FIVE!

Christmas Cards

I am sharing a post from Hollywood Housewife on Christmas Cards.  I agree with nearly every one of her criteria.  Although, I am sure both us aren't necessarily judging...just, um...commenting. 

My plan for this year shouldn't be too difficult to pull off.  I say that every year, don't I?  You can see some of my past cards here and here.


By the way:  Our house is still for sale.  We have had four showings in three days.  This is the way to do it:  get my money out of the cleaning.

What I Need to Live Up to...

If I have any complaint about BB's preschool it is this.  Too. Many. Birthday Parties.  While the parties don't compare to the likes of Hollywood celebrities or even the articles you read about life in The Big City.  They are still more than I think a five year old needs.  (or a three year old--she's getting invited, too.)  I have no idea how parents are planning to top themselves each year.

For many reason we aren't having a party this year.  I mean we ARE.  It just won't look like the last four parties....no grandparents, no invitations (yet)...Instead, we are heading to A BIG CITY to hang out as a family at a museum and then look at the Christmas lights.  On Thursday we'll let BB pick his meal.  He'll bring a goodie bag to school for each classmate (because we can't bring food...)  Sometime soon we are planning a special "play date" with three of his friends from school.  I imagine there will be cake, an activity and it will feel a bit like a party to a five year old.

This week I need to figure out how many of last years traditions I want to recreate. I best get busy...

What I've Been Up To...

For my new nephew. (it is in the mail and I am pretty sure my sister isn't checking in on my blog these days...)

 Love this!  I almost bought a pre-made pot, but am so pleased with how it turned out.

The decorating style of the nearly f-i-v-e year old!

Regretting this purchase.  :)

The Strong One

Are you an oldest child?  Are you the "strong one?"  Neither are bad ways of being (or being perceived), but there are some challenges.  My dear friend who writes at The Emmaus Road wrote a beautiful devotional piece on being strong and taking care of each other--it brought me to tears.  So often I forget that the hallmarks of my faith tradition are vulnerability, weakness and God's ability to bring life out of our human frailty.

I can't do much about people's impression of me, but I can learn to cut myself some slack.  I am strong.  But I don't always have to be....God can work with me, either way.

Third Date

Surely, the third visit is when you fall in love with a house, right?

Our house is still for sale.

But people are coming for the third look tomorrow.  Keeping my hopes in check.



*Anyone have any insightful or interesting thoughts on John's Bread of Life idea? (John 6:25...) The service on Sunday isn't using the Lectionary texts.

Lighter Matters.

Literally.  We are moving on to a topic that is lighter.  This is a mystery in my life right now...
 

 These are my jeans.  The top pair are the jeans I wore most of last fall and winter.  The bottom pair is my current go-to jean.

On both of these pants you will notice a lighter coloring on my left knee.  (The most recent one looks like the right knee is showing similar wear. But no where near the effect the left knee has.)

Why?

Yes, I am serious.  Why is this happening?

Soft Hearts

It seems to me one of the most unattractive qualities in a person is a hardened heart.  Cynical.  Cold.  Harsh.  I can come across as possessing a number of these attributes.  But for those who know me well, or the most deeply, they know it is all a facade.  (ok, sarcastic humor is just...me.)  If I actually went about life as exposed and in touch with everyone's emotions as I could be, I'd be in a perpetual crying jag.  That is so attractive.  Not always helpful.  Or, necessary.

Instead, I layer on protective armor.  Silence.  Rants and anger at those with whom I feel the most secure.  Eye rolls.  Avoidance, can be useful as well.  Plugging my ears and singing 'La, la, la' can be helpful.  So can closing my eyes and focusing only on my family.  "If the three around me are ok, everyone must be ok."

The trick becomes, in how to protect the heart with out hardening it too much.  Reality is, a heart needs the bumps and bruises in order to remain soft.  I must hear the stories people have to tell and feel their life, in order to more fully experience mine.  And beyond me, to more fully experience God.

On this All Saints Sunday, I can across one too many heart softening blows.  None of directly impacts my life or my heart...except God's heart is keeping beat with all of ours.  As I went to bed last night, I felt battle weary.

At church today we learned a neighbor across the street had died.  We had noticed action, but had never put much of the story together.  We remember him as a helpful, cheerful and kind man, with fun stories to share.  We feel--guilty? sad? careless?-that we weren't more in tune with the activity we saw.

Again at church, I learned of suicide of a young man whose life is connected to our congregation.

I have had a woman from our congregation on my mind for weeks...ever since I saw her beaming face at Target.  She was a month away from giving birth to her first child.  I was sure I was thinking about her so that our mom's group could bring her a meal and welcome her into our network.  I learned today she lost the baby and her ability to have any future children to a horribly rare pregnancy risk.  This hit too close to home.  Plus, my mothering heart aches for her and what is a particularly gut wrenching type of grief.

And then, amidst the glorious fall colors of a high school cross country running race (is there anything so inspiring as young athletes and the spirit of the spectators?) one of my favorite aunt's by marriage confided that her only sibling/sister has pancreatic cancer.  There is no armor strong enough to stop the tears when that diagnosis is proclaimed.  So I didn't.  Neither did my aunt.  We let a few tears fall and learned that our hearts beat together.

From my own experience I know the comfort in finding people who will acknowledge the horror of this cancer.  I remember the blank stares or pep talks of how "all will be ok." I remember the lonely feeling that came from knowing time with a loved just became increasing precious...and short.  I gave thanks for the soft hearts that cried with me, allowed me to, and walked into the darkness with me.

While I don't find it interesting or attractive, I understand how hearts are hardened.  I see the appeal.  It just isn't for me.

No Comment.

Our house is still for sale.

Repairing His First Love

This is BB's Bunny Bear.  You can read about him/her here.   BB, my son, has a bad habit of chewing on Bunny Bear right now.  To describe the results in words is pretty grotesque--so I will leave you to look upon the poor little guy.

In a moment of maternal love, I decided to help both BB and Bunny Bear.

I took a try at repair.  I dumped out the stuffing.  I sewed up the arms and cut up my t-shirt to make a new face.  The new eyes, nose, and mouth leave something to be desired.  I may give a try at the face another day.

  I tucked Bunny Bear in with BB last night.  The slight smile on my son's face was priceless.  I'm not sure who needs Bunny Bear to stick around a bit longer, my son or his mother.  The growth spurt on BB is going too fast, and if fixing a bear from his toddler days keeps him this side of baby-hood, I am going to work very hard to keep this little bear whole for as long as possible.

VOTE!!!

I know most people don't share my passion for all things political...but Election Day should be a holiday.  Celebrate this blessing and hard fought right.  I think it matters who you vote for...but any one who reads this knows my thoughts.  (although I must say where I am voting today, it is a choice between bad and worse, across the state...BUT I am still voting.)

All I will say is this...my home state of Minnesota better remember who they are and what makes them great among the other 50 states.  Don't make me come back there so I can campaign and vote....please, oh, please see the error of this congresswoman's ways!!!!

Going to be a late night for me...watching the results, and my blood pressure get high.  I love it!

Vote!

Better than Jazzercise

At 2:45 I got a call asking if I could show my house at 4:00pm.  Because I usually weigh situations from the perspective of "how I would do things" I figured if someone called on such short notice they must need a house ASAP. (Translation: I couldn't imagine making someone get ready for a house showing on such short notice unless I loved the house and needed to buy it today.)  So, I negotiated for 4:30 and said, "yes."

Then I....
locked the kids outside. (literally)
put cider on the stove to mull.
lite a candle.
threw all misc coats, sweatshirts, school and work bags, and paperwork from the office in to the car.
put all dirty clothing in baskets and put them in the "laundry room."
put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher...with the current clean ones.  No time to put away.
put the two baskets of clean laundry that I was folding down stairs in the "laundry area."
vacuumed.
made three beds.
cleaned up two bathrooms and a kitchen.
yelled at the kids to pick up the back yard and come inside.
put the kids in the car.
ran the swifter wet mop over the floors.
started some quiet music.
and I grabbed some candy for the kids and water for myself.  It was now 4:10.

Once in the car we circled the block and waited.  (Over time I have learned to just wait unless I have other things I must do.)

They came at 4:38pm.
They left at 4:48pm.

I have a flip book of quotes by my bed.  The quote (paraphrased) right now is, "if you can't change something, change how you think about it."

Here's how I am choosing to think about this...I got my workout in for today.

and...wait for it. 
Our house is still for sale.

I'd Say it Was a Carnival.

Raffle baskets are a difficult concept for a 4 (3/4) year old.  All he saw was a HUGE basket with Legos piled high inside.  He walked by it, stopped to smell it, touched it a bit, wiped his drool off of the table it was set up on and dove into the carnival games.

We went to the kids' school Fall Fest Carnival last night.  In case you missed that in my warm up.

I was feeling generous in my "support the school" spirit and purchased way too may tickets for any 4 and 2 year old to work through (especially at 6pm).  We fished for plastic fish.  We weighed our odds and grabbed ducks out a pond.  We threw rope circles on to the horns of a plastic bull.  We sent disks down a pegged board, trying to get 5 prize tickets.  We picked our suckers from the Lollipop Tree in hopes of finding one with the right color on the bottom.  Many, if not most of the games had an element of 'chance' to them.  BB and Michael ignored this...just enjoying the process of handing over a ticket and then never really understanding that they could have gotten more prize tickets, had they Lady Luck gone their way.

At least I thought that was what was going on.  Once we had done all the games, BB announced it was time to head over to collect his prize.  He headed in the exact opposite direction of the actual prize table.  "BB, it is over here."  Then I saw where he was headed with his 30 prize tickets.  The Lego Raffle Basket.
"BB, those are a special, different part of the night.  The adults bought tickets and put them in each basket for....a chance at winning.  They may not call our names." (and your mother never wins anything...so don't hang with me, kid.)

This did not go over well.  While I think he got the message that we may not win, he never fully absorbed the game rules.  I think it had a hard time making it through the layers of his imagination that had him taking home that box of Lego sets.

We got him over the the prize table.  To make matters worse the only way he could get what he wanted was to pool resources with little 'Miss I've Been Pouting and Crying and Making Daddy's Life Miserable for that Last 15 Mins While Mommy Talks to People.'  She didn't honestly get any of the economics of the night, so she never knew she gave My Husband permission to hand over her prize tickets to BB.  50 tickets got them a cowboy hat.  to. share.

Then the raffle started and BB and his his best bud caught wind of this.  The two of them got front row seats.  My Husband was done with the night and took Michael to the car.  I waited with friends and BB until the Lego Basket came up.

You know this story doesn't have a happy ending.

Perhaps, the worst part of the whole thing was the face and attitude of the boy who won.  I imagine that he didn't realize what the heck was going on any more than my kids did, so I give him that.  But seriously, kid, you just won THE LEGO BASKET.  THE LEGO BASKET.  He calmly stood to accept his prize.  His face registered no joy, no interest, no enthusiasm...at. all.  He calmly took it, nearly falling at the weight of the box, and sat down.  Where was the passion?  Come, on!!!  If you would have looked across the room, you would have seen what passion looks like--Sad, hot tears on the face of a little boy clinging to his mom's legs.  It wasn't pretty.  It got loud.

We had a great night.  No, seriously.  It didn't end well.  It ended loud and angry.  People had very hurt feelings.  We feel things around here.  We feel them deeply. We feel them for a long, long time...well into bed time.  Well after Mom and Dad have shut the doors and turned off the lights...the passion continues.

This morning, everyone woke up happy.  No one is mentioning the night before.

It was a carnival.


p.s.  I nearly forgot...our house is still for sale.

Frightening

A really nice byproduct of having a blog is the ready made filing cabinet for my memories.  Today, I looked back at what I did last Oct.  Apparently, I was on speed.  On Oct. 29, 2009, I was making birthday invitations for a party six weeks away.  Hum.  I do have the cookies on my mind for Oct. 29, 2010.  But the party planning is nowhere on my agenda.  (although BB does talk about his 'theme' and gift list daily hourly.)

I have no idea where we will be for his birthday.  And, I have not yet committed to a 'friend' party.  I'm in denial that I will have a five year old.

And, ya, know....our house is still for sale.

CaNdY!!!!!

First.  Our house is still for sale.

Apparently, Halloween is becoming a holiday we celebrate for weeks on end.  The kids have already been to two "Fall Festivals."  Both of which involved CaNdY.  Bags of CaNdY.

We've had some interesting "quiet times."  Instead of doling out CaNdY slowly, or hiding it, (and eating it myself) or buying it back, I am letting the kiddos eat it all.  At one sitting. 

Or, rather at their own pace.  As it turns out they actually pace themselves.  To their mother who has never really understood delayed gratification and has a mild addiction to food sugar, their behavior is odd.

But because of this addiction, and some emphasis on, ya know, nutrition, we never rarely have candy in the house. I figure once a season they might as well go crazy.  It is an odd move in today's parenting world.  I'm not sure if it is a conscience decision on my part or lazy parenting...either way, we are enjoying this week(s) of CaNdY!

8:00am to 2:00pm with 3,4,5 yr olds

If you know me, the title alone should get you in your car to bring me a glass of wine.  It has been a long day.  I volunteered for it.  The first half of the day, that is.  Then the field trip got moved to the afternoon.  And, three hours turned into five.
The greatest lesson I learned was that my nearly five year old is a) normal and b) is doing just fine.  While still unable to sit still and a bit bossy, he exhibits many other good qualities that I am, in fact, happy about.

And, p.s. our house is still for sale.

I live up to my name...

Yes, I'm sure you were looking for an actual post.  One with words and updates.  Perhaps, just a thoughtful reflection on an event.
Sorry.
I redecorated, instead.
The blue is too much like my high school color.  But it matches the blue on the ladder better than any purple I could find create. Rest assured I will play with it a bit more.
Our house is still for sale, so I am redecorating my blog to release my creative energy.

I Don't Do That

I have a review for work this afternoon.  Last night as I was filling out the form, I realized that I don't actually have a job description.  This past year I have done bits and pieces of what was asked and what I felt like doing.  While I will try to clarify my role today in the review, it doesn't completely bother me.

As I was thinking this over I read a chapter in the book Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist.  She talked about how she needed to define her own job description.  Especially, when it came to motherhood.  She wrote about how helpful it was to write out not only a list of what you do like to do, and have to accomplish, but also a list of what you don't do.

I'm pondering this thought.

I realized I don't make Halloween costumes.  That one is coming off my list of "things I feel I should do."
While it might seem that my creative energies would be all about the costume creation.  Halloween always sneaks up on me and I feel pressure rather than enjoyment.  Apparently, there are other things I'd rather be doing during the month of October.

Job descriptions are reviewed on a yearly basis so we'll see what next year brings.  But right now, I am giving my self permission to buy a costume, should it come to that.

It would also be mighty helpful if the costume wearers liked to a) wear costumes and b) could make up his mind.

Reunion

Whether my parents intended it or not, my most influential and important extended family, isn't family at all.  We don't share any common genetics, or last names, or great grandparents.

What the first generation shares is common professors, and meals in a shared dining hall and stories from college housing...fraught with mild mischief.  Nine people...some of whom married each other, some never married, some married from "the outside"...went on to form this group.  Over the past 40 plus years, they gathered for parties and  long weekends where they camped at each others houses.  They shared casual get togethers and wove their lives together as tightly as any DNA could have.

Only one person beyond the first generation holds a degree from the college campus that started it all.  The second generation has been dragged brought  back for more than one homecoming and we could tell the folklore of the campus art and even share stories from a magical Pink House.  We are busy bringing up and bringing in the third generation of this family.

This weekend is my 15 year reunion for my college class.  My husband and I met there our junior year.  He lived for two years in an honor house with many men.  I lived with roommates I no longer keep in touch with and then by myself...in blissful heaven for a year.  I spent my college days in the, now seemingly ridiculous, pursuit of athletic dreams.  My teammates and I had lost contact with each other by 1996.

Due to my the influence and mythic importance I put on my parent's friends, I have always had vulnerable spot when it comes to the topic of college friends and my lack there of.

The men from my husband's college house all (nearly all) married women from our college.  The women get together every year.  I don't know if the men do, but they will all be together at the reunion this weekend.  Through the magic of Facebook, I am 'friends' with these women.  Their get togethers make me a little sad...jealous perhaps.  Frustrated that I didn't know what I would be missing out on when I passed on their offers of friendship 15 years prior.

In the end we aren't going to the reunion due to our schedule.  The trip to my home state can only be done so many times in one month and the reunion got cut.  I would have loved to be there.  A decade and a half has healed many insecurities and settled me in my own skin.  I was looking forward to seeing familiar faces again and catching up in person.  I was interested in meeting people I should have met 15 years ago.

Then it hit me as to how it is slightly odd that so much emphasis is placed on these four years of our life.  I decided to cut myself a little slack.  Since 1995, I have been a part of numerous groups with whom I would love to catch up.  I wondered what makes our college years so poignant and holy?  It isn't 'ba hum bug' or even insecurity that asks the question...I just wonder.

I will never have what my parents have with their college friends.  What I have is a person here and a dear one there.  My friends and soul mates are spread out across the country.  Stories and moments scattered and sent.  Memories from Habitat training classes and my work colleagues at my first 'real' job fill me with joy and energy.  I cherish my seminary classmates and perhaps that is where my reunion energy will land.

All of this wistful looking backwards has taught me that friendships take time, cultivation....they don't just happen. When they do, one should take great care with them and be very grateful to be apart of it.  Even if you are in the second generation.

This is a lesson I learned in college.

Um. Yah. Yah.  Be sure to listen to the song as well.

Traditions are Important

Have I ever told you about our night time rituals?  We have the basic dinner, then play outside with Dad until Mom calls you in routine.  This is the point where I imagine our family splits from anything you'd see on prime time family sitcoms.

The kids head to their rooms to get ready for a bath...but instead of heading directly to the bathroom for a shower or bath, they take a turn into the living room for what we like to call, "The Naked Dance Party."  (only the children are naked)  Like any good tradition it developed over time.  What once was a simple spin around the room before bath has morphed into a full on dance event.

I turn on music...our favorite mix is my ipod playlist simply titled, "Run."  It is a mix of Will.i.am, Black Eyed Peas, Queen and U2.  Very soothing before bedtime.

The kids dance around the living room for about 15 mins.  BB has a lot of ballet moves. Graceful leg kicks and plies turns. Arms held above his head.  EG/Michael has more of a "hands in the air, wave them around" feel to her dance.  She also really likes spinning as a raw art form.  "I dizzy, I dizzy, I dizzy....OHHHHHH, I going to fall down."

My husband and I dance as well.  We laugh a lot, too.

Then they take a bath or shower.  The kids try to get back on the dance floor but we corral them into underwear and pjs.

I thought you'd enjoy this visual. 

I've been gone a bit, I felt I owned you something special to hang on to as you head into the weekend.

Annnnd....We're Back.

Today is the day we visit Michael and BB's classrooms.  I will bring the stroller so I can carry the mountain of school supplies we need to bring along.

I will be going as a Cyclops (that's the monster with one eye in the middle of its forehead, right?) as I have a rather large pimple right between my eyes.  I am concerned about popping it, due to its location.  I would hate to get an internal infection into my brain lining and thus die from a pimple.  (I swear my DAD told me this myth at some point.)

I can not get into my hotmail account.  The amount of use this one application in my life gets is frightening...especially when I realize how much information I have stored within the annals of my account.

Welcome to September...here we go!

Michael

Everyone handles stress differently.  I get that.  I'm open to a range of coping mechanisms.  There is the teeny, tiny possibility that we might be pushing EG a bit too far over the last week.

She started potty training.  That's a whole other entry to come, but let me say that the whole "no more diapers for me" breezy attitude she portrays on the exterior, is cracking.

Add to this, she starts a preschool program next week.  It isn't that many hours, nor am I making a BIG-First-Day-of-School deal out of it.  But again, while she may talk a big--two year old, I know how preschool goes because I've seen my brother go--game...I think she's a bit overwhelmed.

Enter Michael.

Over the weekend she declared that we all must call her Michael.  She would not respond to any of the traditional names we go by.  Not. One.  Only--Michael.  She began to refer to alter-ego in the third party.  "Michael needs to go potty.  GET OUT.  Michael can do it by himself."  After a while she did things she thinks Michael does.  Include "swimming" and "diving" off the couch (feet first--don't worry), going to school and riding a bike.  She also made her brother play the role of Michael's siblings.  (Because this is a real family, so we must be authentic in her mind.)  So, poor BB would alternate between going along with it and snapping at her.  I let his out bursts go because, Michael tested our 38 year old patience level...let a lone the 4 year old's.  Because....she really got into character...for hours at a time this would go on before a mild crack in the veneer, and EG would reappear.

When the crackling happened in "Michael's life" you could see us all hope that the phase had passed. "Whew, that's over."  (short patience levels here...as if a two year old will let anything this good go in a days time.)

Yesterday, BB called it quits.  In a fun unity front between BB and myself, we tag teamed EG most of the day.  "Only EG can ride in the new car seat."   "Oh, bummer, only EG can go outside."  "Oh, sorry...the neighbor kids want to play with EG..."  We made up all types of things only EG could do.

So she switched it up.  Ditching Michael, she became 'A Baby.'
(That turned out to not be any fun.  Especially, when I cuddled her and then told her babies can't move.  I set her down on the couch.  BB informed her that really new babies can't even turn over so she should just lie there if she wanted to be a "true" baby.  Bless his little soul.)

Then she became 'The Mommy.'  (yes, I am SURE 'the' is capitalized in her mind.)  This role required BB to be the baby.  After dinner last night, Saint BB was allowing EG/Michael/Baby/The Mommy to feed him his bedtime snack of water in a bottle** and crackers.  When he got off the chair, tired by the day, to mercifully head to his room, The Mommy bellowed from across the room.

"Baby, you crawl to bed. Babies crawl."

BB looked at his parents with a resigned expression, and said, "Ok, Michael...I mean, The Mommy.  Good. Night."



**It is his normal water bottle. I haven't completely lost my mind.

Wrong Number

Monday I had about five calls on my cell phone before noon.  Only one person ever calls my cell phone...and she wasn't callin'.  I was in and out of lessons for the kids and didn't recognize the numbers so I didn't pick up.  (big shocker to anyone who knows me and my apparent phone phobia.)

I had two messages from a man who spoke in a dialect and speed that made it nearly impossible for me (or anyone, I have to imagine) to understand what he was saying.

But, apparently it was important.

After the fourth call, I picked up.  "Hello?"
"Blah, blah, sorry, garbble, garbble, wrong number, Blah, mumble."  click.

This happens every so often on my cell phone.  The messages always seem important...urgent.  So, today, a whole 24 hours plus later, the Mumbler and his multiple missed attempts to contact Someonejustnotme is on my mind.

I kinda what to know what was up?

August 23

Two years.

It may have gotten away from us...

Our Yard--August 2010

See you soon.

I'm taking a break from Work in Progress...rest assured that the 'work' continues, but the blog will be silent for a bit  There will be stories to share...trust me--stories are guaranteed.  In fact, setting aside a few of my latest posts...if you would, pray for us.  :)

**I find all the new visitors so fun...take a look at the Traffic Feed at the bottom.  Such exotic locations.  :)  Welcome!**

10 Years and Many Blossoms Later...

Six years ago, we inherited three nikko blue hydrangea plants.  They were first purchased for decoration at our wedding reception in 2000.  Our reception took place at my parent's home and our "theme" was blue hydrangeas.  The plants bloomed at our wedding, and with the aid of my mother and some plant acid, the blooms were the ideal blue-purple color.

When we moved south to a more suitable growing zone for the plants, my parents lovingly drove them to our new home.  We planted them along side our house and began the endless process of trying to replicate those blue blossoms.

It was harder than it looked.

That first year we went to a seminar at a local nursery on the care and maintenance of hydrangeas.  We learned that the direction and size of our yard may not afford the best sun to shade ratio for our plants.  They are planted in a row and the first plant, the one that gets the most sunshine, is noticeably the largest.  Due to life and other pursuits, we never did amend the soil with acid...mostly because our main goal became the pursuit of a bloom, any bloom...in any old color.

Each year we would think of a new way to winterize the plants.  These particular variation of hydrangea bloom off of the "old growth," so it becomes important not to disrupt the buds over the winter and to protect the plants against freezing.

We bought fencing and wrapped each plant...gently filling the bins we created with straw.  We gently handled each stem, arranging the straw--just so.

When that enormous amount of work didn't produce any results, we wrapped up the whole of the plants with fencing and filled them (less intentionally) with straw.

After a few years of that protocol, and nearly no change in bloom production, we gave up.  The fact we had two young children and a mess of "other things" going on, might have pushed the plants to very last of our concerns.

For two years we have just left the plants alone.  They are what they are.  We admire their beautiful green foliage.  We are suprised and happy to see one or two blooms on each plant.  They are always a light pink...perhaps a fuchsia.  We talk about the plants...wondering if they would be best served in another location in our yard.  We think about adding something to the soil.  Something else always needs to get done instead.

This year, as we have directed most of our energies inside--on making our house seem larger and de-cluttered--I hadn't made a loop around to all of the garden areas.  A few weeks ago, when I decided we needed to water and deflower my hostas (a family quirk...I do not like the messy nature of the hosta flowers so I cut them off.) I came across this bounty on our hydrangeas.

Each of the three plants has multiple (5 to 7) blooms.  I was enjoying the flowers and rich green leafs as I started to water.  Then, I spotted this.

And, it isn't alone.  On a separate plant, there is another blue blossom.  Lighter in color, but still blue.

For reasons that are perhaps only understood by my husband and myself, those two blue blossoms bring tears to our eyes.  I stood in our yard, moved to tears by their beauty and all they symbolized.

Ten years later, after much fussing and growth, in spite of poor soil quality and lack of sunshine, after trips to seminars, and lessons from experts along with multiple, exasperated cries of "I give up," there they were: two blue blossoms.

With great joy and much love, I celebrate today.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. Work in Progress.  I love you, and give thanks for the life we are working to create.

So Fancy. So Famous

It was a teenage birthday.  Perhaps my 16th.  My Mom and I drove to Minneapolis to attend the Seventeen Magazine's fall fashion show at Dayton's Department Store.  The event took place on the 8th Floor and it was to be my first (and perhaps last?) formal fashion show.  I remember the center aisle set up in the grand, wide open 8th Floor.  I remember lights and the stage.  I remember feeling very old and very important.  It was so out of body, that I can't recall many of the details.  I don't know what I wore but best guess might have been an Esprit or Benetton sweater. I do remember it as one of my more special birthdays, one I was surprised my Mom came up with .  (shopping is not her thing and she did her best not to overly encourage my illusions of grandeur.)

The other very important part of the day surrounded the guest appearances of the cast of Head of the Class.  They took part in the show.  Coming on stage and giving short interviews.  It was my favorite TV shows while I was in high school. So, you'll join me in mutual squeal when I tell you this next part.

We must have sat in our seats for a while following the fashion show, I imagine I wanted to take it all in.  Once we got on the elevator, the crowds had cleared.  (and upon reflection, this may have been the real reason we hung back...) After a few floors we were alone in the elevator when it stopped and the doors opened...and guess who got on????  I think it was a number of people from the cast, but I especially remember Eric Mardian standing very close to me.  It was a very "Happy Birthday to Me" two minute elevator ride.  He slumped--so cool, so in character--against the elevator wall.  In my mind he wore shades, and was just impressed to see me as I was to breathe air near him.

I think she was there as well

and I hear them talking to each other as I fondly remember our significant elevator ride.  It never occurred to me to ask for their autograph.  (Did I, Mom? Her memory is decades better than mine.)  Then the elevator car bounced into position and they exited ahead of us.  I hope I smiled at them.  I imagine I might have looked away--pretending this type of thing happened everyday.

Life in Minnesota didn't afford many star sightings.  Now, a number of my classmates could report on Tom Cruise's time on the lakes.  But I only have second hand stories on such-"he came to the door in his towel"-moments.

To me, my elevator ride with The Head of the Class, was pretty darn fun.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

***I wrote this entry because The Hollywood Housewife is celebrating her 10 years in LA.  I thought it would be fun...

What Did I Miss?

It is all in God's time.
God has a reason.
Everything happens for a reason.
My prayers were answered when we got a new car...dishwasher...found money...someone helped us...
I'll have to pray about that...
I will pray that God takes away that pain.

After the conversation with my parishioner--let's call her Jane--I wrote a long email to my friend and colleague.  In her response to me she mentioned my own prayer life.  Did Jane's comments bother me because they hit close to a truth?  Did I feel my prayer life was lacking?

The answer is 'yes.'
The answer is 'no.'

I consistently feel as if I am missing something about prayer.  I want to cast off statements like the ones at the beginning of this post as being "poor theology" but when I constantly hear people talking this way, I begin to wonder who has the "poor theology?"  People seem to attribute all of sorts events and occurrences that I chalk up on a small scale to 'coincidence', 'luck', 'hard work', or  'the way things go,' to God's hand.  I really don't want God to put much effort in to finding me a parking spot...

It should be noted that I am in a deep, deep house selling funk.  I keep thinking about this family that put their house on the market, sold it and moved in to their new house...just like that--right away.  They got the government tax credit, they got new appliances...their prayers were answered.  I keep thinking about them and I wonder..."What are we doing wrong?"  (remember, I'm a first born rule follower.)  What am I missing?  Why is my family seemingly stuck in neutral...constantly?

So, 'yes' my own prayer life is in question.

But if prayer is meant to keep us in contact with God...if it is meant to be daily-hourly-minute to minute conversation with God...if it meant to keep our heart and eyes and hears open to the work of the Holy Spirit and all the ways we are being shaped...if that is what you mean by prayer, then 'no.'  No, my prayer life is healthy and active and flourishing.  I am in constant--honestly--conversation with God.

I see the young men walking the street with bags on their backs and I give them to God.  I hear an ambulance and I ask God to be with those involved.  I watch my young daughter clasp her hands, muttering the events and names that touched her day and stand back in awe of God's creation.  I give thanks that I have been brought into its care.  My son calls my name for the 50th time that hour and I know patience will come through the work of the Spirit on me.  My tears as I listen to the stories of oil destroying the waters we were created to be caretakers of, are prayers.  Prayer is how I breathe as I go through my day.

Prayer for me is about 'bigger' things and events--redemption, sanctification.  It moves me beyond 'God-as-the-one-holding-the-strings-on-my-life, so-I go-to-God-in-hopes-of-getting-what-I-want.'  As if God doesn't already know what I need...

Perhaps, we all want prayer to be more than it was meant to be.  Perhaps, it is all a bit of semantics--how we give 'name' to the events around us.

God will bring the perfect family to live in your house.
In God's time.
You are growing with each challenge God gives you.
Ask and you will receive.

Does God Pick Out My Parking Place?

I've been thinking about prayer.  I had an odd conversation with someone a few weeks ago.  I still don't have a secure handle on what the parishioner was telling me, but she opened with, "I have been praying for you all week."  I immediately thanked her and then began to wonder, "Oh. Dear. Why?"

I had led a retreat on prayer the week before which she had attended.  Apparently something I said triggered something in her.  In a large group conversation someone said something about how she is so delighted when God gives her a good parking spot.  I have lost the specific context of the conversation--I think it was about when God grants the smallest of our prayers.  I know I didn't initiate the exact train of thought.  I know this because I don't have "God granted me a parking spot" prayers...or moments.  I know I said something along these lines...or rather I tried to re-frame the comment.  It was a pretty casual conversation so I know I disagreed a bit and offered my take on God as micro-manager.  They weren't buying what I was selling.

Which, I think, is what spurred my parishioner's prayer life.

Now she also could have been praying for me to have a more open mind.  Or, for me to learn to just let some comments in a conversation slide by.  Or, she could have just felt my whole retreat on prayer was lacking.

This particular person knows me pretty well and is a very vocal advocate for my ministry.  I trust she had good and well intentioned prayers.  I also believe she was, truly, praying for me.*  There was just something about it that I didn't like...

I have a few more entries lined up based on this conversation.  Tell me about your prayer life.  Do you have stories about people praying for you?  Other thoughts?


*(I should have told her that if she was offering up "God as Puppeteer" prayers...I have a house I'd like to get rid of.)

Knit one...purl, huh?

I learned to knit about two years ago.  Since that weekend lesson, I have made about ten things.  Ten baby hats.  I had interest in making lots of hats.  One for every niece and nephew.  A variety of patterns and colors and textures.  Then a sister in law began to knit.  She knits well and is more bold and secure in her talent.  (she makes a variety of hats, whereas I stick to one tried and true pattern.)  For this reason, combined with others, I quit knitting.  For a while.  I just haven't gotten back to it.

I thought about my days of hat-knitting as I drove around town today.  I thought of the babies that have grown out of them.  Then I thought about the actual hats.  Many of them have a flaw in them.  A missed stitch here or a knot of some sort.  If I made a mistake after the first three, or so, rows, I didn't start over.  I did my best to fix or hide the mistake and kept on going.  There might have been one hat or two at the beginning of my practice, where the mistakes were so plentiful that I had to start over...a couple of times. Otherwise, I accepted the mistake as part of the hat and kept on.  90% of the hat looked good.  I always figured the parent would simply turn the hat on the baby so the blemish was in the back, buried in a car-seat.

I know knitters who talk about ripping apart projects...over and over.  I realized that in a few instances, it never even occurred to me to start over.

These hats say a lot about me.  Not entirely sure of what they say...but something...

Missing.

Sometimes I get too many thoughts running through my head.  When this happens I tend not to write.  Seems counter intuitive, but history has proven my rhythm.

The Heat Made Me Do It

I wasn't born for such temperatures.  The fact we lived without air conditioning was intended to unite us in solidarity with those whose homes we helped build.  (I was more inclined to give a donation to ensure everyone got air conditioning in their homes below the Mason Dixon Line.) The oppressive heat of the July and August in The South made me do things I wouldn't normally do.

Sleeping in a bed where the sheets were damp from humidity made me irritable.  Drawers and doors were swollen open, or jammed shut.  Sweat dripped off of me as I sat.  The only energy I expended was lifting a glass of water.  Breathing seemed too much effort at times.  If one were to venture outside they were immediately hit with a wall of fire that engulfed your skin and burned your lungs.

I wasn't born for such temperatures and it made me do things I wouldn't normally do.

One weekend afternoon in July, the only thing I wanted to do was lie on my bed and watch a movie.  I didn't have a TV.  I didn't have a VCR.  I didn't have a movie.

My car had A/C and the local Walmart did as well.

I pushed my dripping self up from my chair, slipped on some flip flops and braved the Georgia fireball.  I drove to Walmart unsure of my plan but feeling desperate and justified.

Once at the store I headed straight to the television aisle.  I looked for a TV/VCR combo that was on the cheaper side.  My eyes darted around willing no sales clerk to talk to me.  Selecting one in my price range, I lifted it into my cart with one defiant motion.  I picked out a romantic comedy that I knew I would watch over and over again.  I headed to the candy aisle.  Then on to check out.

Driving home I felt quiet rebellious...and smart.

I carried my purchases up the stairs to my room, glad no one else was home to witness or inquire about my purchase.  I carefully opened the box and subsequent packaging.  As I cleared off the jars and bottles on the dresser I planned to use as a TV stand, I took note of how they were stuck to the tacky veneer.  Even my furniture was melting.

I plugged in the TV/VCR wonder.  Opened the movie and cracked open a beverage and a bag of twizzlers.

For two plus hours I stretched out on my bed, comatose by the heat and unrealistic love story playing out before me.  I came in and out of consciousness.  At some point the sun mercifully set and I feel asleep in a pool of my own sweat, refreshed and renewed.

In the cool of the morning, before my roommates returned from their weekend adventures away, I repacked my TV/VCR combo...

and returned it to Walmart.

Nursing is NOT in my future

EG has Hand-Foot-Mouth disease.  This is *not* the same as Mad Cow Disease, which is what my husband, her father, heard me say over the phone when I called him to report on her on going health problems this week.

At first we thought it was molars cutting through.  Which it is.  A fever and mild vomiting are both fairly common occurrences with EG, so that didn't alert us to anything amiss.  (she has a very slight gag reflex and gets fevers on a regular basis.)  But then open canker sores developed on her tongue and throughout her mouth.  Then spots on her body, and sure enough hands and feet.

But it wasn't any of this that put me over the edge, it was the crying that has me on the bottle by 5pm and turning to my husband and saying things like..."I have to leave her...right now."  "In the interest of our family, I need to leave the house."  "Get me the *&*;^%$ out of here...now."  She has had me in tears.  Multiple times.

The cumulative crying in her first twelve months of life wouldn't add up to the amount she has cried in the past day....let alone the past week.  (In fact I have had to leave twice while trying to type this post.)  For three nights she did not sleep, nor did we.  Her voice is squeaky and hoarse.  She has lived off of water, popsicles and applesauce.  For all the encouragement of her grandma, she would not eat ice cream.

This is not my strong suit.   In fact, I am driven mad, mostly by how bad I am at taking care of her needs.  I actually looked at a two year old and said, "There is nothing else I can do for you.  You'll have to toughen up a bit here." 

She looked up at me with her strong, deep brown eyes--she had a finger jammed back into her side molar and her other hand was wrapped around her opposite arm to rub her own elbow--the look on her face told me, I had better take my own advice.


*My deepest and sincerely apologies to all we came in contact with this week.  We really did think it was teething...and it is.  I don't think she licked or shared drink with anyone...but I can't be sure of that.  Big SIGH.

*Isn't this just the most stimulating of all my posts.  I reread it and realized no one, not even their grandparents may want to know this much about my kids' health.  So, I apologize for that as well and offer up one last SIGH before signing off.

Summer Dreamin'

Today I woke with a dream.  I hatched a plan.  It was to be a grand adventure, meant to free us from the illness and busy, frantic pace of the past few weeks.  It felt like something from from my 20's....all carefree and spontaneous. 

Remember those trips that involved nothing more than throwing somethings in a bag, grabbing some cash, filling up on gas and driving?  No baggage.  Nothing slowing or weighing you down.  Only your own schedule to clear.  You could drive all night, arriving at dawn and ready for fun and festivity. 

My plan involved quick packing, surprise and joy, a long drive, followed by an nearly immediate turn around. It could be done.  All involved could pull it off.  I emailed my partner (in crime) and set out my plan before him.

His email response came within a few minutes..."Sounds like fun!"
and then a few minutes later...
"I have a meeting at noon."

Grandma's Gift

Dear Great Grandma B,
We know that your 85th birthday was last month.  We started some gifts for you way back in June, but the artists are having a creative crisis.  They are having so much fun painting the gifts.  So much fun, in fact, that They just keep repainting them.

As an example, this birdhouse was completely red.  Then it was covered in purple.  After that, parts of it became red, again.  The artist signed his work in green.  Then painted over it.

Hopefully, he will be able to relinquish artistic control and we can mail it to you before you turn 86.

I won't even report on the younger artist.  Except to say that I may have to just send her in the mail...there is more paint on her than your gift.

With great love,
Your Granddaughter on behalf of your Great-grandkids

The Next Thing I Found to Do

Dear God, Thank you for the bounty of gifts...

...that I let rot in my refrigerator...

What I'll Be Doing Today...

What My Friends are Saying...

Unseen Ending comments on an article I read this week.  (I didn't get around to articulating thoughts on it...so I share hers.)

Independence

Happy 4th of July to you and yours.  I am off to pack up suitcases and coolers.

Wishing you a safe and fun...and long, weekend!

Running Queen

Queen's "We Will Rock You." is playing in my ears.  I can feel the weight of my High School's standard issue sweatshirt around my shoulders.  The thick gray jersey keeping out the chill from a crisp Minnesota afternoon.  The sun is beginning to set, even now as we are just out of school.  I'm shoulder to shoulder with my fellow runners.  We sound like a mass of locusts coming through the woods; the nylon from our pants rubbing and shifting on us as we warm up.  My pants are too large and with every other step I have to adjust them.  I try to run with just one arm, the other holding up my pants.  Through the woods we run.  Leaves crunch beneath us.  Tree branches give way.  We hop and jump over random tree roots.  Free.  Powerful.  Unaware that there is any other way to spend an afternoon....

Suddenly, an earbud falls out of my left ear and I hear the pounding music from the sound system in Gold's Gym.  I look down from the treadmill loft and see people hefting barbells over their heads.  I realize it is 6:30am and I best get on with my day.

Neighbors. Fences.

We have new neighbors.

That, right there, should explain my contemplating Mr. Frost's ironic poem.

We have two sets of new neighbors.

It is surprising how a seemingly little change is reason for mourning and a bit of sadness.  It wasn't as if we were friends with either of the departed families.  We aren't mourning weekly barbecues or nightly chats over glasses of wine while we watch the moon rise.

We miss the known.  We miss the quiet.  We miss a friendly smile and wave.  We miss neighbors we trusted to watch our house and ones that surprised us by shoveling our sidewalk on a snowy morning.

Way back in a communication class in college I learned a basic principle of human systems. Never underestimate the effect one person can have on a group.  One person's arrival at a party, changes the whole party.  Or, the meeting.  Or, the family.  Or, the neighborhood.

Or, seemingly today, our life.**



** And, no I wasn't a Drama Major.  ;)

Fence Me In.

Mending Wall
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors”.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

Well, who knew...Catalog Living is a blog.

Life is (not) Like a Catalog

Above the TV in the family room my mom keeps nearly every catalog that comes during the month.  I remember an activity I did circa 1985 which took full advantage of her collection.

We had high stools that line the counter of the kitchen pass-through counter.  I needed the stool to get up to the catalogs, and I would gather as many as I could muster without falling or dropping my loot onto the ceramic floor.  JCPenny's, Sears, maybe a spanking new thing called Pottery Barn, Ethan Allen, Talbots and various other brands that portrayed life as being as ideal and perfect as...well, a catalog.

I spread them out.  Collecting scissors, a piece of paper and some pens and markers, I would begin to create my life.  Cutting out a couch.  Then gluing a picture of the ideal cottage garden next to it.  I can feel the paper give way as I ripped a whole page out.  Sometimes, I'd be focused on the knickknacks or the flowers in the garden.  Other days I would be all about the interior furniture.

One day sticks out in my mind with vivid clarity.  I must have been working on the same type of project but this time, perhaps for a class, or for a lesson of sorts that my parents hoped to teach me, I was adding up the prices of each item.  I was listing everything I would "need" in life and how much it would cost.  (It must have been for a budgeting class.) 2 couches.  A dining room table.  8 chairs.  A hutch to hold my china.  China.  That tea kettle on page 87.  The outfit on page 6.  A rug.  My house should like the one in the Mpls/STP magazine.  "Hum, I wonder how to figure house prices..."

As I sit on the stool, I am looking into the kitchen and I directly face the back door.  I can feel my feet swing and gently kick the back of the cabinet. I see the dishes in the sink, the peanut butter and jelly out on the counter top.  There is paper piled orderly in a stack.  A decorative bowl holds fruit.  To my left I can look out at a lake becoming quiet as fall progresses.

As I am mid-rip in acquiring a table set I like, my mom comes in from the garage.  She is loaded down with paper grocery bags.  I can't see her face through the overflowing bags.  Knowing what I am up to, she plunks the bags down and reaches in to one for a box of tampons and a box of toothpaste.  She drops them onto the counter top in front of me with a thud.

"Better be sure to include these on your list as well." she says, with the aplomb of a woman in her early 40's.

The whoosh of ice water that came over the project was a needed reminder to a girl who still looks at way too many catalogs in hopes of life jumping off the page.

You Think You Had a Day?

Every once in awhile, when I need a reality check and a reminder that I really DON'T need that dress, I head over to The Livesay Blog.  It helps remind me what I do want to be about in this world. 

You must stop over there and read her entry titled--Lock It-- because it is FORKING hilarious.  (yes, I just quasi-swore.)  You think you had a day--what with your cleaning for a person who only stayed in your house for maximum of 10 mins--I will show you a day.

Giving thanks for perspective and...for tomorrow.

Wednesday

I think our butterflies are mating.
We have another house showing today.  The feedback from people who have looked at it is usually moot.  "Too small."--yep, we think so, too.

Beyond freeing butterflies so they can do their thing in the wild, and cleaning, I'll be looking for a spot of shade and dodging tornadoes.

Peace!

What they said

The following are answers from a conversation I had with each kid about their dad. It was part of his Father's Day gift from us. Along with this plate...

EG: (2 years)
Describe your Dad: He has red hair and blue eyes
What is his favorite food? Tomato and fruit
What else about your Dad? He snores to me.
What is your Daddy's job? Riding his bike.
What is his favorite thing to do? Play in the yard with me.

BB: (4.5 yrs)
Describe your Dad: He has brown hair, whiskers, blue eyes and he is skinny.
What is his favorite food? Meatballs and he likes to drink milk.
What does your Daddy do around the house? Vacuum, water plants, takes out the garbage, and mows the grass. He also washes the dishes so I don't have to.
Anything else? He reads books to me and we play baseball, football, tag and we do yard work. That's it.

Transformation

My Dad

I  think a lot about my parents as I have become a parent.  I realize how naturally parenting came to them.  I imagine, they weren't always exactly sure of how to navigate the waters we churned up, but we never knew that.  As I watch people try to learn how to parent differently than how their parents did it--due to poor parenting, difficult marriages, simple neglect--I am thankful for a mom and dad who modeled solid parenting.  Many days, I have ideas and responses to the kids which seem to come from out of the blue.  "Wow, how did I learn to do that?"  I give thanks, time and time again, that I watched two of the best for 37 years.

I don't think it would be any secret to many people that I am my Dad's Number One Daughter.  (play on words because, in fact I am his first born.)  I'm not a 'daddy's girl' in that syrupy sweet kind of way.  But I am my Dad's daughter.  We share some strong DNA bonds, and because of that I have felt his advocacy over the years.  In many a situation he was guiding me out of personal experience. 

I hear a lot of parents talk about how they need to be an advocate for their kids.  The current use of this phrase usually means they stand up for their kids in situations where the kid might have been better served by learning the consequences.  Or the parents say it when someone is giving them an answer they don't like about their child. 

I'm referring to advocacy that reflects that my Dad knew me.  He knew how I felt in his bones.  He understood my reaction as sure as he understood his own.  Knew that I was angry.  Knew why I was reacting.  Knew why I found it so fun or interesting.  Most of the time, he was experiencing a similar reaction to mine.  What makes him such a fantastic person, is that he guided me through-whateveritwasIwasdealingwith-by molding the best course.  Not the way he might have reacted at my age, or how he might want to react now.  He would give great thought and attention to what might be the best lesson/way to handle/what to say, so that I had skills for the next time.  So that somehow, we all grew and moved forward.  (moving forward is big with my family.)

Many years ago, when I started college, I met this very cute boy during the first week of school.  (this is not the cute boy I married.)  I remember finding a common bond over our father's work.  He said, "Oh, so you know what it like to have him gone all the time.  Messing up schedules and just being tired.  It's a pain." (this may not be a direct quote)  I agreed and nodded along.."Oh, yeah.  What a pain."  I sold my Dad out, all for a cute boy.  (i'm still friends with said boy and he did get me a date with my husband a few years later...but, this wouldn't be the last time I chose 'cute' over my family in my 20s.)  What I should have said was..."I know my Dad was busy, but he was always there."

He wasn't always there, of course.  In most families, Dad's are gone most of the day.  Mine was physically gone for more than a typical work day.  He was gone at odd times and we did have to create some pretty goofy schedules to include him in activities.  But I don't remember this huge hole in my life where my Dad was always gone, or busy, or tired, or complaining about one of the above.  There is no drama with my Dad--at least not of the emotional kind.  He is no prima donna.  He never demanded special attention or to be handled with kid gloves.  I don't remember his absence because he was there.  When he was with us, he was with us.  He was into what we were into.  He was attentive to who we were.  When he was with us, it was about us--in a positive way.

Today, as we give thanks for our Father....and all those who are Fathers...I think my Dad.  I am his daughter. He is my Number One Dad.  For that I am more grateful than he will ever know.  Happy--everydayis--Father's Day, Dad!!

"The Secret" ** for Real Estate

It has been over two weeks since anyone has wanted to see our house. With the "threat" of lowering the price looming, I decided to take action. I enlisted a philosophy of "if you clean it, they will come (buy) it." Sure enough 3:45 today I got a call saying someone wants to see it tomorrow. I hope the fresh flowers and chocolates on the table help sell it for someone.


**I have never, and, probably, will never read The Secret. I got the gist of it from Oprah.  Eh.  I do enjoy a happy conscience, though.

Kids on the Block

We have new neighbors near us. Lovely people. Two small kids near in age to BB. Their presence has increased BB's time outside. If he catches a glimpse of his new friends outside, zip, zap he is out the door. Peer pressure starts early, I guess. The new presence of kids to play with on a daily basis has increased BB's sassy level, he much more hyper and jazzed. Needless to say, I don't like it. He now calls me 'Ma, Ma' in a sweet sing-songy--baby voice--instead of his flat nearly stoic, 'Mom.' I don't like this change either.

Sometime this week I read this blog entry. The new kids in my life plus this entry got me thinking.  (read her entry and some comments to fully understand the conversation I am entering.)

The first realization I came to was that, I don't allow haven't encouraged the kids to have many 'play-dates.'  They have spent time in church nurseries...a couple of hours a month.  They have played with the kids of my friends.  They play at parks and museums.  But, I haven't encouraged many in house play times...even with familiar parents from church or school.

I'm a control freak.  No way around it.  I want my kids exposed to what I what them exposed to.  In my defense for those who don't know me...I don't run screaming from a situation where they are exposed to something...say a random Batman character or water gun.  In public, I'm no where near a drama queen and actually do my best to down play any internal craziness...how well I do will show up in the comment section of this entry.

But as I thought it over these are the biggies that I watch for and limit exposure to--mostly with families we are just meeting at school or church.  Obviously, I have friends who don't share my thoughts or intensity on some of these issues...friendship seems to trump differences for me.  Probably, because I either know the intent and, just to sound cheesy--heart--of my friend.  Also, as friends we can talk about differences.

(first off, I'm not even listing inappropriate touching, tickling or sexual comments...I think they are a given, rather than a peculiarity from family to family.  Also, known drug/alcohol abuse aren't even optional.  For me firearms in the home make my list as well--fully acknowledging that I am out of many people's mainstream views on this point.)

1.  Manners and attempt at respecting each other.  In my early parenting and  pre-parenting life I was even more harsh on this.  "Teach your children to say 'Please and thank you'.  They should be able to say 'Hi' when greeted."  Then I had children and I do teach them.  I model it.  They are still woefully lacking and so I cut the kids some slack...but a parent that is rude or doesn't model good manners, basic civility and respect for those around them won't be spending much time with my kids.

2.  Age appropriate toys and themes.  We are going to be the nerds on the block on this one until our kids go off to college.  I think four is too young for Super Heroes and Star Wars.  I think two is too young for a manicure and even pretend make-up.  I think we are encouraging our kids to grow up way too fast in all areas.  It has taken me all year to formulate an argument past, "I think it is wrong that PeterPaulSam wears and talks about Star Wars all day long."  (and I really wish he hadn't taught you about it at school.)

It pushes two buttons...first, we are rushing childhood.  (and allowing marketing to do so--but that is another entry all together.)  My son is four.  4.  FOUR.  If he is playing with toys and themes traditionally created for eight to ten year-olds, what will he be doing when he IS eight or ten?  Not playing video games...not with the nerd parents he has.  Why are we rushing their childhoods along?
Which pushes me to reason number two, 'We' don't like to say no to our kids.  It is a pain to have to explain why our family doesn't buy that or read this or turn on the TV then.  It is a pain to say "Nope.  You are too young." and then listen to whining.  Especially, when you know Batman isn't inherently a bad guy.  So the collective 'we' cave.  (somewhere in this paragraph might be a parenting style deal breaker as well...)

All I will add for my daughter is that I think there is very little value in teaching girls about princesses.  Seriously?  What are we teaching with this message?  Now, dress up...being fancy does not bother me as much.  Again, she's two. How fancy does a two year old really need to be?  She is extremely happy to have discovered sand.  The adornment and fanciness young girls are emulating is more complex and less clear cut in my mind than violence, rage, and fighting.  I have next year to formulate my thoughts on this.

In this category falls, gender roles.  I have a boy and I have a girl.  I can't can sit here and write that there aren't inherent differences between the two.  But, I prefer to view it as they are different people.  I cringe when people put labels of "boy toys" and "girl toys" on things.  I bite my lip when people only pick 'pink or purple' when guessing what EG's favorite color is.  (It is yellow or orange--and she'll tell you.)  I love the faces when people learn my son loves Fancy Nancy (the book) or when we bought him a doll at two.  EG loves blocks and trucks.  Granted, she loves to play trucks WITH her brother.  I see her drawn to social interaction in a different way than BB.  I see him pick up interaction between stuffed animals or toy people from her leading.  But it seems healthier to allow these differences to be articulated as unique to the individual, rather than "because he's a boy and she's a girl."

3.  Religion, politics...
Obviously, I have thoughts here.  I think if I came across someone forcing their ideas on my kids (verses casual comments or slip ups) our time together would be over.  I have the image of someone sitting my kid down to tell them the ills of X or Y political party or sharing some off the grid religious doctrine with them.  (Now, mind you this area is more of an issue within family, than it is among our friends.)  Likewise, if someone felt a need to dismiss or challenge my kid's belief--I would see red.

In some ways I am simply jumping in to the conversation started at The Hollywood Housewife.  It also struck me as a helpful exercise to really narrow what are my deal breakers...and I'll always take a moment to share my opinion...at least anonymously.  ;)