them for political and economic reasons and actually make it easier for them to live here and not learn the language!!! Can you tell this pisses me off?

ALSO, the fact that as soon as things started turning around in Iraq because of the surge, all of a sudden you hear nothing about it in the press. I can almost hear the crickets chirping...

Who did you miss?
My friends in Texas.

Who was the best new person you met?
Believe it or not, I have come to know my husband's ex-girlfriend over the last couple of months (long story) and she is really cool! If she lived near me I think we'd hang out a lot. She is one of the only friends I have that understands my political angst.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.
I learned that there is nothing to be afraid of. Life it too short to not try something new or make a new friend. Also, I've learned to be proactive with my emotional health. When I feel the blues coming on, I hit the trails and work it out through running.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
Actually, I'll use an entire song:

The Middle
hey
don't write yourself off yet
it's only in your head you feel left out or looked down on
just try your best
try everything you can
and don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away

hey you know they're all the same
you know you're doing better on your own so don't buy in
live right now
just be yourself
it doesn't matter if that's good enough for someone else

it just takes some time
little girl, you're in the middle of the ride
everything everything will be just fine
everything everything will be all right

do your best
do everything you can
don't you worry what their bitter hearts are going to say

Happy New Year!!!!

merry christmas 2007: making of the band

2007-12-26T19:49:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I was lamenting the fact that this may be the last Christmas where all three boys still believe in Santa.

Then one night as I was reading them a bedtime story, Cole asked, "Mom, what if there is no Santa? What if you are Santa?"

My heart skipped a beat but I managed to blurt out a response that wasn't exactly deceitful, "Well how on earth would I get toys to all the children of the world?"

"Oh," he said. Apparently I managed to postpone the inevitable for a while longer.

It turned out to be a better Christmas than we've had in years. Nobody was sick and we started a new tradition: a Christmas Eve party! Based on one of my husband's family traditions, we invited our family, friends and neighbors over for eggnog, wine and lots of food. At first I wasn't sure if anyone would come, but we had a good turn out and everyone seemed to have fun. Here are the boys in their Christmas outfits: During the party our neighbors were telling us about their plans to go to Breckenridge on Christmas day and ended up inviting us, too. We've never been so of course we said yes. On Christmas morning we awoke to a heavy snow (and a tad bit if a hangover) and watched the boys open their gifts. Then we packed up everything we owned and headed to the mountains. It was my first time to go through the Eisenhower tunnel, a three mile pass that actually goes under the continental divide. On our side all the rivers flow to the Atlantic and on the other, to the Pacific. Pretty cool. The scenery was amazing and we arrived safely. It was a beautiful condo that even had a heated parking garage. We felt very hoity toity. But shortly after enjoying a delicious dinner with our neighbors, we discovered we'd left the most important bag at home: the toiletry bag. For a guy it's no big deal, but for me, I was pretty much high and dry. No conditioner, lotion, make-up, brush. I borrowed a few things from my neighbor but felt bad about using her stuff. Then we settled in for the night with two of the boys on a pull-out sofa and us on a bed. The third boy was on an inflatable bed which for some reason lost its air in the middle of the night. Then the people above us started making noise around 1am until 3am. It was a long night and the boys woke up in foul moods. We decided to cut our losses and head back early. Thankfully our neighbors were understanding and did not taunt us too much.

One of the best parts of this Christmas was seeing the boys with their new instruments. Cole asked for a trumpet, Clayton a Les Paul electric guitar, and Cooper a toy guitar. Clayton seems to be a natural and has already learned some chords from his Dad.

Last night when they were getting ready for bed, we heard Clayton whisper to Cole, "Do you know why I'm so good at the lee-lectric guitar? Because Santa's magic is on it."

If only they could all believe for a few more years.

my ten cents worth

2007-12-19T13:34:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, I wrote a post about the misery 25 cents can bring, but I recently found out that 10 cents can cause a lot of headaches, too.

Shortly before the holidays, my son brought home a note that said the school cafeteria would be hosting a special Thanksgiving lunch. Parents were encouraged to come and eat with their child. My son seemed very excited about it so I planned to be there. When the day came for the special event, I met him at the cafeteria, where it was a mad house of excited children and tense looking parents. We proceeded to the lunchroom where I offered up my $20 but was told they did not accept cash that day. Instead, they would write my name down and I would have to come back the next day to pay.

So I showed up bright and early the next morning. I had broken my $20 since then and brought $8 to pay with. I had no idea how much school lunches cost since my son usually takes a sack lunch. Based on the taste and texture they should have paid us to eat it, but oh well. I tracked down a lunch lady and handed her my money. She looked up our bill and said I owed $8.10. I had no change on me and smiled sheepishly, expecting her to say no problem, they'd let it go. After all, it was 10 cents we're talking about. Instead, she said I should just pay when I got a chance...no hurry.

I hate having things like that hanging over my head, no matter how minute. Past experience has taught me that the very smallest things will get you eventually, and this case was no different. The next morning the phone rang while I was getting the boys ready for school. It was a collection call from the cafeteria telling me our account was overdrawn. Seriously. Turns out they didn't just call my home, they called my husband at his work and on his cell phone. I tried to no be irritated and made sure I had a dime in my pocket to pay the rat bastards later that day.

After picking up my kindergartner at noon, we headed back to the lunchroom. There was a long line for food and then a line to pay. I obviously didn't want their food so I got in the paying line and waited. And waited and waited. The lunch lady completely ignored me and just kept dealing with the kids. I finally said, "Excuse me?" and she shot me a look, actually waved me off with her hand dismissively and said, "I can't help you until all these kids are done."

"Well is there anyone else I can pay so you people will stop calling my house and harassing me?" I asked ever so sweetly. "No," she very rudely replied.

I was livid but since I had my son with me and was in a school, I had to bite my tongue and exit swiftly before I blew up. I stormed home where my husband opened the door and innocently asked if I'd taken care of our 10 cent debt. I burst into tears and blubbered out the whole story. It had been a long week of taking care of sick kids and preparing for Thanksgiving and the cafeteria lady had caused me to snap. He grabbed his coat, took the dime and marched out the door. That's the cool thing about being married to a Marine, they run toward confrontation, not away from it.

He returned shortly, successful in his mission. He had marched into the school, held up the dime and said, "I want somebody to take this dime from my hand, put it on my son's account, and give me a receipt." The flustered office ladies then directed him to the cafeteria where he repeated his request, rather forcefully, and was taken care of.

It's this kind of thing that drives me slowly insane. You can live your life doing everything possible to avoid disputes and inconveniences. You can pay your bills, follow the rules and be a friendly person. Still, inevitably, things are going to get you. Especially the cafeteria ladies. They are the worst.

a writer is born

2007-12-19T11:10:00.000-07:00

As many people know, I have always been the anti-soccer mom. I have refused to sign the boys up for everything and run around like a crazy person just to keep up with the Joneses. Sometimes I wonder if I'm cheating them by not making them chase a black and white ball around in a tiny uniform, but my gut tells me I'm making the right choice. I believe that they should each discover on their own just what it is they love and want to pursue.

At a recent parent/teacher conference, my oldest son's teacher explained that my son is really thriving and is ahead of his class when it comes to reading. She indicated that we should keep pushing him to make sure he continues to grow. The thing is, we actually don't push him at all. It's all his doing. He decides, in his free time, to write short stories and poetry for fun. Here's one of his recent stories, exactly as he typed it on the computer. He's not much for punctuation yet but it's still readable:

One Sunday afternoon in the month of December lived a man
Named Hershel and people said there was a snow monster it
Was hard to believe but Hershel had to admit it so the next
Morning Hershel woke up early to see if the snow monster was
Real so got on his snow cloths and walked outside his house into
The wilderness while he was walking the ground started to shake and
There stood behind him a snow monster Hershel got filled
With fear he could feel the tips of the snow monsters frosty
Fingers touch his neck Hershel froze for a moment then
Hershel slowly turned his head at first there was nothing
Then something slowly rose up and out of the ground
It got bigger and bigger suddenly eyes appeared and
A mouth then the snow monster pounded the ground
With its giant hands it created avalanches and a bunch
Of snow piled on top of Hershel his hart pounded as
The terrible sight the snow monster roared with terror .
And lifted the pine tree he held it high in the air and
Swung it and hit another tree Hershel saw two kids
Playing lacrosse go home he yelled the kids ran as
Far as there legs could take them Hershel got up
His coat flapped in the wind he ran as fast as he
Could he walked in the door and lit a candle it
Flickered as the wind blew he sat down and read
About history then he came to a picture of a snow
Monster o brother he said this is a nightmare

He also wrote a poem for Halloween:

Boo

Past the moon past the stars and over mars
You may think its a astronaut but
Its not what you think it is.
If you look very closely you will notice a
Difference. You may see a black pointy
Hat and a black dress and striped socks
And you might notice a broom. You better
Be careful she swoops down to get you!

Also, his own spacing, spelling and punctuation.

His most recent endeavor was to design a robot. The amount of detail and labels he included indicate he might have a touch of OCD, but I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

After much anticipation, my husband took the boys to Lowes to buy the parts to create the robot and here's the result:

This is just the "bones" for it, they still have to "flesh it out".

The other night I went into my son's room to say goodnight and found him writing away in his journal. His latest story is about ants being forced to make honey by wasps. He looked up, almost breathless, and said, "I've found my 'thing', Mom! Writing is my thing!" I like to think that the lack of soccer practices, boy scouts and other after-school activities allowed him the space to discover this about himself. It's hard to stand strong in the over-achiever, high pressure culture known as the suburbs, but I'll keep fighting the good fight!

mathematics schmathematics

2007-11-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

Although I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that kids have homework now starting in kindergarten (something I find completely unnecessary), I truly do not enjoy one minute of overseeing it. I try my best to seem cheerful and upbeat when I announce after dinner in a sing-song voice that it's "homework time" knowing that it will be followed by groaning and whining. My second grader will dutifully find a pencil, get settled at the table and start whittling away at a math worksheet, followed by a "word sort". Usually it's a mildly unpleasant experience for us all but lately it's become even worse.

"I'm not good at math!" He says with tears in his big blue eyes. "I'm the second worst one in the class!"

"How do you know that? You can't compare yourself to other kids. Lots of people look like they know what they're doing and have no idea. Actually, it's usually the people who act like they know everything that know nothing," I explain to him. But he is still distraught. I go on to reassure him that his teacher is happy with his progress and he is exactly where he should be.

When it comes to his word sorts he whizzes through them. He has a fantastic vocabulary for a seven year-old and he even writes poems and short stories, voluntarily, in his free time. My husband is a wordsmith and I have always preferred letters over numbers so I guess it's in our boy's blood. Don't worry, we have never spoken of our disdain for algebra in front of any of our kids. We don't want to taint them with the knowledge that they may just not be math people either.

I know that there are certain people in my family (Dad) that will take what I'm saying as blasphemy. I understand that math cultivates higher levels of thinking and all that. I can admit that math is a necessary evil and some people build entire civilizations and careers around it. I also know that the only math I've ever actually needed since I left school is addition and subtraction. Balancing my checkbook is really the only math I do. I have never come across a problem in my life where I though, "Damn! If only I could remember the algebraic equation to solve this!" I do not feel that my quality of life is in anyway lowered by the absence of calculus or geometry in it. The movie Apollo 13 depicts my worst nightmare: having to do math to calculate how to get around the moon and save your own life because your computers are down. I shudder to think about it.

All people have their strengths and weaknesses. Everyone has gifts that can enrich their lives and the fabric of our communities. In any given group of people you will find artists, writers, scientists, musicians and yes, math people. If we were all the same, wouldn't things be lopsided and boring? So what I want to know is if we're going to subject all children to years and years of math, why not subject them all to years and years of art and music, too. Not just "electives."

I sometimes hear certain kinds of people (math people) say, "I'm not creative at all." And they can get away with that and barely be forced out of their comfort zone. An art class here, a music class there (mostly in elementary school), and they are done. They don't have to take class after miserable class! Let them get a stomach ache while having to stand in front of the class and paint a masterpiece on the board. I can still remember the horror of high school algebra, having to work problems out on the chalkboard under the glare of the soft, doughy, pale teacher. I could hardly sleep the night before, worrying about the homework that made no sense and the test that was coming up. Did the math people have to lose sleep over pinch pots? Or basket weaving? Did they have to take tests on their ability to produce a beautiful song or painting? No! because people just assume that if you aren't creative, you just aren't creative. So why do we all have to be math people?

By the end of say, 5th grade, it's pretty evident who the true mathematicians are and are not going to be. So lets corral them and let them have the best math teachers and resources possible. We'll give a general education to everyone but then focus in on each child's strength instead of trying to force square pegs into a round hole. And we should implement this program within the next few years so that I don't have to hire a tutor to help my son through a class that will do nothing but give him nightmares for the rest of his creative little life.

my husband is a.w.e.s.o.m.e.

2007-11-06T22:05:00.000-07:00

When you're coming up on ten years of marriage, it's something to be proud of but can also make you realize just how settled you've become. I mean, when your lives revolve around young children things can become a little tedious and redundant, no matter how healthy your marriage is. So last Friday came as a huge surprise to me.

I had just picked up my 2nd grader from school and was trying to figure out what was for dinner. The boys were in the front yard with the neighbor's kids and I wandered out to visit with their mom. She crossed the street and I immediately noticed that she looked like the cat who ate the canary. "What?!" I asked her. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" she replied.

Then she asked me what our plans were for the weekend we chatted about the usual things.

I told her I'd rented some kid movie and maybe we'd have popcorn and stay up late with the boys.

She still looked fishy to me but I just went back home. A few minutes later the doorbell rang. I thought it was the boys messing with me but instead I found a man with flowers standing there. I thought he might have the wrong house since we have nothing going on right now- no birthdays or anniversaries. But they were for me!

I brought them into the kitchen and opened the card, wondering what on earth it was going to say.

"Drinks, dinner, little black dress. 5:30. D."

Holy moly. It was 4:30 then. I picked up the phone and called my husband. He was on his way home from work. "What is going on?" I asked him. "Just hurry up!" he said. The flowers were supposed to be there hours earlier so I wouldn't have to rush but the florist had not been on time. And our neighbor was acting weird because he'd asked her to watch the boys while I got ready.

He had even lined up a babysitter! And a free one at that. I rushed to shower and find a little black dress. I could only find a long black dress, but oh well.

Our reservations were for a cute little restaurant that I'd mentioned in passing months ago. The fact that he'd remembered I'd wanted to eat there really surprised me. He'd even lined up a specific waiter referred by a friend.

We arrived there on time and had drinks at the tiny bar that sat three people. Basically, it was an old house converted into a restaurant. Totally my style. The bartender made me a lemon-drop. I'd never had one before and it was awesome. Then we were seated at a corner table right by a window. I even had pillows to lean against.

Our waiter was everything he was said to be: funny, entertaining, and knew a lot about food since he was a chef, too. He was also very gay but was married with three kids. Hmmmm. We've met a few couples like that now and are always intrigued, but that's a whole 'nother blog post.

Anyway, we had so much fun and ate way too much. And it was totally worth it to be reminded that I was so blessed to have married the exact right person for me.

fall

2007-10-18T13:53:00.000-06:00

Fall is just about my favorite time of year, especially here in Colorado. We haven't had our first snow yet but it's cooling off. We made it up to the mountains a couple weeks ago to see the Aspens and it was as awesome as ever.

Giant leaf!

Then I got to go on a field trip with the little guy to a pumpkin patch and "haunted house". He actually loved the haunted house and went through it four times. His little pre-school friend did not like it as much. He was in tears by the end and once we got out the teacher asked my boy, "Did you protect him in there?" He said, "Yes. I mean, actually, no." Such an honest little guy. I was so proud when his teacher pulled me aside and said he is always making them laugh in class and one of the other teachers said when she has kids she hopes they're all like him. Then he got to pick out a tiny pumpkin to take home. A pumpkin with a pumpkin:

Then today we went to the Denver Botanic Gardens for the first time and it was incredible. I never thought a bunch of plants could be so cool but they were. There were acres of pathways through all different kinds of gardens. A real paradise for boys. In fact, they said they want to live in the Botanic Gardens. The ponds full of fish were the boys' favorite spots.

(For those of you who noticed, yes, I did cut my hair off! Thanks to Crazy MomCat, I got up the nerve to take about 6" off and I am so glad I did!)

They even spelled out GO ROCKIES! with pumpkins. Sadly, I didn't even know who the Rockies were until about 3 weeks ago. They've never made it even close to the World Series before so things are pretty exciting around here these days! Especially since the Broncos aren't doing so well this season...

But one of my favorite fall scenes is right out my window in our own backyard.

Thankfully our neighbor had the foresight to plant such an awesome tree. I like to pretend it's mine.

here comes that old familiar fizzle again

2007-10-15T15:23:00.000-06:00

We've tried them all: Episcopal, non-denominational, Baptist, Lutheran, Presbyterian. I guess we still have yet to try Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim and Jewish temples, but as for Christian churches, we've got that covered. And the same thing happened every time. We'd visit a couple times and try to feel good about it. "The people were nice" or "They had a great Sunday school program" we'd nod to each other on the way home. Coming from a non-denominational background, I'm open to loud music and fire and brimstone sermons. But my husband's Catholic/Episcopal background caused him to lean in the opposite direction, preferring ceremony and low-key presentation. At least we both agreed we'd like to be part of a smaller church where it felt more close-knit.

So after church-hopping for a couple years, we decided it was time to make a commitment. Especially when one Sunday morning, during the mad dash to get the boys and ourselves dressed and out the door one, of them asked, "Which church is it we're going to today?" We exchanged a look and decided that was it. We would return to the Episcopal church we'd visited a few months back. And stay there.

So we did, and the review was the same: nice people, good sermons, could use some more young people and options for the kids, but it was the right size. It would do. And maybe we could help create more things for kids that would draw in young families. We were stoked. We officially became members, signed up to teach Sunday school, host the coffee hour a couple times and even help out with the newcomer ministry team. We were on fi-yah.

But then it happened in record time. The uneasy feeling. The dread of Sunday morning. The same old discussion: Why are we doing this again? Oh yeah, for the boys. So if this feels so irrelevant to us, why is it relevant to them? And why does it feel so irrelevant to us? Are we just evil people?

We were also disheartened by the distinct impression we got from the long-time members serving as newcomer ministers that they liked things just the way they were. Why did they need to do it any other way? Never mind that the Episcopal church was losing members left and right. And the fact that several in our area had already shut their doors in the past year raised no red flags for them. We wondered, why try to fight for change when we just didn't care?

Then, I was at the library and found a book I'd been wanting to read for a long time. It's called Why Men Hate Going to Church by David Murrow. Reading the first few pages was like reading what my husband has been trying to put into words for years. My husband strives to be the best man, husband and father he can be. He would do anything and everything he thought necessary to do what's best for us. He tried to do the church thing because he thought it was important. But it'd always been the same. He felt like running as soon as we walked in the door. And it's not that he's not a spiritual person. You should see him when we're hiking in the mountains. He practically glows from the joy he finds there. Feeling closer to God by being in nature, something a lot of men can relate to.

The book made the case that most men can't stand church because for many, many years it has been designed for women. It feels safe and secure. There is soft music, flowers and lots and lots of talking. Younger men with normal testosterone levels feel totally out of place there because it's not geared toward them and how their minds work. There's even a "Jesus is my boyfriend" mentality in some places. And guess what? Men don't want to fall in love with a soft, sweet Jesus. They want adventure. They want action. When the disciples decided to follow Him, it was dangerous. Jesus is not the sissy that the modern church has turned Him into.

Some people argue that mostly men lead the church so this can't be true. But according to the book and to what I've also observed, if you really look at the lay leadership and volunteers that run the place, it's mostly women. If you're a man, you can be the pastor or an usher. There's not much in between. Not anything that appeals to most men, anyway.

Reading this book has really opened my eyes to why so many men aren't showing up in church. I'm just getting to the part that offers some ideas on how to remedy the situation but I get the feeling it's not anything that's going to happen at our church. So we will bow out gracefully after fulfilling our obligations. I don't know what we'll tell the boys but I do know I don't want to endorse something I don't even believe in right now. If Jesus had actually stayed in the grave I think He would be rolling in it right now.

the psychology of running

2007-09-16T13:11:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I ran in my first 5K and it wasn't pretty. I have all sorts of excuses of course: It was hot and I'm used to running in the cool Colorado evenings, it was a very tough course (some runners said it was the toughest they'd ever run), it started at 12:30 instead of the usual morning start time, blah blah blah. It's true that those things played a factor in my crashing and burning but something else played in that I did not expect: My brain.

Now I've only been running for about six months and have never considered myself to be fast, just slow and steady. My goal was just to finish without walking. I had no fantasies of winning anything. After I checked in and got my first race t-shirt, I looked around and saw many people who looked less "runner-like" than I did and felt kind of relieved. There were, of course, the very impressive elite male contestants who let off an aire of confidence and seemed not to even see people like myself in the starting-line gaggle.

And there was the girl I met who seemed to think she was an elite runner, telling me about how she was going to go to Arizona or Alaska to run marathons soon. I actually passed her on the very first part of the first hill because she was walking. That did something for my ego until I decided she was just delusional.

I had run the course the week before to see how bad it was- and it was bad. One hill was a gradual mile-and-a-half of one hundred-foot elevation gain. After that there was a short down-hill jag and then a long son-of-a-bitch half-mile hill. It was also on a gravel trail that made it feel like running in sand. But as bad as it was, I was able to make it without stopping on my "test run". But on race day, it was a different story. As I came down the first hill, usually where I got my second wind, I took one look at the next hill and shut down. The Colorado sun was beating down on me and my throat was parched. I thought there would be a couple of water stops so I hadn't brought any of my own water and that had been a mistake. As I started up the hill, I looked farther ahead and saw that many, if not most, of the other racers were walking. But instead of thinking, "Sissies!" and running past them, I instantly gave myself permission to walk, too. Even though I knew I could do it since I had done it the week before with a hang-over and four hours of sleep (long story).

All the things I had imagined my first race to be went out the window. I run three miles, three times a week with no problem. In fact, I hardly break a sweat. But yesterday there was so much sweat pouring down my legs that I seriously wondered if I'd lost bladder control from exhaustion. I didn't walk for long, but the damage was done. I lost my motivation and just wanted the damn thing to be over. All the happy, upbeat songs in my iPod could not bring me back to the right state of mind. Not even the Hamster Dance. It was bad. Really bad.

I crossed the finish line where my husband and boys were cheering me on. I went straight to the water line and tried not to fall over. My time was 33 minutes, 44 seconds. Just under 11 minutes per mile. UG! My seven-year-old didn't help any by informing me that, "Mom! You were in 140th place!!!" He had counted every runner that came in before me and I totally trust his math. "Well there were some people behind me, too!" I pointed out, but that didn't matter.

After getting home and taking a shower, some Advil and drinking a few gallons of water, I felt disappointed but not heart-broken. After all, I started running to get in shape and can proudly say I've lost 14 pounds and can fit into my "skinny" clothes again. In fact, I'm probably in the best shape of my life. I'm still aggravated at myself for being influenced by the runners who gave up instead of the runners who kept up, but my older boys have begged me to let them run with me next time which lets me know they think I'm cool, even if I was in 140th place.

back in the saddle again

2007-09-07T09:45:00.000-06:00

I walked into the classroom feeing excited and apprehensive. I had no idea what to expect. Would my classmates be a bunch of vapid Stepford wives trying to find their artsy side or would they be suburban hippies smelling of patchouli oil? I picked a potter's wheel and began sorting out my tools. My teacher, who looked like she was about twenty, handed me a bag of clay. I looked around the circle and saw that there were only five of us and besides the teacher, I was the youngest one. It looked like a bunch of grandmothers banded together to sign up for the beginner's pottery wheel class.

"Has any of you ever done this before?" the teacher asked. "I took one class in college about eleven years ago," I said. One other person had some experience as well. Ever since college I had wanted to learn more and get better at the potter's wheel. In fact, my dream career would be to have my own studio and create things from clay all day, every day. I would become an old woman famous for her perfect pots and plates and renowned for her glazes. People would come from around the world to watch me work and pay thousands for just one of my pieces...but first, I had to learn how to correctly throw a cylinder, something that always eluded me back in college. My teacher had been so adamant about us learning that basic step she said we were not even allowed to make anything else until we did it. I managed to create a couple of cylinder-like objects but the sides were uneven in thickness and I knew they were sub-par. I wanted to get onto the good stuff- the pots, bowls and other more interesting shapes. But here I was, eleven years later, ready to get to the bottom of my problem.

The teacher grabbed a chunk of clay and plopped it on her wheel. She demonstrated how you make sure it's good and stuck, then you cone it up and push it down to center it, then stick your thumbs in to open it up. She made it look so easy as she pulled the spinning form open and then proceded to bring the sides up into a perfect cylinder. It was mesmerizing. Then, it was our turn to try.

I plopped my ball of clay onto the wheel and took a deep breath. I dipped my hand into my water bowl to grab my sponge and squeezed some water onto it. Pressing on the pedal with my foot, I cupped my hands around the spinning clay. How I had missed the feel of wet clay in my hands! It seemed pretty stuck so I tried to cone it up and down to make sure it was centered. So far, so good. I stuck my thumbs into the center and watched it open up. After compressing the bottom with my finger I made my first attempt at pulling up the sides. It worked! I did a second pull and, lo and behold, I had a cylinder sitting in front of me. I was feeling very pleased with myself until I looked up and noticed my fellow students staring at me with disdain. "Well, she went to college," one of them said in a half-joking yet somehow menacing way. I explained that I was completely shocked and it was a fluke. After cutting my piece off the wheel and removing it from the glare of the grandmothers, I grabbed some more clay and tried again. Viola! It worked like magic. I had no idea what had happened since the last time I tried to make a cylinder that changed me into a cylinder-making-fool but something in my 34 year-old mind had finally clicked and I got it! Somewhere during the last few years of pregnancy, births, nursing and changing thousands of diapers, I actually gained some clarity.

After making four pieces, one of which I allowed to spin out-of-control off the wheel just so my classmates would still speak to me, I cleaned up my area and left the room. On my way out, the teacher said, "Good job, tonight!" "Thanks," I said, trying to not glow from my success.

Maybe it's the beginning of something. Maybe not. But I'm glad I finally tried again. I wonder what else I might be able to do if I put my 34 year-old mind to it?

back to school

2007-08-22T13:33:00.000-06:00

It's been almost two weeks since school started up and we're finally settling into the new routine. To my total surprise, the little guy loves pre-school and actually cries on mornings that his brothers go to school and he doesn't. He wants me to talk to his teachers to see if he can go every day. I am dumbfounded. The other two used to hang on my legs and scream for mercy every time I dropped them off for the first two months. This guy is too easy. He puts on his backpack with pride and doesn't even look back when I go. It makes me proud and sad at the same time.

I have no pictures I can post of the older two on their first day of school because there are other kids in the pictures and I don't have their parents' permission. But to sum it up, they are all doing well in school so far and I think the year is going to fly by again.

As for me, I might actually have a life beyond children soon! I've signed up for a pottery class, a "Butts & Guts" fitness class, and a Bible Study Fellowship class, all beginning in a week or two. Also, I actually registered for my first 5K run that will be in about three weeks from now. I don't know why but I'm really nervous about it. I have a feeling I'll be left in the dust by the other runners. But I guess my goal will be just to cross the finish line...

breaking up is hard to do

2007-08-17T16:15:00.000-06:00

My life changed forever this week. I will never be the same. It was something I had to do, something I had been planning on for a long time but just was waiting for the right time to make my move. It's embarrassing to admit the standard I was putting up with but here goes: I upgraded from dial-up to high-speed internet. Go ahead and laugh. I know I was the last person in the world to do it but I had my reasons. Notifying everyone from my friends and family to my library and the boys' school of my new email address seemed like too much trouble. But I finally did it and I will never look back.

When I changed my ISP I went ahead and switched my phone and cable to get a really great "bundle" deal. That meant that I had to call and cancel our other services. And I have to ask, since when do people get stalked for changing services? First, I called Earthlink. "How are you doing," the friendly rep asked. "Fine, and you?" I replied. "Well, not too good since I hear you're thinking about leaving the Earthlink family." She said it with genuine disappointment in her voice. Like she was thinking about crying. I actually felt guilty for a moment about leaving my "family" but then immediately switched to defensive mode, feeling that the rest of the call was not going to be any easier. I was right. She did everything but offer sexual favors (I'm sure she does that for the guys) if only I would stay. I finally extricated myself from her web of emotional manipulation and hung up. I then asked my husband if he would please call to cancel with Dish Network because I was emotionally drained from Earthlink. He did and called me back to report that they had done everything short of calling him a dumbass for switching to cable. They warned him: 'You can never come back to us if you leave. And if you dare have the audacity to try you'll have to pay deposits and the first and last month's bills up front.' They said that cable sucked and we would be disappointed. They were just plain rude. But he held strong and did not give in.

So then the phone calls started. All week there has been a "tollfree" number showing up on my caller ID that I figured was a telemarketer. I finally answered out of curiosity and turns out, it's the Dish Network. Calling to find out ever so sweetly why we left them and what they could do to make it up to us? She promised a golden deal with no activation fee and all the movie channels for free if we would come back. What happened to never being able to go back? I wondered. I thanked her for her pathetic offer and hung up. Then I went to get the mail and guess what. There's a letter there from Dish that actually said in big red letters: "LET'S TRY AGAIN! We want to help you! It's never too late!" And goes on to outline the plan by which we can get out of our new deal and return to them.

Now I've gone through a few breakups in high school and college and I can tell you, they are going about it all wrong. If you get dumped, the last thing you do is let on that you want the person back. That is the biggest turn off in the world. If they would answer breezily, "You want to cancel? Okay, see you later." Then people would think, "Oh crap, that was too easy. They must not need me. Maybe I'm not good enough for them? Do they have someone else??" And they'd call back immediately to get reinstated. But I think I'll keep that info to myself and enjoy their groveling for a while longer. But if my house gets papered or my tires get slashed, I have to draw the line there. It's hard to be in the middle of a love triangle but I'm doing my best.

the big D

2007-08-06T17:31:00.000-06:00

What do you do when the man you've shared your life with for over a decade, the father of your children, your soul mate, decides to walk away without even discussing it? Without even giving it a chance with the help of a counselor. Without even considering that he's not only breaking your heart but the innocent hearts of your little boys.

Last week I heard the shocking news from one of my childhood friends that she and her husband will be getting a divorce. I've known her for over 25 years and was the maid of honor in their wedding over 11 years ago. I just couldn't believe it. I still don't.

Divorce is never a good thing, whether there are children involved or not, but when there are it makes it so much worse. Her sons are almost the same age as mine and I can't imagine the hurt and confusion on their faces if we tried to explain to them that "Daddy isn't going to live here anymore." It makes me sick just thinking about it. I've read somewhere before that "Divorce undermines a child's natural assumption that familial relationships are binding." And most adults who have parents who divorced recall it as one of the defining events of their lives.

When there's abuse or unfaithfulness involved, that's a whole different story. But when a spouse is faithful, loving and a good parent, it's just wrong to walk away. I've known of people who left because they were "not in love anymore" or thought the grass was greener somewhere else. I've known people who left because they were basically bored and so self-centered that their personal gratification came above their children's welfare.

This is the first time I've seen divorce with children involved this close up and it is ugly, ugly, ugly. There's just no other way to describe it. So to anyone out there considering it without just cause, please grow up, get some counseling and don't ruin the lives of anyone around you out of your own damn selfishness.

As for my friend, thankfully she has the support of her family and many friends and I know she'll come through this. But she'll never be the same and her boys will never understand why their dad flaked out. There's no excuse. Period.

5

2007-08-03T09:12:00.000-06:00

He is the quintessential boy,
all snips and snails & puppy dog tails.

A modern day Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn rolled into one:
Adventurous, fearless, industrious.

A dichotomy of a boy:
Brooding, dark and strong,
silly, sweet and loving.

A confident, nurturing Big Brother
and watchful, insecure Little Brother.
The Middle Child.

All these things you are
and more you will become.

But for now you're still mine
and how on Earth did you get to be 5?

Happy Birthday Claytie. You're one of a kind and our family wouldn't have been the same without you. I can't wait to see what you do with your life because I know for certain it will be good and it will be exciting to watch (just please, for my sake, wait until you're legal to do the really crazy stuff.)

You are very loved.

silly me

2007-07-29T20:18:00.001-06:00

I can't believe I actually thought I would have more time once summer started and the kids were out of school. Having all three at home 24/7 has really put the hurt on my blogging time. Although there's probably no one out there actually reading this blog anymore, for my own sake I've decided to write a post summarizing what we've been up to this summer.

Running

Way back in March I wrote a post about my new commitment to running and losing weight. I'm very proud to report that I've stuck with it and lost over 12 pounds so far. I never thought it was possible, but I actually enjoy running. At first I could barely run a quarter of a mile but over the last four months, I've worked my way up to three+ miles. And not just ordinary treadmill miles, but outdoor, up and down big hills miles. I'm running about 8-10 miles a week which isn't exactly Olympic or anthing, but it has changed my life. There are so many life lessons in running like:

1. If you're running up a big hill it's best to just look at your feet and concentrate on breathing because if you look up you'll never make it.

2. If you're running a long distance it's best to look way off on the horizon instead of your feet or you'll never make it.

3. Second winds will always come if you can just get past the next big hurdle.

4. Do it even when you don't feel like it and you'll be glad.

So now that I've learned a little physical discipline my next goals are to achieve spriritual and financial discipline.

Pergola

I want to brag on my handy husband a little here. Our big summer home improvement project was this pergola. We had a contractor come out to bid it and then kicked him out of our house. My husband was able to complete it in a fraction of the time at 1/6th the cost. Here are the before and afters:

Texas

We finally made a trip back to Texas as a family for the first time in two years. It was great to see everyone and the boys especially loved hanging out with their cousins. But apparently our blood has thickened up a lot since we've been in Colorado. It had been raining for about a month in Texas and the humidity was stifling. Suffocating. Intolerable. My hair never completely dried the entire time we were there and I didn't need any lotion. There were mosquitoes, scorpions, and fire ants. Things that native Coloradans have never even heard of. Our middle boy got pink eye and we were not the least bit sentimental about seeing out "hometown" again. But here is a funny picture from our plane ride home:

Genetics are a strong thing.

Birthdays

The summer is always a big birthday time for us. One in May, June and July. (I'm working on the last b-day post). It is a lot of work and you wonder if your kids really even appreciate it. After all the generous gifts from friends and family and the grudgingly written thank you's from our boys, we are re-thinking all of it. We refuse to raise ungrateful, spoiled kids and we need to figure out how to avoid that. We realize it's not their fault that they have never known hunger or want. We are all blessed for that. But it's time they knew that others do know what it feels like to be hungry and to not get a big birthday party every year. In the little "suburbia bubble" we live in it's easy to forget how most of the world lives, but I am feeling more and more convicted to do something. Being foster parents may be the route we take.

Neighbor

I have a neighbor across the street that has two boys the same ages as my two oldest. When we first moved here we never really talked to them and had the impression that they were not very friendly. They weren't rude or anything, just not overtly chummy. We lived here for over a year and then somehow our boys finally started playing together. And now they are joined at the hip. My boys wait for them to come home and when they do they spend the entire afternoon playing together. They exchange Pok-e-man cards and play video games. They play in the sprinklers and ride bikes. We cannot pry them apart. And the funny thing is now that I've gotten to know my neighbor (who I thought was not friendly) I've found out she's just like me. She loves to read, she likes her space and she's totally independent. She's a few years older than I am and she's kind of become my role model. She's really laid back and practical. She's almost the only woman I know who is not catty or insecure. If she has a problem, she will say it. And because of that I can always look her in the eye, knowing she's not hiding anything. The other day we were talking, kind of complaining about our kids as most moms are prone to do, and she said, "I love my life....but it can be tough." Something about the way she said "I love me life" got to me. That was the first time I'd heard anyone say that, flippantly or not, in a long time. I love my life, too, and it's good to confirm it in my mind. No matter how hard it can be to be a stay-at-home-mom of three boys, I count myself blessed to be able to do it.

It has been a lesson in how wrong we can be about people. If it hadn't been for my boys, I would have never known my neighbor any better and would have missed out on her friendship.

Hammond's

On a lighter note, in addition to the camping, swimming, parks and other recreational activites we've done this summer, we finally made to to the Hammond's Candy Factory. We'd see it on the Food Network before we even moved to Colorado as one of the top food tours in the country. It's a free tour (but I get the feeling they count on you spending some time in the candy shop at the end as we did.) They were featured in Oprah, Martha Stewart and the Today Show. It was so kid friendly it wasn't even funny. They gave out free samples and then led us on a tour of the factory. When I asked the boys if they'd seen the Oompa Loompas or Willy Wonka, they looked a little scared. Tee hee. Here are some pictures:

Got an itch?

Mike

Now on a more serious note. Last week I was checking the news when a familiar face and name came up: Mike Coolbaugh. I was stunned. Surely it couldn't be the guy I went to high school with! Our star quarterback who was hit in the head with a clip-board by our hotheaded coach during our biggest game of the year. But after doing more research I found out it was indeed him. He was only 35 with a wife and two young boys and a baby on the way. Killed in an instant by a fluke ball.

He was a year ahead of me in high school and I was on the dance team with his little sister. I didn't know him personally but everybody knew of him. He was a nice guy, a star athlete. Gone in an instant.

It left me with an unsettled feeling all week, especially since my husband was sicker than he'd been in our entire marriage. He, who normally goes into work no matter what, missed five days of work. In my mind I was wondering if we would stay here or move back to Texas when he died. Ridiculous, I know, but then again, you never know.

Thank goodness my husband is on the mend now thanks to some powerful antibiotics.

Katrina

It's a guilty secret of mine but I am morbidly fascinated with horrific events. Hurricanes, tsunamis, terrorist attacks, I can't stop watching. And it's coming up on the 2nd anniversary of Katrina. I'm reading a book called The Great Deluge by Douglas Brinkley and it is completely fascinating. Over 600 pages of personal accounts, details and facts about what happened before, during and after the storm. I wasn't surprised to read that Mayor Nagin was the main culprit in what went wrong instead of the President, as many wanted to believe. But the actual level of his incompetence and hubris is staggering. Brinkley has written many historical books that I will probably read next. He lays it out in such an organized, factual way that I can't put the book down. I highly recommend it to anyone else who is morbidly fascinated...

Church

We finally returned to the Episcopal Church this weekend after "running the curcuit" for the past year, trying out every non-denominational mega-church in our zip-code. And it seemed right. I can't believe it but I actually missed "screaming organ #1" and "screaming organ #2." But seriously, there is something comforting in something so old. Compared to the modern services we've been trying out, it was nice to participate in something that felt sacred and intellectual. I know there's a niche for churches that entertain and reach an audience that otherwise might not be reached, but I guess that's not for us after all. I'm looking forward to becoming a part of the church again.

So that's all for now. Summer 2007. A time for physical, spiritual and other personal growth. And only two weeks until school starts!!! Wooo hoooooooo!!! I'll actually have four whole hours a week with NO KIDS AT ALL.....

Imagine the possibilities.

To those of you out there who have four hours a week with no one nagging you or otherwise needing anything from you, if you aren't doing something amazing with that time, shame on you. It's a gift, don't squander it.

lazarus

2007-07-16T09:33:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago we made a fateful trip to a local park that has a crystal-clear stream running through it. I brought along nets and buckets for the boys to catch things in, naively thinking they would be content to look at whatever they came up with and return it to the water when we left. Needless to say, we came home with a crawdad.

Thank goodness for the internet. I was able to research how to create a crawdad habitat and after a quick trip to Walmart and about $20, we were set. The crawdad seemed content in his new home and besides the fact he had sharp claws and couldn't be held, he seemed like a pretty cool pet. He was also apparently a healthy, growing little guy because after just a couple of days he molted, shedding his skin in what appeared to be an exact replica of himself. Totally gross. But thanks again to the internet we learned that this was a good sign and we should leave the skin in the cage for him to eat to replenish his calcium supply.

A couple more weeks went by and it was time for our family vacation to Texas. We enlisted a neighbor who was not intimidated by caring for our animals while we were gone. Our cat, fish, lizard and crawdad were in good hands.

Then on the 4th of July as we were visiting with family and friends in Comfort, Texas, we got the call. Our neighbor informed us the crawdad was dead. Ug. My husband asked him to remove the body but leave the water filter running so it wouldn't get stinky while we were gone. Then we had to decide how to break the news to our son. The same son who had lost a hamster just a few months earlier.

My husband thought that maybe if he presented it in a matter-of-fact way instead of a doom-and-gloom way, our son would take his cue from us and not over-react. He was wrong. After hearing the news, our boy collapsed in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably. We explained to him that it wasn't anybody's fault and we would get him another pet when he was ready. He said he didn't want another pet. He crawled into bed and wanted to be left alone. It didn't help things that he had just contracted pink-eye the day earlier and looked like he'd been beaten with a stick. The "vacation" was not ending on a good note. When he finally recoverd enough to get out of bed, his big brother asked him, "So do you want to die so you can see your crawdad again in heaven?" to which he replied, "No. He's in crawdad heaven." Well duh.

We flew home the next day and didn't get in until late. As we transferred our sleeping children from the truck into their beds, our son peered into the aquarium next to his bed and said, "Dad! I saw my crawdad!" My husband somberly shook his head. "No, buddy. I'm sorry but he's gone." He rolled over and went to sleep.

The next day I got up and started unpacking and getting things back to normal. I checked my email and sadly deleted my crawdad information links from my list of favorites. I wandered into my son's room to open his blinds and lo and behold, there was a crawdad staring at me. I thought, "Great, he left the body in there after all." But then it moved. It was alive. My husband called our neighbor and asked if he had somehow replaced our deceased pet but he said no. When he heard that there was a living crawdad in our tank he said, "No way. I pulled a whole animal out of there and flushed it away." Then it dawned on us: The crawdad had molted, not died! I was elated but my soon-to-be five-year-old boy played it cool. After all the drama when he thought it was dead and he couldn't muster up a whoop or anything. Typical guy.

So the crawdad, previously named "Rex" is now dubbed "Lazarus".

Long live Lazarus.

seven

2007-06-10T22:45:00.000-06:00

Seven years ago today, a blue-eyed, round-faced boy was born. Our first born.

We only thought we knew what it meant to be tired.
We only thought we knew how hard it would be.
'Why didn't anybody explain to us what having a baby would mean?' we wondered.
But is it even possible to explain?

We found out we're a lot stronger than we knew. Endless sleepless nights, hours upon hours upon hours of nursing, bathing, nurturing. All of it worth it.

First smiles, first words, first steps, first grade. How has it gone so fast?

Seven years later we know you so much better. You're an artist, a comedian, a big brother, a perfectionist. A really good boy. You have transformed before our eyes from soft and round to tall and lanky. Sometimes in your face I catch glimpses of the baby you were and the man you will become.

My mind is already calculating: Just eleven years until you leave us. How could this have happened?

We only thought we knew what love was before we had you.

Boy, were we wrong.

nightmare at 9500 feet

2007-06-02T17:21:00.000-06:00

Our first mistake was ignoring our gut instincts. On Thursday night we had to close our windows because the temperature made a sudden drop and our heat actually came on. Hmmmm. We thought. 'If it's this chilly here at 6000 feet above sea level, imagine how cold it might be at 9500 feet tomorrow night when we're camping...' We wondered if we should cancel the trip we'd been planning to one of the state's most revered parks (and that's saying something here in Colorado). We decided to sleep on it.

In the morning, my husband woke up full of energy and started packing. We did have our fancy new zero degree sleeping bags and shiny new cook stove to try out. We were much better prepared than the first time we took the boys camping last summer. And there were older now, too, so that would make it easier.

We loaded our four tons of equipment into the truck (it would be a two night stay, after all) and headed south toward Colorado Springs. The weather was a little sketcky but, oh well. The boys were on cloud nine and about to burst with excitement. After a quick stop for lunch we arrived at the campground in less than two hours.

Even with the overcast skies, it was an amazing park. Right at the base of Pike's Peak with jawdropping views. We checked in and headed toward our reserved site. I had not noticed before that it was a "walk-in" site meaning we would have to carry all of our stuff for about a half-mile. I asked my husband if we should see if there were any others available that we could drive up to. Naaah, he said. It would be more quiet and private with no traffic. He was so happy to be there it did not seem like that far of a hike and besides, he had his trusty dolly to wheel stuff on.

He started making trips to and from the truck while I started assembling the circus tent we would be staying in. The boys played happily and even carried a few things for us. We finished setting up camp just in time. A sudden afternoon shower-turned-sleet storm hit and we dove into our cozy, dry tent. It was fun listening to the ice hit the tent and the boys were thrilled by it. It only lasted a few minutes and then we were able to climb back out.

The rest of the afternoon went quickly as we ate dinner and got prepared for nightfall. That's funny, I thought. I remembered the whole campground being booked up back in March and yet there were so many empty sites. I guessed the weather had kept some people from coming out. Sissies, I thought smugly.

We were worn out from all the work we had done and since it started to rain again, we had no choice but to go to bed when the boys did, around 8:30. Air mattresses, new sleeping bags...aaahhhh...we might just get a good night's sleep I dared say aloud. But just as we were dozing off, the rain let up and our neighbors came out of their tent with their many children and two dogs. They seemed not to notice that everyone else at the campground had turned in for the night. They also seemed to think that campgrounds were great places to train their dog. "Josh. Sit. Josh. Sit. Good dog. Josh. No! Josh. Good dog." We lay in our tent wondering who the hell names their dog "Josh" and when they might decide to shut up so we could sleep. Finally around 10:30 they quieted down and we dozed off.

Then, after what seemed like many hours later, our three year-old woke up coughing and mumbling in his sleep. I bolted out of my sleeping bag and put on my glasses which immediately fogged up because they were frozen. I tried to comfort him and lull him back to sleep and thankfully it worked. I climbed back into my sleeping bag in my three layers of pajamas and coat and held very still, trying to block out the fact that either it had indeed dropped below zero degrees or my "zero degree" sleeping bag might just not be what it claimed to be. Just a few minutes later, the little guy started fussing again and my husband got up to quiet him. Surely, it must be almost dawn. "What time is it?" I asked him. He was squinting at his watch and rubbing it and said, "I don't know because it seems to be frozen." He was finally able to warm it up and tell me the news: It was 11:30. We had only been asleep for an hour and already been awakened by a fussy child twice. Normally, in situations when we're away from home and have a child that won't sleep, we don't hesitate to cut our losses and go home immediately. From experience we've learned that it's never worth it to try to make it through the night. Back in Texas we'd been known to drive from a beach hotel back to the hill country at 2 am. Or from Austin to Comfort in a hailstorm. Back to our own beds where there is a chance for sleep.

So immediately, our minds went there. How can we get out of here??? Ditch the tent? Even then we'd have 20 loads of crap to lug back to the truck past sleeping campers and bears. I briefly considered taking the non-sleeping child to a motel and coming back in the morning. But I had a different idea and it mostly worked. I brought him in to my sleeping bag and cuddled up with him. He started to doze off but my husband and I were wide awake. I had just realized that I needed to pee like a racehorse and there seemed to be an animal rooting around outside our tent. Since we were in the heart of "black bear country" and even had a metal bear-proof box we had to store our food in, I did not want ot risk meeting one face-to-face. So I waited and waited for the intruder to leave.

"Mom, are bears nice?" my boy asked as he drifted off.

"I hope so."

Suddenly, a bright light came on and was shining right on our tent. I lay there getting angrier and angrier thinking about our jerky camp neighbors. Can't they turn that ****ing spotlight off? The nerve!!! They think they own this camp! Then I realized it was not a spotlight. It was the moon. Oh. Well, ****ing moon. Being exhausted, freezing and near my time of month was a very bad combination.

So then the wind picked up and it turned out there was a loose part in the wall of our tent that rolled like a wave and made an annoying, persistent noise. "I didn't know our tent came with its own whirlygig," my husband mused. Then, from sheer exhaustion and circumstances, we got the giggles and I couldn't stop laughing as I laid there freezing, unable to move because of the sleeping toddler in my bed, the moon blinding me and the animal still rooting around outside with my bladder about to explode.

The rest of the night progressed slowly. I'd doze for a while and wake to the sound of my husband praying for death to come. When the sun finally rose, without much discussion and with our heads held high, we began dismantling our camp and lugging our junk back to the truck. Of course, it was uphill on the way back. Our friendly neighbor campers asked brightly, "Leaving so soon?" And we were not ashamed to say, "Hell yes."

When we arrived home and finally unloaded everything, I checked the forecast and it appears our friendly campers are now in the midst of a gigantic thunderstorm that will last for hours.

I'm considering the wording on my craigslist ad, maybe:
Tent, sleeping bags (used once), fancy camp stove (used once). Free, come and get them.

But then again, camping is kind of like child-birth. In the moment, you wonder what the hell you were thinking, but once it's over the pain is almost forgotten.

Almost.

touche

2007-05-31T15:32:00.000-06:00

While riding in the car with my youngest two the other day, a scuffle broke out between them.

"Hey! What's going on back there?!" I demanded.

The three year-old told me through tears, "He hit me!"

I asked the older boy why and he replied, "Because he said he can read my mind!"

I had no idea why that would warrant a hit but the three year-old took up the argument and retorted, "I can read your mind!"

"No you can't."

"Yes, I can!"

Back and forth a few more times until I said, "Okay, if you can read his mind, what is he thinking right now?"

And the three year-old immediately shot back,

wait for it

"He is thinking that I can't read his mind!"

Seriously.

belated birthday blog

2007-05-28T16:58:00.000-06:00

A little over three years ago, the world was graced with the arrival of a new little spirit in the form of a giant baby boy. Since then, he has been growing even bigger and continuing to brighten the lives of his parents and brothers and basically anyone who comes within ten feet of him. Words could never sum him up, but some that describe him are: affectionate, silly, agreeable, pure, eager-to-please and open. He wears his heart on his sleeve and isn't ashamed of it. He still cries whenever I go anywhere without him and as soon as I return, tells me, "Mom, I'm so glad you're home!" Even if I just went to check the mail. He is ever so gracious and will say, "Thank you", for any compliment or positive comment he receives.

"You took a great nap!"

"Thanks."

He is sharp as a tack and creative, too. His brown eyes flash with intelligence and love. He never holds a grudge. And I'm constantly surprised at how easy going he is. When I tell him it's naptime and expect an objection, instead he'll say, "Okay, Mom."

If he had been our first-born we would have been in for a shock with the second two since most children are not nearly as "manageble" as our littlest guy.

He loves to make-believe: vacuuming, mowing, and now cooking. His favorite birthday gifts: a tiny BBQ pit and dish set. He had a Dora birthday party and did not even care about the teasing his brothers gave him. As he was opening his Dora book with a magic wand included it seemed he was oblivious to the taunts coming from behind him. But as soon as it was out, he whirled around, waved his pink wand and said,

"I will disappear you all!"

According the The Birth Order Book, babies of the family are typically entertainers and often end up taking life easy, sometimes too easy. They often have a harder time managing money and finding direction in life. But if he ends up living in our basement until he's 40, that's okay with me. My life wouldn't be the same without him.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Baby!

texas

2007-04-24T22:38:00.000-06:00

This morning as I woke up I heard the sound of rain on the roof. It's an unusual sound here in Colorado, where we have more sunny days than Hawaii. I laid in my cozy bed for as long as I could until two of my sons joined me for a morning snuggle. Finally, out of guilt, I left my warm nest to make my husband's lunch and the boys' breakfast. I remember thinking it seemed like a Texas kind of rain. Long and drenching. Unlike the usual afternoon thunderstorms that tear through here and are gone within hours.

Later on in the day, at the end of April, mind you, the rain turn to snow and so far we've had over 9". Of snow. In April. It was a very bad day. Thank goodness I'd not yet passed on our winter clothes to the friends we send our hand-me-downs to. It was an icky, slushy, gray day. In April. And we could not go out to play.

Then this evening after watching American Idol, I tuned into what I thought was "The Ace of Cakes" on the Food network. Instead, there was Rachael Ray (annoying) doing a show about Austin. She managed to show all the places I'd been or ever hoped to have been...Shady Grove, the Salt Lick, Taco Cabana...and before I knew it, I was in tears. Although I saw how she was sweating as she sat there in "Shady Grove", I actually missed the sweat. The humidity. The heat.

And I've never actually lived in Austin. I've lived all around it and spent lots of time in it, but all of a sudden I felt like that was my home. That was what I had been missing. Forget the Rocky Mountains. Forget the pine trees and good hair days. I am a Texan.

Texas is where my people are. We used to live within an hour of my parents and siblings and my husband's parents and siblings. We still didn't see everyone as much as we'd hoped, but at least there was the option. So far my boys have only two cousins but by the end of the year there will be two more. All in Austin. Is it a sign?

The thought of moving back made my heart leap. To be close to family and friends again. Old friends that really know me. Don't get me wrong, I've met so many wonderful people here and am grateful for them, but we have no history. At least not yet.

I feel like a tree that has just started to put down roots in new soil, but not enough so that re-transplanting it would cause any damage.

telephone tirade

2007-04-15T14:10:00.000-06:00

I have a secret. A deep, dark secret that I've decided to reveal today. It may change things forever but here goes:

I hate talking on the phone.

This is something I've been ashamed of but after recently discovering that my sister has the same feelings, I've decided to come out and admit it to the world. I'm sure it has something to do with our common background. While growing up, if the phone rang at our house my parents would groan and reluctantly answer it, only to get sucked into a two hour conversation because they were too nice to cut people off.

But back then there were no caller ID or answering machines. We have things a lot better now. And because of all the new technology, including email, I find the telephone to be antiquated and frustrating. How often are two people available and in the mood to chit-chat at the very same time? Ever? That's why I love email. You can write a message when it's convenient, and the receiving party can reply when they feel like it. And since you're writing, you can take your time to think things out and edit it to prevent any misunderstandings. It's the perfect mode of communication.

On the rare occasion that I do want to talk on the phone, I like to give my full attention to the person I'm talking to. And since I have three small children who demand most of my time and attention, I have to plan time to visit on the phone or else I'll end up hiding in the pantry, gripping the phone while holding the door closed as the house burns down. If I ever spontaneously pick up the phone to visit with someone, it matters not that my kids were just playing happily, engrossed in a drawing or game. They see I'm distracted and immediately make the most of it. I find myself giving them ice cream, candy, matches...anything to keep them quiet. And then the fights break out and somebody gets hurt.

I also have other pet peeves about the phone. I think call waiting is just plain rude except in the case of an emergency. Otherwise it's as if the person is saying, "Can you wait? There's someone else I like better on the other line." I also hate it when I call someone in the middle of the afternoon and they answer the phone sounding like I just woke them up. I'll say, "I'm sorry, were you sleeping?" And they'll say, "Yeah, but I guess it's okay." I want to say, "Then why did you answer your phone?!" It is possible to turn the ringer off. Or even just ignore it. Don't be annoyed with me for not being psychic!

These days it seems like people are so unable to stand peace and quiet or their own thoughts that they have to be on the phone everywhere at all times. In cars, the grocery store, at school. It's like people are so socially retarded they can't talk to anyone new. They stay in their comfort zone of friends in their own little phone bubble as they blab away. They seem to think they are more loved or important if their phones are ringing constantly. What I see is pure insecurity and loneliness.

It feels good to get this all out so I'll keep going. In the past, I have unintentionally offended some people because I rarely answer the phone and I'm terrible about returning calls. Some people have thought I was mad at them or didn't like them because of it. For that I am sorry. I guess I'm just different. Don't take it personally. But if you do, email me to tell me about it. Thanks.

would you risk your life for a cool piece of furniture off of craigslist, cuz i would

2007-04-13T13:34:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I found the cutest little "shabby chic" dresser on craigslist. I sent the guy ("George") an email and waited but he didn't respond. So I called the number he had in his ad (I hate calling these people- they are usually nuts) and he answered. He was obviously intoxicated and said he was unable to help me with it right then because he was in Vegas next to a swimming pool. Another lady had called about it, too, but he would sell it to me because I "sounded cuter." Okay, I'll take that- the dresser and the compliment from a drunk man in Vegas.

So I joked to my husband about our exchange and told him I would be picking it up the next day. I could see his red alert radar go off but he remained cool. So then the guy called to comfirm the pick-up time and my gallant husband rushed to grab the phone. "Hello? Yes, would you like to take to my WIFE, Nicole?" And he handed it to me. The guy was still drunk and calling from a different place on his way back from Vegas. To me, he sounded like a fifty-something Italian man who liked to talk a lot. We bantered about the weirdos one may come across when dealing with craigslist (the irony of which was lost on George) and finalized the plans.

After I hung up, my breathless husband explained that I should not be going by myself to pick up a dresser from some guy I don't know. I said I was a good judge of character and this guy was harmless. He insisted I take a weapon and be prepared to use it. He said that if the guy tried anything he would "make him wish he had died in a fire as a child." I agreed but he was annoyed with the smirk on my face. I enjoyed seeing him in "protective mode" and couldn't help it.

Plans changed and my husband ended up going with me get the dresser. I was glad he did because it was in a seedy little house and George was a little shifty. But overall, he was a nice guy and he didn't even slit my throat when I backed out of the deal. It just didn't look like it had in the picture.

It's good to know that whenever I need a little extra attention and lovin' from my hubby, all I have to do is strike a deal on a crappy piece of furniture and mention breezily that I'll be going downtown to get it...

no regrets

2007-04-07T23:09:00.000-06:00

Over the years there have been a handful of phone calls that changed everything. Calls that made the whole world look different, almost sideways.

"It's malignant but they think they got it all. You should come now."

"Your father has had a heart attack. We'll know more in the morning."

"I've been in an accident and the ambulance is on the way."

"Your mother had a wreck and is at the hospital. But she'll be okay."

And just Friday, another call. This time not as scary. After all, it's his third heart attack now. He's apparently one tough s.o.b. (figure of speech, of course). We've been through this so many times now it seems almost "normal." The terms we learned the first time around that seemed so foreign: cath lab, stints, nitro, are second nature now.

But yet, once again, it brings home the same feelings. Fear, anger and worry.

How could this happen less than two years after a quadruple bypass? He should have at least ten good years to look forward to.

I'm not ready to lose him. I want him to see my boys grow up and graduate. I want him to be a great-grandfather. He, more than anyone I know, appreciates each day. He spends his time giving to others, traveling around the country and to hospitals to honor and support fellow veterans from long ago and just last week. He's sentimental and soft under his tough exterior. He dotes over his grandsons. "They are just delightful," he says, even after spending an entire day listening to all the noise little boys make.

I try to imagine how it would be to be him, at this point in his life. How would it be to feel like tomorrow is not guaranteed. That you could be leaving your loved ones at any time. I imagine it could really test a person's faith. The questions of, 'What if we're wrong? What if this is all there is?'

But I know my Dad and I doubt his faith ever wavers. He probably knows better than anyone that this isn't all there is. There's just too much evidence to the contrary. And whatever comes next will make this earthly existance seem like a mere moment in the grand scheme of eternity.

And the truth is, tomorrow is guaranteed for no one. Not for the sixty-seven year-old heart patient and not for the two year-old toddler.

Last week my six year-old thought it would be funny to stand in the street and try to get run over because he said he, "Wanted to see heaven." After forcibly removing him I explained that we all want to see heaven but it's not up to us when we will. There's a reason we're here and we need to try to figure out what it is. And as "fun" as it will be to move on to the next world, we can't rush things. And we can't slow things down, either.

We can try to see each day as a gift and love each other so we have no regrets.

the ants go marching

2007-04-04T19:20:00.000-06:00

Once I became a mom, I found myself saying things I never dreamed I'd say. Things I couldn't have imagined even necessary to be said. Things like:

"Would you please stop licking your pee off the patio and come inside?"

or,

"Please try not to stomp on your brother's neck."

Or even,

"Take the underwear off your head and hand me the knife. Now."

And then there are things I never want to hear from my children. Things like,

"Mom, where are my ants?"

But that's the question my six year-old asked last night right before bedtime after examining his ant farm. Usually, upon closer inspection, I locate the ants huddled together in some obscure tunnel but this time they were nowhere to be found. And then I noticed that the lid was slightly ajar. Just loose enough for tiny ants to slip away, unseen.

So now I have a colony of ants parading around my house looking for a new place to burrow and things to eat. And to make things worse I don't even know what kind of ants they are because we found them at the park after the mail order batch mostly died in transit from the extremely cold weather.

Wish me well.

on to something

2007-04-03T12:27:00.000-06:00

As I read another headline about the fifteen captives held by Iran and the predicament we're in (we, being the civilized world), it dawned on me: We need a panel of moms to advise the government on how to handle these situations because dealing with terrorists is a lot like dealing with two-year-olds.

Here is my logic on toddlers and terrorists (T/T's):

1. You can't reason with them. There's no point. It makes you look foolish and gives them power they shouldn't have. You just have to tell them like it is. Any of these "lawmakers" I hear spouting rhetoric about how we should sit down at the table to "talk" to Iran and North Korea has never had a child (or if they did, it was raised by a nanny). Because of their lack of experience with toddlers, they live in a theorhetical la-la land where all people are reasonable and just.

2. If you do foolishly cave to the demands of T/T's, you'll end up paying more in the end. Give and inch and they'll demand a mile.

3. When you don't give T/T's what they want, they will make lots of noise: screaming, jumping up and down, destroying things. For this there is no solution. But giving in after they throw a fit will just make them feel powerful and guarantee more tantrums.

4. T/T's don't understand logic but they do understand a firm tone and consequences for their actions. And they can sense weakness a mile away.

Of course it goes without saying that there are many differences between toddlers and terrorists, as well. But basically, toddlers will someday grow into reasonable, compassionate human beings while terrorists will continue to be a thorn in the side of humanity. Too bad we can't just put them in a big time-out at the bottom of the ocean (just the terrorists, of course!).

it's a small world after all

2007-03-29T10:29:00.000-06:00

Last night at the grocery store check-out, I felt a light touch on my arm and looked up to have a woman ask, "Excuse me, but are you from San Antonio?" Before I even answered, 'Yes,' I recognized her face. "Are you Kristen?" She looked surprised and said she was. She remembered my face but not my name so I re-introduced myself.

I wasn't surprised that she hadn't remember my name. Although we'd been on the high school dance team together years ago, I was a year younger and had been so quiet and shy I was surprised she remembered me at all. But here we were, both of us a couple states away from our old high school, in the same grocery store at the same time.

"Do you have any kids?" she asked. When I told her I had three boys, she excitedly said she had two boys of her own. They've been in Colorado for three years, and it's been almost two for us. We've been literally blocks away from each other, living parallel lives and hadn't run into each other until yesterday. What are the odds?

We exchanged numbers and plan to get the boys together soon. It will be interesting to get to know her all these years later, in a completely different arena. No more high kicks, football games and competitions. Both of us a little heavier and rough around the edges from motherhood. I remember admiring her back then, as a dancer and person. She was one of the few genuinely nice and non-catty girls on the team.

Makes me wonder who else might be near. I should pay closer attention...

a love story

2007-03-21T09:18:00.000-06:00

He stopped by to say 'hi' wearing a crisp white button down and his darkest Wrangler jeans. I was surprised to see him since he usually hung out at my apartment while I worked Saturdays at the Antique Mall. Although he lived over three hours away and was struggling to get his business off the ground while recovering from a broken leg, he'd come to San Marcos to see me almost every weekend for the last five months since we'd reunited. I liked to feel I gave him a safe haven to relax and recharge in after his hellish week in Bryan. We talked about where we might go for dinner that night and then he headed back to my apartment. I didn't even wonder why he had been all dressed up.

After work I drove home to meet him and we decided on a restaurant. I told him that first I needed to feed my friend's dog since she was out of town. On the way there we saw a turtle crossing the very busy road. Knowing my affection for reptiles, he quickly pulled over and I grabbed the little guy. He drove us to the river and I dropped off the grateful turtle.

We ended up at a restaurant on the San Marcos River and had a couple drinks with dinner. He seemed a little distracted but not enough for me to ask him about it. When we were done he asked if I wanted to go out to Five Mile dam, a favorite spot of ours but not a place we normally went on Saturday nights. We usually just rented a movie and stayed home. I was a little perplexed at his request but said I thought we should just head back to my place. Once we returned, he opened the fridge and pulled out a dozen roses. Wow. Then he said he'd forgotten something in the car and would be right back. I started cutting the stems and placing the roses in a vase when suddenly things started to seem in slow motion. He'd given me flowers in the past but he usually sent wildflowers, never roses. And what could he have left in the car? Something was afoot but my mind could not fathom that this might be "it." After dating a non-commital, immature jackass for almost five years and then finally walking away, I could not imagine that this guy I'd been dating for just five months would have the inclination or courage to propose to me.

He walked back into the kitchen of my apartment and asked me to sit down. I was really starting to have an out of body experience at that point and was glad to. He sat next to me and said, "I went to see your parents today." And I said, "What?! Why?" I was still not believing my ears. He waited for it to sink in and then pulled out a burgandy box and set it on the table. He said he wanted to know if I would be his wife and then he opened the box. I was in shock and still had not gotten past the fact that he'd gone to San Antonio that day and asked my parents for their blessings. I said, "Yes!" of course and he put the ring on my finger. He'd had it sized by finding out my ring size from my sister. Everyone had known about it but me! He handed me the phone and said we needed to call everyone because they were all waiting to hear the news. I could still hardly believe it, that we were engaged, but I was happy to spread the news.

He brought out a bottle of champagne and we went outside to drink it together. I lived in an old house that had been converted to apartments and so I had my own backyard. He'd built me a bench swing a couple of months earlier and that's where we sat, with fireflies blinking silently in the dark around us as we sipped our champagne and let it sink in. Our future together. What could it hold?

What will it hold? In nine years we've come so far. Farther than I could have imagined. And even though he had no running water when he asked me to marry him, I never once doubted he was solid in every way.
He has kept his word to my parents, that he would love me and provide for me.
He has surpassed my expectations and inspired me to be a better person.
He has grown as a man, a husband and a father.
He truly is a gift from God.

Happy 9th Anniversary Big Blue! I love you!

spring has sprung

2007-03-11T21:39:00.000-06:00

It finally happened about a week ago. I reached the point where I decided it's about time to do something about this roll of skin that spills out of my jeans when I bend over. There will be no more babies in this baby pocket I've grown, so it's time for the pocket to go!

My husband has always been so flattering and supportive that for the last three years I've been sinking further into denial that I'm getting more and more out of shape with every passing day. And as my doctor so kindly explained to me at my last check-up, as I age it will be easier to gain and harder to lose these extra pounds.

So for a week now I've changed my way of thinking and eating.

No more snacking (not even cheese nips, dammit).
I will eat green things every day.
I don't need to feel like I'm about to pop after very meal.
It will not kill me to feel a hunger pang (gasp) every now and then.
No eating or drinking after 5:30.
Only one drinky drink a week.
No more making chocolate chip cookies just for fun.

And I have taken up running. And I hate running.

But you know what? After just seven days, I see and feel a difference. I thought that after six years and three babies worth of damage, I would have to be patient. But I already feel better. My skin is better, my clothes fit better, and I think I might just get into this running thing.

An iPod would be great so I could listen to Melissa Etheridge for inspiration. Am I the only one who tears up when she sings, "I Run for Life"? I swear that song gives me goosebumps.

But seriously, with my family history of cancer, heart disease and diabetes, I really need to take control. I'm not getting any younger.

I want to set an example for my children and be an inspiration for my husband, as he has been for me. I want to be the mom at the pool this summer that the other moms look at and think "bitch".

This past week as I was conscious of everything I ate, I have become hyper-aware of every commercial I see and hear and it is amazing. No wonder so many Americans are overweight and in debt. There is a constant drumbeat of, "Eat more than you need!" and "Spend more than you have!" And if you're not really thinking about it, it sneaks up and seeps into your subconscious. Our capitalistic society is not into self-control or self-denial in any way, shape or form. Our economy may be doing great, but we need to wake up!

Anyway, my rebellious nature is now fueled to rebel against the marketing machines of corporate fast-food America and that will be my strength!

So as Melissa says, "I run for your mother, your sister, your wife. I run for you and I my friend. I run for life!"

sick kid tips

2007-03-01T22:02:00.000-07:00

After being up all night with a sick toddler, I thought it might be fun to document some of what I've learned about taking care of sick kids over the last six and a half years. Maybe it can be of use to someone out there...

1. Putting a sick child in a bath is usually the best thing to do for pretty much any illness: colds, coughs, and stomach ailments. Even if they have a fever they usually perk right up from the sound and feel of the water.
2. If you have a sick child, play it safe and put a towel on their pillow when they go to bed. That way, in case they don't make it to the toilet you don't have to change the sheets in the middle of the night...just remove the towel and do what you determine is best: wash it or burn it (depending on the viscosity of the vomit).
3. If a sick child throws up down you shirt, don't even try to salvage your bra. Just. throw. it. away.
4. Same goes for diarrhea on any part of your clothes. There's just no point.
5. Don't bother climbing back into your nice, warm bed after cleaning up the vomit all over the bathroom. It's just no use. They have an uncanny knack of knowing exactly when you are all snuggled in, about to hit REM, and they will punish you for it. Better to stand outside their door with your eyes closed and try to sleep. Don't lean on the wall or they will sense that, too. It won't be long before they scream your name again...
6. It is possible for a child to vomit and have diarrhea simultaneously so be prepared. It's best to sit them on the toilet with a trash can in front of them than the other way around.
7. This one I heard about through my sister-in-law: If you've put a bowl in their bed for an emergency (vomit), always treat the bowl as if it's full. Even if it looks like it's not.
8. Always rememeber, they can only be sick for so long and then it will be the next kid's turn. So depending on how many kids you have, use the following calculation to determine when you might sleep again: Z (number of kids you have) X Y (length of illness) = oh never mind. You're never going to sleep again so just forget it.

When oh when will spring be here?????

open letter to my husband

2007-02-28T13:16:00.000-07:00

To the guy who worked as an emu rancher and a bouncer to pay his bills after leaving the Marine Corps.
To the guy who worked construction, made pizzas, delivered chips to convenience stores, and was a tobacco rep at rodeos.
To the guy who sold real estate in the hill-country.
To the guy who worked hard for a man who seemed to be selling nothing, but did it very well.
To the guy who worked and lived in an un-air-conditioned warehouse in Bryan, Texas, breathing poisonous fumes while refinishing furniture, all while on crutches with a broken femur.
To the guy who sold cars on an asphalt parking lot in Texas in August while wearing a suit an tie.
To the guy who worked for a mean, rat-bastard, crooked boss while trying to sell lumber.
To the guy who worked his way up from the bottom in an industry that goes completely against his nature. Sitting in a cubicle taking phone calls all day while having to deal with one incompetent, crazy boss after another.
To the guy who worked two jobs so I could stay home with our babies.
To the guy who kept his chin up and still managed to shine in one horrible work situation after another. Never missing a day, never late once, always doing more than was expected.
To the guy who finally caught a break and was recognized for his work ethic, intelligence and character.
To the guy who is now high in demand, breaking hearts as he climbs the corporate ladder.
You wouldn't be who you are today without your history.
Congratulations on your new job.
I'm so proud of you.

r.i.p. furball

2007-02-07T09:38:00.000-07:00

Well I knew it was just a matter of time. His days with us were numbered. The very first night we had him he escaped from his cage and I only found him because the cat was stalking him. Then last weekend I heard the cat playing with something up on the stairs and arrived just in time to keep the hamster from jumping off the landing. Thankfully, the cat seemed to understand the hamster was part of the family and he didn't use his claws or teeth when he let him out of his cage and batted him around.

But yesterday, was a very bad day. In the morning my son asked me to get the hamster out to play. He usually puts Furball on the table in the playroom and places different tubes and things around for him to climb through. He's an animal lover and has always been gentle and careful with him. So after getting Furball out I went back downstairs to work on bills. A few minutes later, my son asked if I would play with him and his hamster. I went upstairs and noticed right away that something was wrong. Furball was wheezing and kind of hiccupping. I immediately picked him up and put him back in his cage and told my son he needed to rest because it looked like he might be getting a cold. I went and called my husband who surmised that maybe the new wood shavings we'd put in his cage had been too dusty and were making him sick.

I hung up and went back into the playroom and spotted Furball in the fetal position on the floor of his cage. He was gasping and contorting and I could see in his eyes that he was not going to make it. I shooed my son out of the room and tried to collect myself. I asked my son if he knew of anything the hamster may have swallowed or if anything could have happened to change him from the healthy creature he had been just minutes before into the suffering, dying animal he had become. My son looked panicked and said, "Mom, take him to the vet! Maybe he has a bladder infection!" (Our cat had just had one a week before). I explained that he had something worse than that and I was afraid it was too late for the vet.

My son had never experienced the loss of a pet before, especially one that was his very own. One that Santa had brought just a month before. I didn't know how he would react but I didn't have to wait long to find out. First, he ran into the bathroom and locked the door saying, "I didn't do anything!!! Why did Santa bring him if he wasn't going to last long?!!!" It was heartbreaking. I got him to come out and calmly explained that it was not his fault, that hamsters are very fragile and I knew he would never have done anything intentional to hurt him. He said he felt sick so I fixed him a nest on the sofa and gave him some Coke, something we reserve for sick kids. I remembered reading in my Wonder of Boys book that boys often have delayed reactions to emotional situations and don't cry or immediately act out like girls do. They need some time and encouragement to process their emotions.

I went back in to check on the hamster and he was dead. Upon closer look, I saw there was blood on the wood shavings around his head. What on earth? Could dust have caused that??? After discussing it with my husband some more, we became convinced that our son had probably hurt him by accident. Maybe giving him a broken rib and punctured lung from dropping or squishing him. My husband felt strongly that we needed to get our son to tell us the truth or he would be eaten up with guilt forever.

So I went back my boy and told him the story of how I accidentally squished a frog with my knee and killed him when I was a little girl and how I felt so horrible but it really was an accident. He then told me that our cat had "laid on" the hamster and that must have been what happened. I told him that no matter what happened, I would love him and I knew he was a good kid and would never intentionally hurt an animal. His mood changed immediately. He still wouldn't confess to anything but he was very affectionate and friendly for the rest of the day.

I couldn't bear to touch the dead hamster so I left it in the cage until my husband got home. My son kept asking if it had gone to heaven yet. I explained that when people and animals die, our bodies are left behind and we could have a funeral for Furball if he wanted. That sent him spinning again. He flew into a rage and said he was going to leave the house for good. He stormed around acting totally unreasonable and we had to calm him down again. It was the first time I've seen one of my children in real emotional pain and it was everything I could do to keep from falling apart myself. I knew it would just make it worse for him to see me in tears. My husband told him it was okay to feel sad and mad and to cry when we lose things we love. He still remained stoic and angry and defiant. Just CRY!!! I wanted to yell. Get it out!!! But he just didn't.

I was feeling guilty and sad myself. I really liked that little hamster. I enjoyed feeding him and looking at him when he was all curled up in his nest. His tiny toes were perfect and cute. He was so energetic and hard working. If only I had not let my son play with him unsupervised. Why had I thought that a four year-old would always remember to be careful and not get curious about 'what might happen if...'

And because of my misjudgement, an innocent animal suffered a painful death and an innocent little boy is suffering a broken heart.

I guess it's one of those horrible lessons that comes along now and again. A lesson about life, death, trust, and pain.

I don't know if I'm tough enough for this.

incredible shrinking kids

2007-02-05T11:20:00.000-07:00

This weekend something very strange and scary happened.

Not only did the boys shrink to a fraction of their original size, they were traumatized by giant spiders!

And cows!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

But really, we just went to the Denver Art Museum where the first Saturday of the month is FREE! It was very impressive and the boys had a great time. I highly recommend it!

the mysticism of marriage and snow

2007-02-01T11:39:00.000-07:00

Back in Texas I had a friend who drove her children northward for three hours to get to some snow because she wanted them to have the experience of throwing snowballs and making a snowman. They'd never seen snow before and that was the closest it got.

When we first moved to Colorado, we were very excited about the coming winter and surprised by the moans and groans we heard from the Colorado natives. They were not as enthused about the impending snowy season at all. Why not? we wondered.

The first snow came and I still remember getting up in the middle of the night and noticing a soft glow coming through the window. I raised the blinds and my eyes grew wide. Everything was white and sparkling. It was beautiful. The new blanket of snow muted the sounds of the neighborhood and created a quiet peacefulness. It was magical.

Then the blizzards came.

At first, it was exciting and amazing. It was a nice break in our routine and allowed for some bonding between neighbors as we dug out together. We never lost power and had plenty of food so it was kind of fun. And the sledding couldn't have been better.

It's been snowing for almost seven weeks now. Not a typical Colorado winter at all, and we have about four months left until spring. Snow may be pretty to look at, but sooner or later you're going to have to drive in it. And walk in it. And put layers and layers of clothes on each child to allow them to play in it and then take off all those layers and layers of clothes when they come in after spending five minutes outside.

And you have to shovel it.

You may see where I'm going in the snow/marriage analogy.

I recently read an article where the author said it made her sad to see used wedding dresses hanging in resale shops. She thought it was a sign that marriage wasn't viewed as being as mystical as it once was.

I could see her point. I can recall how I felt about it as a little girl and even as a young woman. The fantasy of having a man who treasured me and would want to share a home with me and our many, many babies. He would think I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and never glance another woman's way.

I still remember the feeling of being newly engaged. Wearing the sparkly ring and having everyone ask about it. Making plans for the wedding. Picking out the snowy white dress with sequins and pearls.

And now it's coming up on our ninth aniversary. We've weathered a few blizzards: babies, bills, jobs, moves, family disputes. But I'm fortunate to have married a man who has surpassed all my expectations and encouraged me to be myself. For us, the good has far outweighed the bad.

So to me, marriage is still mystical. A covenant bond between my husband, myself, and God. And when I look at our boys, I never cease to be amazed. The blend of him and me in their little faces and bodies. Biological and magical at the same time.

So even when there's shoveling to be done, it's always worth it because the sledding can't be beat. And when it gets cold, we can warm ourselves by the fire and sip some hot chocolate with lots of tiny, sweet marshmallows.

super shopper

2007-01-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

At the risk of looking like I have only one son instead of three, I have to post a couple more pictures of the little guy. I can't help it! He's just been giving me more photo opps than the other two lately.

Last week he went with me to Sam's and just as we were getting out of the car he asked where his cart was. It hadn't dawned on me to bring his new Christmas gift. He first fell in love with a shopping cart I got him at a garage sale last summer for $1 and he pushed his older brother's lunch in it to school every morning. But, alas, his other brother destroyed it and no amount of epoxy could reattach the handle again and so Santa brought him a shiny new one.

Anyway, seeing the disappointment on his face when I forgot to bring it to Sam's, I took him on another shopping spree to the local grocery store the next day. He was in heaven and piled in as many things as he could fit. I'm sure the other customers thought I was a geek taking pictures of him as he rolled down the aisles, comparing dust pans, but I didn't care. You may notice he had his puppy sitting in the baby seat of his cart...

I don't think they make little boys much cuter than this!

mean girl

2007-01-18T09:41:00.000-07:00

Back in high school, I was on the dance team. The part I loved about it was dancing at the football games and cheering for our team. The part I hated about it was the catty girl culture.

For some reason I tried out for officer when I was a senior and actually made it. I wasn't nearly as good of a dancer as some of the girls but I had a few things going for me:

1. I was squeaky clean. Unlike a lot of the girls, I didn't go to parties and get drunk on the weekends.
2. I wasn't pregnant. This seemed to be something that happened to more than our fair share of team members.
3. I could read and write above a 7th grade level.

Anyway, I was painfully shy and it was waaay out of my comfort zone to be "in charge" of the other girls. I had to issue demerits for infractions such as having a run in your suntan color pantyhose or wearing the wrong leotard. I pretty much had chronic diarrhea my entire senior year from the stress of it all. Nice. At least it kept me skinny!

Also, the girl who was the lead officer ("Colonel") had it in for me because her best friend did not make officer and she thought it was my fault. Her friend was a better dancer but was also one of the ones who could not read/write above a seventh grade level. So the Colonel made it her business to taunt and embarrass me when she could. She took the whole dance team thing very seriously and could not tolerate a less than perfect dancer. The whole idea of it being for fun didn't seem to factor into her plans.

One day, toward the end of our senior year, the entire team was rehearsing for the spring show. The junior girls were given some responsibility since they were about to "take over" and they were teaching a new dance to everyone else. The Colonel and the rest of the senior officers were watching and the Colonel kept talking loudly and laughing and basically distracting the rest of the girls who were trying to teach and learn. I remember it was blatantly rude and even I, with my severe aversion to speaking up, had to say something. So I said something very benign like, "Hey, maybe we should go around the corner to talk so we don't interrupt them." To which she said something along the lines of, "Maybe you should just shut up." And she went right back to blabbing. I stood there with my face burning, feeling totally embarrassed in front of the other officers. They all acted like I was invisible. I turned around and did soemthing totally out of character for me. I walked out of practice and stormed back to our locker room. I was going to leave but I didn't have a car since my parents and I were in the middle of WWIII over my boyfriend. I was going to have to wait for my mom to pick me up. So I went into one of the bathroom stalls and cried tears of anger and frustration that anyone who's had to suffer through high school can relate to.

Finally, I got a little worried that I would get in trouble for leaving without permission and I pulled myself together. I walked back into practice with puffy eyes and ready to fight. But I found the officers and our teacher just sitting in a circle talking as if they hadn't even noticed I was gone. But they stopped talking as I approached and must have surmised from my appearance that I was in no mood to discuss. So they said nothing and I said nothing and we went on our dysfunctional dance team way.

I actually had nightmares about that girl for about two years after I graduated and was disturbed to find out recently that she is the director of a high school dance team in San Antonio. I hope for the sake of those girls that she's changed and has realized that it's not about being perfect, it's also about having fun and trying to bring out the best in all the girls, not just the talented ones.

This post is in response to Jessie's Girl's call for the 'rudest thing anyone said to you'

the clean gene

2007-01-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

One of my youngest son's favorite Christmas gifts is his boy-sized vacuum cleaner. He comes running with it whenever I pull mine out and vacuums right along with me, beaming from ear to ear.

Yesterday I finally remembered to get him some batteries for it so it would seem even more realistic. I wanted to install them right away but we could not find his vacuum anywhere. We looked upstairs, downstairs and in the basement. Finally, he lead us to it...he had parked it next to mine in the pantry.

Later that night when I was about to put him to bed, he was still going at it, back and forth in the corner.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Cleaning up the raisin," he replied.

Sadly, he was trying furiously to vacuum up a raisin stuck in the carpet. He had true faith that his little machine actually had suction powers. I managed to convince him that raisins are just too sticky to be vacuumed up and it had nothing to do with his cleaning abilities. Thankfully he went to bed peacefully, satisfied with his day's work.

If only it did work for real. I would never have to vacuum again...

just let them play!

2007-01-01T17:47:00.000-07:00

When we moved to our new neighborhood, one of the first things I noticed was that everyone and their dog was up to their eyeballs in extra-curricular activities. I was overwhelmed when we got a booklet from our local rec center with pages and pages of classes for children and adults: gymnastics, sports of all kinds, painting, ceramics, karate, and on and on. What should I sign the boys up for? There were plenty of options from age 6 months on up. I couldn't decide, so I asked them. What do you want to do??? Nothing. They were not interested in any of the classes. They just wanted to be at home.

So I backed off. I thought, they're only 2, 4, and 6. They have plenty of time for sports. But every Saturday when we passed field after field with tiny people in fancy uniforms playing games, I started to worry. Should I make my boys sign up? Was I doing them a disservice by not forcing them? Maybe they just didn't know what they were missing and they would thank me for signing them up against their will.

Then recently, my Mom sent me a book called The Hurried Child. It was written over 20 years ago but as I read it, it was as if the author was describing my very own neighborhood. And he had some very different ideas about what was going on. He actually said, in not so many words, that little league was the enemy of childhood. What??? I thought. Blasphemy! But as I read on, he made so much sense. He described the different developmental stages children go through and explained that it is good and healthy for children to be given much free time to play with their friends and create their own games with their own rules. Making them dress up in uniforms and subjecting them to adult rules at a young age is not right. For children, playing is a stress-release and allows them a little freedom from all the confines they are subjected to on a daily basis. Instead of playing for fun, they now have pressure to perform from coaches and parents. He also discouraged organized sports for young children because he said that on any given team, there may be a couple of really good players, but often the rest of the kids feel inadequate and helpless and that leads to self-esteem issues.

I don't remember the last time I've seen a spontaneous game of kick-ball or anything else around here. It just seems like the parents are subjecting their kids to the same kind of rat-race they choose for themselves. Running from practice to practice and not even having enough time for real dinners together. Trying to keep their kids competitive and keep up with the Joneses. Is is really any fun?

I was discussing this with a friend of mine and she had even another perspective on it. She'd recently heard an interview with some soccer players from Spain or Mexico where they were discussing why America can't seem to turn out any real soccer stars. They surmised that American soccer players had no imagination or ability to "think outside of the box" because of the rigid rules they were taught to adhere to. In their countries, children were let loose to play on their own and that lead to new, creative ways of playing.

One last thing that convinced me to just follow my childrens' lead in this area is a visit we had with our neighbor, a former Washington Redskin. I asked him how he found out that he was made to play football. Did his Mom sign him up? Did she dutifully drive him to all his practices and games and cheer him on all the way? No, he said. His parents were both very busy working to support his large family. They didn't even have time to come to his high school games, but he did not expect them to. He was the youngest of six and had one particular older brother who gave him his first helmet and shoulder pads. He said that by the time he was in first grade, he was obsessed with football. He knew all the stats and drove his family and friends crazy talking about them. So basically, he chose football for himself and no one could have stopped him if they'd tried.

I know there are many parents who swearby the benefits of organized sports: team playing, self-discipline, building leadership skills. And I'm sure they are right. But for me, I'm going to wait until they are a little older and they ask me to get them on a team. What's the hurry?

out of gas

2006-12-28T09:04:00.000-07:00

He walked in the door from work last night and said, "Guess what, I can't get any gasoline." He'd stopped at four stations on the way home and everyone was out. What's going on? we wondered. It'd been a week since the blizzard so why would they be out now?

We hopped in his truck on a family expedition to find some gas. His light had just come on so we figured we had at least 20 miles left. My car was running on fumes, too. Just a mile from home we cruised into a station where only half the fuel dispensers were covered up. "Whew! We made it!" we sighed, but as he was getting out to gas up the attendant came over the intercom, "Attention all customers! We are out of gas!" He hopped back in and we brainstormed on where the next closest station was. As we got closer we tried to swallow our panic as we saw lines of cars wrapped around it. It was the same at the next and the next. We turned on the radio to see if the news was explaining what was going on. They were not. We decided we'd better turn towards home before we ran out and had to walk with three boys in the snow. My husband was tense with worry and I wondered: How would I get our two year-old to his morning doctor appointment? How would my husband get to work?

We made it home and made some calls. The station near us said they expected a gas delivery around 10pm. First thing this morning my husband (hero) went out in the cold and filled up both our vehicles. The gas attendant said she was going to be out again by 8am. We'd just made it!

But it's hard to breathe a sigh of relief. The repercussions of the blizzard have struck a chord of panic in me. I've been struggling with fears about what will happen when there's another terrorist attack and I think we've seen a small glimpse of it this week. After the storm the grocery store was almost empty. I rolled the cart down aisles depleted of bread, milk, bananas, meats. We had no mail delivery for a couple of days (gasp!) and we haven't had trash pick-up in two weeks. All minor inconveniences, and livable because we know it won't last forever. But imaginging it on a larger scale is terrifying. It wouldn't take much to cause panic among the masses and a run on food, gas and other supplies. And when you have three young children to worry about, it makes it even more disturbing. We keep extra water and food on hand at all times, but if there was some kind of attack that disrupted the finely tuned system we rely on, how long could we make it in suburbia? There would be mayhem and violence in a battle for survival. It is not a far fetched idea. Not anymore.

Thank goodness we have friends who live in a more secluded area in the mountains with a well as a water supply. Our plan is to head for the hills if something ever goes wrong. That's assuming we have gasoline.

When I hear people screaming that this war is all about oil, I ask them: How do you plan to get to work tomorrow? How do you plan to get your child to the doctor? Or bring your groceries home? How do you think your groceries even get to the store? It wasn't in a hybrid two-door coupe.

Maybe it is about oil. Like it or not, we have to have it. Unless our way of life suddenly changes back into a village system where we can all walk to work and everywhere else we need to go, that's just the way it will be. It will be years before alternate energy sources take up some of the slack. And since we are not allowed to drill for much of the oil in the Gulf of Mexico or Alaska, we will have to hope that all the nutcases in Iran and North Korea and Venezuela will keep their nuttiness to themselves and not screw with us. We can always dream, can't we?

that's what i like about him

2006-12-27T12:41:00.000-07:00

We went to Wal-Mart today looking for a couple of new shovels. Last week's blizzard did ours in as well the one we borrowed from our neighbors. Thankfully it wasn't too crowded, but still, herding three small boys around a super store isn't always easy. They have a tendency to get distracted (who doesn't?) and stop in the middle of the aisle usually right in front of an elderly person with no patience for small people. I'm constantly reminding them,

"Watch out! Pay attention to your surroundings!"

and apologizing to the people who have to stop their carts to keep from running them over. They usually smile tight little smiles of annoyance and keep moving. The boys have no clue they're causing a traffic jam.

So today as we were making our way through to the shovel section I said, "Watch out, Clayton. You're in his way," referring to the ornery man glaring at us. Clayton grudgingly moved to the side and muttered loud enough for all to hear, "Noooo...he's in our way!"

And I thought, "Damn right!" Who's to say that we are in their way??? Everyone has such a sense of entitlement these days and I vow to not raise self-centered children, but he has a point. Why should we always be the ones to go around other people? Why should we duck our heads in polite submission to all the people in such a big hurry? They don't own that store! We're spending our money just like they are. So screw it. I've been trying to raise polite children but in the meantime sending them the message that we have less rights than everyone else. That we are "in the way". No more.

If only I had the confidence and spunk of my four-year old son. That boy is going to go places.

christmas surprise

2006-12-26T19:14:00.000-07:00

Part of the reason I've dropped off of the blogging radar for most of the past month is that I've had some "projects" going on. Christmas projects. I really wanted most of my gifts this year to be original and made by me. I managed to do a couple of paintings and then...there's the desk.

A couple of months ago my oldest son said he wanted his own desk because he just didn't have enough space to draw. So the wheels started turning and since then I've been working on it bit by bit. Since it was a secret I couldn't work on it during the day since I have an entourage following me around the house every waking moment. So I worked on it at night in the basement. The cold, cold basement.

I started with a desk I found on craigslist for $35. When my husband sanded it for me he discovered that it's made of mohogany. I love good old finds!! I wanted something with good "bones" for starters. They just don't make furniture like they used to. Here is the beginning product:

And here is the end result of hours and hours in the cold, cold basement:

I based it on a theme of exploring the mountains, seas and space. I decoupaged his face and his brothers onto the fishermen and the scuba diver finding treasures under the water. Around the desktop I painted in gold: create, love, imagine, smile, believe, sing, dream, give, be, think, draw, write, rest, paint, wonder, play, read, laugh, explore, fly.

On Christmas morning he saw it but didn't get as excited as I'd hoped...but later in the day he was already at work:

So it was worth it all, even if Santa got all the credit. Now I just need to paint the chair...

shame on me

2006-12-17T09:43:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we went for a visit to my sister's and a trip to nearby Boulder, Colorado. It's an ecclectic little college town with colorful people and an artsy atmosphere.

We took the boys to the Pearl Street Mall which is an experience in itself. It's a cobblestone street lined with quaint little shops. Street performers abound with magic tricks, balloon animals and music. It's really interesting and a great place to go if you like to "people watch". But mixed into the festive atmosphere there is another side, a less fortunate side. Unlike the suburban neighborhood we live in, there are beggars, addicts and other darker elements out on the street. There are wheelchair bound cripples who can hardly speak. One man who appeared to have burn scars over most of his body had a sign taped to his wheelchair asking for money to help pay his $300 rent.

When you're out to have fun and shop for presents for your family and friends, seeing these people is not something that makes you very comfortable. You avert your eyes. Or you smile kindly and hand over the small pocket change you have. Who carries cash any more anyway? you ask youself, trying to justify your greed. And if you give to one, you'll have to give to all. And don't they get enough hand outs from all the wealthy Boulder residents?

While my sister went into a shop I stayed in the courtyard with the boys to let them burn off some energy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a homeless man sitting in the grass. He had a backpack and sleeping bag and seemed to be in his own little world. He was pressing on the ground with his hands and mumbling, almost like he was praying. His hair and beard were gray and oily looking and his clothes tattered. My oldest son noticed him and came over to me.

"Mom, what is he doing?"

"Well, he doesn't have a home to go to so he sleeps out here."

His blue eyes widened and he walked away. It was very, very cold and the sun had not even gone down yet. I could see him thinking about it some more.

Is six too young to learn one of the hard truths in life? I wondered if I should have not been so honest.

Moments later he came back over and said, "Mom, we need to give him some money."

I hesitated. I had $10 on me and it was meant for our dinner that night. With all the holiday spending we'd been doing, I was feeling very tight.

"Well...The money I have is for our dinner..." I started to say. "Ohhh.." he said. Disappointed.

Luckily, I was able to snap out of my own little selfish bubble long enough to realize what exactly I was doing. Teaching my son that we have to look out for ourselves and let the poor figure out their own problems. As if I didn't have a fridge full of food at home we could eat instead of eating out.

I dug into my purse and pulled out my wallet. I handed him the money and he ran over to the lonesome figure in the grass. The man accepted it and smiled. My son came loping back over to me looking gratified.

"That was very nice of you," my sister told him. "He'll be able to have a good dinner tonight."

"He doesn't need dinner," he said. "He needs a house!"

"You're right." I said. It's complicated. If only we could all have the heart of a child, then maybe it wouldn't be so complicated.

art and life

2006-12-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

The other day my husband turned on one of those VH1 countdown shows called "100 Most Awesomely Bad Love Songs". Some of the songs they spent over an hour making fun of were:

"I Wanna Go Back" by Eddie Money
"You've Got Me Over Him" by the Jets
"I Would Do anything for Love" by Meatloaf

Just to name a few. The sad thing was that we thought just about every song they listed and tore apart was really good. Some were a little corny, but so what? We were shocked that by today's standards, they were considered dumb. I gawked at the teeny-bopper celebs spouting their opinions and thought: They just don't get it. How can they not like these songs? And then it dawned on me.

OMG. The seventies and eighties have become the good ol' days for me.

Not only were the songs more romantic, movies likeDirty Dancing, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, still give me butterflies in my stomach. Now there's Mean Girls and hacker movies so vile I have to change the channel on the commercials so my boys don't have nightmares.

Even TV Shows were more wholesome. Where are the Little House on the Prairies? The Cosby Shows? Family Ties? The Muppet Shows, for heaven's sake? I can't think of one show on TV these days that shows a stable, happy family. Especially a family with a strong father figure in it. They are a thing of the past.

And lately I can hardly find a G rated movie to take my kids to. For some reason it seems most screen-writers lack the talent and imagination to make kids' movies entertaining and funny without resorting to crudeness and bathroom humor.

So there's the age old question: Does life imitate art or art imitate life?

Either way, I'm concerned. Because apparently we are becoming a more hardened, rude, shallow society. And I know that Meatloaf would agree.

conversations with small boys

2006-11-13T22:39:00.000-07:00

From a few mornings ago when I went to get my two year-old from his bed:

His sippy cup of water had leaked causing him discomfort from a cold, wet pillow. He said with a pout on his little face, "My sippy cup leaked....Only moms say, 'Dammit'?" To which I said, "Yes. I mean No. Even moms can't say dammit. It's a bad word." Where on earth did he hear that word?

From two nights ago when my four year-old came streaking into our room at three in the morning filled with terror thinking he had heard something in his room. As my husband held his trembling body, he said, "I want my addy," to which my husband replied, "I am your Daddy."

I want my addy," he reiterated.

Awww, I thought. He's so scared he's reverting to baby talk.

"I am your daddy," my husband reassured him.

"I WANT MY TEDDY," he stated in exasperation, referring to his red bear he'd chosen to sleep with that night.

Oh.

mama says om theme: heroes

2006-11-09T10:02:00.000-07:00

By nature, little boys want to be heroes. Just take a look around on Halloween night. A solid eighty percent of the boys are dressed as Superman, Batman, Ninja Turtles and other skilled, strong characters. Most of the girls prefer to be princesses, fairies, brides and other pretty pink things.

The toy industry is very aware of the true nature of boys and girls. When money is at stake, the truth comes out. Take a look at the "girl" aisle at the store. It's filled with miles of pink packaging containing Barbies, babies and other soft things. Go around the corner to the "boy" aisle and you'll see action figures, monster trucks and plastic weapons from floor to ceiling. It's actually pretty brazen of them to create these shopping categories when the politically correct would have you believe boys and girls are pretty much the same. If so, why not put the Barbies and trucks on the same aisle? Just mix it all up? Because that would be bad marketing. I've yet to see a pink plastic sword. It just wouldn't sell.

Since little boys harbor the desire to be brave and strong in their little boy hearts, it's just common sense to think that grown men feel the same way. And it couldn't be a worse time to be a man. Our society is industrialized and generally safe. There's no real need for them hunt or fish to provide for their villages. They never get to fight bears. Instead, they get to wear suits and ties and drive miles and miles in traffic just to sit in a fluorescent office cubicle all day. And if they dare do something chivalrous like open a door for a woman (gasp!), they get their heads bitten off. We don't need them to do that! We can do it ourselves! At least that's the feminist line.

I think we've all lost out by trying to tame our men. We send the message that they should be more gentle, soft, and communicative. More like women. And for some reason we feel the pressure to be more tough and aggressive. More like men. Sometimes I wonder if men and women were created to be different so we might rely on each other a little more. Balance each other out. If we strive to become all alike, what's the point?

So as I send my son off to school in his Rescue Hero undies, Ninja Turtle t-shirt, Spiderman backpack, toting his Superman lunch box, my heart aches a little. He's still safely ensconced in a childhood culture where it's good to want to be brave and strong. I hope by the time he's grown, our society will have come full circle and realized that we really do need our men to be real men. Big, strong, brave, hairy men. And it's okay.

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things to do on a snowy day

2006-10-26T19:17:00.000-06:00

Around 3am this morning it started snowing and didn't stop for about 12 hours. As a result, we had about 18" of snow to enjoy and it just so happened my husband was off of work and my boys were out of school. So we had a busy day together.

We went sledding, and there's nothing like having your two year-old say, "I love it!" as you're about to take off down the hill for the seventh time with him on your lap.

We built an awesome fort with our neighbors and then had a snowball fight:

We made cool things out of clay (this one compliments of my middle boy):

We had a play date with two of the boys' favorite friends and drank hot chocolate with way too many marshmallows. My husband managed to serve it all up with a crow perched on his head. He's so talented (actually that was just a funny camera angle, the bird is up on the cabinets.)

But even with as much fun as we had, I think Fangun had the best idea of all:

I guess it's just a little hard to curl up on a cozy bed as the snow falls outside when you have three or five little boys to keep busy. I have to say, snow rocks.

extended family

2006-10-24T13:28:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, a lot of times actually, I feel like I was born at the wrong time. The 21st century just isn't for me. I don't like new houses with their miles and miles of white sheetrocked walls. I like old, rickety, musty homes with real hardwood woods. I don't like technical thingies. I don't own a flatscreen tv, an iPod, a laptop and I just don't care about them. I am grateful for the internet, of course, but I could live without it if I had to.

I've read a couple books in the past few months that talk a lot about how in the American "old days" and in many other cultures still, extended family is a huge part of life. When a new baby is born into a family, the mother, sisters, aunts and grandmothers are there to support the new mother, offering advice and helping out with the huge task of raising a child. Children have many adult role models within their family to look up to and learn from and parents have the emotional support they need to best raise healthy kids.

It seems that our society has become very individualistic in recent decades. Now, parents are expected to do it all on their own. Discipline, teach, love and all the other work that goes along with parenting. It's a huge undertaking and going it alone puts a strain on parents, marriages and children. I'm willing to bet that the divorce rate has risen because this seperation of family.

Sometimes, lack of extended family is not a matter of choice. People often have to move far away from their family because of jobs. But a lot of times, even if family is nearby, people are still in their own little bubbles. Often grandparents are afraid to "butt in" and give advice. And a lot of parents like it that way. We may not realize the value of their experience and how much we can benefit from it, or how much our children could. And so we happily turn our children over to daycares and our aging parents over to nursing homes. And everyone is so damn lonely and can't figure out why.

One of the solutions I read about is simply to build a new "extended family" around yourself. People that are not blood relatives but people you can still count on when you need help. I'm happy to say we've had some success in this area since moving out-of-state. I have a wonderful neighbor who I can call if my kids are sick and she'll help in any way she can. Although we are both very self-reliant, we have let down our guard and reached the level that we can borrow humidifiers and vacuum cleaners from each other when necessary. We also have another set of friends we really enjoy that our sons have pretty much adopted into the family. Our two year-old even calls them "Gram Gram" since he associates that with family. We are thankful for them all.

Basically, we need all the help we can get. And it feels good to help other parents out, too. I just wish that as a society we could go back a few dozen years and remember that people are what matter. Not the rat race so many of us are running toward a finish line that will be here before we know it. We need to turn off the cell phone, iPods, even the computers and really, truly connect.

family folklore

2006-10-19T12:47:00.000-06:00

I read something recently reminding me of how important it is to tell your children stories about your life to keep the "family folklore" alive. So last night as I was visiting with my oldest boy, as is custom at bedtime each night, I decided to tell him a story about his Aunt Lisa. A story my mother had told me many times when I was little.

One day my mom and sister were at the mall doing some shopping. My sister was very small, maybe two or three. As they were coming to the top of an escalator my sister put her hands down on a step and was about to have them pulled under the grates at the top of the escalator. Out of nowhere, as the story goes, a man swooped down and picked her up, saving her fingers from being pulled into the machinery. He handed her off to my mom and disappeared before she could even say think you. According to my mom, he must have been an angel. Possibly my sister's personal guardian angel. There at the right place, the right time, and then disappearing mysteriously.

Cole was captivated by the story. But I didn't realize just what an impression it made until a while later he told my husband that the story "made him feel like crying tears of joy." This from a very non-melodramatic kind of kid. So I know he really meant it.

Just wait until he hears some of the other tidbits we've got hidden in our collective family histories. Stories involving bb guns, leopard frogs, haunted houses, scrapes with death and ex-boyfriends and girlfriends. Well, maybe we'll leave that last part out. Some things aren't worth keeping in the family folklore. I'm sure my mom would agree. Just ask her about "Torchy", but be sure to duck after you do.

mama says om theme: life

2006-10-15T13:23:00.000-06:00

She stepped up to the podium that day carrying what looked like a miniature black suitcase and explained to us how she'd gone to the biology department to borrow something for her speech. As she spoke, she carefully opened the case and gingerly removed the contents. Slowly, she began unwrapping the mysterious item as she gave further detail about the endangered animal species she had based her speech on. At last she revealed a delicate, spotted egg to the class. The egg of an endangered bird! We were stunned that she'd been able to talk anyone in the biology department into allowing her to take the valuable egg off their premises.

She asked if we'd like to see it close up. We nodded in silence and she stepped forward, catching the corner of the table with her hip. In slow-motion, she fell forward and the fragile egg went flying out of her hand. A collective gasp of horror went up from the class as it hit the linoleum floor and shattered into a puddle of shell and yolk. No one breathed. We watched her reaction, expecting her to run crying out of the room, but to our amazement she composed herself and returned to the lectern.

She gave us a moment to let the shock wear off and then surprised us again. The egg was not an unusual egg after all. Just an ordinary bird's egg she'd found near her dorm on campus. We were relieved but perplexed. She asked us why we were so upset when we thought it was an endangered species she had just destroyed. After all, it was just an egg. Not a living thing. She was leading us down the path of a totally different subject we had not seen coming. The true topic of her speech: abortion.

She had a point. Why did we panic when she dropped what we thought was an egg containing an endangered animal? It wasn't fully developed yet. It hadn't hatched. If we acknowledged that given time and left uninterrupted it had the potential to grow into a full-fledged bird, how would that translate when it came to a human fetus? An animal with a soul?

Years later when I heard the heartbeats of each of my three children at just six weeks of pregnancy and felt life fluttering within me a few weeks later, I knew that my body was no longer just mine. It was a vessel for their bodies. They had their own hearts, their own tiny hands with unique fingerprints already forming. They had all the ingredients needed to create the beautiful people they are today. All they needed was time.

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