I am sahm, sahm I am?

Alive and well and smiling

2012-01-26T13:58:00.001-06:00

You hate me, don't you? I'm so sorry for not posting for so very long! Life. Life got in the way of retelling life here.

And then the lives of others, whose stories I can't share because they are not mine, took over my life. Or I let them take over. Welcomed them as a matter of fact. Pursued them even, if can imagine that.

But it wasn't you. And it wasn't this forum. I took the entire month of January off from the other place that I blog at every week; one week off at the place that pays me to tell tales. See? Not you.

But I will be back soon, oh, very soon, to share some more tales. I promise. Ok, I feel bad for neglecting things over here. ONE short tale:

This is me. I'm going to church. I almost didn't go that day, but decided that was the wrong message to send to my kids. So I fluffed my hair, donned my pearls and contemplated, but did not decide upon, a lowcut top.

Contemplating lower cut top

I was healthy, awoke in plenty of time, and really had no good reason to miss church, so why did I not want to go? Because, apparently, menopause is the new adolescence. My face had decided to head in the Way Back Machine to age 13. I had a breakout like I have not seen since I would smudge my Leif Garrett posters with Lip Smackers each night.

Look at the chin! I have the chin of a teenager!

"I'm not going to church today." I announced at breakfast.

"Why not?" Brian asked.

"If she's not going, I'm not going, I'll keep her company," Bekah offered oh. so. generously.

"Because, I uh..." I looked at the faces of my kids, faces that would probably face a similar situation in the not so distant future," ugh, I'm going. But not one crack about having a third eye!"

So I went. Concealer as in place as it was going to be, head held high, as many distracting techniques as I could come up with (although it was a communion Sunday, and I don't like wearing anything that might accidentally give the elders serving an eye full as I bowed before the alter so the top was not low cut.)

I have age 50 right ahead of me and I'm trying to conceal pimples. It's just wrong.

I have to point them out, don't I? Oh, you can see some, even caked with concealer they are hardly concealed. Fine. I'm feeling kinda sharey today.

Sorry about that. In person, they really were quite obvious. I caught people looking at my chin all morning, and it wasn't my imagination either. The blemishes were there, but I couldn't let a hormonal outbreak stop me from going places, doing things that are important to me. I couldn't let something so superficial hold me back. What would be the point in that? There really wasn't anything I could do but smile.

Which is probably a really great life lesson on several levels, don't you think?

Because every Saturday should begin with a police report, duct tape and Press 'N Seal wrap?

2012-01-01T17:10:00.006-06:00

Happy 2012! (a number I keep repeating because I'm determined to write the correct year before March!)

The last day of our 2011 began at 2:30 AM. That is when Brian and I woke to a loud KEEEEERASH!

In that moment between sweet slumber and waking terror - the moment of shattered dreams- I thought an M80 had gone off outside the window. Brian thought it had been someone crashing through the glass of our backdoor.

He guessed better.

It was Noah's bedroom window to be exact.

I have a confession-- falling asleep in Noah's bed after prayers, and mid 6 year-old pillow talk is something that I frequently do. I was sleeping there when the window broke- mere inches from the glass shards, Noah was on the side away from the window.

When I peered out the unshattered portion, there was no culprit to be seen. But on the lawn was a ball that had not been there when we went to bed. It didn't belong to my kids, either.

I should back up just a bit. Our neighborhood is very active at night. We have had a long history of late night ding dong ditching. So have most of our neighbors. It's just a fact of subdivision life. Even the hooligans who decided that they didn't like the conventional style of our light up reindeer and rearranged them one late night was annoying. (But it was sorta funny.)

You giggled. It's ok, so did I

But a middle of the night breaking of windows? That's criminal.

"Clean up this room, it looks like a crime scene in here!" I told Noah first thing in the morning.

" It IS a crime scene!" Luke countered.

"Yeah, but the police don't have to see what slobs we are!" I said as they headed to tidy and I called the sheriff's office.

The officer arrived quickly (He had a name that screamed for commentary, but I resisted. Really, the guy probably hears crap about his name all the time and someone with Vollenweider as a last name probably shouldn't be mocking other people's last names, anyway). He took pictures, recorded my story and asked me to call if I figured out who did it.

The town I live in is small. One of the downsides of small town life is that everyone knows your business. One of the upsides of small town life is that you can very easily find out any one else's business.

It didn't take long.

"Hey!" I said when my neighbor Christy came to her door, "do you recognize this ball?" I tossed it in the air like the jock I wish I was.

"Yeah, I was looking for that, it's my kid's."

"It came through Noah's window last night."

"Never saw it before."

This was not our first detective case. A year of so ago, Christy and I broke the case of " what happened to the full bag of security guard gear that was taken from an unlocked truck?" We found the physical evidence in her shrubs, and figured out the timeline based on the activity of her dog the night before. We resisted the urge to make commentary about the wisdom of leaving such items in an unlocked car...well, at least to the police officer who came to collect our findings.

For the Case of Shattered Dreams, we headed off to another neighbor's house channeling our inner Cagney and Lacy. Only, you know, no firearms...or badges, simply armed with our combined knowledge of human nature and our degrees from the School of TV Cop Shows.

Within 20 minutes, we had answers.

We know who did it.

We have witnesses.

How it all plays out is up to the kid's parents.

And because I like to inform of handy things you may not know:

This is not my first Ball v. Window episode. I have boys...and a husband. If you need to board up a broken window (because it breaks on a holiday and the glass company can't come out for 4 days without paying extra), reach for the Press 'n Seal wrap. This time I added a layer of Reynolds pan liner ( the one with aluminum foil on one side, parchment paper on the other) and sealed it all up with duct tape. Very cold resistant, and the glass sticks to the Press 'N Seal wrap and doesn't fall on the floor.

Recipe for repair: Press n' seal, Pan Liner paper, 2nd Press 'n Seal layer, duct tape

Done. And classy.

And that is how my Saturday began, and 2011 ended, with a police report, duct tape and Press 'N Seal Wrap.

***UPDATE*** The parents did the right thing. There are good people in this world who do things that aren't comfortable to try and teach their kids to right thing. I applaud them. Nicely done, Parents!

Horrible Parents, all around

2011-12-09T15:25:00.000-06:00

I think that every parent has a moment when they realize that they goofed. Admitting that we screwed up, and trying to correct the situation is the adult thing to do. Right? It teaches our children that we are fallible, human and that we are big enough people to admit that we were wrong.

Last Easter someone thought that the kids had gotten too much candy from the Easter Bunny. He decided to take part of it from The Candy Stash and put it far away, for later in the year.

(Yeah, I said "he". Pfft, you didn't think I had messed up, did you?)

This parent hid the candy so well, that he only just recently discovered it and reunited it with the kids. This happened the day after we put up the Christmas tree.Many, many, months after Easter.

2/3rds of the kids were willing to have their emotions recorded- to show that parent exactly how they felt. And of course, a picture often tells a story far better than words ever could:

Yes, we all make mistakes. To err is human, to post it on the internet is...

It's not about vodka

2011-12-03T08:31:00.001-06:00

And it's not about candy or mommy bloggers or recipes...although I know that you like that stuff. It's about mothers and daughters and that the issues surrounding coming-of-age are not entirely related to the time that it happens. 1950's, 1970's or now...times change, but sometimes they don't.

It's about what happens when you wish for something and it comes true.

It's about rock and roll, and sailing, and art and there is a mermaid involved in the mix mostly because I dig mermaids.

It's my nanowrimo project and it came in just under 60K on November 28 which is when I got to The End. That was my goal, write the whole thing- Once Upon a Time to The End- in a month. I'm in the process of filling in the chapters that were a little light, and then I'm going to go back and probably re-write the darn thing. And because I seem to only work well with a deadline, I'm giving myself one: my birthday. February 1st.

Lofty, I know.

What did I learn this year, my second nano? Hmm...not sure. It was a more social year- I joined two nanowrimo groups which was fun. I met some really interesting people and that experience enriched my process. I also got to see that some who I already knew were just as crazy committed to the project as I was, and that shared history can only deepen our friendships. Writing wise, I'm not sure. I learned a lot this past year about style and pace and basic format (and a bunch of other stuff)...so I don't think that I can attribute these lessons to nano or not. And really, this makes some seriously boring blog reading especially since I am not a published novelist.

Now it's December. Life has yet to return to a normal pace. It's Christmas, and my house was a wreck after nano. Beckett and I wanted to keep as much on our podcasting schedule as possible so we are putting a lot of energy into that. The one we recorded yesterday--going out on a limb here- may be my most favorite one yet!

Anyway, I realize that this is not a very compelling post (which is why I won't pimp it...hahaha) but I wanted to get down in writing that I finished Nano. I got to the required 50K words in 19 days to earn my web badge. And then I got to the end.

I may post a chapter here at some point. Some people have asked me to. If I can figure out if they want to read it to see if I'm a horrible writer or because they are genuinely interested- I might do it. But it will be stealth. Like this one.

Ninja-style...ooh, a ninja-mermaid...I may have my next project idea....

Susan

And then I burned the crap out of the stove...

2011-11-24T18:58:00.003-06:00

I like to make cranberry sauce. It's easy and well received and lasts a while- the batch that I whip up at Thanksgiving makes it through New Year's. This is the cranberry sauce that people who turn up their noses at the canned stuff devour. Or at least eat. It's good. And easy. And pretty.

I thought I would share it with you this year,so I got to cooking the other other day...and well, and share I will. The good, and the Dang It! I did what?

Orange Cranberry Sauce

1 bag fresh cranberries
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup orange juice (or apple, or orange pineapple..lots of juices work)
Zest of an orange

Rinse cranberries and pull out nasty ones

In pan, mix juice, sugar and zest with cranberries

I used orange pineapple. Which, also mixes very refreshingly with whipped cream flavored vodka. But in a glass, not in your cranberry sauce..although...hmmm.
Bring to boil.

Yes, all of you wise cooks who saw my pan choice called this mess, didn't you? Use a bigger pan. Or watch very carefully.

Like I said, carefully bring to boil

mmm, burnt sugar. Nothing quite like the smell of burnt sugar

What you are waiting for, most of the cranberries will pop open, this takes less than 5 minutes.

That's all. As it cools the pectin from the cranberries will help set the sauce. Not set enough to cut, but come on, that stuff is nasty.

If you do make a burned mess, wait until the burner cools, and put a wet towel over it to softnen the mess..for about 5 times as long as it took to cook the cranberry sauce. No lie. Even then it was burned on hard! I had to resort to a razor to get the last bits up. I don't recommend this. BIGGER pot.

Yup, I'm Still Allergic to Home Parties

2011-11-23T14:16:00.000-06:00

*Yesterday Brian asked me," Did you write a sweet column about me in honor of our 20th wedding anniversary?" No, I did not. Today is that anniversary date. And this is the column that ran in the KC Star this morning:

“Does anyone NOT have one of our bean pots?”

I raised my hand. Why would I have one? I hadn’t been to that type of home party before. Actually, I hadn’t been to any type of home party since the Tupperware Incident of ’94.

That night, 17 years ago, I got a little out of control. Color coordinated storage containers! A large cake carrier! A chip and dip tray! More cool items we didn’t need! The buyer’ s remorse was so cringe inducing that I instituted a Personal Home Party Ban which has served me, and our bank account, well ever since.

“Would you like to come to my candle/cookware/jewelry/home décor/whatever-I’m-peddling- this- week party? It’ll be fun! Snacks! Drinks!”

“I’m so sorry!” I would graciously reply,” Thank you for asking me, but I have a personal ban on home parties since the Tupperware Incident of ’94.”

Sometimes I would add a shudder for dramatic effect.

And, I must say, it worked like a charm every time! Of course there was a rebuttal: ”Oh, you don’t have to buy anything, think of it like a Girl’s Night Out!”

I’m not sure who they thought they were kidding, but of course I would have to buy something! If it was just about chick chatter, snacks and drinks, they would have thrown a regular ol’ party. They want to sell stuff, with an eye on some hostess gifts. I’m ok with that, just own it. I still never went.

Enter my Mother-in-law. I cannot say, “no” to this woman. She is too kind and doesn’t (usually) say, “no” to me. Boring story short: I lifted my ban to go to a home party hosted by one of my Mother-in-law’s sweet friends, another woman I can’t say, “no” to.

(Note to self: Learn to say, “no”.)

I admire the entrepreneurial spirit of the home party consultant. It is a terrific career for people who want to work from home, believe in their product line and can talk in front of others. The company of the party I attended boasts sales in excess of 100 million dollars. Big business. If this is your line of work-fantastic! When you do your thing and combine socializing with shopping, I know that there are a lot of people who will happily drive your profits up by multitasking with you.

I was just not one of them.

Until I found myself in a room full of women; a large display of home décor items artfully arranged by the fireplace, snacks and wine a’plenty. Did I make a mistake all those years? This was fun! I settled into the sofa… and eyed what was possibly the largest cat in existence.

It’s not that I don’t like cats…ok, I don’t like cats. But it’s not because I am an animal hater- I’m allergic to them. Even a cat in a spotless home like the one I was in.

Unfortunately the consultant had begun her presentation, and it would have been rude to get up and leave. I sat through it- coveting the bean pot, sneezing and searching for tissues- lots of tissues.

And what did my husband say when I dragged my drippy self home?

“I should have warned you about the cat.”

Ya think?!

But it’s a waste of time if I didn’t learn anything.

What I learned at the home party:

*Always ask if people have a cat. Cat dander is bad.

*The bean pot can cook a cake in 13 minutes. Cake is good.

*Reinstate the ban. Sometimes bans are very, very good.

The Gummi Bear Adventure: Nommi Bears!

2011-11-18T15:28:00.003-06:00

So, I struck up a correspondence on social media recently.Ok, I do that a lot...but this one in particular introduced me to something new. Well, new to me, anyway.

This person mentioned soaking gummi bears in vodka.

I like vodka.

I like gummi bears.

She didn't know the details, just said that a lot of college kids were doing it...sigh..yes, I KNOW! Wrong on so many levels...but I figured what the heck. I was meeting strangers on the internet, who knows what a crazy road was on!

Whipped Cream flavored vodka, and Brach's Gummi bears, in a jar. How hard can it be?

Just for giggles I googled myself over to this blog: Mix That Drink after I did this:

And since it had to sit in the fridge, and my kids have candy radar and were already asking for what was left in the bag, I added this:

Very proud of my DIY skilz, I then READ the directions that said to not put it in plastic. oops. Quick swap of jars:

And waaaaay into the back of the fridge it went. For 5 days, although I snibbled on Day 3 and was very pleased.

On Day 5 I had a nasty stomach virus, so the poor gummis had to hang out for a few more days. Until today!

They plumped up quite a bit, although not as fat as I would have imagined. It looks like there is more liquid in the jar than there is, maybe a tablespoon was left.

Almost too cute to eat.

Almost.

They are a little slimey (but still have some chewy) to them so I used a tiny, silver spoon (you know, to class up the fact that I was eating vodka soaked kid candy in the middle of the day).

Very nom nom nommie!

And now it's just getting messy

2011-11-10T09:12:00.000-06:00

Last night, on Day 9, I hit the 30K mark on my NaNo (out of 50K for a win). I still love my story, love my characters, love my plot and am about to dive into the second half of the novel- although I am well past the halfway point of NaNo.

It occurred to me that I neglected to tell my family that I wanted to get to THE END this month...not just THE END OF NaNoWriMo. They are thinking,"Cool! She's almost there! We get her back!"

But I'm thinking,"I wonder how I'm going to get to THE END this month without my family staging an intervention and hiding the battery to my laptop."

But no time for that now--I have real work to do....and more work on my NaNo. But to show you how messy my physical life is getting ( all that family drama is gonna be messy, too)..

I present:

30K- A Photo Ess-ay

Little fresher than at 15K, not much...but I smell better.

"Mommy can I have a lollipop?" "Uh yeah, whatever." Lollipop...at 8 AM. *sigh*
I think the kids are finding ways to cope.

Yes, it's a little dusty.

OK! I get it! It's a LOT dusty.

This is a passive aggressive hint that I should take the trash out. I'm going to leave it there as a hint that I'm not the only one capable of taking the trash out.

Under ordinary circumstances, these get put in dishwasher right after breakfast. Under NaNo circumstances, they sit there until I'm making dinner then I multi-task.

Uh. WHAT? The grocery fairy isn't coming today?? I see a dinner in there..um, keilbasa and pickle stirfy? Pickles are vegetables, right?

It's getting ugly..

2011-11-05T09:49:00.000-05:00

..but I'm still smiling. I JUST hit 15,000 words...and have many more bubbling inside. I think my family may park me at the curb on trash day if I don't take a shower today. I didn't quite get around to it yesterday. I THINK I did the day before.

The reality of doing NaNoWriMo isn't quite as pretty as it sounds.

Dream BIG, Baby!

2011-10-31T09:41:00.001-05:00

*This is a reprint of one of my columns that ran in the Kansas City Star in October. Due to a technical issue, it was never posted online. I am reprinting it here because it tells you were I am in November. And maybe it encourages you to follow your dreams.*

The Value of Turning a Someday Into a Now

“Dream big!”

“Don’t stop! Reach for your goal!”

We want nothing but the best for our children, right? We support and encourage them in their interests. Helping our kids reach for their dreams is one of the things parents do.

What about our dreams? I’m not talking about something that might put more money in our pockets- not a work related Go For The Gold-but a personal goal. Something that validates our existence in some non-parental way. Something that says, “I worked my butt off, and the prize is not of monetary value, but it confirms that I turned a Someday into a Now.”

Maybe it’s going back to college and getting a degree for the sole satisfaction of completion, or learning purely for the joy of learning.

Maybe it’s rebuilding a car that reminds you of your childhood.

Maybe it’s running a marathon.

I have a friend named Julie, who is the mom of two young children. A few years ago, she decided that she liked running. She dreamed big and completed the Chicago Marathon.

What was her most rewarding part of this seemingly individual challenge? It had to do with her kids. She said it was seeing, “the awe and admiration on their little faces when they finally understood what I was up to.”

When I was a kid, I remember my dad saying that he was going to build a dinghy to tow behind his sailboat. I was really impressed that he was going to BUILD a boat! Himself! In our garage! And he did!

Later, I remember having to cut that dinghy loose in a storm and watch it sink. It was as heartbreaking as it sounds. But what did Dad do? He built another one! (Well, he bought one first, THEN built another one- boat building takes some time.)

Making those beautiful little boats was a personal challenge for my dad. But watching them be built? Watching Dad start his dream all over again? Those are memories I cherish.

Just like Julie’s kids will be able to cherish the memory of Mom running and completing- with a better time- her second Chicago Marathon.

Because sometimes things that we do for ourselves that challenge and reward us, we want to do again.

My thing is NaNoWriMo- National Novel Writing Month.

What is NaNoWriMo? Within the 30 days of November, the goal is to write a 50,000 word novel. It’s not about quality as much as it is about finishing. It’s not about writing a novel that gets published, although some have. It’s about pushing yourself to see if you can write one.

Last year, 200,500 people from around the globe officially participated in NaNoWriMo. Of those participants, only 37,500 got to the finish line. The boat launch. The graduation day.

I was one of them.

Alright, maybe that doesn’t make sense to you. I can’t even run a mile without my lungs exploding so I can’t understand the appeal of running 26.2 of them. But, like a marathon runner, it’s about attempting, pushing through the pain and self- doubt to completion.

And in a few weeks, I will be attempting it again. I know that my kids are watching, at least one with those eyes of awe and admiration. How do I know?

NaNoWriMo has a Young Writers Program. The goals are less in number, but equal in challenge.

Last year my teen daughter learned that winning NaNoWriMo is completing NaNoWriMo.

And she won.

This year I will look at her with mirrored awe and admiration as we sit down, crack our knuckles and do it again.

Dream big, Baby, dream big.

This is my NaNoWriMo profile picture..it reminds me of two of the characters in the story I'm writing this year.

If you are participating in NaNoWriMo '11, buddy me up! My screen name is EssephVee.

It Really Does

2011-10-27T14:53:00.000-05:00

Just in case you ever wondered...

Size matters

Dear Susan...

2011-10-24T11:24:00.001-05:00

Dear Susan,

Good morning. It's nice to see that you are comfortable and confident enough to drive the kids to school while still wearing your jammies.

Yes, the flamingos on them are very cute.

Yes, you do rock them.

Yes, like no Othah Muthah.

However..just because you know all the words LMFAO's Sexy and I Know It....and just because you have some bitchin' drivers seat dance moves does not mean you should combine them in the drop off lane, and at every red light you encounter.

Regards,

Your Dignity

Secret Language Of Boys

2011-10-22T15:32:00.000-05:00

I sipped the warm, creamy brown beverage of the gods, and the coffee did it's job. Head clearing. Vision focused....(I do NOT have a caffeine problem, shut up!)

I was saying....As my coffee helped me ease into the day I surveyed the house. Dishes filled the sink, dishwasher waiting to be emptied; backpacks and coats and various mystery items identified the debris field of Friday's Apres School Couch Crash. Dust had settled over every surface matting the shine. I never did get around to cleaning the bathrooms yesterday, and there were several loads of laundry in various stages of completion.

The place was a mess.

Someone was going to have to clean this.

Then the boys skidded into my view.

"Mom! Can we go to McDonalds for breakfast!?"

"Can we make smoothies later?"

I smiled the smile of a mom who just realized that the path to obedience is lined with food and a minivan. My eyebrow went up as I realized a way to seal the deal.

"Sure. I'll take you, but when we get back you have to help me get this house clean."

"Will you make a chore chart so we can X out stuff?"

"Yeah! Tape it on the wall!"

Where did these kids come from? I looked in my coffee mug and took a sniff...just coffee.

"Sure."

20 minutes, 4 breakfast burritos and three hashbrowns later, we were taping the chore chart to the wall, and assigning tasks.

I like to think that I am not much of a cusser. I like to think that cussing isn't necessary. But I know that sometimes, it adds just enough ooomph to drive a point home. THIS was one of those times.

"Boys! Let's make this house our bitch!"

Three knuckle punches and we were off!

Two hours later, my house was really clean.

Thirty minutes after that we were making pineapple smoothies.

And and hour after *that* I had to tell Noah to stop saying," Mario. Luigi. Prepare to become my bitch!"

His language might be dirty, but my floors are clean!

My Drunk Barbershop Kitchen

2011-10-11T11:34:00.002-05:00

Ever watch My Drunk Kitchen? If you never have,here is the latest episode based on her recent trip to Toronto.

Newbies be advised: watch only one at a time. I did a marathon my first time and was ready to send her to rehab after about episode 4. Now, pacing myself, I can really appreciate the host- Hannah Hart- a lot more. Funny, clever, self assured-- Ok, in my head she is faking having had too much of whatever she is sipping...but they are cute videos and I say- without shame- that I laugh.

Are these the best to watch before, say, bible study?

Noooo, prob'ly.

Are they the best to watch if you have chemical addiction issues or are a part of a family that has been torn apart over them?

I'm gonna say no.

The other day, I was enjoying a warm Indian Summer evening. Once in a while, when it is toasty like that, I enjoy a glass of some somethin'. That night it was sangria. I had a bottle in my fridge and wanted to finish it up before the cold weather comes and it sits there all winter because who wants sangria when it's snowy out?

Not me.

I was a couple of glasses in, when my husband suggested that I cut his, and the boy's, hair.

I am no where near as cute as Hannah Hart, but this is my best impersonation. I was even cooking!

This may very well be the worst picture ever taken of me..but after what I did to those boys, I deserve it to be on the internet.

Should I have been driving the clippers? Well, I would have passed a breathalyzer test, so sure.

Was my judgement a little off?

Sure, again.

Did I take risks with the 'dos?

Oh, yes I did.

It's feeling just a little Hitleresque, non?

Noah wanted me to buzz his surfer/Bieber hair. I gave him a #4 on the sides and scissors on the top. And forgot about his extreme cowlick. Fortunately, he he adores the use of hair products.

He loves it. Ha. There. It's all that matters. Right? Right? *sigh*

Luke fared the best, he wanted a #3 all over and that's pretty much what he got.

Brian? Uh, he has some follicle issues so his took the longest. Plus he kept micromanaging me and I was starting to get pissed off and MAY have hacked one side just a little too low to the scalp.

Brian doesn't like me to put his picture on here, but -essentially-this is what he looks like.

Since sangria is made of fruit juice, and I always add ice and a splash of 7Up, I wasn't technically drunk. I don't let myself go there any more. But I was a little tipsy---so really, it was more like my Buzzed Barbershop Kitchen.

In more ways than one.

I have RULES! New Rules!

2011-10-04T10:36:00.002-05:00

I had a rule for my social media interaction from the moment I opened my first facebook page: Only people I knew online or in person. And I kept my rule with my first facebook page.

Which I had to take down, or rather, facebook had to take down because, I broke their rules. (Honest, it was a misunderstanding, I wasn't spamming, I was fundraising.)

So-- I made a new page with a new name and new rules. I also got busy with the security buttons. I would only friend people who knew me, and could find me.

And then I decided I wanted to network on facebook.

So I morphed my rules: if they could find me, or if I was ballsy enough to send them a friend request and they accepted, they were in.

This worked well for awhile, until facebook rolled out not only the new changes of a couple of weeks ago, but the changes for the future. I wanted to play, but I wanted to only play with a certain kind of people.

So I pruned my friends list. I used the Coffee Shop System: If I walked into a coffee shop and saw them, would I a)recognize them b)pretend I didn't see them, c)or walk up and say hi.

If the answer to A as No, I pruned them. If the answer to B was Yes, cut. A C Yes and they stayed. (And then I pruned some kids who I had been censoring my language for and a few people that I got tired of reading statuses that alternated between whining about their life and making others feel bad for whining about their's.)

When the new changes roll again, I think I will cut again using the Fart Method: If I tooted loudly in front of them, would they pretend they didn't hear it or laugh at me. The pretenders go. Come on, when an adult lets one loose among friends, it's funny!

It doesn't mean that I don't like the people that I cut from my list, some of them were hard to X out. It's totally not them, it's me. I just want to know that I will feel comfortable sharing my music and movie choices with them and know that it won't change the way that they think about me.

Meanwhile, I have a g+ and twitter account. I don't plan on sharing my love of bad '80's Romantic Comedies, and brags about my kids with people on there.

I only have a one rule on g+: Circle up anyone who I damn well feel like. (Two caveats: If I have to click "Would you like google to translate this page?" or are men with circles only full of women-- I'm not circling back.)

But basically, I'm a Circle Ho.
Ditto Twitter.
Find me.

Perspective

2011-10-01T09:00:00.002-05:00

Calender flipped to October! 2012 Calender in basket,waiting to be filled.

"Yay!" Bekah said as she flipped the calendar to the next page,"I love this! I've been waiting!"

I wasn't even at my first sip of coffee yet, so I didn't get it.

"Why?"

"Because these are my favorite three months! First, October is full of fun Halloween stuff, and then Thanksgiving is in November, and then-yippee!- it's Christmastime! All three months are fun, they are my favorites all year!"

Her joy was juxtaposed with the clutching of stress in my belly.

Halloween? I still have summer decor outside! I'm not ready for pumpkins and costumes and creepy looking treats!

Thanksgiving?! All that work to get that meal on the table! Planning, and shopping, and cleaning and chopping, and cooking....and more cleaning.

Christmas!?! CHRISTMAS? That's the biggie! All that shopping and planning and wrapping and...

I took a sip of coffee to calm myself. These next three months are going to be busy, and full and...

I looked at my daughter prancing out of the room, excited for the fun and suprises that the next three months will bring. That's when it hit me... she has that image of these months because I have made the activities of them special for her and her brothers. All the planning and work--sure, it puts a pumpkin on our stoop, a beautiful dinner on the table, and a sparkly season celebrating the birth of our Saviour--it also make memories.

All that effort on my part makes the childhood memories of my children.

Worth it.

But I am going to need A LOT more coffee.

Those things that make us want to snap someone

2011-09-23T15:41:00.006-05:00

My friend Kristin just asked, in that smartassy way that only friends can get away with, if I was caught up on my counter lists.

It took me a second to realize what she was talking about.

No, Kristin, I am not.

(Kristin is totally one of those friends who can get away with smartassy with me, but she is waaaaay sweeter than I am. She is also a new blogger. Check her out here Here )

I have yet to go through all the medicines and look at expiration dates. And go through the kids winter coats to check sizes. These are just TWO of the notes I was given the other morning. Check this out:

TEN notes. (There is one on top of the upper-est note). Trees are crying.

Can I just say, he is all about saving plastic and filling those white trash bags up to the tippy top but not so ecologically sound when it comes to paper. We do have a trash CAN under the sink, but the white plastic bags never get full enough for him in there, so they sit. In my kitchen. For me to look at. Until they are full. Or I get pissed off and take them to the garage.

Yeah.

So.

No, not done. And I haven't cleaned the bathrooms yet either.

But I did take this picture.

Snap!

Always a silver lining...

2011-09-20T10:23:00.001-05:00

This kid has a LOUD mouth. Most kids do. The trick, of course, is to teach them when to use it properly at the highest volume and when to keep it shut. Or whisper. I would even be happy with a sustained inside voice.

This kid also has a very colorful vocabulary. I mean that exactly like you think. I don't know where he gets it from. *blink blink*

He does usually use the words correctly, and often in a creative string which is one of those uniquely parental Cringe/Pride moments.

When he is outside, like at a football game, loud is encouraged. Creative is also encouraged, but not cussing. He seems to be aware that there is never a time at school to use the most raunchy of his language, so shouting ways that the players can knock the poo out of one another is about as foul as he gets.

But at home, that is a different story.

Yesterday, I told him to stop playing video games and do his homework.

This was not his favorite idea.

I walked away, he continued to play. Then Bekah told him the same thing.

This was not his favorite method of instruction.

He opened up that loud, big, effective mouth and shouted,"(The worst thing a six year old can probably say)!!! You are NOT the boss of me!!!"

He tossed the controller on the couch and launched himself toward the perceived safety of his room.

As I took off chasing him, I noticed- through the open windows- two men holding clip boards and dressed nicely in black golf shirts and khaki pants. In unison they executed a perfectly coordinated about face in our driveway.

"I don't care that you just saved us from door-to-door salesmen, You are so grounded from wii!!"

WOOT! Party!

2011-09-17T13:14:00.003-05:00

I swiped this from someone who swiped it from Martha Stewart. Wanna piece?

A month ago I wondered what the life of a serious blogger was like. What would it feel like to have to come up with something remotely interesting once a day, write it and hit POST? Would my posts get better? Would my writing get better? Would more people read it?

I also needed to kick myself in the ass to write every day.

So I took my little blog here and posted. Every day.

Was it hard? Yes and no.

Yes, some days it was hard to come up with something to say (sorry about those) and some days I had more than one idea so I wrote a couple and set them to post another day. After the first week, my brain must have gone into Serious Blogger Mode because I was thinking,"oh, I could write about this!" and " lemme get my camera!" around every corner.

And around every other corner was a family member who learned to shy away from my camera and scream," Don't blog about this!"

I think my goal to make my posts more brief was also achieved. I became a more ruthless editor. I know it's kinda telling, but I get giddy when I start slashing. It's a bloodbath of words and I am the victor.

I did gain a couple new followers and got a lot more traffic, which is fantastic. Welcome! Thank you for clicking the FOLLOW box.

(That is crack to me, btw. Crazy high.)

For all of you who wrote comments, or sent me emails or notes on facebook about this month of blogs, THANK YOU!!! I toast you because your thoughts mean a lot to me.

For all who read, maybe thought it was only ok, but came back another day to give me another shot--thank you!

I learned a lot this month. It was a very worthwhile and rewarding project and I will be posting more often- but not everyday. I can't. I need to work towards another goal--I have to finish cleaning up my NaNoWriMo project from LAST November so that I can do it again THIS November. You should join me. 50,000 words in 30 days! Find me on there, my username is EssephVee (which is also my twitter name, if you are interested). We can bitch and moan through it together! It'll be fun!

Swapping my coffee out for some bubbly! Cheers!

On my first day this month I toasted you with coffee, today I'm switching to--ok, it's 7-Up..but there are bubbles! ( And I learned to take my glasses off but still, no makeup).

Thank you for joining me on this journey, and thank you for reading!

"Hey, Mom, leave the bottle."

One more day

2011-09-16T16:06:00.000-05:00

Thirty days ago I vowed to post every single day for a full month. And I did. Didn't miss one single day. And I'm not going to either. But here is the thing. I had big plans for this last day.

That is, big plans until yesterday when my son, in his very first ever full football game in a uniform, played sorta like a rockstar in football pads. This enthusiasm earned him a special honor that is bestowed on two boys a week. His 7th grade self gets to hang with the high school team at their weekly game. And I'm gonna take him because, you know, I dig football. And driving an hour and a half to watch it.

Yeah. Ok, I love my kid.

But I have to leave early, and the rest of my day got filled with all kinds of fun. Real and sarcastic. Beckett and I will be recording (real fun)--and I have to clean the bathrooms ( sarcastic fun). And do some other boring houswifey stuff.

But I still have BIG plans for my last post day, so hang tight and I'll post on Saturday, too.

Thanks!!

Some things I understand, and some I just don't

2011-09-15T14:49:00.000-05:00

This morning was brisk. Upper 40's. It was in the pre-coffee hours when I got dressed, so I reached for the fall uniform: jeans, short sleeve shirt and cardigan.

The woman who reaches for a cardigan is different than the woman who reaches for a hoodie. We are probably a little more traditional in our dress, maybe have an eye for some vintage. We like the coziness that a cardigan implies, vs the " I am going to sweat!" of a hoodie.

I understand the cardigan and the hoodie choices.

When I reached for my cardigan, I realized that I had several options, but in those pre awake hours I went not for color, but for my staple: black.

Slimming, trendy...black clothing says," I may have an eye for fashion...or I might just be a lazy dresser but you will never know." My black cardigan says," mysterious convention. "

I understand the choice of black clothing.

As I reached for the cardigan, I realized that there were several options in this color. Five. I have five black cardigans. (I may have more, you have seen my closet).

They each can be dressed up or down, go with a skirt or jeans...to church or to a football game. (Ok, maybe Old Faithful can't go to church anymore--I've had her since the mid '80's and she is tired.) I understand each of these sweater options:

The collection (or what I can find of it)

And, like the good mysteriously conventional fashion diva that I am (that's a joke, you can laugh) I have the complimentary collection of black shoes. Each different and for different types of activities, but can be dressed up and down like the best wardrobe elements.

I totally understand black shoes.

If you are like me, you look at that sampling and think," of course, all very different shoes." You probably even have a collection that is somewhat similar. You see a use for all of them, and might even have more of your own and think me somewhat a minimalist. You understand me, and I you.

So if you are like me you can probably not answer why my spouse has this collection of his own. A collection of black clothing items that I just can't understand:

Three pairs of identical slippers. Why?

Best Laid Plans

2011-09-14T16:32:00.000-05:00

So I had this funny idea for a blog post. A pictorial essay of all the things my family needs to learn to do.

Like flushing the toilet.

Or changing the toilet paper roll.

Or rinsing toothpaste spit down out of the sink.

Or stuff in another room besides the bathroom! Lots of stuff! Funny stuff!

But I can't find my camera.

Or my mp3 player.

Some sort of small electronics misplacing is going on around here. And, now that I think about it they ~~were~~ are both pink, small electronics. Hmmmm. The MP3 player meant I had to listen to my daily podcast quota online. I listened to a new one...Tales of Old. It's historically based short story fiction. Or historically based fiction, short stories...I'm not so sure on the wording of that. Anyway, I like what I have heard. So I'm pimping it here. Word.

And I am sooooo close to my month of blogging big FINALE. (Ok, not that big-- no swag or anything. Maybe some confetti. Not sure..) ANYWAY...I didn't want to miss a day especially because I can't find my girly electronics!

SO, for your viewing pleasure....this is what happens when Luke gets his hands on my camera. And this is what happens when Luke uses my camera and I find the pictures. Enjoy.

Dang it...where did I put those electronics!??

Know thyself

2011-09-13T08:00:00.013-05:00

The amount of food this 13 year old eats is not only well documented by me, but not out of the ordinary for this particular gender of teenager. That said, he's the only one in our house that eats like that. "That" being disgusting combinations and enormous quantities.

For dinner he had two dinner salads, and two large bowls of pasta and red sauce. With ranch dressing. The pasta AND the salad.

hurl.

Luke is taking a class in school called Industrial Tech Lab. In this class they learn all kinds of super cool computer stuff. When we met his teacher and talked about what the class would be doing this year, I joked about auditing the class. Only, I wasn't really joking.

So this teacher was endeared to me even more by this lesson last week. It wasn't the elements of the class, but the product. Luke was allowed to design his own t-shirt and this is what he made:

It says" Luke: Eat like the world is ending"

I'm Still Trying: Part Three

2011-09-12T16:50:00.002-05:00

The quest continues. Become a fan of football. This past weekend I worked really hard toward my goal. Oh hush, we all need goals.

We sold a child and got tickets to a pro game. Ok, that's just mean. She went to grandma's, someone gave us 4 tickets.

This wasn't my first professional football game. I've been to a Bears game in Chicago, Pats games in Foxboro, and I worked at a little building called the Super Dome. I've been to plenty of pro games, but never while on a mission to like the sport.

First up, lunch. Hot dogs, drinks and some peanuts- I won't tell you how much but if I got a dollar a blog, I would have to write 60 of them.

Yes, this is my boob. Covered in mustard. Good plan to wear a white shirt, huh?

Some words of advice from a father to his son...

...when the cheerleaders were the only action on the field. ( I can't make this stuff up, true)

He's six. At six you take any opportunity you get to scream your head off. He lived beyond his potential in this area. The whole game. Even though the Chiefs fumbled at the kick off and pretty much kept that pace the whole game.

If you give a screaming six year old a foam finger, you are pretty much doomed to see this view the whole game.

We stayed til the end. I think, as a sport, I would rather watch the high school kids. The play is faster, they don't have to wait for commercials, and you can hear the crunch of the helmets from any seat. As an activity, though, this type of football is more to my liking. Except for the leaving part when some drunken idiots screamed, "Oh yeah! Your mother called and asked me if she could f******* s*** my d***"!!! About 4 feet from Noah. Who was enthralled. *sigh*

Final score: Oh, it was as pathetic as those drunken fools-- Chiefs- 7.Buffalo Bills- 41.

Pause. Rewind. Play.

2011-09-11T08:27:00.013-05:00

The post is short. It only contains wishes for myself today. Maybe they are your wishes, too.

To pause. To stop and remember what today is about on a world level, but also a personal one.

To rewind. To think back- compare and contrast pre to post. To think of what the world looked and looks like since that day when September 11th stopped being just another day on the calendar and 911 was what we dialed to get help.

To play. To appreciate today. Enjoy life and rock it- live it full speed and with all I have. Even in the face of adversity or personal challenges. To play sounds so simple, but in this context it can be really difficult.

Peace.

Susan

How we spent our day. Rocked it. USA style.

I'm Trying: Game Two

2011-09-10T09:13:00.000-05:00

Last night was the second home football game. I went. Of course. Not only am I on this quest to like football, but Bekah is in the marching band, and Luke and his middle school football team were getting recognized at halftime as,"the future of Warrior football"

Good grief.

For this game I had a date, Brian came. He won't make it to many games this season (read: any more) but Noah went to spend the night at Grandma's and Brian didn't have any good excuse not to go.

I will say, the game went a little faster, although the plays got kinda boring towards the end because the other team failed to score. The whole game.

And it was better because it wasn't a bajillion degrees. We needed sweatshirts and it felt more football weathery. I spotted our neighbors Jamie and Kelly and I shouted, " punch him in the face!" while walking up the bleacher steps. While they were paralyzed with embarrassment for me, we slipped into the seats beside them.

Good strategy, non?

Brian trying to figure out which one is his daughter

When the band marched onto the field, I pointed out Bekah. Then she moved, because- you know- that's the point of marching. So I followed her with my finger for Brian to keep track. (No, not that finger, the pointer one.) We followed her for the whole routine. Too bad we were following the wrong kid. Bekah showed me where she was when we looked at these pictures.

The band plays the Star Wars theme and the Color Guard battles with light sabers. I'm very easily amused, but this was fun to watch.

Brian sent commentary on the plays my way, and I tried to pay attention. You know, when I wasn't wondering what idiot started the trend of freaking ginormous bows on the top of the heads of the cheerleaders. Not low on the head, or in the middle holding a ponytail. Stuck on top? Why? Tim Gunn would not think that worked. Not at all. The bows were distracting, but the cheerleaders taught me that those who win, want it and we want it more. (I'm paraphrasing.)

Finally, Luke and his middle school teammates took the field for a few brief and glorious moments.

Luke was very excited to rush back and tell us about his experiences. It was a lesson for the poor lad.

Hey, Luke--where is the rest of your team?

Rule #1: Stay with the team

I learned quite a bit at last night's game. I learned I can't pick my kid out at a distance, that the path to winning is paved with desire, never to wear a ginormous bow on the top of my head, and that it's always best to stay with the pack.

Game recap: Smithville scored in the first 32 seconds against the Chillicothe Hornets. Our boys got the fumble on the kickoff, and scored on the 1st play on offense. Final score: 35-0 Warrior victory.

The Birthday: An Essay, with Photos

2011-09-09T09:17:00.002-05:00

You know those times when you plan to surprise someone and you think you know how it's going to play out and you get super excited for it to happen because you KNOW exactly the reaction you are going to get...and you don't get it?

This wasn't one of those times.

Ordinarily, we don't go big on kid birthdays. We keep it pretty mellow. Special, but mellow. They don't get parties every year, only at 1,5,10,13 and 16. Even then, if they pull a boneheaded move, like intentionally scratching my minivan several times, the party will get cancelled.

Get in your way back machine. Remember when you were 15? You loooooved some singer or band? Maybe it was NKOTB or Debbie Gibson or Taylor Dane. Maybe you are a coot like me and it was Leif Garrett, Duran Duran or Sean Cassidy? Ok, you're cooler than me, how about KISS, or Madonna? Whoever it was you knew all the music, all the facts,cut out the Tiger Beat posters and got them covered in root beer lip smakers saying goodnight? Imagine your very first concert being THAT.

Now hold onto the 15 year old superfan you just mustered up.

This week, Bekah turned 15.

To attempt to scratch the image of my horrendous closet out of your minds, and try (feebly) to re-establish my homemaker cred...I bring to you, The Birthday- A Photo Essay

And that is all some of you need.

Yes I bake. And wear aprons. And broke my fashion rule: Puffy sleeves OR strappy shoes, not both.

She picked the meal: baked potato bar. No, we don't put grapes on the potatoes.

"Nice, Mom- I see you are using up the Christmas paper from last year."

Oh, it's a cute purse!

Filled with all kinds of things like lipgloss, nail polish, and a new wallet. Wonder what's in this wallet?

*Insert ear shattering scream here*

OMGOSHTAYLORSWIFT!!!!!

(This is where you need to imagine your 15 year-old superfan reaction. Taylor Swift is hers. And I had told her the tickets were sold out. And she didn't question me and go behind my back and find out for herself, which, now that I think about it, is really odd.)

It's not about the gifts or the surprise or the opportunity to make a teenager's birthday wish come true- it's about this. We love this kid!

Hypocrite, liar and blogger

2011-09-08T12:15:00.001-05:00

I say it a lot, I'm a hypocrite. "Do this, kids"...while I'm doing just the opposite.

Like this weekend when I told Luke to clean his closet. And he did.

Luke cleaned his closet

And I didn't.

Hypocrite.

Yet another one occurred to me last night when we sat down to dinner. I had made beef stir fry, which I really don't like but Brian loves it so I make it every once and again. I gave the kids the stir fry for dinner and then sat down with my meal.

Rice, pot stickers, one token green bean, and only a couple of slices of the beef since I figured I needed some protein. (In my defense, I had some more green beans before I put the stir fry seasonings on them while I was cooking.)

My dinner place.

Did the kids catch on that I wasn't eating what I insisted they have? Sure. Did they say anything to me? No. Why? Because they know it won't get them anything more than extra stir fry veggies.

And they were too busy asking why I got to read a book at the table.

"Because. Just because I had a crappy day and I need some escaping and I like to read when I eat sometimes. Happy?"

They also know better than to answer that.

So- recapping- I'm a hypocrite, I don't eat well all the time, and I sling attitude at my kids at the table.

I'm also a liar.

See the book I'm reading? Emma. Classic, right? Jane Austen, chick writer for the brainy set.

Whenever anyone asks what I am reading, or there is a chance they will look to see what I am reading, I use Emma.

In actuality, I have never made it through the book. I've started it several times, but never finished. I get distracted. I've seen the movie a bajillion times, love the story, but somehow whenever I start to read that particular book, my mind goes to sleep. I really do read other smart chick books. Lots of historical non-fiction, for example.

Maybe at a different time in my life, I would have, or will be able to appreciate this book in the manner of my friends who list it as their all time favorite book do. Maybe. I'll keep trying.

My non liar picture

In actuality I was reading this as I ate my not so healthy dinner: Grow Your Blog- Proven WaysTo Add Followers Every Single Day. By Simple Dude. His blog is here, Simple Dude in a Complex World. (It's not a mommy blog, but you don't have to be Emma Smart to figure that out.)

The book was a buck 99 download and The Bloggess recommended it. I don't want to be a Bloggess blog, ok, if it happened, great. But I'm not her, buying crazy chickens instead of towels...I'm me.Here. Being a hypocrite. Contrary to not having finished Emma, I'm smart enough to know that if something is important to you, you learn from the successful people how they did it or how they would have done it better.

I haven't learned anything yet that I don't already do. But I'm only on chapter six. (I made it to chapter five the last time I sat down with Emma.) I think he's getting to the networky stuff next. I suck at networky. But I am amused. I'll give a review when I'm done with it.

So there. If you like your bloggers hypocrites, liars and not great eaters...click FOLLOW at the top of this page. If you don't...um, go clean my closet.

I liked it, but I didn't like it

2011-09-07T10:05:00.002-05:00

Last week, when the facebook page was at about 300,000 LIKES, I clicked the button. I like my friend who liked it first. I like recipes. I like momtrepreneurs. I like Texas. LIKE!

But, since then, Crock Pot Girls page has earned an unlike from me. Ok, technically, I am on the roster of likes, but I'm only there so I can read the commentary- I can't help myself it's all so entertaining!

I'm a total LIKE poser.

Here is why:

First I read this piece from Someone who can explain the techie parts WAY better than I ever could.

hmmmm.

Then I watched the number of LIKES increase at a freaky fast pace- they hit a million in two weeks. I've watched our podcast page LIKES go up veeery gradually.We work on content. Where is the content on this crock pot page? Where is the website? It appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again mid week two?

hmmmmm.

One day, when I was ~~obsessing~~ reading the CPGs page, I jotted down a recipe for Bacon Ranch Chicken. When I went back to make a screenshot to print off because my handwriting sucks, I couldn't find it.

Why not?

No organization! Because I ~~obsess~~ felt that anyone should be able to find a freaking recipe, I went in on a mission.

I don't care if you are ProCPG--finding a recipe you are looking for on there is like finding a Degas at a garage sale. Lots of hunting through crap and lots of luck.

This is where a lot of the recipes are, jumbled around in 3000+ discussions.

The other place for recipes is in the PHOTOS file.
Click on one of those albums and you get...

..this. Oh, that makes sense. I can see clearly now...not. So drag your mouse over those ( not on here, silly, on the CPGpage) and you get recipe titles.

Click on those titles and you MIGHT find the recipe you are looking for. Maybe. And a buncha chatter including questions like, "how much water?" Water? Is that on the ingredients list?

I hate garage sales. And I don't like looking for recipes on this page either.

But part of me was thinking, "if I was one of them, and just wanted to start a simple recipe exchange, how would I react to the influx of techno-learning this type of exposure creates?"

I think I would have been commenting all over the place, and aligning myself with someone who could get me out of this mess.

And did you notice? One of the "girls" is gone. She left, if you read this the same link I thought you should read before. and read down in the comments not only will you get an education in social media and internet marketing, but you might see a post from "girl" number three. (Hard to know on the internet who you are talking to, ya know?)

I thought maybe going to the Crock Pot Girls actual website would be better. Nope. Don't go. I'm not even going to give you screenshots. Not a lot of recipes, and they aren't even alphabetized.

Come on, people... DEMAND GOOD CONTENT!

I get rooting for the underdog, and encouraging other moms, and even wanting to be in on something from the beginning...but at some point you should put on your thinking caps and look at it objectively. Maybe you come to a different conclusion than me, but it's YOUR conclusion. Own it.

Anyway, I wrote this for my column in The Kansas City Star that appears today. I do really think watching this story play out is not only entertaining, but I am getting quite an education and meeting some very interesting people.

Like your crock pot recipes organized in an organized manner? Here are some of my favorites, and only a tip of the list...go find one YOU like!

On facebook:
Crock Pot Recipe Exchange
Crock Pot Guys
Crock-PotTM Slow Cooker

On the web:
http://www.thecrockpotblog.com/
http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/

Mr Poo, may I introduce Mr Fan?

2011-09-06T09:44:00.002-05:00

This happens on recording weeks- I never feel prepared enough, never feel like I have enough information even though I have been researching the topic for a longer time than I studied for full classes in college. (Which should tell you what kind of a college student I was).

I know that the women we talk about whole BOOKS are written about-- lots and lots of books all filled with different information. Whole sections in the library about the time she lived. Semester long classes are centered around this ONE woman, more about her times--people study them for years always uncovering new information-- and all that is at our disposal. So we suck up as much as we can, add it to what we already knew and and condense all of that down to one hour(ish).

But it never feels like enough. So I get that stressy feeling in the pit of my stomach on recording weeks, trying to eek out time to learn just a bit more, put it into a logical, storytelling form. It's fun, but it's also nerve wracking. That's just the way it is.

(And the other worse feeling: when I spend all this time and energy learning the life of a woman- and read the wikipedia entry and it covers most of what I took weeks to learn. But, come on, it's wikipedia. Anyone with a computer can add to wikipedia- it's hardly to most reliable source for information.)

And this week is a short one. I was Family Mom yesterday (Brian found me about 10:30 AM and had some "fun" projects for us) which was great, but now I'm one day shorter this week. One less day to get it all done.

I'm looking at my list of To Dos and I know some of them won't get done. That's just how it is. My eyes are sticky and itchy; my sinuses are clogging all from allergens.That's just how it is. The larder needs to be restocked, the house cleaned, apparently we are having a garage sale next week so I have to work on organizing that, and I have written work to finish. That's just how it is. And I know I'm not alone with a list like this.

It's just how it is for all of us. Mr Poo is meeting Mr Fan all over the place.

**************EDITED SEVERAL HOURS LATER****************************

Well, my stress, doom and gloom was short lived. The woman I was holding the garage sale with just can't do it next week...what about May? MAY? May sounds great and reeeeallly a long way off!

I kicked fanny on some of the projects that were staring me in the face, and only have one to finish up today before I can call it quits (sadly, it's not this blog update. bummer).

The thing I had on Friday got moved to Monday.

Mr. Poo, Mr. Fan...back to your corners. I'm not ready for you yet.

*************The next day...***********************************

Since I am posting everyday right now...some of my posts are going to be winners, and some are going to blow...this is the latter. I'm letting it ride, but if you are new here, skim down a few posts, most of them are better than this. :)

shhh...

2011-09-05T10:08:00.000-05:00

Shhh, dont' rat me out. I'm hiding.

It's nearing on 10AM and I am in my jammies. I am on a quest of some sort, trying to see how much coffee I can consume while thus attired. I have put forth a valiant effort, three large cups and I drained the coffee pot so if I want more I'm going to have to make it.

I think I'm done with coffee for the morning.

It's Labor Day, and Brian and I have very different views on how the holiday should be celebrated. He believes in the apparent logical meaning and he has uttered the four words I dread to hear from him, " Let's get things done." He would like to spend the day in labor. work. *shudder*

While I, a traditionalist, believe that the day should be spent as far from labor as possible. Oh, sure, there are children to raise, meals to prepare, messes to tidy--but the 'tweener activities I think should be more relaxed, more labor free.

So I'm hiding at his moms house. I actually spent the night here (we do this a lot- she and I are TV compatible) and his Frightful Four were texted to me at 8:30 this morning.

Let's get things done.

Let's not and say we did.

So right now I am "helping" his mom (she is tidying and I am offering emotional support). In a few minutes I will take a shower and get dressed, then I have some "errands to run for her" (she ran out of milk). After that, who knows, I'm trying not to plan and think too hard. It sounds too much like labor.

However you are spending this first Monday in September, I wish you well. I hope you do exactly what you want, and accomplish whatever lofty (or un) goals you have in mind.

It's bound to happen

2011-09-04T12:01:00.000-05:00

Whenever two women live in the same house, it's bound to happen sometime.

If the two women have similar taste, it's bound to happen a lot.

Even if one is a middle-aged, curvy mom, and one is a thin, teenager.

Yesterday, Bekah and I went up to our rooms to get dressed for the day.We really were just hanging out, the only plans were a jaunt to the library, and piddling around at home. It's the "piddling around at home" part that has me make-up and hairstyle less. This is REAL housewives, my friends.

I came down first, looking like this:

Bekah came down second looking like this:

We just looked at each other and laughed. And, because we were just piddling around at home, neither one of us changed. Or put on makeup. Or did our hair. We just piddled. Ok, that sounds bad.

Football Report: I'm trying

2011-09-03T09:11:00.004-05:00

Last night was the first time that I went to high school football game and actually saw my own kid on the field.

Well, that isn't entirely accurate- I did go to several games when Bekah was in elementary school. The high school cheerleaders hold an annual camp for elementary kids. At the end of a week of after-school practices, the little girls (yeah, mostly girls, although I'm sure it's open to all) line the field and perform during the half time show. It's really super adorable and the times that Bekah did it, the line stretched from end zone to end zone.

Cheerleading wasn't exactly playing to her strengths. Our team is the Warriors. She screached, "GOOO! Worriers!!' And once I heard, " GOOOO! Lawyers!"

Sigh.

But this time was just the first of many when that same former (not really her thing) cheerleader took the field playing her flute, and marching with the band.

Band! Love band! Plays to her strengths, yet a team activity. She can stay in band as long as she wants, then one extra year because I think it's good for her.

The band did great ! Sure I'm slightly biased...but I recognized the tunes which- in my book- gets them 3/4 of the way to a Great review.

Yeah, you can't see anything. That's because the picture that you CAN see the band, and the flash went off, I look ~~slightly moderately,~~ deranged.

sigh.

My plan to only stay until halftime was thwarted when Bekah told me that she has to stay for the whole game. Mom taxi-ing is one of my least favorite chores--and once I go home and it's dark all I want to do is sleep. I went to the game knowing that I was going to stay the whole time.

I chose my seat carefully when Luke (who wanted to go hang out with all his middle schoolites) and I got to the game. By "carefully" I mean that I looked for someone I knew who was sitting as far away from other people as possible.

Hello, Kelly!

I was quite sure Kelly wasn't entirely thrilled to sit next to negative, chatty me. She likes football. I think that she was sitting at the top of the bleachers so that she could watch the game with her husband. But I think she also likes me so I told her I would be quiet as I settled in next to her.

And I was. Sorta. I asked a few questions because she knew all the players, and, oh yes, she likes football. I told her about my quest to learn to enjoy the game and she was kind enough to include me on some of the details of the action I was watching.

I'm not entirely a football newbie. I understand the basics of the game, I can follow it. Sorta. Her husband, who sat on the other side of her, really follows it. He was shouting all kinds of stuff that made me laugh.

" 'Punch him in the mouth?' " I asked after he had screamed it a few times.

He just smiled at me. Not the, YEAH! smile, more like the ,*pat pat* There Now smile.

"I want to get in on that. Can you tell me when to yell it?" I asked.

"Sure."

Pause.

"Ok, now." he quietly said.

And I dragged up, deep from my gut where I store away my aggression, " PUNCH HIM IN THE MOUTH!!!"

The husband smiled. It was a Wow smile.

"You keep that up, I may let you sit next to me at a game," he told me.

"Well, it's going to be a while, I'm still watching to see how the cheerleaders are doing."

I do believe The Husband rolled his eyes.

Final score: Smithville 30.....Maryville 36 (came from behind, Warriors led, 30-12 at the half. OOOH, lookit me getting with the lingo!)

Bullet Points on Bullying

2011-09-02T11:21:00.000-05:00

*One of my kids is getting bullied, but asked that I don't identify them.

*This child is one of the happiest people that I know.

*It breaks my heart to hear the tales, and makes me wonder what ones are kept inside.

*I know the parents and some of the bullies.

*I want to lash out at them both using the same methods used on my child.

* I want to rip down the veil of Not My Kid.

*I want to scream with my megaphone into the ears of the adults in charge when this happens.

*I know that fighting ugly with ugly doesn't solve anything.

*I want to make them all read Hate List, by Jennifer Brown.

*I want to homeschool my child, although- honestly-I am not qualified to homeschool anyone above the age of 4.

*So I pray. Hard. Pray that the action plan we developed with our child works. Pray that all the action plans of the school work. Pray that I choose my words and tone with care. Pray that my child keeps telling us the truth. Pray that my child learns that strength comes from intelligence, empathy and compassion, not hate and violence.

*I pray that the bullying stops. Pray that the bullies realize the whats and whys of their actions. Pray this not just for my child, but for the others.Pray for the small and shy,the strong and outgoing, the timid and the brave.

*All of them.

The Good and The Bad of Today

2011-09-01T12:58:00.000-05:00

The Good: Beckett worked tirelessly (well, I think she was tired) and our latest podcast went up in the middle of the night
The Bad: Itunes isn't picking it up because of some techie issue that is beyond our control.

The Good: I'm home and can spend a great deal of time on the phone with tech support.
The Bad: See: beyond our control.

The Good: I got some exercise.
The Bad: I got exercise mowing the lawn in 100 degree weather.

The Good: I had the foresight to begin taking my fall allergy meds a couple of weeks ago.
The Bad: I forgot to take them today and only realized this mid mow when my head filled with, uh, stuff.

The Good: Exercise helps my thought processes.
The Bad: I have a lot of work that needs my thought process. And it's staring at me. And I have to go get it done.

I have the bad and the boring complete, and I can spend the rest of my time this afternoon doing the work that I enjoy. Starting with this.

Wednesday Wallow

2011-08-31T09:24:00.001-05:00

Did you ever see the movie, Broadcast News? Netflix doesn't stream it, but they have the DVD (and the DVD pricing package doesn't go up until mid September) ANYWAY...It's a great movie about a TV newsroom with Albert Brooks and William Hurt as rival reporters and Holly Hunter is the producer. She is brilliant. Driven. Focused. Professional. And once a day she goes into her office and bawls her eyes out. It's her therapy. When she returns from her secret cathartic act, no one knows- her game face is on, she is back.

I relate.

I don't go into my room and cry, I'm not much of a crier--but I wallow. In private. I don't usually tell anyone I'm doing it, really, that would be depressing. And embarrassing- the moments are fairly brief and those that care about me would be trying to snap me out of something that was snapped hours ago. Besides, they are not who I am entirely- merely a part of the package. And a part I really don't like to advertise.

If you don't have a public and a private persona--a different mask for your kids teachers or your boss,or even your friends and family than you have for the face in your mirror--well, goody for you. You are either lying or so in tune with yourself that you would probably not like to hang with someone as messed up as me. Move along now.

Since I am living my life out loud and honest on this blog this month, I struggled with writing about these 2-3 hour jags about once every two, sometimes three weeks. Usually an event triggers them, today it was opening the newspaper.

How I spent my morning, by Susan Vollenweider

Anxious.

Blue.

Frustrated.

Paranoid.

Irrelevant.

Struggling.

Kicked.

Selfish.

Sad.

Plummeting.

Dark.

Defeated.

SNAP!

Hopeful.

Something about a blue streak

2011-08-30T09:57:00.002-05:00

Teenage daughter rule #1: They will do something nutty with their hair.

Bekah came home from a girl scout retreat this summer with a blue streak in her hair. One night, the group mixed up a concoction and went to town on each other's hair. Several weeks after the retreat, she still had the blue streak.

Now, this child has been asking for awhile to get a streak of color in her hair. I had looked into it: the salon method bleaches a strip of hair, then colors it. The boxes in the stores use a similar method, with the added disadvantage of no formal training. You section off the hair wrong it's going to be wrong for a very long time.

With this DIY version, the original hair color is still present and works with the dye, so keep your color wheel in mind if you do this.It also isn't as permanent, ATHOUGH IT LASTS SEVERAL WEEKS (did you get that?) The salon method leaves you with a vibrant streak, this color is a bit more subtle (you know, as subtle as a ginger with blue in her hair can be).

The salon method (around here) is 35 bucks. This method is under a dollar.

A DOLLAR!

I let her refresh the streak the other day, and when I mentioned it to a gaggle of my friends, they were intrigued by the method. It didn't take much to convince Bekah to get another streak done for this. Just to warn you: if you have a teenage girl at home, chances are that she knows how to do this already and you won't be telling her anything new. But little kids and other parents will think you are genius.

Supplies: Conditioner, aluminum foil, saran wrap, comb, hair clips/elastics, towel to cover clothes, old toothbrush,plastic cup and spoon, and the special ingredient: Kool-aid. (the kind you mix the sugar in when you make the drink. You can use a kind with sugar, but it's kind of sticky)

This is about 3-4 tablespoons of conditioner, to one packet of kool-aid mixed well. Obviously the stronger the concentration, the deeper the color.

Section off (carefully) the hair you want to color. Pull the rest back out of the way with the hair clips and elastics.

Lay the aluminum foil under the hair, and paint the goo on with the toothbrush. If you were smart, you would wear gloves. I am not that smart.

Keep the foil as close to the scalp as you can

It washes off in a day. Ish.

Saturate the hair, and - just like Tabitha on Tabitha's Salon Takeover ( I love that show), fold the foil over the hair, and up to make a little packet of foil covered hair. Cover THAT packet with plastic wrap so that if any blue oozes out, it will be contained.

Cover the packet with headbands to hold it in place. This is a down side, it takes several hours. 4-8. Sleep in it, or time accordingly during the day.

There was extra goo. Guess who got conned into playing Hair Salon?

You can barely see it, on my right side. I'm ok with that.

Flying a helicopter out of my comfort zone

2011-08-29T11:24:00.002-05:00

Last January I began to do something really out of my comfort zone. It requires huge chunks of time-often keeping me up long past the time my eyes should be shut. So much time is spent, and yet, I rarely speak of it in this space. Why? I thought that I didn't want the worlds overlapping in public much. The mommy blogger world, the columnist world--and this one. They feel separate, so I keep them separate.

This endeavor has very little in the way of conventional rewards--but I won't stop doing it now. I'm too far in. It's too much a part of my life. I can't stop and I don't want to.

Your brain went in the wrong direction. Turn around.

I'm talking about the podcast, The History Chicks.

If you haven't ever listened, it's ok. It's not eveyone's cup of tea. But if you have never listened, how do you KNOW it's not your cup of tea?

It's not ALL girly, although we do talk about historical women.

It's not ALL educational, although you will learn something.

It's free.

Well, it's free for you. For Beckett and me it is pretty costly. Not only financially, but when you devote as much time as we do to this project, there is a price to pay

There was some start up expenditures, as well as gas, etc, on my car making the 52 mile round trip to her house for recording sessions.There are library fines for holding onto books just one more, ok...two more weeks so we can have them with us when we record. Upgraded equipment is in our future, as well as attending some conferences that we think will help us.

When Beckett approached me to do this, I was hesitant. I thought my brain was pretty mushy. It had been a LOOOONG time since I had read much non-fiction..and it had been even longer since I was tested on what I had read. That's kind of what the podcasts are for me, tests. Did I understand this women? Did I take her into my life? Can I explain her- how interesting she was and why we should all remember her life? Tests.

Beckett describes the learning curve we did last spring as vertical. Here is a helicopter, fly up. Oh, and thousands of people will be listening as you do. Have fun!

Gulp.

The first few months were frenetic. Some really amazing people gave us some really amazing advice and we tried to follow it as best we could with the limitations that we had. (Beckett works full time and has a family; I have two deadlines each week, write as much as I can and am still doing all the SAHM things I always did). Also we knew each other, but only online. Sitting across from someone and talking is very different than typing that conversation. Facial expressions, the verbal flow and cadence to their speech,...all things we learned.

I think we began to hit a stride about five episodes in. A routine developed, we got to know one another, we figured out what methods work best for us. Beckett likes to have hand written notes...pages and pages of them. I like to have an outline, several reference sheets and write up my notes- I just remember them better that way. I love to listen to her talk, so sometimes I get caught up in the stories she is sharing. Sometimes I will throw a left field pop culture reference in that stalls her out for just a second.

About ten podcasts in,the process started to be less nerve-wracking, more fun. We started to hear from certain listeners over and over again, begin to form relationships with them. For me, the fear that thousands of unknown ears were listening to be critical began to subside. I began to think of them as people who got me, not people that I had to be concerned wouldn't. They weren't listening to be critical, they were listening to be entertained and informed. I started to feel comfortable behind the mic, and online, and lost any formal, uncertain- what- to- share- edge I may have had. If that makes any sense at all.

We had to take a brief hiatus this summer to regroup. My kids were home, I had to turn my focus to them. But Beckett and I still worked on the project. Things that listeners will never know about, too boring to talk about, really. We really do communicate at least once a day, usually far more than that.

Now we are back for our second season. That sounds so official, so Not A Play Project anymore. But it FEELS like a play project. More so now than several months ago. My brain doesn't feel as mushy, and the vertical learning curve mindset is directed more at the women we study, than on technical issues. I still think of the material as a test, but I also think of it as time to sit down with my friend and talk. Historically based girl talk.

I am more excited than overwhelmed when I think," if we learned this much in less than a year, imagine how much we are going to learn this season!" We do have quite a bit to learn, and are still new to the game--but what a rewarding game it is! Well worth the price we pay.

Now that we know how to not crash the helicopter, how to keep in it the air, we can start to learn what all the other cool buttons are for.

If you haven't checked us out, go! Click HERE. You can listen on that website (in a separate window so you can still surf around while you listen)- or download on itunes (just search The History Chicks), or your favorite podcast aggregator (that's a fancy word for the icon you click on your phone/ipod that delivers the podcast to that device. Come one, if you never listened to a podcast, it's time to get out of your comfort zone!)

Ye Olde Fashioned Sunday Dinner

2011-08-28T16:36:00.005-05:00

Think: After church family gathering over a weekly feast. Traditions being upheld, homestyle foods being served. Roasts and gravies and special potatoes. Tablecloths and mom in her apron, smiling over steaming platters of food.

It's a freaking Norman Rockwell painting over here on Sundays!

Most weeks, after church, the family all gathers round a buffet spread set up on our kitchen island. We pray as a family, serve ourselves and head to the dining room to take part in this time honored tradition. Some weeks we have roasts, or chicken, or a giganto salad bar. On holidays we have a full brunch, a few times of year we have a taco bar. In the winter we often have a large kettle of homemade soup and fresh baked breads.

Fresh corn, Roasted red potatoes, bbq chicken...

(out of frame: big veggie salad) Roast chicken for those who don't like BBQ, and the BBQ, hush puppies

It's a wonderful tradition and I am glad that my family has it. But this is one of those areas where I struggle. Part of me loves that I am able to do this each week. It makes me happy that they enjoy it, and that I am the one to provide such strong emotionally wrapped memories for them. And the other part of me thinks, "Holy heck! This is a lot of work!"

And the other best/worst part: I've been doing this so long that I think I make it look easy.

We come home from church, I change clothes, put on my apron and get busy. By the time my mother-in-law arrives,within a couple hours,I am usually ready to put all the food on the table. That trick alone has taken years to perfect. I'm proud of it, but it also means that no one really knows what goes into these feasts.

I don't do it ALL alone- the kids help by setting the table. This week it was Noah's turn. He picked out everything for it and approved the beverages- ice water and cherry limeade.

Those are place cards, even if they look like paper. And he's still shy some napkins.

I know that in the romanticized version of this dinner, the family sits around telling stories for hours, lingering over the meal, and going back for seconds or thirds. In our version we usually end up talking about some sort of bodily fluids landing in places they don't belong, and the eating ( seconds included) is usually wrapped up in about 25 minutes. My mother-in-law and I usually are the last ones at the table.

I will say, my children are faulted in some manners. Luke slurps just about every type of food, Noah picks at his, and Bekah usually only eats plain chicken and potatoes. But they do ask to be excused when they are done, and they do clear the table. Then they all plunk themselves down in the living room.

There are five people hiding in that room. I am not one of them...

...because someone has to clean up this mess.

Within an hour of finishing dinner, the kitchen us back to it's clean state. I'm afraid it's traditional roles here, too..the womenfolk rinsing dishes, putting away leftovers, and cleaning up. Could we change this? Probably. Is it worth the effort, time, and broken dishes it would take? Probably not.

We sometimes have dessert at this point, this week we had bar cookies- layered graham crackers, melted caramel, peanuts, crushed pretzels and marshmallows topped with melted chocolate and allowed to set.Sweet, salty, crunchy, chewy goodness.

When I load the dishwasher with that final set of plates and cups,sweep the crumbs from the floor, and remove the tablecloth- I take off my apron. My service is done. I won't make a later supper, they can have lefotvers or cereal, I really don't care. I'm not getting it for them, and they know that.

The family has dispersed, usually outside to play, and I have saved my most magnificent trick of the day. My audience is small, just myself. Closing the doors to the bedroom, I lay down .....and take a nap.

I wonder if Rockwell ever painted that image?

You'll think of it now

2011-08-27T09:24:00.000-05:00

"Mom? Can I have some hot chocolate?" Noah asked, wiping his morning weary eyes with his fingers so hard he was probably seeing flashes of light.

Clearly hot chocolate is just a gateway beverage to coffee. Sugar, a little caffeine, I make it with half milk so I can lie to myself that it's nutritious, but he's so cute sipping out of his mug, pretending it's coffee just like mom and dad, I don't usually deny him. Plus, the coffee mug he always chooses makes me laugh.

As I heated the water, I shook the packet of hot chocolate so that the powder would settle to the bottom and not fly around the room when I open it. I have done this act so often I do it out of habit, very absentmindedly. Probably like smokers who tap the pack against their palm to distribute the tobacco. Or people who tap the top of a soda can before opening it. I am one of those people too, I don't care if you tell me it doesn't do anything, I can't stop myself.

Another thing that I can't stop myself from doing is reading. Put words near me and I will read them. Cereal boxes, warning tags, I've even recently re-read the instructions that come in a tampon box. Of course I looked at the packet of hot chocolate mix.

My sarcasm level wasn't warmed up enough to make fun of the 'create the moment' line. Instead, I went with it and thought, "How sweet! Mother daughter moment. Some special time, just for them."

The water still wasn't boiled so I wondered what they were talking about. Did my mind go to plans for the day, maybe Mommy and Me mani/pedis? Did I think Mom was telling Daughter how much she loved her and how proud she was of her? Was I sentimental enough to envision,"I used to have hot chocolate with your grandmother when I was your age."

No.

The dialog that went in my head and stayed there and will never, ever leave and I have to start buying a different brand of hot chocolate because this is all I will ever think of...

"Mom, do you douche?"

Yadda Yadda Calcium...LIQUIFY!

2011-08-26T08:00:00.026-05:00

I hate milk. I don't like the taste or the aftertaste. I think the last time I sat down and drank a glass of milk, straight up, Reagan was president. Or maybe Carter. It's been awhile.

I'll put milk on my cereal, in my coffee, and I'll drink it with chocolate or Kahlua in it. Maybe on a cold day in winter, I'll heat up some with vanilla and honey. And...yeah, that's about it.

I hear all that hoopla about calcium, so I pop a couple of those chocolate chews and call my bones good. The boys drink soy milk, and that is supposed to be full of calcium. And soy, I hear tell, is good for women of my age--you know, those of us racing to menopause?

But I can't get past the color of soy milk.

My friend Malea used to work at this yoga/healthfood joint and she made almond milk there. After pestering her with," how do they milk an almond?" questions and, "if it has a nipple, I can milk it!" quotes she gave me the recipe. Really- it's way more work than I care to do. But I was at the store, picking up the boy's soy milk, and the same manufacturer had almond milk. When I got home I felt brave and took a sip.

It tasted like a vanilla milkshake.

Low in calories, high in all that other good stuff of milk...I set out on a blender bender one morning to make smoothies with it. If a milkshake is good, a milkshake with fruit is better!

Smoothies aren't hard to make...my normal recipe is one container of yogurt, one yogurt container of water, and frozen fruit. "Liquify" is what the button I push on the blender says.

This day I used the almond milk instead of yogurt for two recipes, and both make two reasonable, or one giganto, servings.

In my humble opinion, the best of the two::

Berry Good Smoothie
1 cup of Almond Milk
1 packet of splenda
1 cup of frozen blueberries
1/2 cup of frozen blackberries

LIQUIFY!

It tasted like berry pie.

I like pie. I like pumpkin pie. Just yesterday I had a Pumpkin Pie shake from Sonic (for dinner...hush, like you never had ice cream for dinner? Or drank your dinner? No? Don't judge, it leaves wrinkles.)

I wondered if I could whip up a low cal substitute. It was pretty good, probably would have been better if I waited for another day. I was kinda sloshing around at this point.

Pump Up the Pumpkin Pie Smoothie
1 cup almond milk
8 ice cubes
1/2 package pumpkin pie pudding mix (This is seasonal, I had hoarded boxes last winter)
Shot of pumpkin pie spice.

LIQUIFY!

Pudding doesn't set with soy milk, and I suspect it doesn't set with almond milk either, but the texture was still pretty thick. Not Sonic Shake thick, but my middle won't be Sonic Shake Thick drinking these instead of those. Sorry Sonic. (But you will still get my Diet Cherry Limeade, extra cherries, order at happy hour.)

I'm going to play around with this stuff for a while, but if you come up with a delish combination, let me know!

W Is Still In The House

2011-08-25T07:56:00.005-05:00

A few months back, Brian and I had a...disagreement. The details are not important. I won't play He Said/She Said And Had Her Own Blog So She Said It Louder. Let's just go with a universal generic aguement: He was not completely supportive of a perfectly legal, moral and educational activity I wanted to do. I insisted on doing the activity anyway. He was pissed I went. I was pissed because he was stupid. Classic marital spat.

When I returned from said activity, it was the middle of the day. The kids were not home from school yet, the house was quiet.

By now you know the man leaves me notes. On the kitchen table was a note that said:

Came home for lunch. W is in the house.

WTH?

The only W I could think of was water. We have a second story laundry room and have, on occassion, had water issues. I looked at the ceiling under the laundry room, and it was dry.

It had been raining that day, maybe water had come in the basement. I ran downstairs and looked in all the usual places and found no water.

Maybe water had come in through the roof? By now I was a little nervous because if water had come in, and I wasn't home when it did, he would be really mad that he had to be the one to find it. Well, he would be a little mad about that, but morph it into a giganto ball of piss when combined with his anger over my outing. This would mean that he had one up on me, and I would have to find something that he did wrong to even the score.

Yes, "Love does not keep a record of wrongdoings"...I know. But marriage does. Sometimes. And this was going to be one of those times.

My heartbeat raced along with my legs as I darted up the stairs. Eyes up to the ceiling I checked each room-- Bekah's, the kids bathroom, the laundry room...nothing, the ceiling was dry...oh crap! What if it leaked into our closet?! I dashed toward our room and screamed when this caught my eye:

This is a LIFESIZE cardboard cutout of George W Bush. W.

Duh.

Now, this was several months ago. I have not figured out a way to get W out of our bedroom without Brian throwing a mantrum. This belonged to his parents, and he got it in a move. Plus, no surprise here, he is a card carrying member of the Republican party. While he sees some errors in the W Presidency, he still stands by the former POTUS. If I tossed it, he would hunt that thing down, and drag it covered in coffee grounds and banana peels back upstairs. Ok, he would probably stop to Lysol it off first.

I know what you are thinking, and trust me, I have not let W see any action.

So there W stands, smiling, all day, all night. We really don't even see him anymore.

The four kids, watching TV

And, not that I am looking to even the score or anything, but if anyone sees a lifesized cardboard cutout of Madeleine Albright, let me know, K?

Advice?

2011-08-24T08:26:00.015-05:00

Giving advice is a tricky business. Too much and you are a know-it-all pain in the neck; too little and well, maybe there isn't anything bad with giving too little advice. Unless someone is in harms way, then too little could be bad. But most advice isn't of the life or death variety. There are other ways to show people you care about them than offering suggestions on how they can make their lives better.

Lots and lots of ways.

I know what side I fall on, the too much. Learning to tell the difference between someone asking for advice, and someone venting didn't come naturally to me. And I still err on over advising. I'm working on it.

A week ago, when I decided to attempt this one a day blog thing, I took this picture. Like a hiker at the basecamp, eager and optimistic about the challenges ahead.

It was the first cup of coffee after the kids left for school. I was still without makeup (brave of me, I know) but so excited to get started! (That cup is really full, I should have been worried about my keyboard!)

So one week down, do I have any advice for that eager blogger? I mean, besides checking her shine levels and taking off her glasses before she takes a picture of herself.

I would tell her than she needs to be ready for the second week which is going to be really, really challenging. Her plate is going to be too full and people are going to keep heaping more- then wonder why THEIR stuff wasn't done at the end of the day. I would tell her to resist the urge to shout,"bite me" at them. It's not ladylike and will accomplish nothing.

I would tell her to write down that great idea for a story that she got at 3 AM on Saturday.

I would tell her to really give a thought to a bit more organization. Just because the kids are going back to school doesn't mean life is going to get less complicated. It's going to get MORE complicated.

I would also tell her to get one more loaf of bread when she goes shopping because she is going to run out a day before she is planning to hit the grocery store again.

I would tell her to ASK some people for advice.

You see at the end of this post, where it says, "post comment" or "comment" proceeded by a number? Click that. A window should pop up, a blank box, a word you have to type to verify you are human, and you can pick an identity or just remain anonymous. Just answer this question:

What advice would you give that eager woman in the picture?

Brave again. But I'm open to whatever-- general life advice, if I should do something different with my hair, writing advice, career advice...gimme whatcha got.

Buffalo Chicken OS Burgers- RECIPE!

2011-08-23T08:00:00.020-05:00

This is NOT a foodie blog. BUT I like to cook. Mostly I like to cook because I like to eat. Mom taught us all pretty early on and we were making whole dinners by age nine. We each had a night to cook, had to make sure the ingredients were on the shopping list the week before, and we made dinner before Mom and Dad came home.

At nine.

Very true.

I'm teaching my kids to cook, but the one who is taking to it the best is Luke. Probably because he likes to eat. Yeah, DNA rocks.

The other night, while the rest of the fam had turkey burgers, I experimented with these for me and Luke. I have to say, they were FANTASTIC!

The sauce I am using, Party Fowl Wing Sauce, is new to the market. Beckett, my podcasting partner, is blessed with a chef for a husband. Chris, Beckett's husband, created this sauce and gave me a couple bottles to try.

The first thing Luke and I did was host a taste test with three different sauces: the one we usually use, a home-made version, and Party Fowl. My folks were in town and we had a mess o' wings one night. All of us (save one hold out who doesn't like his favorite sauce messed with) preferred the Party Fowl sauce. It has an extra kick of spices, but not heat.Since then, I have made Buffalo Wing Dip with it, and Luke and I prefer it over our old favorite sauce.

My dear friend, Other Susan (OS), shared her burger recipe and forming technique. It works with all kinds of meat and it's how I always start to make burgers. You get juicy, tasty burgers with minimal shrinkage even when you use cheap meat. (For Beef or Turkey Burgers, use milk instead of wing sauce, and add a splash of liquid smoke and your fav spices. Yes, I said milk.)

The other day I found ground chicken at the grocery store, and had a DING! moment. This is what I dinged:

Buffalo Chicken OS Burgers

1 lb ground chicken
1/2 bottle wing sauce (two uses, as needed)
2 pieces of white bread
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs
Hamburger buns ( I used potato rolls)
Garnishes: blue cheese crumbles, shredded carrots, mayo/sauce spread,avacado slices-whatever.
Makes 4 whopper burgers, 8 sliders

Break up the bread and pour sauce over it, mushing it with a fork to look like this, or a little drier if you don't have panko crumbs, but they add a little something that bread never can:

Add meat and breadcumbs and smoosh it all together. I use my hands.

I sprayed the pan with Pam, pretty much because it's a habit. Form burgers and cook over Medium LOW heat. There are some sugars in the sauce that will burn over higher heat, but will give a nice crust on the burger. Cover pan with a sheet of aluminum foil to help cook burgers, and fold back to release steam.

While those cooked- 10 minutes on first side, 5 on second- I made up patties for the freezer. The dent in the middle is what keeps the burgers from shrinking up (it's on the underside of the ones in the pan). Yet another use for Press'n seal wrap!

For condiment sauce: 2 tablespoons each of mayo and wing sauce, and give it a shot of pepper. You can use Miracle Whip, I guess, but it will taste like crap.(Ok, clearly I am a Mayoist.)

Touch the thickest part of the burger, when it's firm, it's done. Err on the side of well done--it will still be tender. You can burn these, so keep an eye on them.

Top however you want, I went with a slice of creamy mexican cheese, avacodo and the saucy mayo- but blue cheese dressing and sliced carrots will be rocking my plate the next time!

And Luke and I agreed- there WILL be a next time!

What the Neighbors See

2011-08-22T08:00:00.005-05:00

I cleaned the garage.

2011-08-21T08:00:00.035-05:00

Now I am sitting on my laurels.

I didn't take a BEFORE picture, because, quite frankly- it was embarrassing. Here is the AFTER.

Yes, this is much cleaner, hush.

He did help.

This is actually one something we do that I like--Kid art goes in the art gallery garage. And it never comes down. I think some of those are Bex from Kindergarten 9 years ago.

I spent the morning cleaning up all the debris from storms. Someone explain this to me--I have these trees in the yard that have some dead branches. We get 60-70 mph straight line winds that topple healthy trees, and yet my dead limbs remain attached?

My dead branches

And the neighbors formerly living tree.

And just so I can leave you with a completely disgusting image. I mowed my mother-in-laws lawn yesterday. This is my feet afterward. Gross. And I was wearing gardening clogs. Even grosser. I know. But totally helps the Laurel resting argument.

Happy Sunday!

The 13 Year Old Boy Dinner

2011-08-20T08:43:00.022-05:00

Inhaled snack ( it went so fast I had to recreate it.)

I pick the lad up at football practice at 5:15. Dinner at our house is at 6:00. He is a teenage boy and eats. A lot. Kids of this age are notorious eaters, boys especially. And Luke is no exception.

Obviously, football has whipped up an appetite, so he eats a snack package of Nutter Butters and two Swiss Rolls within minutes of getting home.

This is not enough to tide him over for the remaining half our until dinner is ready, so he makes himself a salad- with cheese, because he likes to add stuff to his salads. And drench them in dressing.

Salad number one

This is gone within 3 minutes, but he has to go take a shower, my larder is spared for the time being.

6:00: Dinner time. The first salad is a distant memory, what with it sliding down his gullet back in the good 'ol 25 minutes agos. This is what he sits down to. The first time.

That's about 2 cups of pasta, and a second salad. I would be puking at this point.

A bowl of Barilla Plus (it has added fiber and protein, not *just* pasta), meat sauce, and another salad. Before the rest of us are done with our (smaller) dinners, he is finished and is STILL hungry. The rule in this house states that if you are hungry for something other than what I fixed, get it yourself. So he makes this. And takes a bite out of it before I can grab the camera.

Bread, mayo, turkey, cheese, turkey cheese, mayo, bread.

He tells me that he has had enough, clears his plate and brings it to the sink. I walk into the kitchen mere moments later to this sight:

Ahh, man! That was going to be my lunch tomorrow!

He is finishing off the never-to-become-leftovers that were still in the pan. He was kind enough to wait until after I had cleaned the kitchen to head to the pantry for round two.

I found something more productive to do than follow him around with a camera.... Ok,truth: he got sick of it and I have a bunch of pic that look like this:

Nice.

I can write notes, too

2011-08-19T08:01:00.007-05:00

I'm one of those moms that leaves notes in my kids lunchboxes. Well, on the first week of school, and maybe a couple other times during the school year. I'm not neurotic. I think they should be an act of love, not an obligation.

So, on the third day of school, I thought it would be cute to cut a number 3 out of paper and write a note to tuck into Noah's lunchbox. I imagined the number and snipped at paper and got this:

Sharpies to the rescue, I thought:

I still see it.

This is the note that he got on the third day of school:

The heart is a way more lunchroom appropriate organ, don't you think?

Looking At The Big Picture

2011-08-18T09:00:00.025-05:00

Sometimes when I read blogs or facebook commentary-ok, or even talk to other parents- I feel kinda crappy.

People really have a gift for showing only the good parts of things. Part of me wants to think that this is them being optimistic, sharing things that they are proud of, or wanting others to see why they love their lives and families so much and bring us in to that joy. This part of me thinks they have a lot of good in their lives, and they worked hard to get it- they should be able to flaunt it. Enjoy your life, I think, love and spread the cheer!

And another part of me calls bullshit.

Well, I whisper it. I appreciate the positive spin, admire the accomplishment, but know that there is more to the picture.

No one is that perfect, we all have a bigger picture. Cropped properly, everyone's lives and kids and work look fantastic. But when you zoom out to look at the bigger picture, you see that they are just as messed up and whacked as your family.

I'm not saying that we shouldn't be proud of our kids, or show them in the best light...we should. But not exclusively.

Conversely we probably shouldn't be negative all the time either. It's a thin line--be upbeat to show that your family is great...but not so much that people sit around waiting for you to fall off your pedestal. Show the flaws, but not so many that you scare people away.

To illustrate this, here is a pictorial garden tour. First the carefully cropped and perfectly posed shot---then the big picture of where that plant is growing. Pretty blooms that should be admired, but with a knowledge of what is going on around them may not be the most perfect. Just like life.

( Overly Apologetic Disclaimer: If you are a gardener, please know that we have had a really hot summer...plants fried. Literally! And I tried to conserve water--but I was also lazy and didn't maintain my beds like I could have.)

Lovely naked ladies and zinnias

Not so lovely weeds and dead foliage

oooh, pretty Rose of Sharon bloom...

...the only bloom on the plant surrounded by seedlings that need to be cleaned up.

Perky salvia and vinca entwined with soft cypress vine...

..in a bed of hot mess.

ooh, phlox! So fresh, so lovely...

..so the only thing still alive !

Cute summer grouping...

..next to the black sheep of the porch.

Supercool red sunflower...

...that lives here.

Enjoy your blooms today, admire them, show them off--but find a way to love the rest of the garden, too.

Note THIS!

2011-08-17T10:04:00.002-05:00

Most mornings, when I walk into the kitchen, I am greeted with an island full of notes. Brian gets up waaaay before me, and jots these notes as a form of communication. His argument is that he writes stuff down when he thinks of it, then he doesn't have to remember to talk to me about it. And of course, the man digs a paper trail so he has proof he told me something.

Normally they are about things he spots that I can take care of during the day. Basically, To-Do lists. For me. Since I am " home all day".

I despise these notes, not only because I can't stand being told what and when to do something--it also shows that he is not entirely on board with my game plan of working from home.

See, I am at the pay my dues,learn, and build a body of work portion of the game. I do not get paid cash money for 95% of what I do right now. I will down the road (God willing and the creek don't rise), but now, no.

Brian is very old school, and believes that it's not a job if there is not an immediate payout to the family- in money or in household/child rearing benefits. Period.

This is only part of why I have a SAHM complex. The other part comes from me. I sold myself on being a SAHM so hard, that I feel like I should still be doing all the stuff I have always done for the family.

It's really a lesson in dysfunction on several levels. I realize that.

But back to the notes. This morning, a day where I had a long list of my work related items to do, Brian decided that he would fill the slow parts of me day. I have SIX HOURS between dropping kids off at school, and their return home. I easily have five hours of my own work, a large stack of papers to go through that the kids brought home form the first day of school (my homework..nice) and then another 2-3 hours after the kids go to bed tonight. This does not include the errand I am going to run for my Mother-in-law, the laundry, dishes, dinner, etc. And it's Wednesday. I usually dust on Tuesday but was so full of solo-bliss yesterday, I didn't.

Uh -huh.

This is what I walked into this morning:

ONE is instructions telling me exactly how to clean out the garage. Sweep the floor, organize the workbench, organize the shelves, etc. I have been ignoring this directive for several days now. And, oh hey, lookie there..I will again today.

TWO is a list of dinners he would like next week. On one hand it makes meal planning easier and I am making things he likes; on the other hand I only like one of the meals. You want to know, right? Snoops. Frozen fried shrimp and peas; Turkey burgers; frozen Chinese; Manwiches/ tots and corn; BBQ beef tub (already made, just heat).

Bachelor menu, right?

I only like the turkey burgers because those I make myself.

THREE is instructions on how to clean the house. No lie.

FOUR is a notification that he discovered the carpets upstairs are looking a little in need of a vacuuming.

FIVE is...someone is about to blow a gasket so I won't even tell you exactly what it says, but I should rearrange the refrigerator and put leftovers in appropriately sized containers.

SIX is a reminder that he likes his freshly laundered shirts left unbuttoned when I fold them.

The pen he wrote these notes with is his favorite type of pen. Can't really fault the guy for that, I personally hoard my favorite type of pens, too. But do not use his pens! Even if he leaves them on the kitchen table.

The man does do a lot around the house and also makes his and Luke's lunch in the morning. (He gets up REEEEALLY early) Those are not condoms, they are handiwipes from that project. Probably left on the table so that I wouldn't forget to put some in Noah's lunchbox. Thankfully, there is no note telling me this, because I may have invented a new use for handi-wipes.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some things to do. Anyone got a match?

Problem Solved! Maybe...

2011-08-16T10:14:00.003-05:00

I have been fretting for months. Not the economy, or war, or illness or famine or anything that is globally important and actually deserves to be fretted about. I'm not that deep.

It's the drop off lane.

The drop off lane has caused me great angst over the years, and this year, with my oldest heading off to high school, I was going to have to learn to navigate yet another parking lot. The worst one, because not all of the drivers there have my experience...and yet, they "own" the school. I'm a visitor.

To further complicate matters, there is construction at the school (a new performing arts center- let me brag on about our school embracing the arts another day). Because of this, the usual drop off system was blocked and the replacement one was sure to be a nightmare.

Recap: Three kids, three different schools, three different drop off lanes with three different sets of rules. One mom with her head about to explode.

After much discussion and debate the family came to a solution.

Bye Luke and Bekah! Have a nice day! Enjoy that bus!

This solution left me with my head intact, and only one kid to drive. Sure, he could take the bus, too, but I kind of like our time together in the morning, and his school has a well monitored drop off lane. S'all good.

Or it will be tomorrow when we actually USE the drop off lane.

One time, when I was fretting out-loud about the drop off lane, my friend Beckett suggested that I walk him in. Avoid the lane!

So on the ride to school this morning I asked him, " Drop off lane or walk you in?"

"Can you walk me in today, I'm a little nervous, then drop me off the rest of the time?"

Sounded logical, so I agreed.

And then regretted when I rounded the corner to the school. Apparently, this was the preferred method of most of the parents. The amply spaced parking lot was overflowing into a nearby field. It looked like Bieber was playing the lunchroom. Kids, parents all flocking en masse to the front doors.

"Buddy, look! There is no one in the drop off lane! We can zip in there..."

He didn't let me finish.

"GRASS! Off-roading in the mini-van! Wohoo!!!"

And I did, because I am a sucker for a clean cut 1st grader.

If it's been a long time since you dropped a kid off at elementary school, let me share something: On the first day of school there is a subset of parents who put the kid on the bus at home, then RACE to school to greet the same kid as he gets off the bus. The parent clicks a picture of the dazed child emerging from the bus to see the same people he left half an hour ago.

I'm not going to poke fun at these parents...and not because I recognized a few friends in the mix...ok, exactly for that reason. I will just say, I don't quite understand it, but if it works for them- brava! I'm sure these friends will fill me in on the why they do this. It just seems kinda Helicopter Parent- In-Training to me. But hey, I do a lot of stuff that leaves them scratching their heads, so let's go back to "whatever works."

Noah and I parked (almost back at our house), made the trek through the field, past the dog poop, past the playground, and up the sidewalk. I gave him a kiss (and he kissed me back because he hasn't been told it's not cool ,yet), " Go! Learn something!"

And he was gone. Into first grade.

And I trekked back to the car, alone. Smiling. It was a long trek, so I probably looked a little crazy smiling the whole time, but the kids were back in class. I had a long walk to think about the kitchen that will remain clean until dinner. The lack of television aimed at kids. The absence of arguments about their activity choices and neglected chores. It has been a long, fairly boring summer at our house. School never looked so good to any of us.

I thought about all of that, and still wasn't at my car.

Stopped for a breath at the halfway point. I can see the car...

And now I am home, like a lot of other parents, sharing pictures of our kids headed off to the first day of school in the new year. Pictures that show them freshly scrubbed, wearing the outfits that showoff the best of their personalities. Snapshots that capture nerves and excitement and the dread of having mom snap a picture of them, again, in the same spot she has snapped pictures at the beginning of every school year.

Have an amazing school year, kids! Go! Learn something!

Trainwreck?: My own blogging challenge

2011-08-13T10:05:00.003-05:00

I was snooping around on someone's g+ status...I mean, stream. ( Gotta get with the lingo-I need a facebook to google+ translator). She was asking what type of blogs those in her circles (!) would like to read if she took another stab at a personal blog.

I have read this person's blogs before, she is a very good writer with a unique voice. She is so good my jealousy prevents me from linking her up here...just kidding... Valorie Engholm, she is the Wednesday featured blogger on Mom2MomKC. If you like your mommy blogs crunchy with a left lean, you should check her out. Sorry, jealousy again, anyone should check her blogs out because she gives a perspective that you might share, or might not, but you will learn something.

ANYWAY, this isn't about Val--it's about me....so I was snooping on this convo and someone said that she would follow a blog that is about anything as long as it was well written and interesting. The topic was of secondary importance to the way it was presented. And it had to be consistent.

I never intended for this blog to be a money maker. AT ALL. And that hasn't changed. But I did intend for it to be my personal playground, work-out area...ok, and my soap box. The comment about consistency challenged me. I suck at consistency on this blog. (and my huge ego allowed me to skim right over the, "good writing" part).

I have a super special friend who is a successful writer (and really ninja-mentors me in between our common friend language and shared brain) has suggested that I give up this blog. I'm giving it away for free, she says. And she has a point. And I usually do most of what she says because she is always right. And smart. And pretty. But this time, I'm going in the opposite direction- I'm going to give MORE away for freeeeeeeeeee! I think this experiment will make me a better writer so there is a benefit to me.

And to you. This could be a trainwreck! I might be so challenged for a topic I blow my personal Code of Ethics and write about someone, or something, that I swore I never would write about!

And tell your friends about my potential trainwreck experiment! In all honesty, the only way I will know this is working is if my followers list grows. Or you comment, but I know how you feel about that and I'm cool with it. Just pimp me.

Once the kids go back to school THIS WEEK...omgoshfinallythissummerwastheworst... starting on Tuesday I am going to post something once a day for a month. My theme, topic, niche..whatever you want to call it remains the same as always (since I changed it last year): Work At Home Mom With A Stay At Home Complex.

What will I do after that month? I have no idea- let's see what I learn and take it from there.

I hated baseball, until I didn't

2011-07-23T20:01:00.000-05:00

I have never been shy to admit that I am not sporty. I didn't play any competitive sports as a kid, and was afraid--ok, I am STILL-- afraid of balls flying at me.

Naturally, opposites attract and all- I married a man who was very sporty. And gave birth to two boys who want to be just like Dad. Sporty.

I was pretty fortunate to avoid going to every single baseball game over the past nine years because Brian was Luke's coach. My attendance was not mandatory; I could breeze in and fly out when I got bored. Which shouldn't surprise you didn't take long. Even when we had winning seasons, I didn't attend many full games. I just didn't care to watch baseball.

I knew I had it good, didn't have to subject myself to the elements- I was quite the fair weather baseball parent.

Until this year. Brian changed jobs and could no longer coach Luke's team. He also couldn't make it to all of Luke and Noah's games.Noah was playing rookie ball, and Luke was on a 12U team. Brian became the fair weather ball parent. I became the parent who sits on the sidelines covered in dust, hoodies and a blanket in early spring, and dust. sweat and sunblock in the summer.

Noah and his Bumble Bees.

Luke and Brian...first year without Dad as his coach, but Dad had the gear!

I whined about every single game I had to attend. I cheered my sons, but texted complainey messages to my friends between action. I whined about the weather. I complained about the bleachers. I carried on about how amazingly bored I was.

Finally, after almost five months of baseball (times two teams...that's a lot of texting) Noah finished his season and Luke was headed to the season ending tournament. My obligation to baseball was ending for the year.

No more sideline bug bites.

No more wind/sun/anger at annoying parents burn.

No more of the toddler in the stroller at every game with the Justin Beiber doll. That sang! Over and over and over....she obviously loved that doll. I wanted the boys to use it for batting practice.

The tournament was at a town a full half hour away. This, of course, was fodder for more complaining. And our team, normally nine boys, was going to be short. Seven boys playing full teams that, for the most part, had beat us during the season.

"How are they going to play with only seven kids?" my friend asked me when I moaned about it.

Good question.

The answer?

In the first game they beat the other full team 15-3.

This win was especially satisfying because the opposing coach decided to pull out the rule book in the last inning and question if our boys should be penalized runs for not having a full team.

My feeling was that HIS team should be penalized runs for having such a poor sport for a coach. Thankfully, the rule had been changed this year and our team whupped his.(Ok, that was poor sportsmanship, too...I'll own that.)

The second game our team of seven - including one kid with a broken arm in a cast- was victorious over a team of nine (who came to the field sporting some kinda freaky militaristic chanting...I was almost waiting for them to start high stepping around the bases). Final score 11-1.

The third game was a nail biter. Only six of our boys could make the game. Broken Arm Kid was one of the six, and the temperature was soaring into the 100's. Of course, the other team was a full team of nine. Going into the last half of the last inning, our team was down by two runs. I found myself not cheering the end of the game as I normally would--but cheering the six 12 year-old boys taking their last turn at bat.

So how did that work out for our boys?

Don't you want to know about the family of the broken arm kid? The WHOLE family came to every game. Mom, Dad, two girls and a set of grandparents cheered from the sidelines even when Broken Arm Kid couldn't play because his arm was so badly broken he had to get a new cast every other day.

Don't you want to know about the cute, cheerleader 13 year-old who was our teams scorekeeper and would go to the dugout and offer a pep talk to the boys?

Don't you want to know about the great conversations Luke and I had during our hour in the car when he didn't have to be cool, and could just chat with his mom?

OK. Our team of six boys with 11 working arms..................... won! 11-9!

I couldn't explain the win to Brian. The fielding was pretty bad, giganto holes in the outfield. Every time Broken Arm Kid got to bat, he could only stand at the ready and not swing, hoping for a walk. Our best pitcher was on vacation. The pitcher and catcher were overworked and very tired. It was freaky, scary, Why Are We Playing hot.

But we did.

The outcome of the tournament has yet to be determined, but the remarkable first three games created a feeling of winning pride for everyone involved in the team. Including this non-sporty, no longer baseball hating Mom.

I was expecting more from you....

2011-07-03T09:42:00.004-05:00

This is the line that I imagine people who read this blog say. You are expecting more. More entries. More pictures. More chuckles.

Line forms here, baby!

I was expecting more from me, too. But, I did say that my posts would be sporadic and only when I had something I wanted to say without a filter.

*****Shameless plugs for the places where you can read more from me on a regular basis*****

(You do realize you can read posts on both Mom2MomKC (I am the Saturday Featured Blogger- go to the blogs tab and look for the picture that looks like me if I had smoothed out my wild hair and put on makeup) and The Kansas City Star (new posts on Wednesday). Also, you can be a part of the excitement of historically based girl talk by subscribing to The History Chicks on itunes or going to our website. And - heavy sigh- I'm on twitter @essephvee . Or however you write the twitter name. I may very well be the worst tweeter in the world. Seriously. It's comical how awful I am...I mean, comical if it weren't so pathetic.)

**************Plug over*****************

But here is my reason for this post. What's going on with me is fairly boring--this summer has been filled with surgeries and illness and middle class financial responsibilities--- hasn't been filled with much fun and laughter. Right now, for instance, Noah and I are home on a Sunday morning because both of us have strep. We are not contagious, but he has the rash still-- as well as one from a drug allergy to the first med he was on. And I have that side effect from strong antibiotics that kill the good bacteria in my belly. Lovely. Yeah, that's the story of my summer.

Who wants to read about that? Oh sure, it's funny that I forgot that the last time he was on this med (about a month ago) the doc thought he might be allergic and I totally spaced when we went to urgent care this time--- and was shocked to see a rash the next day, so I paid another co-pay to take him to his regular doc who had it right there in his chart." May be allergic to..." Bonehead Mom Award. yay.

And the thrill my kids got when I FINALLY joined the 20-tweens and signed us up for Netflix was embarrassingly entertaining. Really, when the highlight of a summer is getting every episode of Billy the Exterminator, H2O or 1000 Ways to Die streamed to the wii---well, it's a pretty dry summer, ya know? That just gives a glimmer as to what is going on with me.

But what is going on with YOU? Is my boring rubbing off in my posts? Am I not controversial enough? Fine- I am not. Ok, that's a given...but I just told you I let my kids watch 1000 Ways to Die! It's a horrible show! I let my kids eat sugary cereals and have days when we have s'more eating contests, too! And let them ride scooters without helmets on! And..and...they watch way too much TV. On NICE days! Yeah, ok, I'm not controversial.

But am I boring?

I see you, you know. Ok, not YOU--I don't see you, I don't know who you are or anything...but I can see how many people come here and- not to brag- it's way more than just the followers list. Yeah, I'm no dooce (everyone bow), or Pioneer Woman...no one is going to be asking me to write a book based on this blog. But I do ok for the purpose here.

But the comment section is kinda light.

Here is the thing: blogggers like me, here, we get paid in hits and comments. It's like the dollars and cents of our work. It's how we know we are being heard and entertaining or enlightening or making you feel like a better person than us which is totally ok, too.

Maybe we are using our blogs as a place to vomit out our thoughts into the great wide beyond. (Guilty)

Maybe we are hoping to polish our craft to someday make some real coin.( Guilty)

Maybe we are hoping to just find out if there are any Meeee Toooooos out there and give voice to the common mistakes and lessons we all face so we don't feel like the crappiest mom on the planet (Totally and completely guilty).

But we like some response.

And I am totally lacking in response. And it's beginning to eat away at my already fragile ego. *whimper*

I'm going to throw some random pictures of things of this summer out there now, because we all like pictures, right? Plus it might give you something to comment on. ( Most pathetic hint ever..and you thought the pimp up there was bad!).

Luke's idea of a white button down shirt and tie: three button golf shirt and clip on tie. For a choir concert. He was so proud of this that he took his own picture--with my camera. I guess that meant he wanted everyone to see him. (And a glimpse of my messy kitchen/ Does ANYONE know how to close cabinet doors!?)

Noah not only has entirely too many shoes for a 6 year old boy, but his organizational powers both thrill and concern me.

My area of geekspertise is gardening. And these are my gardening shoes. Nasty, huh? God, I love slipping my feet into those shoes.

This tree is struggling to survive because my genius husband decided the best way to avoid weed whacking was to outline my yard and around the trees...with Round-up.

Bekah will be going to high school. This is the night of her middle school graduation. She is having some issues, the least of which is that her mom makes her pose in public places by goofy signs.

Hope that your summer is going well, and better than mine--comment and tell me how pathetic my summer and comment plea is!!!

hearts.

Watch me fail at a round of Pollyanna Catch Up

2011-06-11T12:35:00.001-05:00

Summer has begun here at Casa Vollenweider. I can't say that it has been all that fun, or enjoyable---yet. Well, I could say it but I would be lying my ass off.

It's been...tolerable.

But I'm totally a Pollyanna, so let's not wallow in the pathetic--me whining about all the things that are keeping the kids and I from having the best summer of our lives. Let's just say my kids are learning some very valuable life lessons. The big things aren't what is annoying me the most, it's the little ones.

Yoohooo! Pollyanna?

Right.

Everyone is still standing and fairly healthy.

Although Brian has some sort of ear infection that has had him hopped up on pain meds and hearing only out of one ear for over a month now. Do you know how frustrating it is to properly word something, say it with the proper inflection,pronunciation and SAT word choices only to have the person look at you and say, "What? I didn't hear any of that!"?

So you break it down to the 8th grade words and take out a few sentences.

And then they say," I only got half of that, WHAT!?"

So you break it down even farther to the base elements of thought and the simplest of vocabulary and the loudest volume and it usually comes out, " bite me."

THAT they hear.

But I'm being optimistic here. Concentrating on the good. He's going to the doc on Monday. For the 4th time.

Bekah graduated Middle School. In August she will head off to the big scary High School with the super confusing drop-off lane and continue on her journey as a member of the Class of 2015.

I think her graduation ceremony last month was a good experience for all of us. She got to stand up a couple of times and be acknowledged for working hard. She stood up for applause more than some kids, not as many as others but it's not a competition. That's not the point. Education is not competitive.

Someone should tell that to some of those parents. It wasn't ugly, but some parents got to write bios for their hard working kids. Ok, one was kind of embarrassing...really, he's 14- just hit us with the highlights we don't need to know--nevermind, don't want to embarrass the kid more. Mom was proud. I could tell. I think that was one of her bullet points. Right after early walking and before "Active member of his church youth group".

One more time and then I will shut up: education and loving your kid is not a competitive sport. Sure some kids get the awards, but the real reward should be the education itself. And every parent loves their kid the same. Deeply. And, all...most...of them work just as hard as the kid standing up. Maybe harder. Maybe they have an anxiety disorder and freak out when tested. Maybe they broke their leg and studied at home and the teacher never recorded all the late work even though the kid is the best big sister ever to a whole lot of siblings. Maybe..yeah, maybe that, too. But did we get to hear those bios? No. We did not.

What did I learn? I'm bring an ipod to her high school graduation or someone is going to get hurt.

POLLYANNA... come on, Susan...cheer it up!

I've been gardening. That's fun for me. Finally got the cute seasonal flowerbed planted. Only I forgot to put the cat repellent on it and one of our neighborhood feral cats crapped on my moss rose and vinca the first night.

Speaking of gardening, I solved a horticultural mystery last week. I have two fairly large Catalpa trees in my backyard. Of of them was slow to leaf and when it did, only half the tree had leaves. Last week the other tree began to lose leaves en masse.

At first I thought it was the feral cats using the trees as a scratching post. Then I thought maybe some sort of fungus, or pest....oh yeah, pest. Let's go with that. Someone, in his infinite wisdom, decided to spray Round-up around the base so that he wouldn't have to weed whack it.

Nice.

Maybe I should stop now, go smell some roses, put on the happy glasses and fill a cup half full. It's a glorious day at Casa Vollenweider the sun is shining, the kids are healthy and there's new growth on the first catalpa that Brian poisoned.

Mom Hair Cuts: As Bad as You Think

2011-05-15T20:23:00.001-05:00

There are two versions to this tale, Luke's and The Truth.

Luke claims he came to me and asked me to de-boof (thin) the sides of his hair.

My version (ie: The Truth) indeed has him coming to me, but he asked for a cut like Brian has. I know this cut because I do it for Brian. #3 buzz.

I put the #3 guide on the electric clippers and zap his whole head.

But Luke has had long, shaggy hair all his life. It's been his style, and I like how it looks on him. Suits his wild and goofy personality. He had come to me several times, and I told him "maybe" which, in this house, means, "I highly doubt it but I don't want to tell you why now."

But the other day he got me in a wild mood.

"Mom, can you cut my hair like Dad's?"

"No, but I will give you a #4 which is just a little longer. Go get the clippers."

He was back with the cutting stuff and a chair in a nanosecond, very eager to get this done. The other kids stood around because they knew this was going to be entertaining. We didn't let him look in any reflective surfaces until he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror.

Because a picture is worth -- you know, a lot of words--you can easily read this story:

Yeah, that worked out pretty well.

It's not all glitz and glamor

2011-05-07T08:40:00.001-05:00

It's 8:00 AM. We have been up for a bit over an hour and I am ready to go back to bed and sleep. Until 2015. Or maybe later if I can figure out a snooze option to accomplish that.

My ears are bleeding from the whining.

I've already yelled once to turn the damn wii off if they can't agree on anything. And twice now " LANGUAGE!" has shot towards them.

There is a small mountain of laundry forming that I need to fold, and another ready to take it's place in the process of getting cleaned.

I have some chores for today that I normally enjoy-- gardening, mowing-- and it's a nice day. But bed seems like such a great option.

When I look at my To Do list for today, I am pretty sure there is little time for me to be sitting here, drinking coffee and typing. But, to be truthful and painfully honest, that is the only thing that holds any appeal at this moment. I mean, besides the go back to bed option.

I am completely overwhelmed and shutting down and not really sure how to climb out of it.

I won't go into the boring details but suffice it to say that we are in a deep gully in a 20 year marriage, 2/3 of my kids are going through the complex, mood-swingy emotions and dramas of teenagerhood- and the third one is six which may as well be 13 for all the attitude he spouts forth. I have been a SAHM for 15 years and my husband has decided that the best course of action for our family would be for me to find a job.

Not a part time job; not a work on it for a future payoff job ( I already have those)- a "real" 40+hr a week job.

Huh?

He feels that his job, plus a full time of mine, will give us the proper balance of time with the kids, and energy spent in maintaining not only our current lifestyle, but also our savings. He feels that he can pick up where I will have to leave off at home- how hard is it? Bitch slap worthy commentary aside, he might have a point. I guess I would be willing to look for full time work. Except that I can't answer the question: What type of work are you looking for?

I have no freaking idea.

Ask Mr Know-it-all and he will tell you one that pays $X salary.

It must be great to be a Left- Brained person.

No, really. Bottom lining, being all logical all the time? It must be great.

But us Right Brainers, we don't work that way. And when the Lefties start pointing out the obvious, and why can't we see that? Well, I won't speak for all of us, but I shut down.

Usually I am really ~~grea~~t good at looking at things with rose colored glasses, seeing the optimism in a situation--I've always liked that about myself. But right now, the boys are STILL fighting over the damn video games, my ears are still bleeding, and that laundry hasn't folded itself-- and that is just the share with the public version. There is more, quite a bit actually, but I have already crossed my personal sharing line. Let's just leave it at: I'm not feeling very optimistic. I'm downright negative, actually.

That should help me get a job, don't you think?

I'm not really a crappy blogger

2011-04-30T07:52:00.002-05:00

I have this flower bed right in front of my porch. It's small, maybe a yard square, but it's important in my landscape because it breaks up a sea of concrete and is really the focal point of my entryway.

I like to put a colorful display of annuals in this space. Usually only one or two colors carefully placed together for impact. I get a lot of compliments on this tiny bed, so I guess I'm doing the right thing. I don't like to put bulbs in the bed because I like to fill it with annuals as soon as the ground is ready. If I have spring bloomers in there, I have to wait for them to pass, and the annuals get a slower start.

But last fall I felt some change in the air. On a whim, I picked up a variety of bulbs at my local *name of a big store that has has low prices everyday and needs no more advertising*, dug criscrossy troughs in the bed, and randomly tossed the bulbs in them. Sorta lazy, sorta trusty, sorta let the bulbs fall where they may and enjoy them there.

Nothing orderly about that!

The first crocuses appeared a couple of months ago. Followed by a natural looking display of daffodils, and now these tulips have opened. If I think about it, there probably should have been more for impact. They are stunning in color, but have to be appreciated on a small scale because there are only a few of them. I see some other buds in there, ready to expose themselves in floral glory, but truthfully, I can't remember what they are. It's a surprise. And I planted it.

Kind of like my life. Everyday is a surprise. It's not that I am lazy, it's not that I don't have things planned--but I am opening myself to the randmoness that life is tossing my way. I am appreciating the beauty in it. Trying to, anyway.

My life is nothing like it was a year ago, it even changes month to month. Some good, some bad. some ordinary, some surprising, all beautiful in some way. Sometimes I just have to tilt my head to the side, or narrow my focus to see that beauty.

I only put blogs on here that I love. I'm not writing about specific things, or for a specific audience--I just let them fall randomly. I hope that you appreciate them for what they are: a snapshop of that moment of my life.

WAHM SAHM Thank you M'am!

2011-04-01T16:58:00.000-05:00

I read an article recently, it talked about SAHMs who make a leap to WAHMs. How this was a growing trend, how finding work at home can solve a lot of problems--someone is home when the kids get home, there is more income, mom has a flexible schedule, etc. The article also talked about how it CREATES some issues--mom's workspace, mom's worktime, mom not staring at the laundry when she should be working thinking, "when is the laundry fairy coming"?

Ok, I made up that last one. But I am making that leap. Now, never ever ever would I call myself trendy.I am the antithesis of trendy...the anit-trend. But this time, I am totally riding the trend. Kowabunga!

But it's hard, to be truthful. I'm not very good at dropping all my SAHM chores, all my SAHM responsibilities, so I end up being really, really Over Mom Guilted, and really, really overworked. But hey, it's 2011-- overworked is the new 21.

WHAT?

See? Overworked. I'm mixing metaphors as I watch my 6 year old play wii in front of me, singing Millionaire. With the cuss words. It's Friday and my bathrooms aren't clean yet-- and my fridge died the other day and it still has quite a bit of rotting food in it. Maybe it didn't die-the fridge coroner has not been out yet to call time of death, the thing is still under warranty SINCE IT IS ONLY TWO MONTHS OLD, so maybe it's just in a coma. Anyway---let's just leave it like this: I am letting a few things slide.

Like this blog. Dang, I love this blog. So I'm not giving it up. NO FREAKING way ( huh, where do the kids get that language, I wonder?) But my posts are not as frequent as as they used to be..or will be again. I will be posting more. I need to give a voice to us WAHMs with a SAHM complex. We need to be heard! I need to be that voice and say things like:

ARRGGHHH!!!

I'M LATE!! GETINTHEVANNOWNOWNOW!!

WAHOOO, PAYCHECK... CRUD, BILLS!

HOW DID IT GET TO BE 9O'CLOCK AT NIGHT AND I"M STILL IN MY JAMMIES AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY!???!

and of course,

WHERE IS THE DAMN LAUNDRY FAIRY!!???

I'm putting the PRO in procrastinate.

2011-02-28T10:43:00.003-06:00

Is procrastination an art or a science? Is it our way of percolating an idea, or have we trained ourselves to put all the TO DO's on the back burner in favor of the less productive To Not Do' s? Does writing about not writing make me a better writer?

I have no idea.

But my kids FINALLY left the house a good 90 minutes ago. They have been here FOREVER...ok, they had a snowday on Friday (again) and now it is Monday and I spent a lot of time with them this weekend. But we all need a break from eachother. And I have some deadlines looming this week. I *can* work when they are home, it's just not always that great when I do. (See: Blog That Got Zero Comments)

So the sun is out, the house is empty and silent and I have a long list of things I wanted to accomplish today. Some are more pleasant tasks than others, and some- if I would just get going on them, I actually will enjoy a great deal.:

*Change all the sheets and wash them, fold them and put them away.

*Write a column about what Noah is learning in Kindergarten

* Continue to research the woman who Beckett and I will be profiling when we sit down in the not-so- soundproof-room-with-a-microphone on Friday. (by "research", I mean that today I have to finish watching a movie about this woman, and read some kiddie books,one grown-up book with really tiny font, and search for google images of her because I have only seen a couple repeated and surely, someone else has painted her portrait or something.)

*Wash the wood floors that got all crapped up this weekend.

*Call my mother and tell her that the gift card she gave me to Amazon DID work, I had just used up more of my previous balance than I thought. Or rather, Bekah had used up more of my previous balance than I thought.

*Revise the 25 pages of my WIP that my critique partner had taken time from her own procras..er, busy schedule to make comments about last week...and I shoved them into a folder then where they still reside.

*Change a tampon

So you see, I have A LOT to do. Here is what I have done in the last, now 2 hours:

*Drank two cups of coffee (which is actually a decent pace, if I do say so myself)

*Clean out the spinach artichoke dip that splashed and crusted all over the microwave at lunch yesterday and someone (me) neglected to clean until today.

*Stripped the beds,and heap all the sheets in the hallway

*Washed, but not dried, one load of laundry.

*Updated twitter

*Whined to SEVERAL people on facebook about how much I have to do and how lovely and quiet it is here today

*Searched for my dvd of Pride and Prejudice because my friend Mari gushed about Colin Firth (I can't find it!! I'm FREAKING OUT HERE!)

*Read as many accounts of the Academy Awards as I could find.

Uh, yeah. That's it.

Oh, right. I did write this. Sure, technically it wasn't on my list, but it's an accomplishment and I am a modern parent, and don't modern parents thrive on celebrating any accomplishment?

But now- since I have added writing this to my already jam packed day- I can print out as an official to-do list. And link it to my mom so I don't have to call her (Not that I don't like talking to my mom, I do...really Mom..one of the highlights of my day!)

Wow, that list really is getting whittled down. I'm like a Super Do-er. I should go pro.

It's not that hard

2011-02-18T20:05:00.001-06:00

When my children were small, they would stand next to me and look up.

" Mommy, you are so tall! Am I going to be as tall as you?"

I would smile the smile of someone who knows a secret, "Oh, yes, probably. It's not that hard."

From their three foot perch they would would stare at me and hug my legs.

" Oh Mommy! You're silly!"

No, I'm short. They just didn't know that. Checking in at a solid 5'2" (and why, yes, my eyes ARE blue!) I really never thought of my height much. Most people are taller than I am-- 3" or a foot, it's all the same. Taller. We get used to the angle that we are looking at things. It's, simply, the way we view the world. It's not different, it just is.

I never coveted height. Why would I? Sometimes I wear heels, but not to be taller, I like how they look. I don't dress to elongate my legs. Really? They are only 29", elongation would be a farce extraordinaire.

No, I never really wanted to be taller. I have step stool, and still have enough spring in my legs to hop up on a kitchen counter to get a bowl from the top cabinet. When I was dating height was never an issue, my husband is about 6', but I think of us as equals.

This is how I was made, and - as I tell my kids- God does not make mistakes.I like what He made. Low center of gravity, able to hide in a crowd of kids-- if anyone has a problem with my height, it's not me.

Sometimes taller people have looked down at me...hey, not always in a totally negative way, I'm talking directionally. But sure, sometimes they would would look down at me and smile. Like I was some cute child playing dress up. I can assure you, I speak tall. No one of any substance would think I was a child for very long. I have to assume that they soon looked at me as I did at them: a person.

Yes, for most of my life I have not thought about my height much. Until a few months ago. When I realized that Luke was no longer looking up at me, he was looking straight across at me. And then, more recently, I looked at him like I look at most people: up.

My 12 year old is now taller than me. But here is the weird thing, he has yet to say anything about it. Not one "neener" or a laugh. Even today, when I told him to go back-to-back with me he didn't say "Hey, Shortie", or make a mini-golf joke. He just did it.

Did I really set an example for treating people? I don't know. Probably not. Most likely this is a parental respect issue. But I can tell you this: when I look up at my smiling faced son, I know that his getting taller than me wasn't hard for him. But for me? The mom who will forevermore have the 3 foot version of him in my memory, and knows that each inch he gains moves him closer to being grown and on his own-- it's very hard, indeed.

Here It Is! My Secret THING!

2011-01-29T07:24:00.000-06:00

The History Chicks

"A link? That's it? A. Link. your big secret was a link?"

No, no...it's not just a link! It's a portal to the past! It's a way of connecting women who have come before us to our current lives! It's a way for amazing you to hear me laugh at my own jokes, drink coffee with a really amazing woman and talk about other really amazing women in history! It's a way of traveling from this page, to the new website my friend Beckett and I launched as a companion to our podcast--The History Chicks.

"uh- history? Really? Isn't that kinda, dry?"

No, not the way we do it it isn't. It's conversational. And it's not just the past, it's the present..the future. Did you know that there are people who are really passionate about certain historical women? Just like you are passionate about cooking, or reading, or gardening, or knitting, or gnome collecting or whatever it is that gets you all tingly. Well, not tingly like THAT..but fired up, excited...ok, really? Come back from the gutter. We introduce you to those people. too.

Maybe I say a name..pick " Lizzy Borden", for instance. Most of you know one poem about her, maybe some random things you have picked up over the years that may, or may, not be true. In less than an hour Beckett and I will give you the facts about Lizzy, place her with other things that were happening in the world at the time she lived and did her, uh. thing. We will bust some myths, point out ways that Lizzie is still impacting our world. You think,"Wow, this Lizzy Borden was more than I thought" so you head over to our website ( THE LINK!) and see what Lizzy looked liked, see some other pictures, and yes...more LINKS to places all over the Internet that will tell you even more about her and her legacy.

Because we all have one, a legacy. Or we will after we are gone. Perhaps part of our legacy (THE LINK) can lead you to part of yours ( a rockin' axe collection, maybe). Or maybe you just are entertained by our storytelling and banter for an hour. That's good, too.

So it's not just a link. It's a portal to history--ours, yours, other women's--- and a portal to the future.

Here, I'll give it to you again. Click it!

THE HISTORY CHICKS

The Times They Are A -Changin'

2011-01-26T11:40:00.002-06:00

I am not a musical person. I am fairly musically illiterate and must follow along with the stronger voices at church because I have no idea what all the symbols in the hymnal mean. I have never played an instrument, and my singing voice can only be admired for it's enthusiasm.

When I hear songs played, they may take me back to a time, a certain place in my personal history. But if you ask me a few moments later what song I just heard, I will struggle to tell you. Cyndi Lauper and the Clash remind me of college, but there are a lot more things that will ignite my memories than music will.

I suck at games where you have to guess the song from the lyrics. And if I have to figure out who sang the song, or the year, I'm even suckier.

Don't feel too badly for me, I believe that this non musicality aids in my earworm immunity. I never get songs stuck in my head and have been know to take great pleasure in putting them in the heads of others.

That is why it stuck me as really odd when I started humming Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin today. First off, because Bob doesn't write zippy, hummable show tunes. Also, I'm not a hummer. And ,as I just said, I don't associate music TO my life-- it's just kind of on in the background. This gives me more than enough reason to think that this song is my anthem.

The song, written and released while I was still a-changing as a baby, is about adapting. It's about seeing the need to change as the world changes. My world is changing, my kids are getting a bit older, crossing into new parenting territory for Brian and I. I am getting older, careening through menopause. The world, how we communicate, how we share, how we show we care for each other is changing, too.

I read a quote from Mr Dylan that just sealed the anthem deal for me. When asked about the implied ageism meaning of these lyrics,
"Come mothers and fathers

Throughout the land

And don't criticize

What you can't understand

Your sons and your daughters

Are beyond your command

Your old road is

Rapidly agin'.

Please get out of the new one

If you can't lend your hand

For the times they are a-changin'"

Bob Dylan said, "Those were the only words I could find to separate aliveness from deadness. It had nothing to do with age."

Damn right it doesn't!

The part I love so much is the imagery of "to separate aliveness from deadness". I want to feel alive. I don't want to feel like my life is ending just because my kids are growing, my body is changing and more candles than ever light up my birthday cake.

I want to feel excited about using the gifts that God has given me.

I want to explore this world that He has created and where all of us reside.

I WANT to be alive to change.

Right now my times are a-changin'. I am morphing from being a stay-at-home mom to being a work-at-home mom. My time, previously prioritized by childrens' needs is now organized by working projects. Mostly writing. You can still see weekly blogs on http://www.mom2momkc.com/ , and also a weekly column in The Kansas City Star (appears on Wednesdays at http://www.kansascity.com/ - just search for my name, Susan Vollenweider). I love this sahmiam blog, even if the title doesn't exactly fit- it's who I was when it began, remains the number one prioritity in my life, and therfore- it shall remain ever so.

And there is another huge, time filling and personally rewarding project that- sadly- I still can't share with you. But I will. VERY soon. I'm really excited about it, and- trust me- keeping it secret is driving me batty. It's this big chunk of my life that I am keeping from people who previously had open access. And I hate that. But it's necessary.

So, until next time when I promise to share-- go google The Times They Are A-Changin'. Marvel at how many covers have been made, AND find your own anthem. PLEASE comment on this blog if you read it and tell me what your anthem is. You don't need to tell me why, unless you would like to- I would love to hear about it!

2011:Revelations

2011-01-08T11:01:00.000-06:00

I have this reoccuring feeling that the end of the world is right around the corner.

Wow, cheery way to start things off, Susan.

Let me backtrack. I am a Plan C person. Maybe a Plan M. Plan A just never happens to me. I'm ok with that, I've had a lot of experience. You have to start somewhere, right? That is the point of Plan A. The lofty, idealistic Plan A. Then I end up settling for a plan farther down the alphabet and making it work.

But so far this year, and I am tracking this back to just almost the beginning of 2011 (which, I realize was only 8 days ago) but things have been falling freakishly into place. Plan A's are working.

Some Plan As began last year, but they are playing out THIS year. Just as Plan A dictated. Some just pop up. For instance, yesterday I had gotten the dreaded call from the School Nurse. I was not in the middle of anything that couldn't wait, so I hopped into the car and picked him up right away. He had a low grade fever and was waiting to puke, but hadn't yet.

The car that I hopped into was not the child friendly minivan, it was Brian's baby. The car he always wanted but waited and put others things ahead of purchasing and finally got last year. I had Brian's car that day because I had washed and vacuumed it that morning. (I'm a nice wife like that). Now, Kid Logic dictates that Noah would hurl all over the interior of Brian's car. This is a well established fact, and I was prepared for it with a towel and aplastic bag.

But he didn't. We got home, into the house, out of his coat and winter gear, into the freshly cleaned bathroom and then he spewed right into the toilet. He yaaked once more that day, fell sound asleep, and today seems to be doing better. A perfect virus if there ever was one. Quick, neat, over in 12 hours and get back to regularly scheduled life.

THAT is how ALL things are happening. And, quite frankly, it's freaking me out.

Yes, wow, that does sound like me complaining that life is working out, doesn't it? I can't help it. I'm waiting for other shoes to drop. And while I am waiting, I have this other thought: this is my time to have things finally work out--just before the trumpets blow.

Happy and freaky all at once, right? Who knew that both of those emotions could live simultaneously in one head? And they can stay. I'm totally OK with that. Quite a revelation.

Worst. Blogger. Ever?

2010-12-18T07:39:00.000-06:00

Based on my last post, I can, without a doubt, call my re-commitment to this blog an epic fail. " I'm going to post more often" yeah....sure. To my credit, I do post original material on http://www.mom2momkc.com/ every Saturday.

In my defense, like a lot of us, I've been busy. Three kids, one anxiety riddled husband..yadda yadda..makes for a very busy life!! And I have been busy writing, but who wants to write about writing? Ok, maybe some people, but not me. I A) haven't been doing it long enough to share any hard earned wisdom and B) think it's like writing about eating...if you enjoy it, just go do it for yourself because anything that I say will not be the same type of experience that you have.

Anyway, I will share a couple little nuggets:

Nugget #1 I spent the month of November writing a novel.With the guidance and sense of community that NaNoWriMo ( National Novel Writing Month) brings ( see: http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ) I completed the mission.

Of course, it may never be seen by anyone besides my critique group and my mom--but the sense of accomplishment was extraordinary to me. And Bekah wrote alongside me doing the teen version of NaNoWrMo. And she finished as well. Within minuted of each other. We screamed and laughed and danced to Party In The USA. It was really one of those Mother/Daughter moments that lifetime movies are made of. I mean, if sitting around yelling at our laptops, talking to ourselves, laughing for no apparent reason-- for a month was compelling viewing. I think writing a novel is only a spectator sport in Misery.

Nugget #2: Taking a halfway decent Christmas card photo is very time consuming, and family bond testing. the one above took THREE sessions, several location and outfit changes ( Really? you want to wear a t-shirt that says " Awesome begins with me?") and by the time that shot was taken we all were mad at each other. And, that is not the shot that the fam picked for the actual Christmas card, but I look better in this one so..yeah...

Nugget #3: Life is hard. And just when you think you have it all figured out, it gets harder.

Nugget #4: When life gets really hard and you fall to the floor in a sobbing temper tantrum and yell to God that you can't take it anymore, He either says " yes, of course you can. Get your butt up off the floor." Or he hugs you and says " It's ok, My Love, something wonderful will happen very soon and you will be embarrassed that you threw this temper tantrum. But I still love you."

So, while my keeping this blog updated is second on my WORST list ( first has to be my ability to maintain a Twitter presence. I stink. Awful.), today, I wanted to wish you all a very merry Christmas!!!

Call The Summer Of 2010...DONE!

2010-09-13T16:25:00.000-05:00

Wow, that summer was a dud. Ok, it was summer so it was warm, and I got to spend a lot of time with my kids, who are great. I mean, except when they fight. And don't listen to me... no, they are. I'm lucky to be able to know them as well as I do. And have so many experiences together.

Like staring at each other asking " What do you want to do?".

Last summer we had a clear plan, and had a very full summer. This past summer we thought we would roll with it, let the wind carry us, staycation everyday.

* cue cricket chirp*

We did have some fun, went to the beach, swam at any pool that would have us, played outside, gardened, Noah went to summer school...but we did a whole lot of hanging out at home. We did a whole lot of activities that I could spin to sound idyllic, that I could post more pictures that make our lives look pretty awesome-- but the truth is that the whole summer was sort of boring.

Bekah did a lot of writing, but mostly her facebook status. Luke did a lot of sports, played baseball, took up running, but mostly wrestling was his sport of choice and his favored partner was his brother. Noah made some new friends at school, but he seemed called to play Mariokart.

It was entirely my fault. I can blame the economy, expendable income became even scarcer.I can blame my husband who weekly tells me what we can't afford. But I have been on the SAHM job for 14 years, I should have been more creative. I have known my kids for their entire lives, I know what they like to do. We tried a few things, but really, mostly we settled back down to the repetitive.

But the flip side? They were VERY eager to start school again. A month now. The child who usually has issues getting his brain in gear for school, well, he is still trying to jump start his academics. But I think he will adjust faster than in previous school years. The little guy started Kindergarten. He loves it. Eldest child started her final year of middle school, readying herself for her next life phase.

And me? I am beginning my next life chapter. With all of the kids in school, and my childbearing years ended, I am looking to what my life is going to be now. And where will it play out? Where can I give the tales of the fam? Here. So come back, read my challenges and struggles and lessons learned right here. ( and every Saturday on http://www.mom2momkc.com/).

My summer is over, and my hiatus on here goes with it. Thanks for coming back, and I promise more to come.

One of my greatest pleasures

2010-07-09T20:55:00.000-05:00

This is going to either sound really lame, or it could be one of our " ME TOO!" Moments.

One of the greatest pleasures in my life is looking at a freshly weeded, newly mulched, crisply edged flower bed. This is best viewed fresh from the shower where I had taken inventory of my injuries and washed my hair because it is the only good way to get all the dirt out of my nails. When I am at the pleasure part, the tan line on my feet shows deeper where the straps are on my garden clogs. I have washed the sweat and the tiniest of mulch particles that cling to it , off of me. The sun is setting and I can admire my handiwork.

Here is the bed I did today. I do not have a before picture because it was too embarrassing. Let's suffice it to say that an injury sidelined me from maintaining this bed last summer, and it is the last one to be done this year. Yes, it is well past the planting season and a more dedicated ( or less distracted) gardener would have planted some annuals among the roses, boxwoods and lavender that inhabit this bed.

All of my flower beds have a story. The story of this one is order. In decorating a room, it is often suggested that you leave a wall blank to rest the eyes. This is my version of a blank wall. Not a lot going on to visually stimulate. Lots of mulch, roses that visit and depart and return as the suits their folly as summer goes by. In the winter, the boxwoods are some of the only green I see.

I also perked up the front flower bed. I didn't get a whole lot of satisfaction from this one, but it does look cleaner free of the weeds and gone- to- seed Belles of Ireland that I did not plant nearly enough of. I am disappointed in a number of the annuals in this bed, but the vinca, once again, prove to me that they are worthy of front and center status. The story of this bed is usually a color story:purple, lime green and bright pink. But this year, I added the yellow. The gold finches and bumble bees seem to like it, and I think I do too.

My peak season is fading. I am not very good at late summer blooms, some zinnias dot the beds but this year I was on a quest to fill empty spots with phlox. In the early spring, while the ground was still frozen, I envisioned a sea of phlox. I purchased several ( several= more than I care to admit) bare root phlox. I experimented with root placement, additives, even soaking a couple of them in miracle grow for an hour hoping to stimulate their roots. Now, mid summer,the only new phlox that I have in my flower beds is this one. Taller than me ( which isn't hard) and standing proud in the middle of a bed of daylillies is this specimen. This volunteer specimen. If you aren't into garden lingo, that means it just appeared. I didn't plant it there.

Yes, one of my greatest pleasures is looking at a freshly weeded, newly mulched, crisply edged flower bed. Another one is taking my friends on a garden tour.

Thank you for that!

Notes from The Husband

2010-06-10T14:08:00.001-05:00

This is something Brian wrote, I thought I would share.

Well my Blackhawks finally did it last night. Their first Stanley Cup in 49 years. I didn't sleep well because I am so excited and still can't believe it. There are so many thoughts running through my mind. I need to share some of my emotions in the last 13 hours.

In reality, sports are a great escape in life to the many things that cause us stress. Worries about our kids, health, the economy, wars, etc.., are some of the things we can put to rest while we root for our team. Most of you know I am a huge Yankee fan and baseball is my favorite sport. But hockey is a close second and it has quickly become obvious to me that the Blackhawks victory last night was more than just a win. The memories I have due to this one sports moment are crashing through my mind.

It all started in the early 1970's when my Dad would pick me up and take me to see the Waterloo Blackhawks minor league team in Waterloo, Iowa. It was the first sporting event my Dad took me to. I remember the seats were close to the ice and in between periods he would leave to go to the "smoking and beer room" with other adults. There was an elderly couple who had seats behind ours and they would talk to me while Dad was gone. The games were exciting, "old time hockey" and a few times, Dad took me on the ice after the games to meet some of the players. The pictures we have from these encounters prove that I was in total awe of the players and, for a 6 year old, these are moments I will never forget. My love for hockey had begun.

As I grew up, it was a natural transition for me to be a fan of "the real Blackhawks" from Chicago. I remember Dad and I watching games at his apartment and it was special when the Blackhawks were on TV. Although I didn't play in a league, I played on ponds whenever I could and have the only real scar on my body, courtesy of a wayward skate during a pick up game when I was 10. Still, it was the Blackhawks that kept my interest. I wanted to be Tony Esposito and then Murray Bannerman and then Eddie Belfour.

About this time, a special bond was formed between me and my Uncle Rick. As a kid, I always thought he was cool and, man, he really liked hockey! Although he was a Northstar fan, we had something we could talk about for hours. He liked to "jack my jaw" about the Blackhawks. When I was 14, he took me to a Blues - Blackhawks game in St. Louis, just the two of us. Dad got us a hotel room at the Breckenridge Hotel and we talked hockey all the way to and from St. Louis. As we were leaving the game ( Blackhawks lost the game 4 - 2 ) we stoped at a souvenir stand and I bought a Blackhawks pennant. Now 31 years later, I looked at that pennant this morning as it has been hanging on the wall of Luke's room since the day he was born.

Over the years, Dad liked to call me and talk about sports. In the summer, he would call to harass me about the Yankees and in the winter, he would call to talk about the Blackhawks. No matter how busy I was, he expected me to stop what I was doing and "talk sports". Then I hit the location jackpot!

In 1989 I was working for Encyclopaedia Britannica and living in Washington, DC. An opening in our Chicago Region became available. Although it was advantagous from a career standpoint to head to Chi-town the idea of living in the home of the Blackhawks sealed the deal for me. I couldn't wait to go to my first game and literally got goosebumps when I heard the special way the National Anthem is sung and the way the "the pipe organ" sounded after the Hawks scored. It was unbelievable! I still get the goosebumps every time I see it on TV.

At our wedding, one of the first things I talk about AT THE CHURCH is the Blackhawks and we have it on video tape to prove it. My best man and groomsmen received Blackhawk sweatshirts as gifts for being in our wedding. Shortly after that, I got to know a ticket broker based in the Sears Tower. He would get us good seats, but we had to sit in the first balcony as that was the only area of old Chicago Stadium that sold nachos. That is what Susan had to have in order for me to get her to drive downtown in rush hour traffic and go to games. These were fun times and we could afford it because we didn't have kids. We saw Wayne Greatzy play ( in the middle of the game, Susan asked me " when he was going to do something "great".) We also saw a fantastic game in which Hall of Famer, Brett Hall let go a booming slap shot as time expired in which Eddie Belfour made the save. We still have all of the ticket stubs to those games and even though we were able to go to one game at The United Center, Old Chicago Stadium will always be near and dear to our hearts.

On our way home from Luke's baseball game last night we were talking about the game and wondering if the Blackhawks were winning? Could this be the night? When we got home, Luke tried to play it cool, but ended up bolting into the house. A moment later he came outside and told me " The Blackhawks are winning 3 -2 and are 17 minutes away from winning the Stanley Cup". Ok, now it was decision time. I get up each day at 4:45 AM and it was now 9:00 PM. If I watch the game, I might get no sleep. I decided to do some other things and check the score before I went to bed. It was 9:30, with my stomach churning and I turned on the TV. The first thing I heard was the announcers talking about overtime........... The Flyers had tied the game. The announcers were explaining how the Flyers now had all of the mementum going into overtime.

Decision time again. My gut told me stay up as the outcome was going to be quick and the way I was hoping for. I was right and I leaped upstairs to wake up Luke. He came downstairs with Noah, who didn't really understand why all of these guys were hugging each other.

Yes, it happened, but I needed to talk to someone, who do I call? Silence........... lump in my throat, I wanted to call Dad and share this moment with him. Silence again, another lump in my throat, I wanted to call Uncle Rick. Now what? Ok, wake up Susan and she can give me my cousin Doug's e-mail address. Darn it! We only have their Facebook address. ( I hate Facebook....... who has time for it?) Now what? Oh yeah, let's order our Stanley Cup Champion T-Shirts for me and Luke. Time for Susan to work her computer magic........... of course the T-shirts are on back order, but they will be coming soon. Now what? Facebook? Oh yeah, many of our friends in Chicago are describing the madness and joy in their neighborhoods. It looks like so much fun that we wish were still living there. Now, how about Susan's friend in Kansas City who is a big Blackhawks fan and friend in Canada who's husband is a former player and knows some former Hawk players. Facebook again and we are talking live about how great a victory it was.......... Did I mention I LOVE Facebook? (ha)

Ok, it's 11:00 PM and I am really tired and I know when the alarm clock will be going on. Four hours sleep will have to do. I wake up tired, but feeling great...................

Now back to reality. In the course of the morning I found out my cousin Doug recently lost his job and a friend of Susan's is in the hospital and taking a turn for the worse.

The real world has struck again. In over eight years of working for my Mom, I have taken one day vacation day and I often work on weekends. Yet, I still feel guilty about coming home for lunch and writing this note. Better get back to work, as I am thankful I have one and that me and my family are healthy. Will keep Doug and Susan's friend in my prayers.

The great sports escape may be over for now, but for 13 hours it was a great ride.......... Go Blackhawks.......... Go Dad........... Go Rick. What a rush!

Thanks for reading this long note.

The Truth About Mother's Day

2010-05-09T15:40:00.002-05:00

" Happy Mother's Day."
" Oh, you, too!"

We women greet each other this way on this day. I did it myself many times already. On the surface it says " I know that we belong to the same Motherhood Club, and I celebrate that commonality!"

But there is another meaning. It is deep in our eyes, visible only to each other. The real meaning is " I hope you make it through the day without disappointing them. They try."

Some of us were woken far too early today, maybe with kisses and hugs. Maybe with breakfast in bed. And from the moment the day begins, we put on our masks that reveal " I love them, they are trying. ". In a kids mind, if it's harder, it's better. So the kisses are not gentle, the hugs are not tender. But we know this, we know that if they attempt to press their lips through our cheeks, the meaning is deeper, the intention more meaningful than a normal days kiss.

Breakfast in bed may be burnt toast, a bowl of cereal, a pancake. In our heads we know what the kitchen looks like after the creation of such a feast. But we take a bite of the cold pancake, soggy cereal, or burnt toast and try not to think about the crumbs in the bed,or the scrubbing the pans are going to need. We know that they learned that mom makes special treats for special days-- and would like the same. Ok, so they don't have the cooking skill we possess, but they MEAN well.

At church this morning I saw several women sporting corsages. Very sweet. I never got one, maybe I'm not the corsage type. Which is accurate. I would feel foolish sporting one, so I can't personally comment on this. Maybe I am reading more into this gift than I should, but some of those women sported a look that said " My husband got this for me. He knows I like flowers. In a vase. On the table. At home. Far away from all the eyes that are drawn to this monstrosity resting on my bosom."

At my house a tradition was set years ago. Brian * makes* lunch for his mother and me. This entails a drive through the local KFC . We eat at our dining room table, today he forgot to set it so I scrambled as his mom got here. I'm not a fan of KFC, it's only OK, but the kids like it. And now that it's tradition, it means so much to them that they can do this for us-- so it must be. Every year. yay.

I appreciate the effort, and I know that they who make it happen only do this once a year. They don't put three meals on the table everyday, they don't coordinate the other holiday celebrations, they don't even handle birthday parties. But they love us, and we them... so we lovingly accept the flowers that they pulled, roots and all, from our own gardens. We gush over the gifts that cost far more than our budget allows, or the spa certificate we may never get the time to claim, or the regifted gift card that you got for your birthday and didn't like.We fawn over the fuss at the restaurant that isn't really our favorite. Maybe we get exactly the day and gifts we would pick for ourselves, but even then they are secondary. We see the love behind the celebration, and we love you so we are happy and honored with whatever you do.

In the house I grew up in, my own mother never wanted anything and always said " Thank you, but Mother's Day should be everyday." At the time, as I know my kids think now, I thought " how silly! It's like your birthday, a once a year party for you!" Now I see it very differently, probably closer to how my mother saw it. Although I let my family make the fuss, and spend a good chunk of the day trying to sneak off for a nap.

The truth about Mothers Day is this: we enjoy it because we enjoy you. We let you make a fuss over us, even if it makes us uncomfortable, because we love you. We love being your Mom and if you want to celebrate that, then we will do whatever you want.

However, if you asked me how I would like to celebrate mothers day, if it was entirely up to me and I wouldn't feel selfish about it, I would like a truckload of mulch in the driveway and a day of peace and quiet to myself to get it laid down. If my kids were grown and moved out-- I mean WHEN my kids are grown and moved out-- I probably will think very differently. But now I am in the trenches of raising them. I don't need them to come home, because they are already here. all. the. time.

That is the ugly truth of my deepest desired mothers day wishes--- a day to myself-- where I don't have to tell you to take your elbows off the table, or to slow down when you eat, or to stop sticking your finger under my nose to see if I am dead when really I'm just trying to take a nap, would be the greatest gift now.

If I were to add one more caveat to my dream wish list, it would be that you knew how deeply I love you. How I willingly silently sacrifice myself for you each day and wake up to do it again feeling blessed to be your Mother. I would want for you to feel, for just one moment because you could not take it for longer, your heart hasn't grown strong enough yet-- I would want for you to feel the depth and breadth and volume and weight of my love for you.

Happy Mother's Day to ALL * insert look here*.

Maybe a Nice Hat for Special Occassions

2010-04-18T20:21:00.000-05:00

AGKKKK! I wiggled into my dressy pants, thinking the sleeveless sweater would have been a good choice had it not been a turtleneck. Sweat was trickling down my back. There is no hotter day to me than the first day it hits 80. It feels nice, but my winter body isn't yet acclimated to the warm temps. I get dewy. ok, no.. I sweat profusely. To make matters worse, the humidity isn't doing my 'do any favors. I had straightened my hair and hoped for soft waves that day, but it was leaning more towards a head of violent surf. Add in a few trickles of stress sweat and I was a shiny, damp, frizzy mess. Great day for my first job interview since 1991.

A few days prior I had spoken with a man who might have a job opportunity for me. We got along well on the phone, and he wanted to see me at his office. Like any other working mom, I figured out a child care arrangement for Noah-- OK, it was Brian's idea to call this guy now, months before I was ready to actually work, he can figure out child care. And he did. I dropped Noah at Daddy's office, and headed to my first interview since the Bush SENIOR Administration.

My gaggle of close confidants had prepped me on clothing choices, and I ironed ( which I never do) so I was pretty committed to the pants, short sleeve sweater over turtleneck sweater with heels ensemble. I had whipped up a resume the day before, thinking maybe that would be a good idea. Hey, I wasn't actually READY to go on interviews, I was in the thinking process. No resume required. But that morning, I was dressed to impress, hair in a sorta business... ish.. style, resume in folder slid into my portfolio of previous related work. I even got makeup to adhere to my slippery face.

The interview went well. He wanted me to go on a job, see if I could work with his team. He wasn't sure how he could use me, but that my personality and experience were what he liked to team up with. I was partially elated, who doesn't want to be appreciated and really, one interview out and I have an almost offer? What's not to love? The industry is one that I had many years of experience in. I liked the work of the company, use the product myself. Is this my future? Is this what God had planned for me to do?

Is this my hat?

So last night I went to work with the team, to see if we had a fit. I showed up early, stayed as late as I could, dove right in, asked questions, got to know the people. I admired the quality of the product, enjoyed the pace of the day, and left the prom knowing that this might indeed fit in as one of my hats.

The Prom?

I believe that I have taken a part time, seasonal, whenever he needs me job with a portrait photographer.

See, before I took pictures like this:

And this:

I took pictures like this:

And this:

And some really good ones that are in my portfolio but not on this hard drive, so you have to trust me that I know a little bit. I spent several years working in the same school/team/senior/wedding portrait industry for the behemoth company that does this. I worked for myself as a portrait photographer. I know just enough that I can provide a service to my new company while learning a whole lot more in the process. I think that is called a win/win situation..

So last night I stood on my feet, watching, observing, diving in helping out at the Smtihville Prom. I don't know if my new employer want my whole 28 followers and couple hundred hits a week ( ish) to know his name, I'll have to check. Jury may be out if having me as an employee is brag worthy.

But I think this hat looks good on me, for once in awhile part time, special occasions. This is a hat I have worn before and liked a great deal. I think it might be back in style, but I am not done hat shopping by any means.

This Is Entirely The Wrong Hat

2010-04-07T13:10:00.000-05:00

I am obsessed. I'm going to be blunt: What the hell am I going to do for a job?

Reignite a previous career? Fan the flames of a new passion? Start a fire on some as-yet-unknown occupation? It's a hot topic for me. I meet people " What do you do?" I talk to people who know me well " What do you think I should do?"

Brian, who presumably, knows me very well suggested I teach.

As in School.

As in kids.

I can honestly say I had never entertained this option in my life. When other little girls were playing school, I was climbing the apple tree to see what the world looked like as a bird. And to get a snack. I teach Sunday School, but only to high school age classes. Little kids en masse scare me.

One of my Bleacher Buddies echoed Brian " You have a degree, you can sub. Work when the kids are in school, turn down assignments when you are busy. If you like it you can go back to college and get your certificate. It's perfect." Problem solved was in the word bubble over her head.

So I used my ( overactive) imagination. I imagined what a day as a teacher would look like. The first round was overly simplified, and quite idealistic. Hey, maybe teaching would be good..then I imagined the kids not listening to me, asking me what the square root of pi is or the capital of Obscuristan. So many eager minds listening to my every word. I know where Noah learned his colorful language, what if I taught them that? My palms began to sweat.

" Mrs V," says the faceless imagined student " I keep looking at this map of Pennsylvania and I can't find Pine Valley ANYWHERE!"

I accepted it. I never, not once in my life, entertained the thought of being a teacher. It is one of those occupations where passion FOR THE JOB ( yeesh, what a world, huh?) should be a requirement. I would not want a me standing in front of my children posing as a teacher.

That hat was an easy no-fit. It looks fabulous on others, thought it might fit , but when I put it in my head--nope. Back to the hat rack I go.

Hat Shopping: Part One

2010-03-08T10:24:00.001-06:00

I need a job.

Not just any job, and the need isn't as urgent as some in this economy. For that I am very grateful. But when I left my last career type position, I always imagined that once the kids were in school I would go back to work. Brian and I thought the best path for our family was to have me at home with the kids. To be a SAHM. Quite honestly, when Bekah was born, the though of putting her in daycare, of someone else seeing her more during the workday than I did, well, made me sick to my stomach.

Bold statement, Susan, you just lost all the Working Moms.

I can't deny my feelings, sorry. BUT I do know, in my heart of hearts, that the decision that is best for me, is not necessarily best for everyone. I do know a number of working moms who really are better parents because they work. I know a number of them who MUST work, bills need to be paid. I know a number of them who equally identify with being a Mother and being a ( fill in the occupation here)- to give up a hard earned career would make them bitter and resentful. Can't imagine that a bitter and resentful woman would make a great Mom. I do know a number of moms who, when faced with the prospect of being a SAHM break out in a cold sweat. All kids? ALL. THE. TIME. * shudder*

That is it, it's not for everyone. The days can be very lonely, very long, very frustrating and the cash pay pretty much sucks.

The first year that I was home with Beks was very difficult. We moved when she was one month old, from Chicago to a new state. Small town. No mom neighbors. No family.It was uphill from the get go.

I had put so much personal worth into career accomplishments that I had a hard time seeing the rewards of being a SAHM. I took every " oh, you stay home?" personally and probably put more negative feeling into it than was intended.

I wanted to slug the next person who said " that must be so rewarding". Really? Having a baby upchuck all over you 24/7 is rewarding?

Reading " The Owl and the PussyCat" for the 10th time that day ,to a tot who only wants to chew on and flip the pages faster than you can read is fulfilling?

Waiting for your husband to come home so you can talk to another adult other than the Walmart cashier and the Pediatrician, only to have him walk in the door grumpy from a bad day at work, reach for the remote and ask what is for dinner adds to my self worth?

But then spring came, the long winter ended both literally and figuratively. I got out of the house, met other SAHMs and began to see my chosen path as the one I was intended to be on. I really never looked back. God provided for us, Brian made enough that we could, if we lived frugally, afford for me to stay at home.

For us, having a parent home all the time makes the most sense. I love being here when they come home, hearing about school , helping with the homework, keeping an eye on their social scene, taxi-ing them around. I like to cook, and craft, and look for teachable moments. Although not a huge fan of cleaning, I'll do it. I love that I don't have to take a day off if they get sick, or have days off from school. I love doing things with them in the summer. I love teaching them to do things around the house, to cook and clean and help out the family. I love that they know I will be here for them. That is actually very rewarding.

When child number 2, Luke, headed off to Kindergarten 6 years ago I was planning my next move. I had developed an interest in gardening and was researching what it took to become a Master Gardener. This isn't a paid gig, it's actually education for education's sake. After earning the title you give back your time to the community. Gratis. But I love gardening that much. I figured I could parlay my acquired knowlege into a part-time job at a landscaping center as well as working the gardening hot lines. But before I could sign up, I got pregnant.

Flash forward another 6 years. This fall Noah, child number 3 and DONE, heads off to kindergarten. I am in my upper-mid-40's and don't know what to do when I grow up.

All the reasons for me to stay home are still valid ( except for the diaper changing,spit- up and potty training them myself). I do not want to give up being here for them, but I need something more. Cash would be nice. The cost of having children is pretty high-- it's not all diapers and formula costs.. braces, sports, clothes, extra school activities, food...and have you SEEN this economy? Yeesh! But I also want something for me. I need to get back to having emotional rewards that are not just a hug here, a " thanks Mom" there, a peek in on a wise decision and an unprodded " I love you". I need to DO something else.

Maybe it's time to take that Master Gardner course. Maybe it's time to go back to a previous career in Special Event Planning or Photography. Maybe it's time for something I else new and different.

So every now and I again, I am going to be trying on hats. I am going to seriously think about different careers that would give me the flexibility to still be On -Call for my kids, but also get something back for myself. Something that will set an example to my children that God gives us gifts, it's our job to make figure out what they are and follow that path. I am going to pray about it. I am going to seek wise counsel. I am going to listen.

I may not be a full-time SAHM forever, but in my heart, as long as there are children living under our roof, I am going to be a SAHM foremost. I will never, EVER stop being a Mom. Even when I go back to work as a... a.... a... um. er.... I have no idea.

To Be Continued

Little gifts

2010-02-27T16:34:00.001-06:00

Every once and again I will leave my camera out on the table. The kids will see it, of course, and being kids they will pick it up. Once they realize I'm either not looking or indifferent to them holding my camera, they start to take pictures.

I like the images that kids take. Usually they show what the kids find interesting. They often show movement. I used to give the kids a disposable cameras. Yes, we would end up with 20 pictures of Barbie, but among those were gems. A 4 yr old Beks posing a 2 year old Luke by the dress-up trunk. A photo essay of what can be done with a chalkboard and a new package of sidewalk chalk. An expose of everyone knees at a church event. Close ups of what, exactly, is under the bed. It was almost worth the expenditure.

Now that I don't actually have to pay for the bad, the blurry, and the what-the-heck-is-that pictures, I think of them as little gifts. Gifts of my kids being kids. A still life of lives that are in constant motion.

Pass the wine and cheese and let's have a look at this recent gallery created by my children.

A popular pose is what I call Open Wide

Lovely.

Another favorite theme is food. Luke is usually consuming it or taking pictures of it. Food is very important to an 11 yr old boy. I never realized HOW important until I had to hide things from him. Leave a baked chicken on the counter to serve for dinner, and Luke will have it torn apart, topped waffles with it, and be emptying a can of whipped cream over the mess all while asking " what's for dinner?"

This is actually a failed loaf of bread. I forgot it was rising in the oven, and turned the oven on 10 hrs after I had put the frozen dough in there. This is not recommended on the bread dough label. Luke ate this after he took the picture.

This is dinner. Or part of it. He's wondering where the rest is.

Another frequent pose is kids acting goofy. I actually delete a lot of these, but here is one to sample.

And sometimes they take my picture. ish. Maybe that is how they see me. Just a big smile. I kinda like that image.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

2010-02-08T10:44:00.003-06:00

The fact that I have a history of really sucky birthdays is well documented. I have carried on about it in person and print for years. Some of those birthdays were really bad. Space shuttle explosions, full family multi-orifice stomach viruses, city stopping ice storms,attempted home invasions-- bad stuff by any standards. Some were only bad to me, lest we never forget the year Brian gave me Clorox wipes as a gift. The only gift. Not valuable at the time, and very hurtful, I have gotten a lot of mileage out of it so really was a gift that kept on giving. It's all about how you spin it, right?

Last year I thought it would be fun to get together with a bunch of my mom friends and celebrate our mutual sucky birthday histories. We would laugh , eat and drink in the face of our common bond and scare away the sucky mojo. It was not only a fabulous party, but it worked! Last year I had a great birthday!

So, I did it again. Last weekend several of the same women, and many several more, met up again. Same restaurant. Same day, same time. Here is me and my friend ( I consider every woman at that table my friend so let's toss the description) Michelle being goofy:

Down the table, one part of it anyway... no matter how few times we had met we all chatted and laughed and carried on like we got together every week. But the truth is, all of those women " met" in an online message board ( mom2momKC ).To be in the same room as each other rarely happens. Some had stepped way out of their comfort zones to be there. I think all of them were happy they took the risk.

Megan and Other Susan got the " wear black" memo.

Karen and Sally showing their cheesy side.

Tracy likes a little wine with her fruit.

24 women, a few sangria's, and many laughs. It was the perfect preventative medicine for any curse. It totally worked for me,and I hope it works for the others who have a similar birthday curse. My actual birthday was wonderful! Nothing bad happened, exactly the opposite. It was the kind of birthday that we all wish for- I imagine- but don't really verbalize. You can't plan for days like that, they just have to happen. Flowers, calls, notes, and a few gifts rolled in as the day and the delivery drivers went by. It wasn't about the objects, it was about the meaning behind them. I felt loved. The best gift of all.

Melissa made me a coffee themed table cloth, Lee sent a beautiful bouquet!

I got to hang with my kids while my fabulous mother-in-law cooked us dinner!

I have steak about once a year.. this was that night. I'm not much of a meat eater, but once in awhile I get a hankering for a hunka beef.

What kinda awkward body twist I got going on there? Ahh, Brian. Smile. Please?

The cake was carrot ( my favorite) homemade , too, and not by me! Bonus!!!

Tracy - the sangria drinker- send a flamingo with a fairly large seasonal wardrobe. This was a seriously cool gift.

Thanks to a bit of planning, a lot of people who love me and one fabulously outfitted flamingo I turned 47 with glee in my heart. A new tradition has been established and, on a purely selfish note, I hope it happens every year. Aging has enough of a bad reputation, anything we can do to spin it is essential in my book.

Memory Lane: Not quite the Autobahn, but a wild enough ride.

2010-01-25T11:16:00.001-06:00

This is a picture of me 5 years ago to the day.It was me giving myself my last insulin shot before bed. The next day I was scheduled for a c-section and would say " Hello, Noah!" and then " Toodles!" to my gestational diabetes.

I remember the pregnancy well,I still wear those pajama pants, and I don't think I look all that different than I do in this picture, but it seems like a lifetime ago. Sure, it was Noah's lifetime, but it seems like a long time. More than five years.

Some moms look at pictures of themselves pregnant and think " where did time go?" and " it seems just like yesterday that I was feeling you move and kick me from inside." I am not one of those moms. Maybe I will be, someday, but now? No. When I think back, I think to all the work, all the challenges, all the wonderful days, but I can feel the difference between the mom in that picture and the mom I am today. It's a big chasm.

Noah is our 3rd and last child. I was days shy of my 42nd birthday when he was born. The line we give is that perimenopausal means " you can still get pregnant". But I knew I could still get pregnant. Although the chances were slim that I would, we didn't do anything to stop it. The truth is that was the second pregnancy within a year. 7 months before getting pregnant with Noah, I had a miscarriage at 10.5 weeks. On Thanksgiving. After cooking, and serving the family meal.

I had found out I was pregnant with that child the day before I was scheduled to go in to get my tubes tied. The same doc asked, upon confirming that I had lost this baby, if I wanted to get that done. I couldn't. In my head I could not go from pregnant to never being able to have another child, although we did not plan on having any more.

The other line we give is " once we found out where all these babies were coming from, we put a stop to that!". This is entirely true. When Noah was delivered I did have my tubes double knotted. I KNEW this was the end of the baby making for me. While my sweet OB hummed as she worked on my fallopian tubes, my newborn son was struggling for breath. He was born with premature lungs, an easy fix once he got to the right hospital, but we didn't know that at the time. We just saw another baby heading to the NICU unable to get a breath. We saw another child whisked away from my arms, unsure of what was wrong with him but having a sickening feeling of deja vu.

Luke was born that way 6.5 years before Noah. He had a very rough entry into the world. For medical reasons, he couldn't be held until he was a week old. Actually, Bekah even did a NICU stint after swallowing a wad of meconium. Then Noah. Three babies, three trips to the NICU. Two of them via ambulance to Childrens Mercy Hospital. Cut, knot and hum away Doc. We are done. We are grateful for what we have, but we knew the challenges ahead of us. Or rather, we knew the challenge of uncertainty that was ahead of us.

The mom flashing a goofy smile in that picture, she didn't know what her next few weeks would feel like, look like, or how they would play out. She had forgotten the feeling of nursing, and sleep deprivation and the tug of her heart when a newborn makes eye contact. She could not know what it would feel like to have her first and middle child bond so deeply and so quickly with the newest member of her family. She couldn't foresee the triumphs and challenges of being a mom at such an age. She had no clue as to the joy and hurdles that would lay ahead of her and her family. But she can now. In her rear-view mirror. And those five years have been a long and curvy road.

I'm not writing this looking for sympathy by any means. I want you to see the gratitude that I have in my heart for the wonder that is my children. For this late in life surprise baby who tomorrow celebrates his 5th birthday. Happy Birthday, Buddy!!!

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