Memories for Later

Getting my routine on

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 04:10:00 +0000

Nearly a month into the school year, and I am falling into an easy routine. I know some people dread routine as a dreary word, but I love it. I see it as an intricate dance where I perfect the day by repetition. I usually start a timid rough draft (written out, I am THAT list oriented) and then adapt as I live it. Moving the pieces of my week around until they feel more natural or more efficient or blessedly both at once. After I've polished the routine, I can add the improvisations in more easily; with kids, there are always unroutine-able, sometimes unforeseen, bumps in life.

Of course there are some things I still need to tweek. I'm only fitting in exercise twice as week and I'd like more computer time, or rather, better use of computer time! It seems my project are all half done and my piles of ideas are cluttering up my ambition. Still, I'm settling into a happy routine and I think I can adjust it, if not easily, than feasibly.

I think it's easier this year than it has been for many because all the kids are finally in school. Although it is only a few hours each morning, the introvert in me is thriving on time alone each day. I've found it makes the rest of the daily chaos more manageable and I'm getting more done throughout the day. Homework is monitored, house cleaned, and kids read to with patience to spare. In fact I enjoy spending time with the kids when I don't have to forcibly carve alone-time into my day (usually by hiding in my bedroom or bathroom).

Of course it helps that Autumn is my favorite time of the year. I always feel more present and joyous during this season. But this year I'm in a particularly happy place and I'm trying to take in as much of it as possible.

My Happy Birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 04:08:00 +0000

This is me messing around before the baseball games. Do I look a year older?

I pre-celebrated my birthday, or so I thought. My presents were presented several weeks previous; I loved them all (a beautiful necklace and earrings from Peter and an awesome homemade totebag from my parents). I expected a cake, maybe a nice dinner, and that was it.

So the day started with (surprise) baseball. A double header. But the fields are down the street from Costa Vita, so I survived. Ethan survived a pitch right in the chest, too. And Peter survived no sleep after a night shift with only nominal zombie like appearance.

But on the way home from the games, Peter surprised me by telling me I had 15 minutes to pack an overnight bag. My sister came to watch the kids (Thanks Brenda and Bryan!) and we headed out to a surprise location. It was interesting because I was driving (see the zombie comment above), but didn't know where I was going. I was given an exit number (2.5 hours away) and after reaching it, Peter woke up to navigate me to the hotel. He had booked hotel with a spa and booked a mani/pedi for me. After I left the spa, I headed to the room where we ate room service and watched BYU give up two chances for a miracle play. The next morning I had a Peter-booked hour long massage and then we headed home.

(you know it is a fancy hotel when they're advertising for Lexus test drives at the entrance. See picture above)

A most wonderfully wonderful fantastic overnight trip made even better by my complete lack of expectations. Peter knocked it out of the park!

After the weekend he even made me a cake and dinner and cleaned up the kitchen afterwards. It was AWESOME.

The only problem is Peter is turning 40 this year and he has (obviously) set the bar a teeny bit high...

Like You Already Didn't Suspect I Was a Bit Off My Rocker.

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 04:21:00 +0000

Being alone. As a mother of a handful of children, I crave it. And now that they are all school age, I'm finally enjoying large doses. (Well, 3.5 hours a day, stupid half-day kindergarten). Consistent alone time spent using the restroom without a death by a thousand knocks, cleaning the house without a constant leak of mess, and going grocery shopping without "helpers."

It was during this last task, however, that I hit a slight glitch.

You see, apparently having a child tag along for all those years was just a prop. For my talking. When my children aren't there with me I still jabber away. Only now, wonderfully alone, it is too myself.

When a child is in the cart no one thinks twice when I grumble, "They've moved the tortilla shells again! Guess I'll search across the store." But when I'm standing alone staring at the previously-tortilla-now-potato-roll spot? People looked at me strangely. Apparently it also isn't kosher to announce, "Only three more things before we can check out!" to thin air. Or to note to myself that the name brand Fluff is cheaper than the off brand (and then fill my cart with several jars).

Once I noticed people were looking at me rather queerly, I tried to do better. I really did. Turns out mumbling to myself made it worse; people, eyebrows raised, tried to pass me as far away as possible. Merely mouthing words as I strolled the aisles actually made people turn around and walk the other way.

So I'm in trouble and I've been trying to come up with solutions for my talk-to-myself ways.

Create a lifelike puppet of a preschooler for my shopping cart- I'm trying to look less creepy, pretty sure that doesn't fit the bill.
Find my old bluetooth and hook it to my ear so it looks like I'm on my phone- Not obvious enough. Those people look crazy, too.
Borrow someone's kid to take with me shopping- Not that desperate.
Stop talking to myself- Too much will power required.
Practice my crazy lady look and talk to my hearts content. Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner.

I'd say the benefit of not having a prop when I talk & shop is I don't have the constant, "Can we buy {fill in the blank with whatever happens to be in eyesight}, but I have a package of Lindt Hazelnut Truffles that begs otherwise.

Silver Stomachs & Stretched Souls

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Thu, 09 Aug 2012 05:30:00 +0000

My stomach is covered in silver. My son informed me of my richly enveloped belly one morning while we were both in the midst of a shirt-displacing yoga stance. I laughed and invited him to feel the ridges forming my metallic fortune. It wasn't silver, I explained, it was the sunlight hitting my faded stretch marks.

I vividly remember the night before my inaugural labor. My skin stretched so thinly across my torso it threatened to tear open if I grew even one more millimeter. In fact I wondered how it hadn't already ripped apart. And I sobbed. Partly due to pre-labor hormones and months of pregnancy sleep; partly because I realized my body could never be quite the same; and partly because my mother's friend, who had something like 8 pound twins, had actually torn open from growing too large and I was frightened my skin might literally tear.

Time soothed the memory of pregnancy and what were once wide dark wounds are faint white lines. I wear those stretch marks with proud distinction for although they're not really silver, they represent both the price I paid to be a mother and the muli-fold returns I've received from that investment.

I've thought a lot about stretching thin as I've started planning my family's fall schedule. There's baseball and marching band, piano and clarinet lessons, violin and gymnastics. The list grows larger as my free time evaporates. I've worried that my kids are overscheduled and I've bemoaned that their interests weren't all the same. Then I realized they individually have only one or two activities and I want them to follow their own dreams. It is the aggregation of their individual interests that has left ME overscheduled, they are blissfully unaware of my behind-the-scenes work.

In short, I think my poor little soul might be getting some stretch marks. I can't possibly fit in anything else, and yet more comes and I stretch a little more to hold it. But the marks are showing and my resolve threatens to rip wide open. I know I will never be quite the same. But when I worry about what will be left of me, I try to remember that what now appears too much will eventually be a faded memory. I will be left with the proud marks of a mother who's paid her price.

And maybe those marks will sparkle silver someday. It seems to do so in the older mothers I admire.

I hope so, 'cause its kinda hard right now.

In case you're wondering, my stretch marks happen to stretch from above my belly button to halfway down my thighs and nearly meet behind my back. And my mother didn't get any with her six pregnancies. Not nice Heredity, not nice at all.

Periodic Table of Elements Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 05:54:00 +0000

I know everyone is waiting on pins and needles to hear about our summer reading, but I've received a request for information on my son's birthday cake. Never one to disappoint, here are the details.

My eldest son loves science, but he somehow thinks my cake making can defy the laws of physics. Deciding on a cake each year can be a bit of a compromise. After rejecting several impossible designs of computer games he likes, I finally suggested we find another passion of his and we settled on the periodic table.

Since he is at Scout Camp on his actual 14th birthday, we celebrated tonight. Ryan has a couple friends over and I am feeling extremely short.

And here is our Periodic Table Cake:

After trying to decide if I should cut up a couple regular cakes into little squares or just buy a small square pan, I bought the pan. With a 40% off coupon at the craft store, it cost me less than $6. Best decision ever. If I did it again I would buy two and finish baking twice as fast!

One cake mix, adapted with the White Almond Sour Cream recipe (once you try it, you'll never go back), made 6 batches in the pan and was enough squares to make all the elements plus extra. 6x24=144. You need 118 for the periodic table and some will be ruined when you try to pop them out.

There are no directions on the pan for adapting regular recipes' cooking time. My oven did fine with about 1 teaspoon per square, 350 degrees for 11 minutes, then 10 minutes in the freezer before popping them out. Don't forget to keep a cookie sheet under the pan, check for done with a toothpick, and spray the pan before each batch.

After they cooled, I piped an outline, with regular store bought buttercream frosting, around each square. Then I colored the rest of the icing 6 different colors and watered them down until they were syrupy consistency. I dolloped the colors in the center and they spread easily with the back of the spoon to the piped outline. I also watered down chocolate frosting for the transition metal elements. (A total of 7 colors, I just counted on a periodic table to see how many of each color I needed)

Some of the icing didn't harden as well as I liked, if I were to try again I might experiment with melting the icing for 5-10 seconds in the microwave instead of watering it down?

After letting it sit overnight to let the frosting set as much as possible, I used a copy of the periodic table to pipe on each element symbol and close approximation to its number. I was worried it would dry out, but after almost a full day they tasted just fine. Extra fine because of the WASC recipe I mentioned earlier.

Then I found a space wide enough, put down wax paper and laid out the cakes in the periodic shape.

It was a HUGE success!

Evil Summer Scheme 1

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Tue, 03 Jul 2012 17:45:00 +0000

I wouldn't be myself without some evil schemes for summer. It's a full time job, however, as my kids keep growing and entering different phases so my evil plans need to adapt constantly. There are a couple of evil plans I've implemented this summer. Both are adapated from previous schemes and I really like how they've worked so far. I'm posting them in the hopes some other evil scientist, or mother, could find something useful in them, too. I'll post my weekly chores today and our reading program tomorrow.

Chores:

I like to do one thorough cleaning and pick up as needed the rest of the week. It makes sense to do it on Saturday, which is why I do it on Monday. I've always had trouble with distributing chores evenly and making sure everything gets done well. The kitchen might be an hour, maybe 3. The bathrooms could take 5 minutes or an hour depending on who used it. Um, I mean how dirty it is.

Anyway, I took everything I usually do on Mondays when the kids are at school and wrote it down in very basic steps. For instance the kitchen would include: clear table, clear cupboards, unload dishwasher, load dishwasher, wash table, wash stools, wash cupboards, granite polish countertops, wash cupboard fronts, etc.

When I was done, I had a little over 50 steps to a finished house, which I printed onto strips and laminated.
I put them in a jar and the kids take one out without looking so there is no picking and choosing and complete that job. When they're done they pick another until the jar is empty. I did this last summer and it worked wonders! This year I color coded them into "initial chores", "mid-clean chores", and "finishing chores" so someone wouldn't pick "vacuum carpets" before "pick up toys".

When I do my Monday cleaning during the school year on my own it takes up to 6 hours. When the kids and I do it together it takes closer to 3. Please note that it took 15 years of chore giving hell before my kids made cleaning with them FASTER than cleaning without.

Pros:

All the kids work the entire time.
Little things that kids tend to forget are done because it is an individual job like clean under the couches" or "wash back window"
There is no arguing over the fairness of the jobs. You do what you pick and then you pick again.
If your kids are competitive like mine, they hurry so they've picked the most jobs that week.

Cons:

Sometimes your younger kids pick a chore you'd rather an older kid did like "clean the toilets" or "wash the dishes".
You do have to make sure some of the kids don't skate past a job or it makes later jobs more difficult. The kids are getting better as they hate coming back to a job they felt they'd completed. (So is that really a con, they are getting better at doing the jobs?)
You have to monitor so the kids don't lose the cards.

Anyway, here are the kids cleaning. The youngest usually helps either myself or one of the older kids with the jobs they pick.

The Cinnamon Raisin Bagel Incident

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Fri, 29 Jun 2012 16:08:00 +0000

Long ago, when our marriage could be measured in months easier than years, we were broke. Not in a wow this really needs fixed way, more like a can groceries be considered optional this week? way. Broke enough that fancy bagels, or even regular bagels for that matter, were a delicacy. My sweet new husband decided to treat me and picked up beautiful cinnamon raisin bagels after an early morning shift at UPS. Unfortunately I despise raisins; from the texture to the taste to the thought of poor grapes losing all their god-given moisture to become shriveled shells of themselves. Yuck!

They may actually be my least favorite food, but somehow the subject had yet to come up.

We've laughed about the cinnamon raisin bagel incident for years. It represented everything we still had to learn about each other and the surprises still left to find in our relationship.

Peter still likes to bring home small surprises for me. He often picks something up when he's out, although after the cinnamon raisin bagel incident, he buys things he already knows I like. Which is why he was struck last week when he passed a case of Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper. Knowing my preference for DDP and my love of vanilla flavoring, he immediately picked it up to surprise me. But there was a major flaw, however, as this gift was Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper.

You see, three days before I was messing around with my "about me" section on this very blog. Trying to be silly, I had started with the most trivial information I could think up about myself. This is what I'd written:

"The most important thing you could know about me is that I hate the taste of cherries. Not cherries themselves, just the taste of them as a flavoring. This is due to years of cherry flavored medicine, which eventually led to my association of the flavor with nastiness. "

His timing was perfect, it was the cinnamon bagel incident all over again.

(Although I found the vanilla flavoring mellows the cherry taste, allowing me to enjoy my treat. Still I couldn't get over the rather hilarious timing.)

Have you ever inadvertently given your loved ones a failure of a gift?

This year I accidentally broke Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Tue, 26 Jun 2012 06:12:00 +0000

I always look forward to Summer with its long stretches of blessed schedule voids punctuated with sporadic bursts of activity designed drive boredom away. Sleeping late and reading lots. Family bonding and lazy afternoons. Perfection.

This year I accidentally broke Summer.

First there isn't proper voidness in my scheduling. Someone should have told me teenagers change everything. With parties, church camps, instrument lessons, golf camp, summer baseball, marching band practices, and never-ending phone ringing, the INSANITY never ends. In the minimal blank spaces we fit in visits to the pool, chores, reading time, and other "normal" summer activities. You want friends over? Better schedule it 4 months in advance.

And we're supposed to fit in a vacation, too?!?

As if that wasn't enough, the down time is decidedly not blessed. Sibling bickering is driving me insane. Two teenagers and two tweenagers (I swear the pre-pubescent mood swings are worse than the post-pubescent ones) keep the hormones in our house at DANGER- EXPLOSION IMMINENT!! levels. If you don't believe me you can walk by my house and hear it. You might only enter the neighborhood to hear it. I wouldn't be surprised if people are wondering about the noise all the out at the county border.

Given the state of Summer this year, I, of course, thought it would be the perfect time to start P90x. After all, taking an extra hour and half out of my schedule every day could only be made better by limbs too sore to move more than an inch in any direction. And why would I need to have any reserve of strength? Right? Might as well use it all up within 15 minutes of waking so I can have the rest of the day to deal with paragraphs 2 and 4.

So I'm exhausted, the kids are busy, our gas budget is atrocious, and I'm now hoping for some down time. In September. Of 2025.

Oh all right, I just might survive...

Darn that blogger

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Thu, 03 May 2012 15:58:00 +0000

So, I meant to write a rough draft and accidentally hit publish. Switched immediately to draft, but it still showed up EVERYWHERE. Hoping this fixes it until I publish tonight. And yes (if you already read it) I realized it hasn't been 12 years since Elise was in kindergarten. (I hadn't even spell checked. It was just flow of thought onto the screen. How embarrassing!)

I can't believe it either- confession of an nonathletic mom

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 18:39:00 +0000

I'm going to lose my street cred. (As if using the term "street cred" weren't reason enough to lose it)

You see, I feel this compulsion to confess even if it destroys my reputation. Deep breath, here it goes:

mnjoy baseball seasothiyr.

What do you mean you couldn't understand me. I was mumbling?

I'm enjoying baseball season this year.

You can't hear me? Fine.

I'm enjoying baseball season this year.

I know, I know. I'm the mom who comes to kids' sports sign-ups kicking and screaming. Although I tend to replace "kicking" with "eye rolling" and "screaming" with "muttered complaints". I don't enjoy sports and baseball is the most boring. Last year felt like two months of after-school, twice-on-Saturday torture. This year I added another whole team to the mix (which should make it thrice-on-Saturday torture) and still for some reason ... it's kind of, sort of, well ... nice.

Maybe it's because practices are all closer to home. Maybe it's because the kids are all a year older and more independent. Maybe it's because this season I've yet to be hit in the head with a baseball. Or maybe I've been hit in the head one too many times.

For whatever inexplicable reason, all of a sudden, I enjoy watching the kids play. I enjoy sitting and chatting with the other parents. I enjoy watching the teams get better as the season progresses. I haven't opened a book during an actual game once this whole time. Even when my kids aren't actually on the field. Weird, right?

Sure the timing is still a bear and my schedule looks like a complex scientific proof. Dinnertime is more like eat-what-you-can-as-you-run-out-the-door time and Me-time is in temporary hibernation. And yet when I'm watching one of the 5 to 7 games scheduled each week, I find myself relaxing, smiling, and enjoying myself. Go figure.

I better stop analyzing before I talk myself out of it! See you at the ballpark!

P.S. Don't tell my husband, I don't think I could handle the requisite gloating.

We Survive March with Exhaustion

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 04:16:00 +0000

I plan on showing everyone a picture of Kirsti's new haircut. To be clear, I cut it, not her. Plus, I took her to a salon later that week and had it fixed; it looks great now. Anyway, I will post a picture soon.

But first I thought I would explain my lack of posting last month. The best explanation would be a repost from my extended family's monthly blog. No obligation to read it as it is long, picture heavy, and we CRAMMED a lot into the month. My goal is to fit blogging into my schedule somehow because it really helps me keep a good perspective.

Isn't March supposed to enter like a lion and leave like a lamb? 'Cause last month did enter like a lion, but it exited like a T-Rex on steroids. So take a deep breath, strap in and get ready for an UPDATE.

The month started with Peter leaving me. Don't worry, it was just for the weekend (give or take). He went down with his brothers and in-laws to BYU's basketball league playoffs. They all had fun, even if BYU lost on Saturday, but their flight home wasn't until Tuesday (Who, you may be asking, designed a tournament that ends on Monday? Someone who wants people to not attend next year.)

He is still losing crazy weight and gaining crazy muscle with P90X. Even with a Las Vegas vacation thrown in, he hasn't broken his diet or missed a workout. He and Elise are almost at their halfway point.

Elise turned 15 this month! She asked if she could throw a party if she paid for it and did all the work. I agreed. And then cleaned the whole house, took her to the store, bought pizzas. chaperoned, drove all over town looking for the right cake display, and fixed the cake when she found out it wasn't as easy to decorate as Mom makes it seem. And freaked out because -HELLO- SHE'S 15! Good thing she did all the work. She actually did all the planning, decorating, inviting, entertainment, and snacks and paid for all but the pizza, so I was impressed.

This month she also registered for her sophomore year. She went with a friend to the midnight showing of the Hunger Games. She's also doing great with P90X.

Ryan has kept me hopping this month. He had an archery competition half way through the month which meant the first two weeks he had practices before and after school every day. The competition was two hours away and ALL DAY LONG. But he had fun and I enjoyed watching him. He also had a band concert. Good thing he told us about it, bad thing it was the morning of the concert! He is playing the percussion with the large yellow arrow over his head. He registered for his freshman year of high school and has become obsessed with the Rubik Cube. This month he baked a pie for Pi Day and baked a cake for the last day of chess club.

Ethan and Kirsti finished up hockey after school twice a week. They also finished up Math Club and Chess Club. Now I just have Strings for Kirsti before school three times a week and Spring Training (an athletic exercise modge podge) after school once a week for Ethan, Kirsti, and Joseph.

Ryan, Ethan, Kirsti, and Joseph all ran in a Leprechaun Race. It was a mile and the older 3 all ran it faster than I could. Even Joseph was close.

Ethan had a science fair this month and, much to my surprise, we managed to get it done on time! Kirsti had a stake Activity Day activity that lasted from 2 till 8 on a Friday. Guess who was one of the volunteers? Yep, me. Guess what day it was? (Hint: the day before the all day archery competition.)

Joseph, Kirsti and Ethan all went to Jump Rope for Heart. They also dressed up for Character Day to celebrate Dr. Suess's Birthday. The book they're holding is where their characters came from.

Of course this month also included our annual Pi Day celebration. Ryan baked his Pi pie. I made T-shirts (Pi make the world go Round) and we ate pizza pie for dinner with chocolate pie for dessert. Matthew made the pie at special days with his cousins. I was nice and included the lesser holiday (St Patrick's Day) hats, too.

And finally, the T-Rex of our March schedule: baseball. This year we have 4 kids playing on 3 different teams. That is a total of 7-9 practices and 5-6 games per week. Ethan has already started games and has pitched for the first time and did great. He is hitting the ball (even swinging is an improvement from last year!) and is a lot faster than last year. Kirsti, Joseph, and Matthew have all started practices last week and will begin games after spring break next week. I am enjoying it a lot more this year. Partly because their practices are all a lot closer to home, partly because I know to bring my chair, blanket and a nice hot chocolate cup, and partly because this year I managed to avoid getting hit in the face with the ball at the first game.

I am still hitting the gym twice a week. I am slowly getting faster with my runs. With all the driving around, I'm reading much and cleaning little. I read 8 books last month, but only posted once. We finally got a new rug for the front room and living room. It changed the look of the rooms a lot and we love it!

The month ended with a neighborhood Easter Egg hunt and general conference. And if I missed pictures of the event, I'll just blame exhaustion.

I'll just call it the Ernie Hair Cut

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 05:20:00 +0000

I adored Sesame Street as a child. Unfortunately, when it came time to pass hand down this love to my own children, I found the show had become polluted with obnoxious, wall-coloring, red monsters, non-imaginary Snuffleupaguses, and overkill on political correctness. But this post is about that most beloved, entertaining, and educational show of memory .

More specifically about Bert and Ernie. How I loved that rapscallion puppet named Ernie! Although I confess I loved Bert a tiny bit more with his long suffering sighs.

Remember the time Ernie was alone with Burt's cookies? Temptation overwhelmed and he soon took a small nibble on one. But, oh no! The cookie was now uneven and a correcting nibble was needed. And then another and another until finally the cookie was gone.

I don't know why I thought of that skit this morning. Might have something to do with this:

P.S. My daughter, who managed learned optimism without any Sesame Street lessons, took it all in good measure. "It's hair, it will grow back. And now I don't have to pull it all the way over my shoulder to brush it." In fact, it barely touches her shoulders now.

For comparison, here is what it looked like on Friday. Note the length even after making six braids and braiding them into one. And yes, she is wearing fairy wings, pointy ears and a tiara to school. And her brother is wearing a suit in the background. Isn't that how your kids always dress for school?

P.P.S. Fine, just kidding. In honor of Dr Seuss's birthday the school allowed the kids to dress as characters from favorite books. I even have a front facing picture. Ethan was Artemis Fowl, Kirsti was the Fairy Queen from Fablehaven and Joseph was Pip, one of the dragons in Pillage.

And now I find myself craving cookies.

C is for Cookie. that's good enough for me...

A Walk on the Wild Side?

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 05:15:00 +0000

Matthew's voice piped up from the back seat of the car this afternoon. Mom, guess what? I have a new precious game on the iPad.

At first I thought this was type of game, like saying I have a new -withFriends game or I have a new Tower Defense game. But something about the word precious tickled my memory. Has he been using that word a lot lately?

Curiosity got to me, so I dove into my mother gut to see what I could find. I went past The Dishwasher Needs Loaded When I Get Home and took a left at Did I Remember To Sign That School Sheet?

A quick trip over Is It Time For THAT Talk Again? and around Do My Kids Have Enough Friends?

Ah, I'm getting closer now. Stay away from that dark, shadowy Am I A Good Enough Mother?, nothing good over there.

Hmm, maybe between The Kids Are Watching Too Much TV and The Kids Need To Be Better At Chores. Ah, there it is:

The intersection of Kid Speak and Mother Intuition.

Matthew, do you mean you have a new game you like to play best?

Yes, Mom. Like I said, a new precious game.

Thanks to Lord of the Rings, my child has confused the meaning of favorite and precious.

(I'm pretty sure there should be a spot in there called My Child's Favorite- Precious?- Movie Is Lord of the Rings, but I've yet to find it!)

Unrequited Friendship

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 18:02:00 +0000

I thought I had a pleasant circle of friends. We saw each other several times a month and I liked and respected them. They had young children like I did, and we had similar interests, struggles, dreams, and ideas. I knew they, like myself, were trying to be the best they could. Then one day, through an inadvertant mention in an unrelated group email, I found they had a monthly girls' night doing a hobby we all enjoyed. Without getting too bogged in details, there was no possibility I had been overlooked (I had even mentioned a few times that such a night would be fun, but everyone always seemed strangely disinterested); I'd been deliberately not invited. In fact, obvious effort must have been made to not mention this group in front of me. For whatever reason, my presence was undesirable.

It didn't help that not long after, I was given a Christmas letter from one of the women where she went on about several large parties she had thrown throughout the year where she and her husband had invited ALL their friends. I've never been sure why she felt a need to give me the letter without giving me a single invitation. But it compounded the still recent sting.

I was humiliated and heartbroken. I thought I had friends who liked me, but I was more a tolerated ... what? Acquaintance? Annoyance? Affliction? The worst part was I still knew these women were good women. I couldn't feel bitterness towards them, I had simply misunderstood our relationship. It had been my mistake. If my attendance made their night out unpleasant enough to go to the trouble to hide it from me, I couldn't begrudge them not asking me. After all, at the stage of life we were all in, these nights out would be rare and meant to be fun. I took it as a kindness (if a little misguided) that they went out of their way to keep me ignorant. In fact, a few years later I found myself on the opposite side of a similar situation and understood their position even better.

I learned a lot through this experience. I learned that liking me was not a prerequisite for goodness. Compatibility with me doesn't have a monopoly on kindness, hard work, or happiness. I also learned that, despite what other people thought of me, I liked myself well enough. In fact, I see this as the genesis of feeling comfortable in my own skin and letting others learn to do the same.

Our family's next couple moves were to places where people were more, um, direct about their feelings and more embracing of eccentricities. I continued to grow from its the lessons, but rarely thought about that less-than-pleasant situation.

But since moving here, I've found myself reflecting again on that time. Recently I've realized I do carry some negative baggage I picked up all those years ago: I'm frightened of unrequited friendships. Obviously, I'm not great at reading social cues about friendship and I don't know if I can handle making friends only to find I really haven't. To learn to care for and admire women who simply don't reciprocate. I don't want to be tolerated, I want to be friended. Coupled with my natural shyness this has kept me isolated, probably a little prickly, and (I suspect) not responsive to more subtle attempts at friendship.

Now that I've identified a problem, maybe I can move forward. My comfort zone needs expanded a little bit, and I need to risk getting hurt. Another hard lesson learned. Getting wiser, not just older, is a difficult thing sometimes.

Uterus versus the Mail

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 02:06:00 +0000

We love in our hearts and think in our brains. Intuition begins in the gut and weather forecasts in our joints. We even believe with every fiber of our being. But do you know what part of the body we use to find things? Is it our eyes, our brain, or maybe our fingers?

Nope. According to Pennsylvania folklore, we use our uterus to find things. That is why men can't do it and why, when we lived in PA, it was not uncommon to hear something along these lines: "Ever since my hysterectomy, I can never find my car keys."

My uterus has been in charge of looking for things ever since.

Today Peter couldn't find some mail. He remembered setting it down a couple weeks ago "somewhere special" so he wouldn't lose it. He just couldn't remember where this special spot was hiding. I would have helped him look, but I was busy doing other important things, like reading blogs and checking Facebook. I mean, it wasn't that big of a deal; it was only the soon-to-be-overdue renewal of his State Medical License.

So he looked and I ... sat at the computer. And he looked and I ... loaded the dishwasher. And he looked and I ... picked the kids up from school. And he looked and I ... sat at the computer again.

A couple hours later, panic was beginning to build and there was real threat of the house being torn apart. I finally decided I might be a little sad (and hungry) if my husband lost his ability to work. Besides, I'd finished reading blogs for the moment. So I got up, walked to our bedroom, and found it in a pile of papers on our dresser. A piece of mail I'd never seen in a pile I'd never noticed before. It took less than thirty seconds.

"Don't worry," I said as I brought them back downstairs, "Maybe someday you can grow a uterus, too."

"Thanks," he replied, "Can you find me an envelope?"

A Snow Day or Three

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 03:15:00 +0000

I am a creature of routine. Unexpected changes make me a grouchy, grouchy Mom. But there is something magical about snow days. Even though plans fly out the window, there still lingers my childhood excitement of SNOW DAYS and CANCELLED SCHOOL. Even though it goes against every part of my personality, I love, LOVE, LOVE snow days.

This year I was lucky; Peter had the whole week off, so we hibernated together. We braved the roads several times to keep a supply of Redbox on hand.

Can you tell how much I LOVE being cold. I would have covered my eyes, too, if they weren't required for walking without falling down.

We found a great hill for sledding. Despite what it looks like, Joseph had a blast.

Matthew learned that when we tell him to wear a scarf, he probably should. Never fear, I shared mine until he decided it was too hard to walk in. (Don't ask me, I don't know why a scarf made it hard to walk, either.)

After sledding and our second bout of driveway shoveling, we went out for lunch and hot chocolate. We kept thinking the roads would get better as we moved towards busier ones, but apparently our new home town doesn't do a great job with snow plowing. In fact, none of the roads looked like they'd been plowed at all! Even the freeways. I'm glad our new Suburban has 4-wheel drive. Still, we kept driving to our destination. After all, we needed to change things up so we could

...do exactly what we were doing at home.

Then there is the daylong pause where we did nothing and have no pictures to prove it. Well Ryan went to an overnight scout camp, Peter took the kids sledding again, and I went to a GNO, but other than that, NOTHING.

When the roads finally started to melt, we let the kids get out some pent up energy at the local skating rink.

And nothing finishes off snow days like Blizzards from DQ.

The temperature has risen, the snowy roads have melted, and we are all back on routine- or we will be, starting tomorrow. The kids had today off for semester break, even though school was cancelled during finals and the semester is now extended two days. Now I need to dig out of some major housework; hibernation is a messy thing when you have six kids!

What is this gratitude of which you speak?

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 06:49:00 +0000

Sitting at the kitchen counter, minding my own business and resting after another exhausting shopping trip, my reverie was broken when my son decided he must speak his mind. "Mom, thanks so much for buying those pudding cups you know I like. That was really nice of you."

Say WHAT?!?

Absolute shock: a face usually reserved for stepping on an entire tube worth of toothpaste on the bathroom floor or finding my best scissors used on fruit leather or, better yet, the real leather chair.
It crosses my face often enough that its appearance evoked no special attention. I was surprised, however, he didn't notice when I almost fell off the stool.

"You're ... welcome?" I tentatively reply after regaining my composure- and balance; more surprised his follow up was a hug and not a request for extra computer time.

It gets weirder.

Over the next several days I was thanked for waking someone up in the morning, driving a kid to school, making a favorite dinner, fixing a pair of pants. The thoughtful thanks just kept rolling out off their tongues!

So much for motherhood being a thankless job. Somehow my children actually noticed the things I do on a regular basis. And they appreciated it. Enough to tell me. I checked their biological clocks and they were at least a decade or two ahead of schedule. I couldn't figure out what kind of alternative universe I'd entered, but I can't say I didn't enjoy it.

While it lasted, anyway.

A couple weeks later I was once again at the counter resting my shopping-sore feet. "You bought pudding cups? But I wanted granola bars!" Ah, to that I know how to respond. (Cue up the You-Want-To-Go-There-? face and watch the kid scamper upstairs, bemoaning the cruelty of his insensitive mother). Guess I accidentally hit the reset button on those biological clocks. Oops.

This picture has nothing whatsoever to do with the post. I just like it.

Insanity is the new Settled Down

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 05:26:00 +0000

There are a million things I'm going to do when life settles down. Two weeks into the new year, I reluctantly faced the reality that this is as settled as life is going to get. Insanity is the new Settled Down.

I came to this conclusion in the middle of Costco. With all six kids in tow. At dinnertime.

Two pairs of glasses needed picked up (Kirsti and Ryan) and two different prescriptions for glasses needed dropped off (Elise and me); or in other words I was exchanging my bank account for half the family's proper eye sight. The first 3 days of the week had failed to provide any opportunity for the trip. Or, in more honest terms, I was able to find ample procrastination fodder. You see both teenagers had to be with me: one for fitting the glasses and the other for choosing the frames. Since Peter worked evenings all week, I had an all-or-nothing choice for bringing the kids. I chose"nothing" for as long as possible, but guilt finally made me go with "all."

Hotdogs and churros was the promised reward for good behavior, or at least better than devilish behavior. "If you don't stop wrestling across the optical center floor you're not getting Costco hotdogs.". It was also the bribe for making the kids wait all week to get their new glasses. "I know we need to go, but if you just wait until Thursday there'll be a Costco hotdog in it for you." It was also an excuse to not make dinner. What? I meant I LOVE making a huge mess in the kitchen everyday so at least one kid can complain about the menu. It makes my life worth living. Buying mystery meat and smothering it in ketchup was a sacrifice on my part. No, really.

So anyway, we can all see again, I've begrudgingly embraced reality again, I've found insanity suits me again and Costco didn't even revoke my membership. Just another day in my nice, settled life.

How my household is sleeping (or not) tonight.

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 05:40:00 +0000

I would like to apologize right now to my poor kids' teachers. You see, they are still awake and it is way past bedtime. We sent them to bed earlier, but for some reason they aren't sleeping tonight. Our 7-year-old just loudly threatened to tell on our 10-year-old for turning out his bedroom light. We were torn between reprimanding the latter- "Leave your brother alone!" and "Why are you not in your own room?"- or reprimanding the former- "Why is your light BACK ON?"

Kind of like the Tattle-telling About Open Eyes During Prayer dilemma.

For the record, we reprimanded both. And NOT in our sweetest voices.

Anyway, I feel now like we should have gone with the Pretend You Didn't Hear Them So You Can Believe They're All Actually Asleep route. We'd save my vocal cords and not feel guilt for their teachers tomorrow. After all Peter worked two twelve hour shifts this weekend, leaving me solo with all six kids both days long, so we're both entitled to a little self delusion.

Speaking of sleep, my husband is a couch sleeper. Not is a bad marriage sort of way, but in an I'm not tired yet, I'll be up in a zzzzzzzzzzzzz sort of way. Drives me slightly crazy, but he might come to bed more often if I didn't sleep-complain about the noise level of the TV. Hey, I can't help what I do after I'm already asleep. (Which is, incidentally, the same argument he makes for the couch sleeping.)

Would it be bad to sneak melatonin into his Diet Coke? So he would be tired enough to come to bed when his fuddy-duddy-early-bed-time wife does? It's not like I'm sneaking in Viagra or Arsenic or anything. It's like sneaking vegetables into brownies. Only with a natural sleep aid that I'm half convinced works for me placebicly. (placebo-ic? placebo-like? Imaginatively?)

By the way, I would never actually sneak vegetables into brownies because the only one in the house who doesn't like vegetables would be the one doing the sneaking. My kids beg me to add broccoli to the menu. It's weird, I know. Also, they order asparagus at restaurants. Maybe all that healthy eating has made them immune to sleep. Or, more likely, they sneaked some of Peter's non-melatonin-ed Diet Coke.

Peter is snoring next to me on the couch while he watches the football game he recorded during his 12 hour shift. If I wake him up, he'll claim he wasn't asleep and not ready for bed yet. Also, I think I heard one of my sleeping children walking around upstairs.

So I am going to convince myself the footsteps are ghosts and slyly steal the remote out of Peter's hand to watch something more interesting. Then attempt to trick Peter into bed.

(And yes, I know the play on words I could make about the tricks needed to get him to come to bed, but I'm above pointing them out. Oh crap, I guess I'm not.)

Good night.

My life is a little busy

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 05:26:00 +0000

School can't be in session for over a month. I refuse to believe it as it would mean accepting "once things get settled" must already have happened. This level of busy can't actually be my baseline!

I blame encouraging the kids to get involved at school.

And having five kids in school.

And needing to entertain the lonely one left at home.

And needing the whole month to get my house to approximate some level of post-summer clean.

Although, it would've been cleaned much sooner if the kids didn't come home from school everyday.

Speaking of which, does anyone else suffer from Mopped Floor Syndrome, whose primary symptom is having something red, sticky, or voluminous spill immediately after mopping?

I'm not bitter about the can of soda spilled on my just-mopped floor after dripping off my just-polished granite. Not bitter at all.

But the 20 socks I picked up off the floor this afternoon (and or threatened the kids to pick up)? Totally bitter. I swear some of the kids double up. Which is weird, as every time I check they've forgotten to wear socks at all.

I cleaned over 8 hours today. Tomorrow I will run approximately 5000 errands.

When Peter surprised me with an overnight bed and breakfast trip for my birthday last month, my brother and his family came and watched the kids. The list of what they needed to do was two pages long. After we came home, we asked them if they took advantage of our bathtub (of which, I just realized, I've never posted pictures). "No," my sister-in-law replied, "by the time I got the kids all in bed, all I could think was that I had to get up in the morning and do it again. So I crawled to bed."

I took it as a lovely compliment (or maybe just grateful acknowledgement of how exhausting my life can be sometimes).

Which reminds me, I really need to get to bed. Tomorrow will come way to early.

And speaking of laundry...

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 14:51:00 +0000

T W E N T Y

Twenty what, you ask?

Twenty laundry baskets. That's how many it takes for me to do my laundry. Are they technically called laundry hampers? Oh well, soft shell tortillas aren't called tacos and a Suburban isn't a van, but that's never stopped me from using my very own vernacular.

You may think I am over compensating for my lack of true laundry talent. And I may have an entire summer of unsorted socks that would agree with you. Well, I did have an entire summer's worth before Peter kindly matched them up the other day. My plan was to ignore the pile and continue wearing sandals until my toes froze off.

Want to know why any ~~sane~~ person would own 20 laundry baskets? I'll break it down for you:

3 are for the kids' bedrooms (one per room). Yes,they're mostly for looks. I'm not sure I've ever found dirty clothes in them. Empty chip wrappers, lost library books, and the shirt I've washed 10 times without seeing worn once- this is what I find in these laundry baskets.

6 are for sorting dirty laundry: 2 darks, reds, lights, whites, and blue jeans. I only do laundry once a week, so I fill all 6 overflowing each week.

Four kids still aren't done. Hmmmm.

9 are for sorting clean laundry: one for each person (Peter and I split 3 between us.) As you might have gathered from my last post, my kids think of them as a mere extension of their actual dressers. I found them on clearance, or I probably would only have 6. "Only six"would seem less crazy, right?

2 are for towels. Which run on an entirely different schedule from laundry. Or, more accurately, run only when I'm forced to dry off with a washcloth due to towel shortages. See the "towel hamper" full of socks? I wasn't kidding about the Summer Sock Sort. That is the basket AFTER it has been raided for two weeks.

(3 is the number I'm still short as I have no basket downstairs and two of my dirty laundry baskets double as bathroom baskets.)

My weekly pile (unsorted)

If twenty baskets makes one of my least favorite chores a little more tolerable, it's a small price to pay. And by "small price" I don't mean small price at all, laundry baskets are expensive! Anyway, please tell my I am not the only person with an odd collection of random storage/cleaning/household supplies. Confessions are encouraged to help me feel better about ~~my obsession~~ ... makes me look like a hoarder in training .... ~~my hobby~~ ... no, that sounds even worse... my quirkiness.

Laundry Purgatory or A Piece of Heaven?

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 04:48:00 +0000

Laundry was taking a while. Approximately eternity, give or take an infinity. That's how it seemed anyway. That is pretty much how it always seems. I gathered, sorted, washed, dryed, resorted and began folding.

Now I am no fool. My kids fold their own laundry. But I am neglectful sometimes, and my two youngest had at least two weeks of unfolded clothes. Last week it had seemed easier to let them live out of the laundry basket than enforce rigorous folding regimes. Since I am also impatient sometimes, I decided this week to fold and put them away myself.

So after I folded my clothes and my husband's clothes (don't ask*), and after I got after the older four kids to get theirs done (I confess. I had purposefully overlooked more than just the youngest two's lack of folding. In fact, only one child had folded their clothes last week), I folded and put away Joseph's clothes.

One more basket. ONE MORE BASKET. Laundry purgatory nearly escaped!! But as I walked to my room with Matthew's basket on my hip, Joseph bounded up, boldly smiling his toothless grin, "Mom, want help folding Matthew's clothes?"

Of course I didn't! If I wanted his brand of help I would have encouraged him to fold his own. I was only one stinking basket away from finished!

But his enthusiasm struck me dumb a moment. One moment. A pause. A reflection. What was a little more time in laundry purgatory compared to answering his earnestness with gratitude?

"Sure thing, I'd love some help," I answered in the faux-what-a-fun-adventure voice all mothers master.

My apprentice folder added at least 5 minutes to my folding time. In those five minutes we talked about the first 3 weeks of school. I learned a silly writing exercise his teacher assigned in class ("Can you believe it, Mom?" he giggled, "it was so funny.") and how many of Matthew clothes used to be his ("All these pajamas used to be mine! I loved this one!"). We joked, we laughed, we folded. He talked, I listened.

Those five minutes were the best of my entire day.

Who knew I could find heaven by staying in laundry purgatory a little while longer?

*Fine, do ask. I fold my husband's laundry. And I feel like I should be ashamed by this. And then I feel bad that I don't feel ashamed. So I think I should pretend to be ashamed, but I can't bring myself to do it. So if my laundry folding insults you, please feel free to get a life.

Autumn despite the weather

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 04:27:00 +0000

I couldn't wait any longer. School has started, my birthday is past, and days are noticeably shorter. Despite the weather still tipping past 80 (sometimes flirting with 90), it is soup weather.

After all, isn't it included in the extensive Labor Day rules of etittiquette? White shoes must be put away and soup should be served at least once a week. I know I learned it somewhere. My mind said, "still too hot," but my heart yearned for Chicken Noodle. And last week I could hold off no longer. I ground my wheat for homemade bread and pulled out the slow cooker.

It isn't just the soup, though. I've found myself eyeing my jackets and sweaters, trying to decide if the inevitable heat stroke would be worth it. It just feels like it should be time to bring out the warmer clothes even if reality feels like I'm melting when I walk outside.

I long for cool mornings, colorful leaves, and apple cider. September means summer is over and fall has begun. But, it is becoming increasing difficult to ignore the stubbornly high temperatures. Even the desert-induced cooling at night is only a weak substitute for proper autumnal temperatures.

Maybe it's worse because this is our first autumn since leaving New England. Perhaps I'm must be suffering from major Fall Season Withdrawals.

Despite the fact that nothing can ever compete with New England Autumn, I hope to survive this difficult transition by cranking up the air conditioner a bit and snuggling under a blanket with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate.

If reality won't play nice, I'll just use my imagination.

A Quick Hello

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 16:17:00 +0000

Hello? Hello ... Hello . . . Hello . . . hello.

Is this thing even still on? {Tap} {Tap} {Tap} {Screech}

Maybe if I wipe some of this dust off. {A-choo!}

Summer was exhausting in its fun. It was full of camping, swimming, golf lessons (for the kids, not me), and a trip- complete with 48 hours of driving- to Disneyland. We put together no less than eight 700+ piece puzzles, read some books, and forgot the meaning of "bedtime."

Many things left me this summer. Old Red is finally dead and was replaced by a less bold, newer model Suburban. My iPhone is now a Droid. Which was stolen out of Old Red and replaced again.Oh yeah, my oldest was magically replaced by a high schooler; I swear it happened while I was blinking my eye.

And with my brand spanking-new laptop, I can finally have some time online again! Good thing, because it turns out I need to write to keep any semblance of sanity. Speaking of which, if you find where I've currently misplaced mine, will you let me know?

Our Super Adapting Skills

noreply@blogger.com (Charlotte) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 04:11:00 +0000

I’ve noticed my family adapts extremely well. It’s amazing really. I mean, Darwin might as well have studied us when he developed his theory.

For instance…

Our entire married life, my husband has probably averaged 55-70 hours per week working (and/or studying). I bet close to 99% of it was weekends and evenings, too. Or at least it felt that way. When we moved here, his work dropped closer to 30.

The first month, I was thrilled contemplating his new schedule. After so many years, the thought of him home more often made me giddy. The idea of regular family time blew my mind.

The second month, I couldn’t believe how many family activities he attended. No longer did I need to drag the kids out on my own.

The third month, I frowned a little when he worked on the same night as a church activity. What a pain!

The fourth month, I caught myself irritated -even slamming a car door- because he worked on a Tuesday; I had to drive the Suburban on my regular errands instead of borrowing his more fuel-efficient car! I mean how unlucky is that?

Then I had a reality check. Hello. My super-adapting skills caused me to go from ecstatic to whiny in four short months, way too soon take his new schedule for granted. Months 5 and 6, I kicked myself whenever I thought to complain. (I’ll not embarrass myself by telling you how often I had to do it.)

Of course my kids have adapted, too. They’d probably seen their cousins, at most, 5 times their entire lives. Less than six months after moving closer, they think I’m inflicting cruel punishment if they go longer than 4 days without contact.

I won’t talk about my husband’s adapted need to be on the golf course 3 times a week.

Perhaps our adapting talent is only surpassed by our whining one. Hopefully we get to continue adapting to more positive things instead of testing our ability in the other direction!