In The Playpen

Dance Moms

2013-07-27T19:51:00.003-07:00

“Mothers are all slightly insane.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Oh dear me, dance moms. Some of the slightly more insane of the mom bunch.

Dance moms are just women wanting to relive their unsuccessful youth through their child. Truth be told, I think most parents are like that in some realm of their kid's life, but dance moms are just more obnoxiously obvious.

You might be a dance mom if:

1. You deliberately picked the dancing because you wish you had done this when you were a child.
2. You constantly compare your own child to the "competition".
3. You wish you could wear the glittery costumes.
4. You would rather watch dance class than run errands during this golden hour of free time.
5. You frequently talk to other mothers about all of your child's dance experiences.
6. You honestly believe that you don't brag about your child during these conversations.

And lastly, you might be a dance mom if you let your child stay up until 10pm on Tuesday nights watching "So You Think You Can Dance" in hopes that it might inspire her.

I confess I meet most of the criteria.

As I wait outside her class each Wednesday, I am fascinated by the other moms that wait in the wings. I am fascinated by my own feelings about Zoe's dance career. I desperately want her to love and excel in dance and theater, yet I would NEVER EVER IN A MILLION YEARS want her to be an actor or dancer as an adult. Sorry to say, but I've never met an emotionally balanced artist. The irony is ridiculous.

The little girl in me is wishing for a second chance I guess. My daughter totally nailed me the other day though. I was trying to convince her to take ballet next year and with much exasperation she said, "MOM, if you like it so much why don't YOU take the class!"

God bless her for seeing right through me.

Twenty Years

2013-06-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

When we recall the past, we usually find that it is the simplest things - not the great occasions - that in retrospect give off the greatest glow of happiness. - Bob Hope

Unbelievably, it has been twenty years since I've graduated from Bemidji High School. There are too many practical obstacles keeping me from attending my reunion, but even in a perfect world, I don't think I'd go. It isn't for any of the typical reasons one might suspect. No, I am very pleased with my life and prosperity. I have health and wealth (it's all relative isn't it?), a beautiful family to be proud of and I haven't changed too much physically.

So why wouldn't I go? One word. Debbie. The first question everyone would ask me is, "How are you?" the second question (which I am sure would come in rapid succession) would be, "How is your sister?" My sister, to those who remember her, was high school royalty. She was loved and beloved. I was generally referred to as "the little sister".

I am a truth teller. I hate making up lies or glossing over the truth. I would feel compelled to tell those who inquire that,"I don't know" how Debbie is. Actually it has been nearly nine months since I've exchanged words with my sister and over three years since I've seen her. Everyone remembers her as a sweet, funny, talented girl with unfathomable potential. If I say ANYTHING to compromise this image then I am the strange one. I am the one to be questioned and speculated about.

People like to glorify the past. They want to remember the good, and it is really difficult when your memories are faced with radical change. From my experience, it doesn't go over well. I don't want to mess with that. And, also, I don't have the strength to explain much of which is still a mystery to me. It hasn't been explained to me why my sisters won't contact me. They show zero interest in their niece and nephew. They show zero interest in me. I've tried. I'm sure I'll try again at some point, but for now I need a break.

In all truth, I am really pissed off about this. I feel like so much of my childhood has been robbed from me that it angers me to know that simple idea of attending my reunion has been taken from me too. There are people I'd love to see: Maarit, Katie, Stacy, Michelle and Misty.

So for now I'll recall the simple things from high school that gave me happiness. They include, but aren't limited to:

1. Lunch table laughter. I remember clearing out the lunch room with our tearful laughs, the inside jokes have now escaped my memory, but the belly ache I remember.
2. Overnights at Stacy's. Sleeping in her twin bed, telling secrets and giggling all night long.
3. Cheerleading antics with Renatta. Renatta had the best laugh EVER. We used to make fun of our cheers. "Sooo hot, sooo pretty".
3. Buring my hair with Maarit. Maarit helped me explore the darker side of me. We used to burn things, mostly paper, but once we accidentally burned my hair!
4. A surprise 15th birthday party at Michelle's. She invited over twenty people, gave me a DQ cake and made me feel like a million bucks.
5. Spending the night at Katie's, and sneaking off to see "The Hand that Rocked the Cradle" and "Prince of Tides" while my parents were none the wiser.
6. Having one moment in time where everyone saw my potential. I tried out for West Side Story and I rocked the initial audition. I WAS Maria. For five sweet minutes on stage, people saw what I COULD be if I had confidence.
7. Sixth period with Mr. Lien. I loved his Senior Social class. I love Mr. Lien, but mostly I loved that I sat in front of Gib Mouser. He was the first boy I ever really relaxed around. He saw the true me, and he liked me. It wasn't meant to be, but I knew my feelings were reciprocated.

My twenty year reunion wasn't meant to be, but I will remember high school with warmth and love. It was horrific and fabulous at the same time, exactly as it should be.

Here Comes The Sun

2013-06-28T20:34:00.002-07:00

"Little darling The smiles returning to the faces
Little darling It seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun Here comes the sun, and I say It's all right

This is my favorite Beatles song. The only one sung by George Harrison, and often panned by hard core Beatle fans. Once I climbed out of the dark hole called puberty I haven't had much use for Sad Sally music. I want music to make me feel happy.

I still remember the first time I heard this song. My eldest sister, home from college, forced my sister and I to listen to Bob Dylan and the Beatles while we tried to figure out why this music meant so damn much to her. This song came on and I asked her to play it again, and again... and again.

The simple lyrics and happy beat gave me hope. Most of the other songs I didn't get or eventually trailed off into a long instrumental segment which sort of lost my short attention span. (Don't worry, I now love most everything by the Beatles...Bob Dylan on the other hand...) Over the years I would hear it on the radio from time to time and just catch my breath each time I did. It seemed to play just when I needed it most.

Yesterday I had had enough of the blasted rain and played the song for my kiddos. Play it and it will come. Well, that along with a fairly iron clad weather report predicting sunshine.;)

Today June-uary, as we Seattlites like to call it, came to an end. The sun came out and it brought easy smiles to my face all day. All of my worries have been put on hold. The sun is here and suddenly everything is all right.

Thank God!

Costco

2013-06-22T18:58:00.001-07:00

"Kindness should become the natural way of life, not the exception." - Budda

So today was a good sort of day. It started off in a lazy way and progressed into errand running. I don't know why I do it, it must be because I am a glutton for punishment, but I generally go to Costco on the weekends.

Costco is insanity any day of the week, but the weekends are certifiable. Taking your children, without your spouse, is just stupid. So when I walked into Costco late Saturday afternoon with my two children, I was ready to do battle.

People in the PNW generally have a difficult time remembering their manners in any given situation, but when in Costco, not only are there no manners, it is like road rage! Drunken road rage armed with a cart. It is dangerous. Truly, it is. I told Quinn he had to sit up front, even though he is five, in the cart because otherwise people would trample him. They WOULD. And they wouldn't even stop to see if he were OKAY. It is incredible to me the lack of kindness and consideration in this store. Everyone is stopping mid isle or turning DIRECTLY INTO YOU, or looking the other direction while they are moving forward. They could care less if you have a child with you, they'll run them down too. No one looks at you or says "excuse me". They are always looking at some imaginary thing that is right above my head or down the next isle. They won't even respond if I say, "Sorry" or "excuse me".

There is one isle in particular that I have called "the gauntlet". It is the isle that takes you through the meat into the produce. I can't remember there has ever been a time when it wasn't swirling with people, carts and children. When I look down the gauntlet I remember why people in Europe think we are piggish and inelegant. It is ugly America to the core.

Would it kill us to be kind? No it wouldn't. I have to admit that smiling and not getting frustrated at Costco is an EFFORT for me, I have lived here long enough to be as unfriendly as the next person. But I will remember Budda's words, kindness is the natural way of life.

Why is it so damn difficult to be kind after the age of 30?? Julianna, just be kind and do the right thing!

Taking it All In

2013-06-22T08:25:00.000-07:00

Now that I will be hanging up my teaching hat for the next couple of years, I've been thinking about, well, writing. If you've been reading my blog for any length of time you will remember me professing my desire to write a novel.

I've been thinking about this lately and I think I am ready to amend that statement. I desire to write. I desire to become a better writer, whatever that really means. But the only way to become better at anything is to practice. So, I will generally use this space to practice. I am apologizing in advance if my posts start to sound the same or ramble too much.

But I have to say I am at my best as a writer when I have some boundaries. Some of my best posts sprouted from Erma Bombeck quotes. So I am going to follow the quote track again, but this time I will not narrow the field to just Erma (although her quotes are some of the best).

I also promise to figure out how to modernize this blog. Get it hooked up to facebook and pinterest... no twitter because I don't tweet. This part of the deal might take longer to manifest. I can barely figure out how to post a picture, much less imbed a website! Something to work on.

Happy reading, and if you are a writer, happy writing!

Riley

2013-06-20T22:51:00.001-07:00

The end of school has come and I officially am a mother to a Kindergartener and 3rd grader! It is hard to believe that my days of toddlers and preschoolers are at a close. It is bittersweet to say the least. Zoe's dance recital was this past weekend and I found myself overflowing with tears whenever a child under the age of five came onto the stage with her chubby legs and budda belly. Really, it wasn't just a little tear that trickled down my cheek either, it was full on ugly cry.

All in all my kiddos had a great year at school. Despite the issues at Quinn's school, he really thrived in a school setting. He enjoys structure and predictability. Zoe really had an awesome year. I cannot say that I was super impressed with her teacher, but Zoe certainly was. She loved her dearly and really came into herself. Unlike me, she wades through the social waters with relative ease. Sometimes a little too easily!;) She is popular, yet she is still my little right fighter. She roots for the underdog, and listens to her heart.

Part of her social success this year is due to her friendship with a classmate, Riley. Riley is a spitfire. She can barely weigh thirty pounds, but her personality weighs about a hundred! There are many things I like about this girl; her spunk, imagination and obvious love for Zoe (shows good taste). But there have been a few things not to like as well. She can be a bit dictatorial, and, most importantly, she is often rude to Quinn. Since she herself is the family baby, she has no use for younger siblings. She often tells him to "go away" or eggs on conversations with Zoe that focus on how annoying Quinn is.

So I'm not quite decided on how I feel about Miss Riley, but I feel that I can't really say too much about it. I've tried to stay as neutral as possible, but I did tell Zoe that I insist she and Riley are nice to Quinn when she is at our home.

The last few weeks, however, I've noticed a slight dip in temperature in the relationship. Riley seems to be a dedicated as ever, but Zoe seems to be less interested. On the last day of school they gave each other a weak hug and Zoe barely glanced back when Riley said good-bye. I wondered about this and asked if everything was okay, she said in her quiet, sweet way that it was. So I left it alone.

Tonight Zoe was begging to stay up late. Finally she just came and sat on my lap for a long cuddle. As we cuddled we started talking about silly things, books and friends etc. I asked her if there was anyone she would like to have to the house this summer to play. She mentioned Sophia, a friend from her old school in West Seattle. I then asked her about Riley.

me: "Do you want to have Riley over?"
Zoe: "I see her everyday at school."
me: "I know, but now it is summer and you won't be seeing her for two months. I just wondered if you wanted to see her."
Zoe: no response
me: "Is everything okay? I notice that you don't seem to be as fond of her as you once were."
Zoe: " I guess I'm not as fond of her. It is just that she often wants to play games that I don't want to play and tells me who to stand by or what to do. She is always running away from me and wants me to feel sad for her. And she says things that aren't true.
me: "Like what?"
Zoe: "She says that we are fairies. Really!(eyes widen with earnest) She says I'm a fairy and that she is a fairy! I am not a fairy. Then she said that God was a fairy. God isn't a fairy. God is love and kindness and takes care of us."

God bless the girl. God bless that insight and kindness. She would never want to say these things directly to Riley because she wouldn't want to cause her pain, but I know she would if she needed to. This is the difference between mother and daughter. She has the confidence to believe that she doesn't have to please at any cost.

My guess is there will be other Rileys along the road to adulthood. And I am sure she will be another girl's Riley at some point too. Childhood is brutiful that way. (I stole that word from the Momastery- a combination of brutal and beautiful.)

Her sweet soul did a lot of growing this year. Bittersweet for both of us.

The Library

2013-05-26T20:49:00.001-07:00

Wow! Nothing like a good blog rant to get the demons out and purge oneself of the yuck.

Sorry for that!

It is Memorial Day weekend and we find ourselves, curiously, with nothing on the calendar. We've been to two parks and Menchie's twice already. And the library. I love the library. I really do. It would land in my top five favorite places. It would! When I was in college I worked part time in our stacks. My job was to catalog new magazines and shelve them.

I loved every minute of it. I adore alone time. I didn't have to talk to too many people. I occasionally helped a student or two and I got to take part in one of my all time favorite pass times...people watching.

This is a weird and little known fact about me, I love to people watch, especially in book stores. I think it stems from my youth. My parents owned a bookstore in Upper Michigan (The Canterbury Bookstore). Every day after school I would walk to the store and watch people look for just the right book. Some people were in a hurry and others were so thoughtful and slow. As if books were their potential friend and they needed to find a mutually beneficial relationship. You could definitely tell who was buying for themselves, and who was just looking for a present. There were even the regulars who would come to read a chapter or three at a time and then come back a day or two later to continue their novel. I used to sit on my stoop in the Children's section, craning my head to get a better look at the customers picking out their books, while I pretended to read "Where the Wild Things Are" for the hundredth time.

I am so happy that my children love the library. It is like a mini vacation. They sit in their respective sections while I roam and look at books and watch others look at books.

I come home with a thirty pounds of books which will keep my kiddos entertained for hours.

And all for free!

Yes indeed, I love the library.

Finding Strength

2013-05-25T19:34:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been an interesting week or two since I've last blogged. Quite frankly I'm impressed that most of my hair is still on my head. I have consumed more wine and chocolate than usual, a clear indication that my stress levels are still quite high.

I have sort of filled you in on the stresses of my work situation. I've mentioned that the teachers are constantly gossiping and belittling children. I'm not sure if I clarified that it is MY SON'S teachers who are the sole perpetrator of the belittling children situation. Well, they are. Back in September they joked that they were teaching the "short bus"class. I was instantly horrified, and even more horrified at the lack of my director's horrification. An apology was made, but I still had my doubts. I mean, when you make a comment like that what hope is there that you hold any belief than your students can truly achieve? Fast forward to early May. I am on the playground sitting next to his teachers while the kiddos are enjoying a rare sunny day in Seattle. Here are the comments I hear in no less than three minutes:

"That child is so wierd...gross"

"Oh he is a hot mess..."

"I was wondering when she'd get tired of wearing her winter coat...there ya go" and a snickering laugh follows.

I was so shocked by the condescending and cruel tones of his teachers, my former friends, that I couldn't see straight.

After school that day I was fuming. I had chosen to believe that the last seven months of school these women had somehow changed. The last time I taught with them they weren't mothers. I chose to believe that motherhood had softened them and made them more appreciative of children. How wrong I was. I mentioned these quotes to my director. She just nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders. She agreed it was ugly behavior.

But she wasn't about to do a damn thing about it.

I've spent thirty eight years of my life worrying about what others think of me. I've never shirked from my shortcomings and have lamented them to many a friend. I try to be as truthful as I can about myself and try to be as generous as I can with other people. I will put up with ridiculous amounts of crap all in the name of avoiding conflict. I can count on one hand the times I've stood up for myself. Let me tell you, whatever dam it was holding back my flood of strength, broke this particular day.

Our director is a lame duck of sorts. She has retired and been replaced, she is just phoning it in, unconcerned about anything really. Her full story is really heart breaking, and so part of me understands her inability to care about this year, but the mother in me is OUTRAGED. Outraged that she won't go to battle for my child... or any child. So, I realized that if anything was going to be resolved I would have to walk into the lion's den and say what I mean and mean what I say. I did. I point blank asked one of his teachers if they say rude and unkind things about Quinn. Her answer was, "Well, not anymore than any other child."

WTF?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

I told her in no uncertain words that this wasn't acceptable and how would she feel if it were her child, etc. etc. She deflected her share in the blame by throwing the other teacher under the bus. Nice.

The following week I was dismissing kids when I noticed that his teachers just let Quinn go out into the playground unsupervised while I was trying to finish up parent sign out. My blood pressure raised. I had already had two discussions with them about watching Quinn until I finished sign out, it is terribly unsafe for me to try and watch Quinn while being distracted by other parent conversation. Not only had they disregarded my wishes, but they jeopardized my child's safety. I marched right down stairs and confronted the teacher who I am most upset with. She lied and said she was there watching.

If I were not a teacher I would have pulled Quinn from this preschool months ago, when the "short bus" comment was made. But I can't do that. I have to fulfill my obligation and watch my child go into a classroom with two teachers who don't even bother to mask their dislike for my child.

The final straw was when the director confided to me that they had pulled her aside to show her a worksheet that Quinn couldn't complete correctly (don't even get me started on the number of worksheets they do). My director told me it was a FIRST GRADE worksheet with words to read and put in the proper order. Apparently he was the only one that day who didn't complete his work. I became irate for two reasons: 1) IT WAS A FIRST GRADE WORKSHEET!!!!!! WHAT????????????? 2) Bringing this to the director's attention really only served one purpose. They know he is going to PreK next year, not Kindergarten, so showing her this was a way to say, "WHAT is Julianna doing with him at home? He can't even complete a worksheet!"

It was a direct attack on either my parenting skills or Quinn's aptitude.

So I toyed with the idea of having him finish the year in my room. I thought, "no, that is just going to cause way to much drama". Then I thought, "this is my son, his well being, why am I sending him into this room each day? I'm not doing my job as a mother to protect him."

So you know what I did? I went up to his teachers the following day and told them that Quinn wanted to stay in my room for the day and it was okay with me. This was true, but Quinn is a happy lark and really will do whatever I want him to do. He likes his friends in his room, but is happy to spend the day making new ones in my room. Inside I knew this could cause a big issue, but I didn't care. I didn't care.

Sometimes you just have to find strength to do even things you know you shouldn't in the name of standing up for someone you love. The greater good pleaded for me to just let things be and ride out the year, but I had started to stand up for my child and I wanted to send the message that they need to listen to me.

It certainly sent a message.

It has been super icky, and I had a long talk with his teacher in which I nicely said that I think she is a terrible teacher. We've promised not to make anything worse for the remaining eight days of school. There is nothing left of any former friendship and I'm not sad. I'm only sad that I subjected my child to their ugliness for so long. Put him in a room where his teachers believe him to be below average and behind when he ISN'T. People, HE IS BEGINNING TO READ AND HE ISN'T YET FIVE!!!!!

Finding the strength to stand up isn't easy, but I have to say, the more times you do it, the easier it gets. I think most people I know would see me as a weaker individual. I can't really argue with this assessment, but I'm pushing forty and I have a feeling the REAL Julianna will make her "Yopp" heard with the coming decade.

Thank goodness!

Thoughts on Motherhood

2013-05-10T21:29:00.001-07:00

Hello to you faithful few who still read my blog. :) I thank you for that.

This weekend is Mother's Day. For the past seven years my mother has always traveled from the mid-west to spend the week with us, but not this year. So a trip to Seabrook has been planned. I am anticipating a weekend of giggling children, hand holding and relishing the sound of the surf pounding it's steady, melodic rhythm. One day we will own a home there. There, I've written it, so now it MUST come true!

The end of the school year is now in it's final days and I find myself trying to convince the Universe to gobble them up. Saying that teaching has been stressful this year would be putting it mildly. The preschool is in such a state of flux and chaos, and the staff, well, the staff are a hot mess. Eleven of the thirteen staff members are resigning this year. The smallness and gossip of the teachers is the likes of which I've never encountered. Shameful and ugly. On top of this, I also have the pressure of weekly prep and lesson planning. Creating one's own curriculum from virtual scratch is no easy task. I've been barely treading water.

With all this said, I have to say that this particular teaching assignment has made me a better mother. I think this was one of the secret reasons why I took the job in the first place. It has been so long since I've worked in the classroom that I have to say I've forgotten how to create clear boundaries for my own children. I often found myself saying "yes" too often, and struggling to be okay with what I COULD give my children. I always felt like I should be doing more. Children don't need more, they just need you. This doesn't mean to make yourself available to them every minute of their day, in fact, it means showing them how they DON'T need you every minute of the day. Independence is a good thing.

When you stay at home for a number of years you sort of become myopic. You see other mothers and ask their opinions, sure, but your only real knowledge of children comes from your own. You wonder if other children behave the same way,or know more than your child does. Working with other people's children is empowering as a parent. You see the spectrum of abilities, and how your child fits into the puzzle.

I feel quite satisfied with my kiddos. I have found that they are happier than most, socially sound and full of positive energy. This is good news. The best news. They may not be the smartest or fastest, but they shine all the same. Zoe has been just joyful lately. She really is. Everyday she astounds me with her insight and thoughtfulness. She has the gift of making those around her feel good about themselves. How far this ability will take her.

Quinn is just the same.

We were at the beach last weekend and, as children often do, Quinn made fast friends with a few new boys at the beach. They quickly set about trying to build a river down to the lake. This meant building an initial pool of water up on the beach from which water would flow down to the lake. More than once I heard Quinn complimenting the other boys saying, "Good job"or patting them on the back. These moments are ones I know I'll never forget.

I am not a perfect mother, I still WANT to be most days, but I recognize that that is my desire and not my children's . They love me just as I am at this point in time. Zoe made a beautiful picture for me, using her handprints as flowers. On each handprint was written something that Zoe loves or appreciates about me. They were:
my mom is really helpful,
my mom spends a lot of time with me, and
my mom loves me no matter what.

Friends, I'll take it! :) Happy Mother's Day!

Words

2013-04-26T19:40:00.000-07:00

Lately there has been much debate over the words we use in our house. Which ones are good, bad, okay, not okay. Quinn is nearly five now and he is OBSESSED. I mean obsessed with the topic. My mornings often begin with, "Mom, is_________a bad word?" (fill in the blank with anything from busted to idiot).

Now that I am teaching preschool the arena of good and bad words has narrowed even more. Words like hate, stupid and ugly now fall under the umbrella of"bad" words. Every time he questions me about another word I find myself redirecting my brain to really think about what he is asking, because so often the word or phrase in question is ambiguous. I find myself qualifying my answers. One would think this subject would be fairly black and white, but unfortunately, I'm finding that not to be the case.

So I plug along through parenthood, answering the questions, digging deep for patience and forcing myself to answer his unending thirst for word knowledge. Kids are silly, OCD creatures who I happen to adore. Truly, I love kids. I love their stinky, nose-picking, tattle-telling selves. I love them because they are so raw. So unaffected and close to their creamy center. The world hasn't taught them to make a hard coating yet to protect themselves. I am often surprised by how many teachers do not love children in this way.

I find that if I really listen to what my children are asking me, I can find a way to see it in my adult life. I teach children three days a week but I also work with adult children three days a week. Some of the ladies are nicer than others, but I've noticed the words used behind closed doors are ugly. Black and unforgiving. It is frustrating when the words involve other adults, but when they involve children I just boil. I've heard children referred to as "a hot mess" and "weirdo". I have heard them criticized for wearing a rain coat or winter jacket in sixty degree weather while their teacher is wearing a Northface vest. I have heard the same teachers belittle students, believing they are on the "short bus" and aren't learning anything.

Yes, words can be so very ugly and bad dear Quinn. It saddens me to realize that adults haven't learned the lessons I am trying to teach you.

Choose your words carefully, I will too.

2013-03-22T18:58:00.003-07:00

I've been absent from the blogging world for quite a while now. Unlike most blogs I read, I haven't found this place to be one where I have made connections or found new friendships. That is okay. I never set out to find those things here. In fact, I think they only thing I did really set out to find was my voice.

We've all heard it before, in mothering you can "lose yourself" blah blah blah. (Sometimes I get so tired of the mothering cliches that I could spit wine corks.) Unfortunately, this is one cliche that will really bite you in the you know where if you don't keep it in check. Too easily my life revolves around everyone else. Ninety percent of the time I don't mind. I like it. It is the life I've chosen after all. But I don't care who you are or what you do for a living, it is just plain dangerous to forget what makes you smile, frown or giggle that is separate from your "job" or "lifestyle".

I watched "Rise of the Guardians" with my littles last weekend. It was decidedly good. Santa Claus confronts Jack Frost at the beginning of the movie, knowing there must be something special at his "core" to be a chosen guardian of children. He used a Russian nesting doll to illustrate his point. The smallest doll was a baby with eyes full of wonder. Santa Claus will always see the world through eyes of wonder. Jack Frost came to realize that his core was "fun".

Maybe you can see where I am going with this? What is at your core? I've been thinking about this one in between doctor's visits and ballet class. I think, I think my center is peace. I just want things to be peaceful and calm. I shrivel up and become tongue tied in the face of conflict. When I was 25 I got a tattoo of a dove on the small of my back (yes, a tramp stamp...but it wasn't called that in 2000). Not just any dove, but a simple sketch from a Picasso drawing. Children were dancing around this dove. I feel like that drawing is symbolic of my core in many ways. Children, just as they like to have fun or see the world with wondrous eyes, crave safety and calm. I've spent the better part of my adult life surrounded by little children, trying to be their peace. As a child I was always the peace keeper. I've married a man with whom I rarely fight with. We aren't afraid to disagree, it is just we are so much more comfortable cuddling each other through it all rather than matching wits.

So, to get back to posting, I think this is my way of saying that I plan on carving out more time for writing. I've missed it. I feel that there is still much to share and sort out, and that is kind of exciting. :)

But I do invite you to share with me what is at your core?

The Chair

2013-01-22T21:09:00.000-08:00

I always find it ironic that spring cleaning is called SPRING cleaning. I always get the bleaching/cleaning bug in January. I follow the Chinese New Year guide to cleaning in this respect.

I've been mentally cursing the ugly carpeting and 1980's wall paper in the laundry room each time I walk by. The lack of cupboard space in the kitchen isn't as annoying as that fact that I just have TOO MUCH CRAP. Too much, too much! This is especially frustrating since I've only lived in this house for two years and we did significant downsizing to move in!

I've noticed that I tend to follow a pretty firm and steady rule when it comes to letting go of "stuff". I'm just not done 'til I'm done. I am by no means a collector of clutter or things, but sometimes, with some things I just can't help holding on. I did this with my food processor. Five or six years ago Brett bought a food processor for me for a birthday. Believe it or not, this is what I asked for. I was an avid Foodnetwork junkie and had convinced myself that it would inspire me to cook more. I finally donated it to the Goodwill this last fall. I've used it exactly three times. I kept it because I just didn't want to believe that I was the kind of person who would waste such an opportunity, not to mention the sixty dollars it cost! But I am. I am that person, apparently.

It felt so good to release that food processor, along with several other unsused kitchen gadgets,into the world that I wondered what else I could donate. In this spirit, I rearranged the downstairs playroom , yet again, and found myself face to face with the one thing I just can't seem to let go of.

When Zoe was two months old the chair arrived. My mother special ordered this green gingham rocker as her baby gift to us. As a new mother this chair was where I spent most of my days. Nursing, cuddling, singing and crying. Reading books and telling stories,smelling hair and counting toes. This chair has witnessed my perfect days, my mothering pitfalls and millions of "I love yous".

This chair weathered the ups and downs of baby number two. A jealous big sister protective of her chair. Now she had to share. With Quinn the cuddles and kisses, singing and crying held new meaning. The last baby. And so every cuddle session went a little longer, each night I held him just a bit tighter, so thankful for each second. So thankful for the chance to be a mother. So thankful for my babies.
Once again I sat down in that chair. Heavy tears started to roll down my cheeks. Zoe climbed up on my lap asking, "What's wrong mom?" I tried to reassure her that nothing was wrong, the tears were sentimental ones. I looked at Brett and he understood, I'm just not "done" with this chair.

And maybe I never will be.

Letting Go

2013-01-02T20:51:00.000-08:00

Happy 2013!

I think I've done it. I mean I really think it has finally happened to me. After decades of praying and inward searching, I think it has finally happened.

About two weeks ago I was in my hot power yoga class. Hot yoga has sort of become my time to commune with God. With the pain comes a softness. Acceptance. Acceptance of whatever. You could be accepting that you ate a four hundred calorie donut two days ago, or accepting that thirty beautiful babies went to heaven because of one man's lunacy.

It just so happened that this time I was accepting MYSELF.

Every class ends in savasana (a resting pose), from this we turn on our sides into the fetal position. This day something inexplicable happened. Just as I turned on my side, the words came quickly... as if I were telling them to Zoe or Quinn... "I love you". That is all. The simple, heartfelt, "I love you".

It has changed everything.

Suddenly I don't give a f*ck.

I mean that in the best possible sense of the word.

You should understand something about me. I care WAY TOO MUCH on a daily basis. I care about the things you would never think to care about, the cleanliness of my backsplash to what the school secretary think of me. I waste unending hours caring what others think, feel or wonder about me.

Trust me, it is exhausting.

So, for me to not give a f*ck is pretty extreme. I mean, giving a f*ck is sort of my M.O. It has beccome a part of my personality. But NO MORE. Because I do love myself. I do see my goodness and kindess, and I don't see it as weak anymore. Out of this self acceptance has sprung a Julianna who is able to speak her mind.

FINALLY.

And in the spirit of not giving a f*ck, I am repoening my blog to the public.

I promise this is the last time I'll use the f--- word. (maybe)

Lollipops

2012-10-05T19:47:00.002-07:00

It is univeral, I think. Children love lollipops. Tootsie pops, dumbdumbs, ring pops, blowpops. They love them all. It is one of those curious things that we adults outgrow. Somewhere around 20 we no longer crave the sweet treat. We trade it in for coffee or chocolate or alcohol.

But why is it when I need a sugar fix, the least likely place I'd seek solice is in a lollipop? What about the lolli specifically don't I crave anymore?

I feel there are three basic reasons for this.

1. Delayed gratification. I think this is just the most obvious. Children, who can be impatient in so many ways, enjoy the long wait for the "crunch"of a lollipop. Adults just want to taste the goods already.
2. The outrageous flavors. I not longer find blue raspberry, cotton candy or rootbeer as yummy exotic flavors. They just plain ole taste bad. As adults, our palates are more sensitive to the good sugar vs. the bad. Even Hershy's chocolate doesn't taste good anymore!
3. The stick. Yep, the stick is indicitive of childhood. When you see a teen or a young adult savoring a lollipop, bad sexual thoughts start to formulate in your mind. It just isn't classy.

As I type my kiddos are watching a movie and sucking on ring pops that I bought at Target today. They are so blissfully happy. I am so thankful that I still have children who love lollipops. Too soon my daughter will be craving chocolate during her hormonally charged period. I'm not ready for that.

So....bring on the lollipops!

Quinn is Four

2012-06-14T21:16:00.003-07:00

Well, even though I am not publishing this blog for all to see anymore, I can't not send a birthday post out to my favorite boy in the entire world!

On June 7th, 2012 you turned four. We celebrated by opening your much anticipated "leaf pad computer". That, along with a nifty policeman costume made your day just about perfect, and it was only 7:30 a.m.!

My little MooMe. I can't tell you how precious you are to me. Every day I try to keep you small, but every day I know that you are SUCH a big boy. Here is what I notice about you:

Zoe is still your BFF. She is your hero, even though she makes you mad, you let her dress you up like Aurora, play Little House on the Prairie with her (you are Mary,of course), and are always up for any amount of Barbie play.

You still won't have anything to do with noodles.

Peanut butter toast and Cheerios are our go-to meals when all else fails.

You truly are the world's best cuddler. Without fail you come into my room each morning looking for mommy cuddles.

You are the happiest morning person I know.

You are a BOY through and through. Bathroom humor is never lost on you and bodily functions seem to produce a limitless supply of laughs.

You tell me you want to be a policeman or a firefighter when you grow up.

Sharpies are your favorite art medium. The pictures you create are inspiring.

I think we have a musician on our hands. You adore lip syncing to Frightened Rabbit and Fun, closing your eyes and rocking your head Stevie Wonder style.

You definitely cherish your t.v. time, but you equally enjoy story time with mommy and your listening books, especially Peter Pan.

Swords, knives, bats and dart guns have made there way into my house in four short years and I don't seem to be that concerned about it. Interesting.

You are such a helper! You joyously help mommy make cookies, wash tables, clean windows...you are always eager to be my helper. :)

You are still my baby. You let me love, kiss, cuddle you on demand (mostly). I cannot explain how thrilled I am to have you in my life.

MY boy.

My BOY.

You are light. You are pure impulsive energy, and as a result...

YOU SHINE!

Further

2012-04-09T21:01:00.007-07:00

I think one of the most difficult aspects of being a SAHM is limitlessness of the job. I mean, really. You can always find a way to feel that you haven't done enough.

As I mentally calculate all of the given tasks I perform in a week, I have no difficulty believing that I do more than enough for my family.

But there is a little voice. No, a LOUD voice, always needling me to do more.

When I feel discouraged I do what I always do, go for a run. Since it was Easter Sunday I was able to go this run alone. Buoyed by my singularity, I quickened my pace and opened my eyes.

Today I could appreciate my surroundings, I noticed nature and human nature. I noticed the creek; rushing toward it's own unknown outlet. I noticed the trees; bending and reaching further and further towards the sky or the creek's edge. I noticed fellow runners, focused and alert. Even the birds seemed to try and out sing one another with the simplicity of their song.

Yesterday Zoe, Quinn and I took a two mile hike up Rattlesnake Ridge. It had lived in my memory as any *easy* hike, surely appropriate for a seven and nearly four year old. The reality was quite different. A mere 100 yards or so from the top my sweeties could go no further. Sometimes you just have to feel proud of the journey, not the end result.

The last half mile was the most difficult, it always is. The joy and fun of our excursion quickly changed to frustration. As much as I wanted them to keep going, I knew that I needed to give them the power to turn around. They had reached their limit and that was okay. Internally, I lamented the loss of showing them that view, taking their picture and feeling the satisfaction of a completed climb.

This is so often the way of life. We push and push ourselves to go further, feel the pleasure of our achievements. Telling ourselves to make or do just "one more" thing. Knowing that with the completion of this task we will feel that we have done enough, unaware that for many of us it will never be enough.

As a mother I must be so careful of the lessons that I teach. Push yourself, but don't become insatiable. Don't give up, but listen to yourself. Neither complacency nor perfection are the goal.

It is such a precariously thin line we walk.

Every good parent knows that boundaries are essential to raising happy children. Knowing what you can and cannot do gives you a sense of security, love, meaning. As children, we know these boundaries are necessary.

As adults we are told the opposite. The "sky is the limit" "know no bounds" etc. Well, I am not so sure. Ah, the irony of it all.

Sometimes you just have to feel proud of the journey, not the end result.

PNW Etiquette 101

2012-03-28T18:49:00.006-07:00

Lately I've been following some interesting blogs. There seems to be no particular rhyme or reason to what draws me to a blog. I follow blogs of people I adore, people I admire, and people I love to hate.

I have become inexplicably attracted to a southern etiquette blog that falls into the latter category.

She prides herself on delivering a strict diet of Emily Post to her avid followers (by the way she has like over 3000! Really??) I mostly find her posts amusing, but she has inspired me to create my own *list* of sorts describing the Pacific Northwest's own brand of etiquette.

Here goes!

1. When choosing clothing, above all else choose comfort. High fashion is a definite "no, no" and will be met with cold stares and the avoidance of eye contact. Dansko, Northface, ponytails and jeans are dress code for 99.9% of the restaurants and venues in our area.
2. When you find yourself to be the *new girl* in a social situation please remember the following:
*Do not smile too much. We don't appreciate people who try too hard.
*Do not jump in on other people's conversations.
*Do not expect to be spoken to.
*If someone DOES talk to you, do not expect the conversation to last more than
two minutes.
*Whatever you do, do NOT give away too much personal information. Feel
free to state where you are from and what you or your husband does for a living,
but please, no more. No one wants to know you... yet.
3. Thank you notes have a one year grace period, and certainly aren't required.
4. The proper response to a dinner or play date invitation is, "Yes, let's do that sometime!" You are never required to follow through.
5. When in a crowded store, never say "Excuse me" unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. We move through stores silently please, minding our own business.
6. Engaging in small talk with clerks is just plain silly. The proper response to "How are you today?" is "Fine." Nothing more, you may unnecessarily shock the check out clerk.
7. Friendships become. They should never begin too quickly. After six months you may begin smiling at a person you see on a regular basis. By nine to ten months you can engage in small talk. After a year or so you can seriously consider those play dates/dinner invitations. If the person is really worth it you will be there friend in about two to three years.
8. Do not take these behaviors personally. We are a liberal people, we strive to treat all people equally.

I am a mid-western girl, born and raised to be a people-pleaser. I can't say that I have ever really adjusted to these rules of etiquette. Living here over the past sixteen years hasn't always been easy...but somehow I managed to find my mid-western guy who understands my friendly people pleasing ways. Life with him makes all of the other social ups and downs bearable. The friends I do have are gems and whatever the etiquette lacks, the physical beauty surely makes up for.

"Days Like This"

2012-03-21T22:14:00.004-07:00

"Mama said, Mama said!"

Today should have been a relaxing, glorious day. It had all of the makings. The sun was shining. It is my MOPS day (which means 2 hours of uninterrupted girl time). I took the kids to Menchie's and the park. My husband gave me an hour of dinner making/folding laundry time by taking the kids outside.

Yes, today should have been a one of those days in which you walk around with an inward smile, unbelievably thankful for the life you have been given.

Instead I felt all rumply, discontented and pooped.

After I dropped my Zoe off at school, Quinn and I had our usual talk before heading off to MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers).

Me (very excited): "Quinn, you get to go to school today and see Elias!" (note: I write Elias, but Quinn pronounces it "Melias")

Quinn: "No! I don't want to go to school, I want to stay home!"

Me (soothing): "I know you don't mean that, you love school, you love seeing your friends."

Quinn: (with a high pitched lilt in his voice) "I like school! Melias has lots of toys and wants me to come over!"

Do you see how quickly a bit of gentle persuasion influences a three year old?

After I dropped him off, I headed upstairs to have a couple hours of chatting and crafting. Instead of enjoying myself I decided to go the route of badgering myself until I felt completely demoralized. Here is some of the lovely things I told myself over and over during my time at MOPS:

"You totally don't do enough crafts with your kids."
"You really should make Zoe more dresses and clothes in general."
"No one thinks you are interesting."
"You get too easily upset with Quinn's unending antics, he is just a three year old boy".
"You don't do enough *learning activities* with Quinn. He only knows 12 letters of the alphabet."
"You don't spend enough one on one time with Zoe."
"Why don't you feel like writing anymore?"
"Why don't you read books for yourself?"
"You can barely put together coherent sentences, what is wrong with you? You are a college grad and you sound like a teenager."
"What the hell happened to your vocabulary?"
"Why are you SWEARING in your head at church??"

Don't I sound like a fun person to be around??

Seriously, this attitude followed me all day. I am trying to blame it on PMS. Why do I do this? Why can't I be satisfied with who I am and what I CAN do?? There are many things I do well, but I'll be darned if I don't dwell on the things I don't do enough of...or of who I'm not.

After all of this self-directed negativity I feel pooped. Pooped and hopeful. Hopeful that maybe you have days like this too? Hopeful that by purging myself of these thoughts via blogging, somehow I will rid myself of all their evil purposes. Hopeful that one day my internal dialogue will be more along these lines:

"Isn't the sky an amazing shade of blue today?"
"Aren't your children the two most amazing gifts you've ever received?"
"I love this outfit, I feel so pretty today."
"My hubs is so loving, I'm a lucky girl."
"I love my life just as it is."

A girl can hope, can't she?

Love Is In the Details

2012-03-15T20:52:00.013-07:00

I live for a good party.

Especially a child's party.

Lucky for me my children love parties too, so they don't mind the birthday party dinner talk, or crazy hours I spend planning one for them.

I completely admit I am a birthday-aholic and I plan a party just as much for my own joy as theirs.

For Zoe's seventh birthday Zoe wanted a Mad Hatter tea party. (On a side note, how happy am I that she is into tea parties and not Dora? Soooo happy.) I started planning in January. Thank God for Pinterest. I got about 99% of my ideas from this lovely database. I tried to keep the spending under control and I am pretty sure I kept in under $300, which isn't great, but isn't obnoxious either. Also, I should note that when we do a party like this, we ourselves don't purchase a gift for Zoe, the party is our present.

Here are some of the details of her golden day:

Wonderland! Made with green turf from Home Depot, lots of mismatched china cups, "drink me" bottles courtesy of Archie McPhee's, blue outdoor Christmas lights, lanterns, puff balls and lots of paper cut out butterflies and flower. I also bought red polka dotted balloons to serve as toadstools.

Food! Sky jello, Cheshire cat sandwiches, rainbow fruit kabobs, edible toadstools and cake was served. (The toadstools were made with a Hershey's kiss, raspberry and white icing,)

Games! We played a round or two of "Painting the Roses Red" I passed a color page of a rose and a red marker around the circle. The girls treated it like a hot potato and colored just a bit of it at a time before passing it on. When the music stopped the previous losing player would shout "OFF WITH HER HEAD". This was loads of fun and definitely a crowd favorite. We also had an obstacle course of sorts. It started with "Small and Tall". They had to go under a chair six times before proceeding to the next obstacle, which was "Who Are You?" Here they had to blow ten bubbles much like the caterpillar blew smoke. Next they had to build a tower ten sugar cubes high. Lastly, they had to carry one sugar cube on a teaspoon over to the "rose bush". This punch board was decorated to look like a rose hedge but when you punched through a "rose" you got a prize! Much easier than a pinata if you ask me!

The Cake! I totally ripped this idea off of Pinterest. I made my own chocolate cake and bought a butter cream frosting box kit. I even managed to make the teapot myself and used fondant for the handle and spout! I was very proud of myself. Locals, totally check out Home Cake for your every cake need. Disco dust also makes every cake better!

The Goodie Bags! I admit it, I went a little nuts o on this one. I made my own goodie bag with fabric ordered off of Amazon. Inside I put a copy of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland (I found them in the dollar bins at Target), a Queen of Hearts eraser, a mini paint-able tea set, and a CD of Zoe's favorite songs. I also hand stitched a heart pin with each girl's name on it. (I told you I went overboard)

Everyone had a lovely time, especially Zoe. I love her so much, my love is in every.single.detail. :)

For right now I am partied out, but give me a week or two, I'll be pinning Quinn's cowboy bash next!

Seven!

2012-03-15T20:11:00.004-07:00

Well, it is official. She is seven. Miss Zoe turned a golden seven on the seventh of March. Magical.

Here is what I know to be true about my sweet seven year old:

You still prefer the color pink, no other color stands a chance.
Your doll allegiance is slowly turning from Polly Pocket to American Girl.
According to you, you like books more than toys (but I think your toys run a VERY close second).
You are my little right fighter. Loving to the core, you stand up for the underdog every time and make certain that the unfair is made fair.
Your favorite ice cream flavor is bubble gum, hands down.
You often turn up your nose at pizza night; favoring sushi, Chinese food or cold chicken.
If every seat were a swing you would be in Zoe Heaven.
You are passionate about ballet, but will have nothing to do with tap or jazz.
Writing stories is your favorite.
I remember myself when I see you wandering around our house, finding a lamp or flower which easily becomes a new adventure for your dolls.
Home is your favorite.
You cherish our mommy/daughter sleep overs.
You love your daddy something fierce.
You secretly adore your brother, even though he makes you crazy. Your favorite is playing out Miyazaki movies like "My Neighbor Totoro", "Kiki's Delivery Service", and "Castle in the Sky".
You still long to be cuddled at every opportunity.
Loving is your favorite.
Your giggle is my delight.

How lucky am I?

How lucky am I?

Happy Birthday dear Zoe Olivia!

Dejavu

2012-02-27T14:41:00.004-08:00

Today, February 27th, marks the one year anniversary of one of the most life altering experiences I've ever endured. No, I did not have a baby, I broke my leg. Broke the tibia, fibula and fractured my ankle to boot. I spent several hours in the OR having a metal rod and several screws put in my left leg. I spent several more weeks in a cast and a few more weeks in a boot. By mid April 2011 I emerged from all cocoon like forms. From April until September visited the physical therapist on a bi weekly basis.

I woke up this morning and the sun was shining. Glorious sun that is generally accompanied by frosty conditions this time of year in the PNW. Today was no different. Every time I see frost or hints of ice on the sidewalk my leg starts to ache. I am pretty sure it is all psychological, but it reminds me to GO SLOW, and not carry Quinn. As I drove Zoe to school I started to rearrange my morning in my head. Since the sun was out I knew I needed to get Quinn to a park (sunniness is such a rarity). I settled on trying out a new park I had found by accident last week. It happened to be in the Issaquah Highlands.

On my way up the hill I reminded myself of today's date. The one year anniversary of the leg! Then I remembered how the days weather wise are EXACTLY alike. Last Feb 27th the sun shone in clear skies and the ice was out. THEN I looked at the clock. Ten o'clock. I broke my leg at 10:20 a.m. I passed the parking lot in which I fell at 10:07 a.m.

I'm not superstitious, but this was weird.

After the park Quinn and I went home to have lunch and do our home school activities. The sun was still shining (the weather changes by the minute out here) so I decided to put on my running shoes and go for a run.

A five mile run, ran in forty five minutes with zero pain.

I am so thankful. So thankful for all of the doctors, nurses, physical therapists, family and friends who helped me this past year. I am thankful to my husband for walking (slowly) through this year of change and brokenness with me.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”
Ernest Hemingway.

I am stronger. I'm still mastering the lessons learned, but I have learned them. Slow down, love yourself, realize how loved you are and go forth in life with your chin up and gentle eyes.

And I can RUN! RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!!!!!

Goldfish

2012-02-20T22:16:00.003-08:00

This morning Zoe forewent our customary cuddle session in favor of finding food. Since I am not a morning person, I find it difficult to actively listen to their food requests/demands. As long as the food in question isn't sugary, I groggily consent in hopes that it will give me a few more blessed minutes of rest.

The snack of choice happened to be those cheesy crunch little goldfish that every parent buys at some point(even though we promised ourselves while they were in the uterus we would never feed them powdered cheese). Once I made my way out into the living room I saw Zoe munching happily away whilst reading the side of the bag.

"Mama, I'm just reading what it says on the side of the bag here and listen to this"(I should note here that she sounded terribly concerned, like she couldn't believe that this information was on the side of the bag)"Made with whole grain; baked with real cheese..." At this point she looked up at me, clearly startled, and said earnestly,"Mama, THAT can't be right. REAL cheese?"

After we had a good giggle I reminded her, "Well, just because someone wrote something somewhere *important* doesn't always mean it is true."

A good reminder for me too!

Sisterly Love

2012-01-08T12:34:00.001-08:00

So I woke up at around 3a.m.this morning, started contemplating this post and never went back to sleep. I guess that means I better *write it out*.

Last night Brett and I went out on a much needed date (it had been THREE months!!!). Our usual sitter came over around 6:30pm. Since Q hadn't napped that afternoon, he was out cold by 6:15pm. I warned him that if he woke up Anna would be here and that mommy and daddy would be back soon. I just knew that he would wake up, disoriented, during our four hour absence.

I was right.

When we came home Anna let us know that he did indeed wake up crying and missing us. Then, she went on to explain how Z stepped into action and "took care" of Q. There was a look of genuine surprise on Anna's face, one that indicated how impressed she was with their love for each other.

In the absence of our mothers and fathers siblings band together and take care of each other. That is just what we do. I have two older sisters and emotionally, we were always left to parent each other.

My oldest sister was the one I always turned to. Even throughout college I could call her and somehow I wouldn't feel so discouraged or alone. My other sister and I had a much slower start. As children we were often at odds, she rarely wanted to play with me. She always had a large group of friends, with no room for baby sister. It is a common enough situation, but I learned early on that she didn't need or want me.

When we moved to Minnesota and she entered high school, something changed. Her (still large) group of friends LIKED me. They all sort of took me under their wings and adopted me as their baby sister...and I ate it up. For a while my sister just sort of tolerated it, but eventually she found a friend and ally in me and we began to truly love each other.

Even when she left for college and I was at home alone, she made certain to talk to me and invite me for weekends at Northwestern. When I went off to college we were literally ten minutes away from each other. By my senior year we rented an apartment together. It was also at this time that my parents moved to the Twin Cities.

This was disastrous. My sister and I had spent our college years in a new city, making new friends, finally breaking free from our toxic childhood. Suddenly our parents were not only living ten minutes from our apartment, but my dad was teaching at my sister's Alma Mata. We were both freaking out, and eventually we went into counseling. I KNEW I had to move. FAR FAR AWAY. My sister wasn't ready to do the same. She had a boyfriend and so many dear friends, the time wasn't right for her.

During my move to Seattle and her eventual move to L.A., we've stayed close. After I got married things started to shift. And then, once baby number two was born, things seemed to start a slow and steady decent.

Christmas 2010 was the last time I saw her. She came and I could tell she was depressed. I also know that she doesn't appreciate being parented. Why is it the people we are closest to are also the people we know how to destroy with words? It doesn't seem to matter how many years go by, but the pain of our childhood haunts her in a way that seems impossible to heal.

I love her dearly, but I cannot heal her. I finally realize that. I cannot listen enough, love enough, be enough to make up for what she lacks in family. And I don't think she wants me to. I think that is a responsibility I put upon myself. She really has no idea of how many times I've cried about her, dreamed about her, wished she would try for me the way I've tried to be there for her. Somewhere around 2000 I gave up. I knew my future was on my head. I couldn't ask her to help me through one more day of what it was like growing up in our house. It wasn't fair to her, and certainly wallowing in what was wasn't going to give me the life I wanted. And I desperately needed to be HAPPY.

So why is it now, now that we are middle aged, that she and are at an impasse? For me, it is simply that I feel she owes me an apology. She has said such hurtful things, abandoned me when I've needed her most, and refused my love and need for her. I understand why she resists communicating with me, but I know that it was merely the excuse,and not the reason, for cutting me out of her life. She doesn't believe that I really love her. She doesn't believe that I really need her.

And all I can say is, of course I do.

How could I not want or need my sister's love? I have permanent people in my life who want and need my love too...and yes, they do come first, but truly, there is nothing like the bond of sisterhood.

I love you Debbie.

Giggle

2012-01-05T21:09:00.000-08:00

I've decided that my word for 2012 is GIGGLE.

Giggling is different from laughing. It is that uncontrollable gurgle that begins deep in your belly for generally silly reasons and often brings forth a snort of a tears to your eyes. Giggling persists and the very effort to stop giggling only produces more giggles. Church giggles are THE BEST.

Plus, giggle is just a better overall word than laugh. Say the words out loud, which one makes you feel better? My money is on giggle. :)

When I look at the timeline of my life I noticed that there was a significant drop in giggling after I left college. Girls certainly have their fair share of fighting and issues, but we do have the market cornered when it comes to giggling. We live for it. When I went back to MN for my ten year college reunion I stayed with my dear friend, Heather. She and I reminisced about so many silly moments, we tried to giggle, but it felt stiff and forced. Probably neither of us had connected with our inner child in a long time. This is just one of the side effects of adulthood.

Enter 2012. People, I just want to giggle more. Silly is totally *in* for the McDowells this year. We've replaced Scooby Doo with Mr. Bean. Mr. Bean always makes me giggle. My kiddos get the daily giggles for the most random reasons. Watching them giggle relaxes me, makes me smile...makes me want to giggle too.

So good-bye 2011 and hello to 2012.

I look forward to the belly ache. :)

Living in Color

2011-12-26T17:43:00.000-08:00

Guess what? This is my 200th post! It is so crazy to think that I have been blogging for two and a half years now. In August of 2009 Brett was laid off and I felt lost. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was desperate for a place to share my motherhood frustrations/joys/everythings. This blog has served as ego boost, respite, and friend.

Blogs only really work if you are willing to share your real self. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The ugly is the most difficult part, and yet, when I can bring those bits to light, I am reassured that I am not alone. Funny how that works. I can't say that it is an easy business, this sharing of one's self. Sometimes it feels like I am like the needy girlfriend... craving attention and acceptance... but that part of it sort of comes and goes.

Many things have changed in the past two years, we have endured two additional rounds of unemployment, lost our home, I broke my leg, we've moved, and Brett received a promotion. Life is never dull, that's for sure. Right now we are doing really well, but I am always mindful of what I have, and how nothing is a guarantee.

So as I look forward to 2012 I find myself wondering how this year will play out. One of my favorite band, Frightened Rabbit, sings a traditional beer thumping song entitled, 'Living in Color'. It speaks of how we live so much of our lives as if dead. The world is black and white, instead of gorgeous,blinding color. As a mother of two small ones, I understand what it is to walk through your days zombie-like. Lack of sleep will zap the color out of any day. Life moves about as quickly as we want it to I find, for me the faster live moves, the less brilliant the color.

So I look for ways to 'fill my blood with red again'. Ways in which to slow down and feel my life in my own body. Walking through life with a writer's eye certainly does this. Every bit of nature, every sweet phrase becomes brighter,inspiring, treasured.

My sweet Zoe and I were singing Christmas carols the other day and she simply said, "Mommy, whenever I sing it feels like something magic is coming into my heart."

My friends, THAT is living in color. What brings magic into your heart?