Virtually Sisters

They Hear What They Want

2011-01-02T13:35:00.000-08:00

Me: "Noah, where do you want to go to college?" Noah is 4 and a half but it's never too early to start inquiring!

Noah: "I want to go to southern Alaska." SOUTHERN ALASKA? Where is that coming from? I didn't know Noah knew the words southern or Alaska. I truly never know what is going to come out of his mouth.

Joshua: "Noah, there is too much snow in Alaska. Pick some other place."

Noah: "Where did you go mom?"

Me: "Michigan State Univeristy."

Noah: "Oh ok. I'll go to University of Michigan like you and daddy." HOW could he have just heard that? How?? There was no TV on, no flying saucers going through the room- there was NOTHING to distract this kid and yet he transposed the very critical order of words.

Joshua: He said nothing because he was rolling around on the floor laughing at Noah's unintended verbal slur and the clear look of ARE YOU KIDDING ME on my face. Joshua has been threatening attendance at U of M for years at this point. And even bought a Go Blue t-shirt the last time we were in Michigan- with his own money.

I have professional baby pictures of both boys sporting MSU onesies. I think they are holding it against me or something.

-Sheryl

Happy New Years 1966

2011-01-01T15:11:00.000-08:00

The boys were looking to watch something that wasn't football related so that means we were digging around in On Demand selections. I came up on Batman, the 1966 version.

In the age of all things done with super duper computerization and electronics, I thought for sure Joshua would be done watching this thing in 7 seconds. NOPE. He was cracking himself up with the very unrealistic special effects. He also asked why the caped crusaders spent so much time running around to all their vehicles instead of just storing them all in the Bat cave like in the cartoon. It was a pleasant sign that he's willing to keep his imagination for a while longer before reducing himself strictly to realism.

By the time it was over both boys were back to running around as Jedi's. Well I think Joshua is a Jedi, Noah is some kind of bad guy. He even put on a pair of his brand new Star Wars underwear that had a bad guy on it. In an effort to be authentic. And they've both promised to start getting dressed beginning tomorrow. They've spent the better part of the last two weeks only wearing pajamas.

It's been a very Happy New Year!

-Sheryl

Getting Out the Door

2010-12-28T13:06:00.000-08:00

Me: "Joshua! Lets go! You're the only one not ready to get in the car!"

Joshua: "I can't find socks!"

Me: "Get some out of my drawer!"

Ok. Admittedly it's totally ridiculous to send my son to my sock drawer to borrow some, but somehow Joshua's socks are frequently missing. Well. The truth is that he changes his socks often throughout the day- whenever they get dirty or wet or when he just takes them off because he felt like it. He won't put the same pair back on. And I have yet to purchase the right volume to accommodate socks that need to be in the drawer and socks that are in the laundry and socks that are missing.

Back to trying to get out the door:

Five years go by (maybe 35 seconds... but any mother knows what it feels like when you are TRYING TO GET OUT THE DOOR and you have a lagger).

Me: "JOSHUA! LETS GO!"

Joshua: "I can't get the sock on!"

Me: "YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. Get down here and I'll help my super genius 7 1/2 year old figure out how to get a sock on. For pete's sake Joshua this screwing around is not helping us get out the door!"

Joshua sits down in front of me. Puts his foot up. I try to put the sock on. It doesn't go on. What. The. Hell. My 7 1/2 year old just out grew my socks. Me. My socks. A full grown adult's socks. He can't wear my socks. I don't have a back up plan for my failure to do the load of whites anymore. And worse... he's 7 and a HALF. And he can't fit into my 33-year-old grown up sized socks.

I Wish I Knew How to Curse in Polish

2010-12-22T17:23:00.000-08:00

There are probably at least 100 childhood Christmas memories I could rattle off without pausing for a breath because they are all still so vibrant. But the ones that stand out the most that I'm pretty sure I understood the least about when I was a little girl was how special the time was with my grandparents.

My parents and my brothers and I would suck it up through the 4pm mass on Christmas Eve but really between the crowd, dying of hunger and literally insane with anxiety, that 4pm mass was the looooongest service on the planet. By the time we got out of church it was dark and things were definitely starting to feel in motion for Christmas.

We would then drive home and enjoy an extensive meal of ham and all the the trimmings and politely help my mother put the dishes away before retiring for the night. Yeah right... NO! Forget that crap. We would all pile in the car, shivering because it took the thing 9 years to warm up in the -9 degrees of heat Michigan sports in late December. We would also be without the ability to shut up or stop moving or in general stop bothering each other in the way only siblings can on Christmas Eve.

We would all actually have dinner at Como's Pizza which definitely wasn't empty for being Christmas Eve. That was also the only time all year that we ate at Como's but it was some darn good pizza! And we got to have pop. Except my little brother Mike who would order chocolate milk. And one of us would generally spill. Because that's the way we roll.

We would then start the drive from Ferndale to Royal Oak where my grandparents lived... a whole 15 minutes... trying not to cause my dad to pull the car over to drop one of us in the dirt pile of snow that seems to cover every street corner on Woodward from November until March. Luckily my dad was actually the worst instigator of the craziness because he was more kid at Christmas than grown up.

My dad would take us through neighborhoods to see the decorations and lights. Which was too bad for the sucker kid sitting in the middle seat of the station wagon! (HA HA MIKE!) I loved the houses on Vinsetta- so beautiful. When we'd finally get around to Hawkins there was usually another car or two in the driveway belonging to my Aunt Kate (grandmothers sister) or my Uncle Tim (dad's brother).

My brothers and I were assuredly still hopping from the pop from dinner and then LOW AND FREAKING BEHOLD, the kitchen table was covered with cookies and candy. There had to be dozens of these little tiny cookies and homemade candies, chocolates and fudge. My personal favorite were these small powdered sugar snowball looking things. My grandmother made a good majority of them herself and the rest were from the church cookie exchange. I don't get too far in to remembering Christmas without remembering those cookies! AND, the best deal of the night was getting shooed to go play in the basement or sent off on a beer run from the basement refrigerator because it gave you the chance to snitch more cookies on the way!

Everybody would eventually go out and sit in the living room and us three kids would have to sit there and try to be normal so that sometime before Easter we could open our presents. Our stocking was usually full of gumball machine quality toys that we would break on first use. Or the adults would break them showing us how they work. And when we'd get to the actual presents. Without fail, we got stuff like dress shirts. Dress shoes. Bathrobes. All the kind of crap you'd least want. But that you needed.

With my parents, two brothers and myself, plus my grandparents, my grandmothers sister, my uncle, a cousin or two and usually even my great uncle (my grandfathers brother who didn't drive so his car was never in the driveway!), all the family I really knew would be in that living room. They'd be telling stories, remembering their childhood with exaggerated angst. Remarking about who got shafted the most. Cursing in muddled Polish. My dad would hand out the gifts. My grandma would try to save the bows, my uncle would put them in the trash. My grandpa liked to be cute and write silly Polish names on the gift tags to confuse things or endearing cheesy names for his dear Helen. I can't remember any specifically but the joke never got old. It just got missed when it so abruptly stopped.

In December of 2000, I was having my first Christmas away from home. I stopped by my grandparents on the way to the airport. My grandmother was still sleeping (you don't wake her... no matter what). But grandpa was up and making himself breakfast and doing some daily puttering. I had a gift I was dropping off and he thanked me. He hugged me and said he loved me (not usual for this proud man). I left and had my first Christmas away, and missed the cookies, missed the cheesy gifts, missed the silly name calling and the Polish cursing.

About a week after Christmas my grandfather was admitted to the ICU with a brain hemorrhage. He would briefly wake here and there but eventually he stopped waking. I returned from my trip early but only could stand there to see him unconscious and not the grandpa who would smack his hands together as he laughed or the one that would swear in mumbled Polish and English at the stupidity of life's ways. Most of his family was around him as he took his last breath and died on January 6th, 2001.

Christmas gets different when you're not a child and when you grow up and when people move on or when you finally settle for the fake tree one year for whatever reasons. I still think of all of those childhood Christmases and hope that by writing it down I won't forget the details. It also makes me wonder what details my boys will remember when they grow up. I spend a lot of time thinking of their gifts, but I would be more than happy if when they grew up they never remembered a single present and instead remembered what they did, who they were with and what they would miss if it wasn't there.
-Sheryl

Noah-isms

2010-12-19T07:32:00.000-08:00

Being related to Noah is truly a pleasure. It is. And I mean that. He's adorable. He can melt you with a smile. He says the best stuff. He pulls off the strangest shenanigans. He does the weirdest things. He is unfiltered in a way only a 4-year-old can be. But then there are those other times...

Joshua and I both started referring to the upstairs hallway bathroom as "Noah's" bathroom. Why would a 4-year-old have his own bathroom??? I grew up sharing ONE with five people. Because he sleeps and pees. And misses. Joshua will walk all the way downstairs or use the master bath rather than risk wet socks.
I woke up to a tiny finger poking the middle of my back while I slept away the 6am hour this morning. It was Noah. He had peed. And missed. Because he was in a hurry he says. He told me he was awake this time, just missed the potty. Great. He also mentioned "Joshua will be mad. He just washed my potty yesterday!" (Yes Joshua washes toilets at the age of 7. Nothing like a kid with a mild to moderate case of OCD to serve as an EXCELLENT toilet cleaner).
Noah: "Did Santa and God see my tinkle accident? I don't want any of my presents to be fed to the orca whales." OH it STUCK! I told him three days ago if he didn't get his act together that Santa would pitch his presents into the Puget Sound and the whales would eat them.

We are suppose to go see Santa today. Five bucks says Noah confesses his tinkle sins in an effort to save his Christmas loot.

-Sheryl

2010-12-18T07:56:00.000-08:00

This was Joshua's first Christmas. I never think of Christmas without thinking of this picture and how HAPPY he was to get this gift- it was a toy piano. I don't know how he could even be happy or understand- he was 9 months old! He also fell asleep mid-morning thanks to the exhaustion of opening 9,000 gifts that always seem to get bestowed on a baby's first Christmas.

-Joshua

One Liners

2010-12-17T09:15:00.000-08:00

I read a facebook post last night by Jill about smashing her smoke alarm via a bat after a botched Christmas cookie debacle. She's also told me about pitching her coffee maker into the driveway and various other sordid aggressions towards small appliances. Hmmm... immediate childhood flashbacks ensue... such as the incident with Jill's mother hurling a lawn sprinkler through the yard. Or showing up to ask to play with my pal Jill only to be greeted by various pieces of appliances littering the porch steps that had met their demise. On these occasions I generally headed back home rather than make that knock on the door. It seemed safer.

Jill forced me in to using Twitter and has been generating enough one liners that she could start a t-shirt company to support the replacement of her appliances:

-so far today i've been projectile vomited on,lost the teacher xmas gift&had a chunk of hair ripped out by my psycho baby.Good times!

-here's a tidbit of helpful info. Smoking while pumping gas is not the best idea. I guess the idiot next to me is unaware.

-visiting the bachelorette section at the party paper place was just what i needed to cheer myself up!

-Costco is full of jackassery toinght.

-Leggings are not pants. I don't care how rockin your a** is, cover that shit up.

-Asked Alex to go get the Santa decoration out of the garage . 10 minutes later he comes back & says "I dont see a Llama decoration". Wtf?

I miss the comic relief that Jill exudes, even if its at her expense and my benefit!

-Sheryl

2010-11-27T20:40:00.000-08:00

I downloaded this picture from my camera this morning and it's 8:42pm and I'm still thinking about this picture. It's just... one of those. You can't ask Noah to pose, smile or even LOOK at you if you want to snap a picture. Every single one comes out like hell. I have over 5700 photos taken on my 'good' camera I realized today. I don't have even half of that on my hard drive because of all the ones I delete thanks to ill-fated "SMILE FOR ME!" attempts.

It's frustrating not to get a perfect picture.

But.

If my little blond boy wasn't so genuine when he smiled, this picture wouldn't be as perfect as it is.

-Sheryl

Detroit Thanksgivings

2010-11-25T04:35:00.000-08:00

When I was a kiddo Thanksgiving was a giant pain because one, my Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a roll and cherry jello, with fruit cocktail in it (Serious. This is all my brother and I ate. We didn't like anything else and there was no making grilled cheeses on Thanksgiving) and two, no friends allowed. That meant a whole day off of school and no Jill and Sheryl rendez vous.

But when we were in high school there was a few Thanksgiving Days that Jill and I spent together. One of my absolute favorite parts of Thanksgiving was the Detroit Thanksgiving Day Parade. My dad would take my brothers and I when we were little to see the parade. To say it was blistering cold 99% of the time is an understatement. The thing about doing anything with my dad is that he was 7% relaxed and excited and 93% on a mission. It was a funny mix. So when he woke us up to go to the parade- and he would be hyper and excited and being silly, you also had approximately 7 minutes to use our 1 bathroom, get dressed, get your snow gear on and pile out the door. Serious. The car was already running.

So out the door we all get. Sometimes when we saw the parade we would meet up with my dad's old high school friend and his family or more often, we would meet up with my uncle and two cousins. As soon as we got in to Detroit and found some place to park, game on. Do you know how these days when a child is lagging behind the mama or daddy turns around with their hand out and says "I'll wait for you Madison/Ashley/Cooper..." or whatever sweet name their hallowed child has? Yeah no that's not the way to drive results. My dad would just start walking and if you didn't keep up- that's your problem. In general he could hear if he had all three of us as we stomped behind him running in our moon boots, snow pants and hollering at each other to get a move on.

There was a typical 'corner' we'd stop at to park ourselves. It was right where the People Mover was (above ground public transportation train). This presented some added entertainment because all of the people with those giant balloons had to slide them under the People Mover. It wouldn't be fun to just watch the parade... that would be monotonous. It was fun to watch the potential for disaster. Once in a while there was the occasional trip up where people were running around trying to recapture their balloon hold strings like children who lost hold of their kite. It was all part of the fun.

The acts in the parade were not exactly Macy's Parade Superstars, but... there were traditions. The dudes that danced with their briefcases... I wonder if they are still there. Because nobody uses briefcases anymore... do they use laptop bags these days??? Just wondering. There are clowns that run around with little wagons and shovels to pick up after the horses. There are floats and balloons that are the same every year and those dang giant head things with people bodies underneath that had a way of making it in to my nightmares.

And then there are the marching bands. Folks. There is a giant difference between suburban Detroit schools and Detroit school bands. The suburban schools are dutifully playing their Christmas medleys- which is all well and good. But the Detroit schools- are all wooping it up, dancing and getting the crowd rolling. Except for the parents of the suburban kids who are just confused.

There were two occasions once I got to high school where I was actually part of the parade- Jill too. We were marching band nerds together and during our freshman and sophomore years of high school we got to be in the parade. Nothing is quite so contrasting as hundreds of clearly suburban kids standing in the middle of some of the pits of Detroit wearing a band uniform. Standing over sewer grates that had steam floating from them to keep warm. Not to mention, the homeless and other clearly less than fortunate folks that were milling around as we stood there holding instruments worth more than the cash they had to spend for six months of groceries... yeah not always a nice feeling.

But as the parade started and we rolled on, I couldn't wait to get to the People Mover to see my family. It takes for freaking ever by the way, because the parade does have to accommodate things like commercial TV breaks and rogue balloons and way-ward horses and the homeless guy that pees in the middle of the road. But as we started getting close... mind you I was a freshman... I realize, there is no question where my family is sitting. Because they are holding a damn eight foot sign with SHERYL spray painted on it. The band director came over to point it out to me in case I some how freaking missed it.

I wasn't embarrassed- I was giggling to myself actually. I had been over the top excited to be in the parade. I seriously had been counting down the days from the minute I found out that we were going to get to do it. I felt so... how-come-I'm-so-lucky. Grateful. Thankful.

This Thanksgiving is a bit different for me- I'm skipping it technically. The boys are in Denver with their dad and his family, which, poor Joshua and Noah, they are in DENVER. But I'm thankful for those little resilient men and can't wait to meet them at the airport tomorrow. Some other Thanksgiving I'm sure we'll make it to Detroit so those little boys can appreciate the difference between urban and suburban, they can run behind my dad to catch up, eat cherry jello with fruit cocktail that my mother made and in general, have something to remember and lots to be thankful for.

-Sheryl

Home Movies

2010-11-20T17:33:00.000-08:00

I make little videos with pictures of my boys every year for the holidays... but they love watching the old ones of their mom... and this is some ollllllllld stuff. Geez.

I have been starting to make this year's video/picture reel. It has been hard to see these little boys be less of little boys and more like big boys.

And as I type, that would be them yelling and laughing because it's funny when your little brother walks on his big brother's butt. Great.

-Sheryl

Going Home

2010-11-20T06:27:00.000-08:00

I went back home to Michigan on business travel a few weeks back and stopped to see family and friends... including Jill and Gracie (and Jill's mother who was standing next to my mother as she took this picture!). And as Jill would like to have noted: We were standing on sloping sidewalk so she's not actually that much shorter than me.

It was a nice visit home but it was a continued reminder of things and people and places getting older. I still feel like I'm temporarily in Seattle which since I've been here 3 years something should say it isn't temporary. Not sure how to feel permanent...

Mama Moment

2010-11-14T07:19:00.000-08:00

When Joshua was a little guy learning to talk, he said "Go Green!" (for Michigan State) before he said mama. His awkwardly giant self made everyone remark that we certainly seemed to have an athlete ready to dominate.

And then we got past the cute toddler stage and moved in to the part where we'd want him to do one thing and he'd be doing another. Like refusing to get dirty. Wearing short sleeves at all times to avoid his cuffs getting wet when he washed his hands. Openly noting that boys are dumb because they wrestle around and that seems like a dumb way to play. And then add in there that Joshua continues to grow at ridiculous intervals elevating his clumsiness as he gets use to the 7 inches that just got added to his arms and legs. OH, and did I mention he's ambidextrous and it just makes him THAT much more awkward?

But this year he wanted to play baseball. And he stuck it out- never asked to quit once. We are still in the no-score-keeping phases of little league at this point but he is aware that if they are depending on him for the game winning run, that he better feign a disaster on the way to the plate because his left handed swinging pitches his ball up the first base line about 9 times out of 10 and then its left to him to out run a first baseman that has to pick up a ball 7 inches away and tag the bag. Did I mention he never asked to quit? Even despite the seemingly ridiculous frequency of his naturally awkward left sided swing motoring up first base.

Fast forwarded to soccer season. Where there were 7 kids on the team. 5 had played baseball together. The coach was even a baseball carryover. WOO HOO! We get to skip the I-don't-know-anyone phase that can paralyze Joshua for the first weeks of something new.

I wasn't prepared for watching these kids actually 'play' instead of just following the ball around. They pushed. They would run at full speed and something would happen and there would be a pile of them on the ground. They were covered in mud and rain and dirt and sweat. And my kid was one of them. MY KID.

And while Joshua played hard- something seemed to stop short when he was standing in front of the goalie with the ball and an open shot. He just would fold and should have just picked the ball up and handed it to the goalie to save some effort. And then as the season rolled on he would get close but would make a tap on the ball with less effort than when he kicks his dirty socks into the laundry pile. His caution, his desire for perfection, his intuitive nature that wants to know the absolute outcome before executing an action... makes it tough to be a soccer superstar.

But guess what.

It's the last game of the season. And Joshua SHOOTS! And the goalie grabs it.

But guess what.

Joshua SHOOTS AGAIN! And the ball dawdles in front of the goal line and the goalie grabs it.

But guess what.

As I was standing on the sideline with my friend who randomly and graciously showed up with her son to watch Joshua's game, and with a line of dad's in front of me who had helped Joshua learn to throw and catch and bat through baseball and learn to accept dirt and pushing and figure out how to not be so left footed through soccer (I didn't know there was such a thing- but there is!), Joshua shot again.

And it went in.

All those families erupted. They all knew it was Joshua's first goal. Ever. It was at least the fifth goal of the game so the other team had to be wondering what in the hell everyone was going crazy about. But our side knew. This pack of parents that I didn't even really realize were supporting my boy as much as they were... they knew.

Joshua came over and hugged his mama (I hope to God I wasn't as far on the field as my brain is remembering!). And his daddy picked him up and held him. And his teammates came to give him congratulations. And he made his way over to the coaches/dads and they all patted him on the back and gave fives and... it was all cheesier than a Disney movie but OH MY GOSH it was the best mama moment I've had that I can think of.

He shot. And it went in. IT WENT IN! And then he hugged me. His mama.

What's Disturbing About Halloween...

2010-10-30T07:36:00.001-07:00

I had thought about what I wanted Joshua to be for his first Halloween long before I realized it was not the most appropriate choice for my big giant boy. My favorite Winnie the Pooh character had always been Piglet. Except Joshua was more of a Hoglet. Jill's mom made the costume and it's still my all time Joshua-costume-favorite.

We are currently in our third straight year of Star Wars. And there are already plans for a 4th consecutive selection.

Halloween in suburban Detroit meant a few different things growing up. First off, the morning of Halloween my parents would sit there chattering over the newspaper to see what was burned up in Detroit. This caused me to believe that every major city was plagued with the hazing of Devil's Night leading up to Halloween. It turns out this is inaccurate. In fact, it may even be fairly limited to Detroit because I haven't heard it any where else.

But after that part, there was getting to wear your costume to school and we'd parade around for parents to wave at you and then go back inside and cram ourselves with candy before going home to get hollered at for snitching out of the candy bowl meant for trick or treaters.

And of course the Trick or Treating. My dad usually was the one taking us out. One of the benefits of WWII era homes is that just a driveway separates houses for blocks and blocks and blocks. This provided the opportunity for MASSIVE amounts of candy.

Which I would hoard afterwards and sell to my brothers months and months down the road. I forgot about that until just now as I was typing it.

I got to be something different every year but it was pretty much limited to what could be dug out from the junk around our house or whatever I could con my dad in to making. One year I was a present box. Another a cheerleader. A doctor. Little bo peep. Jill was a Carebear for about 17 years of our childhood when she wasn't a witch for the other 17 years. Man if I had a picture of that Carebear gettup I'd get a t-shirt made just to have people ask me WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT! It was well crafted- don't misunderstand- Jill's mom could sew like a Disney costume maker.

But with all the other creepy things to look at running past you on Halloween, a giant blue Carebear head attached to my friend's body was very disturbing.

Happy Halloween!

-Sheryl

Soccer Stars

2010-10-02T08:17:00.000-07:00

Joshua has turned in to this boy that actually shoves his arm out to keep kids off him in soccer. Previously he hung out down field, waited for the ball to break free, ran with it until the rest of the pack caught up and then he pulled off the ball and went back to the other end of the field to repeat his process. It has been fun to watch him grow up so much lately. Not so happy about the inch and a half since the end of August that we just scratched above his last growth marker.

Noah goes to soccer. And after great demonstrations as a strong, 32lbs scrapper who will bust through anything, he has taken to standing in the middle of the field and holding his coach's hand. He's trying again at today's game to return to his former scared-of-nothing self. Because if he does play then he gets to go pick out his Yoda Halloween costume at Target. I'm never above bribing a 4-year-old.

What You Learn at the Bus Stop

2010-09-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

Up until about 10:30am this morning I hadn't made a clear cut plan for getting Joshua picked up from a half day of school (Awesome. Barely 3 weeks in to school and we already hit a half day). But I finally had to just bail out of work and be there for the bus drop off.

I got to the bus stop early but was soon flocked by the usual group of neighborhood mamas. I don't know any of them well at all, but I'm working on that. As we were chatting, a man with some visible mental issues came walking by and was just staring at us. One of the mom's smiled and waved and asked him how he was doing. He stopped for a minute and then kept walking. That particular mom adopted two boys- one with special needs- as a single parent.

We all went back to chatting when I realized a mom on the other side of me was standing there starting to cry. Of all the mom's she's one of the one's I know the most but understand the least about.

This particular mama has two beautiful sons that Joshua met in the park by our house one day. Actually he met them multiple days before I finally managed to head outside at the same time they were there with their mama. As she saw me walking that day she hugged me while speaking in half English and half something that was almost Spanish but wasn't- turned out it was Portugese. She was from Brazil.

Anybody that knows me is aware that me and physical contact don't get along so I was already in a "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO" state as she started speaking. Finally though I realized she was telling me her sons don't speak, that they are autistic and that they are never able to play with other children but that they have been playing with Joshua at the park nearly every day for several weeks. She was teary eyed and gushing how happy it was making her to watch her sons play with others. I... I didn't know what to even say. I was very proud of my boy who never, ever sees anything wrong with other human beings.

But back to the bus stop. So my neighbor friend begins to cry at the sight of this man who was passing by us because she fears it's may be the lonely fate for her sons if she can't help them. She wants to go back to Brazil to be with her family but can't because there are no programs that even compare to what she is able to get here in the U.S.. But she is unhappy and homesick and sad.

I sometimes wallow in a tiny bit of loneliness as a single mom. The other day I was standing on a stool in the middle of the kitchen table still in my most decent work clothes trying to change a light bulb I couldn't reach but the boys were doing a project and it would be great to have light (they are so demanding...!). I was hating to be me at that minute. The next time I have one of those pangs of rapid fire self doubt, I hope I remember the bus stop.

-Sheryl

Days to Remember

2010-09-11T05:05:00.000-07:00

Everytime holidays intended to memorialize something roll around, I tend to feel a bit disconnected because I wasn't there. I wasn't at Pearl Harbor. I'm not a Veteran.

I wasn't in New York on 9/11. But I had been in Seattle. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center live on the news because I was sitting there on my Pacific coast time waiting for my jeans to dry in the dryer. That was my worry for the morning- having clean jeans for work.

Katie Couric inaccurately reported on the morning of September 11th that an Airbus 767 had just crashed into the second tower of the World Trade Center. I thought "What a dumb bunny. It's either a Boeing 767 or an Airbus plane." I imagine I felt all official because I could tell airplane models apart now that I was at Boeing, much the way I barely had known a Toyota from a Chevrolet before working at General Motors and could now tell the make and model of a car from its headlights in many cases.

I definitely know I had zero comprehension of the impact as I was waiting for the clothes dryer to shut off. I got to work, and at the time, it was the Boeing Everett wide-body airplane factory. The one that makes the Boeing 767's. The path I would take to my desk literally required passing beneath an airplane wing which made me flinch that morning.

By the time I got up the elevator people were chattering about it and talking about crazy stuff like there were a bunch of other planes involved and that the White House had been a target. It was sounding like a bunch of overblown chatter.

But I got to my desk and could barely access the internet. Somebody said it was because it was jammed with activity. I still was a little perplexed. I called Alan. And as my resident current and historical events walking encyclopedia, he spouted off words I had never heard like Osama Bin Laden and 'terrorist cells'.

I hung up. My manager came by shortly after and asked our group to stay in the area and be prepared in the event of an evacuation (the building occupies 30,000 employees.... we cause our own traffic jams at shift change on a normal day when people aren't hurrying anywhere except out of the parking lot to go home).

The insanity that hit the East coast that morning never met the West thankfully. I walked back under that airplane wing to leave on my way home that evening and realized I was now connected to a day that nobody understood. As I've tried to explain the event to my sons I can sense the same disconnect that I know I showed with Pearl Harbor Day or Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I hope they grow up to be respectful of what has happened and what has been done to prevent any other such event, but mostly, I hope they never, ever are connected to their own day of memorium. I hope my sons live a life where they honor what has happened before their time to give them a life free of terror, disaster and needless loss.

-Sheryl

Are you sitting down.....I'm finally posting something!!!

2010-08-14T12:03:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile. I had every intention to post....lots of times. I would want to type something, but nothing would come out of my fingertips. It was weird. It wasn't for a lack of things to write about. As summers go, this one has been filled up. I guess my brain just got lost in the sea of pre-teen hormones, bagels-way too many bagels and mild bout of depression that swirled through my house. But the good news is that now I have lots of things to post about!

First things first, Sheryl's birthday post had me rolling on the floor laughing! I don't know how she remembers some of this stuff. But, turning 26 for the 8th time has kinda shot my brain to hell.

1)Watermelon Hubba-Bubba-my teeth hurt at the thought of that stuff. I don't even let my kids chew it very often because I can actually hear their teeth rotting away.

5)nasty words-I have no idea what she's talking about. I never said things like piss-worms or penis breath. never ever ever. And I didn't laugh hysterically instead of punish when Sheryl came to visit a three year old Alex and he called her a penis. That wasn't me.

7)dogs named Muffy-I loved that dang dog. Of all the dogs I've had she was my fave. Pudge was a close second, until he recently decided that every surface in our house needs to smell like his urine. Typical man.

8)curled pig-tails-I spent half of my childhood in curlers. It wasn't even normal.

9)worms-She's right, I'm denying.

11)playing monster- OMG I had totally forgotten about this game. Funnest ever! I tried to get my kids to play it with me, but they looked at me like I was nuts.

14)fake care bears- Playing with them wasn't so bad, but how about having to dress as a life sized one. Not great. I think we spent two Halloweens like that. ick.

18)leaving Girl Scout camp- I was barfing red Kool-Aid everywhere!!!! It wasn't my fault! Every fun childhood activity resulted in me barfing. It was weird.

20)band camp-This one time, at band camp........

21)Mr. Kantz's 3rd grade-That was the first year Sheryl and I got to be in the same class. And the first time I ever had to stay after school. I finally stood up for myself and pushed that little turd Kevin Laux after being picked on by him for years. Problem was, Mr. Kantz didn't see what happened to cause me to push him, and I got in trouble. I cried the whole way home, fearing what my mother was going to do to me. Thankfully, she also thought Kevin was a turd and applauded me.

23)picker bushes-I hate picker bushes a.k.a. rose bushes. They were all over my yard and one day my dad was holding my hands and twirling me around....and twirled me right into the bushes. It's too terrible to remember.

26)kleenex-I did use more kleenex than the average person, but then I met Matt. Nothing compares to him. The human foghorn. We buy kleenex by the case from Costco now.

28)flip flops-Ahhhhh....my beloved footwear of choice. These are not from my childhood because my mother despised them. But I have made up for not having them until adulthood. I'm currently on my 7th pair of the season.

31)endless giggle-That just happened this morning. For no reason I just started laughing until I had tears streaming down my face. Emily thought I was crying. Sometimes, I'm the weirdest person I know.

32)Best-Friends-Pretty soon she's coming to Michigan and I get to see her. The first time in two years. Way to long.

~Jill

Summer Time in 1980 Something

2010-08-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

Joshua asked me the other day what I did during the summer when I was little. Mostly he was complaining about the lack of things to do for a 7-year-old boy with three rooms in his house dedicated to toys, plus an entire garage bay of more toys plus a park next door, literacy skills of a 5th grader that he could apply to a library of books and not to mention a stack of video games if all other forms of creativity fail.

But I get it. It's August and this summer thing is winding down. On occasion it can be hard to even remember it's summer because... just as Jill curses the steaming heat that seems to be plaguing everywhere but the tippy top of the Pacific northwest, I'm cursing the fact that I need a fleece coat in August. It MIGHT get out of the 60's today. Seriously.

Joshua's plight for summer fun is nothing new but it made me think- what did I do all summer long? I didn't have a nanny, baby-sitter or anything but helpful neighbors to yell at us to get out of the middle of the street. My dad was at work and my mom worked nights so she was sleeping most of the day. We did have some rules- no playing in the 10 inch deep kiddie pool while my mother was sleeping. That was a major violation. Don't hit each other. I admit non-compliance.

Joshua wasn't wanting to hear what I couldn't do so I dug deep into my head to try to recall what you did in the 1980's for fun when summer got boring:

Go on vacation with some other kid's family (did this with Jill's family MULTIPLE times. Jill being an only child was pure genius in my friend selection process).

Play in the back yard sand box that is really a large square of cinderblocks outlining dirt with sand on top of it until you dig all the way to the tree roots of the big fat oak tree. (Joshua seemed puzzled... didn't sandboxes only come in the shape of a green plastic turtle with 2 inches of sand?)

See what you could freeze in the freezer and make a popsicle out of. Dish soap doesn't freeze well in case anyone was wondering.

Ride your bike where you aren't suppose to so that you can see where the end of your street is (another confusing topic for a little boy living in a closed end cul de sac).

Dig for change in every nook and cranny so that you can feign going on a bike ride but you really high tail it to the Dairy Queen and kindly ask for one small, Lemon Lime, Mister Misty float. It helps to not spill any green sludge on your shirt if you are trying to be covert about your mission.

Joshua wasn't impressed as I couldn't come up with a thing that he found any more fun to do than staring at the wall. I also talked at length about laying in the sunshine with your best friend, sunblock free and getting deep summery tans while talking about dirty words (didn't say that part but I remembered it), playing around in giant boxes thanks to whomever purchased an appliance recently, walking around in homemade matching sleeveless shirts and shorts pretending you are sisters with your best pal... these were all true activities when there was no cable being piped in every socket of a house or cell phones to send secret messages or SPF97000 strength sunblock.

After our chat, Joshua went outside with his light sabre and Jedi hood and spent a few hours conquering the cul de sac.

-Sheryl

Happy Birthday

2010-08-01T20:56:00.001-07:00

August 2nd is Jill's birthday. She is sometimes squeamish about what birthday she is actually having but the catch to it is that it's an awesome, incredible signature on our friendship. With all the things that happen in life and all the people you meet along the way, I don't know how the universe works to give me my best friend when I was just two-years-old and to allow us to still be connected as much as we are after all this time.

Despite being in Target twice this weekend I failed to even grab Jill a card. If we'd grown up to live next door with pools in our back yards like we'd planned I would probably still not have a card ready to go. Hate that about me. But working on it.

I have always been a pretty good failure at the card thing. Not just for Jill... it's universal. But it didn't mean I wasn't thinking of her knowing the 2nd was rolling up soon. Jill has been too busy with children and bagel store grand openings and (Blazing Bagels in Waterford, MI!), summer and electronics problems to hardly even chat with me let alone, email, facebook or blog post or remember it's her birthday... but I remember... LOTS.

Thirty-three word and phrase associations with Jill:
1. Watermelon Hubba Bubba Gum
2. The book How to Eat Fried Worms (I read it in the back of her parents car on a road trip)
3. My Child Dolls
4. Catherine. Jill named every doll some variation of Catherine for a good long while.
5. Nasty Words. Jill was the kid that told me most of the dirty words I ever learned. That's right. The only child kid taught the middle child between two brother's all the dirty words she ever learned.
6. Driveway rollerskating
7. Dogs named Muffy
8. Curled pigtails
9. Worms- she had a worm obsession. She'll deny it. But it's true.
10. Lasagna- Jill's mom has the best. And the first I ever ate.
11. Playing monster. Don't ask.
12. Pretty in Pink Barbie
13. Twirly Curl's Barbie
14. Fake Care Bears
15. Fake Cabbage Patch Barbie
16. Trying to see our first movie... going in too early... realizing it's a rated R movie that we just sat ourselves in... and bolting from the theatre back into Oakland mall because we didn't know what else to do.
17. Bunkbeds at Girl Scout camp
18. Leaving me at Girl Scout camp
19. Bunkbeds at band camp
20. Band camp
21. Mr. Kantz's Third Grade Class
22. Picker bushes
23. Blue shag carpet
24. Hershey candy products
25. A white skirt with magent polka dots that she wore in 7th grade
26. Kleenex. I've never seen another human require so much Kleenex.
27. Snoopy Band-aids
28. Flip flops- namely the glitter encrusted ones that Noah slept with for weeks.
29. The pink, blue and yellow plaid blankey with the satin edging
30. Fisher Price toy sinks (I loved that thing!)
31. An endless giggle that has been the same forever
32. Anklet socks with white lace ruffles
33. Best friend- in every sense.

For the 31st time in our lives, Happy Birthday Jill.

With much love,
Sheryl

This Is What Happens

2010-07-21T20:30:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when you're running out the door and you yell "Noahy! Hurry up and pick out some socks, put them on and get in the car!"

The Summer That Joshua Became a Boy

2010-07-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

One time Jill called Joshua a Forty-five year old man in a 7-year-old body. He think about stuff I will never even dream up by the time I'm 45. And he has a temperament as far from being a little boy as possible. Well he use to. This seems to be the summer that Joshua has become... a boy.

He plays in the dirt. I mean he sometimes would before... but I have a picture where he just got done playing in some mud in his bathing suit. Except he is completely sans clothing, still covered in mud, and hosing off his BATHING SUIT. That's what he was worried about. Dirt on his clothes. Because he sometimes reads this blog, I won't post the pic.

He also is playing sports. Well trying... he is blessed with his mother's coordination and being a few years behind kids that started sooner and then growing several inches recently. But he is playing wildly with other little boys, scraping his knees and coming home covered in pond yuck. He argues with his little brother instead of telling me the psychology behind why he thinks Noah is behaving the way he is.

The one part of summer that has always been a tried and true event for my little man-boy is Day Out with Thomas. Serious. Thomas the Train was the first genuine toy Joshua played with. Before that he would mostly just play in the sink with water and bowls and spoons and funnels and collanders. That's all he wanted to do. And he would do it for hours.

But then came trains.When Joshua was 2, I saw him laying on the floor with a Thomas engine someone had given him and he had some blocks lined up behind it. After I took a picture of proof that my son COULD play with toys, I packed us all up to go get more engines at Target. Immediately. He wanted to play!

And then when we found out a REAL Thomas would come into town... HOLY COW. We were all over it at Greenfield Village in Dearborn, MI. And when we moved to Washington- HOLY COW. Thomas comes here too at the Northwest Railway Museum in Snoqualmie, WA. The summer Jill was visiting was actually Thomas weekend. She came on the ride- and held Noah who was monsterously beside himself with the crowd. I had forgotten how anti-crowd he was at that stage in his life. Oops.

But this year... Joshua was 7 and Noah was 4, ages that are dangerously on the bubble of not loving things that have always been loved. We got out of the car when we pulled into Snoqualmie with a parking spot so prime the train station and the lines and the crowd were all within sight as soon as we pulled in. The boys jumped out of the car with their train engineer hats on and we started walk-run-skip-walking over to the station when Joshua not only slowed up, but he handed me his hat and asked me to put it in my purse.

He spent the rest of the Day Out with Thomas feeling a little out of place and notably sad that Thomas isn't what he use to be. Noah was happy- but Noah loves this stuff. It could have been a Hello Kitty conference and the kid would have been ecstatic.

Joshua pulled his hat on for a quick picture with Thomas and his brother- and as a mom I'm grateful. But how very sad that my little man boy has officially entered the big boy world where Thomas the Train is a has-been.

It stinks that they grow up.

-Sheryl

P.S. Jill isn't dead by the way. She finally emailed with some weird claim about technology failure after some bad storms.

Too Far Away

2010-07-17T16:22:00.000-07:00

I wondered if Jill was dead because there had been zero communication via facebook, email, phone or blog for WEEKS. Ok not weeks. But maybe a span of days which is kind of unusual. However I wasn't dead and I also had gone electronically silent so I figured I should give her a call.

I called her when I was running a little bit early to a meeting that required a 20 minute walk (I had given myself 35 minutes on the assumption/guarantee that I would get turned around and lost). I was worried though and the time zone thing hoses up most chances of catching Jill in the evening. But I got her voicemail.

As much as I struggle to find my way around work... and I've been there three years... Jill... oh my. OH MY. The woman has lived in Oakland County her entire life but please don't let her leave home without her GPS.

You may be wondering if I'm lost at work, then how can I even make a peep about Jill. My direction skills stink- I'm the first to admit it. However, I also work in the largest building in the world. I'm not kidding. Look it up.

But residents of Michigan come with the pre-made hand map. Residents of most suburban Detroit locations come with the benefit of mile roads (8 Mile really is a road, not just a movie...). If you hit 11 Mile and you meant to get off at 10, you know you need to turn around. And most neighborhoods are even lined up in neat little rows- no crazy meandering dead end cul de sacs.

Jill and Sheryl combined trying to find anything is hopeless. We somehow feed each others directional impairment.

To this day Jill's mother will never forget overhearing Jill tell me on the phone that she will meet me at the corner of Pearson and Leroy. These were streets in the neighborhood we'd grown up in. Parallel streets.

It's a good thing Jill's mother wasn't privvy to our email-followed-by-frantic-phone-call episode a few weeks ago. I'm coming to Michigan this summer and Jill and I have been talking about this trip for MONTHS. Apparently Jill has also been planning to go on vacation for MONTHS. The same week. As we swapped a few emails and finally realized the conflict- me banging my head on my desk and Jill on her child, dog, or whatever comfort from home was nearby, I finally thought to ASK her where she was going on vacation.

Holland. Holland, Michigan. HOLLAND, MICHIGAN. Which is directly enroute to one of my six stops in 9 days during my Michigan vacation which I must have told Jill about at least 17 times in the 6 months I'd been planning this mess. I'm also pretty sure Jill was under the impression Holland was somewhere near the U.P. or Kansas or whatever. But it's on the way. I get to see Jill. And her giant, perpetually growing children. If I had to find the corner of parallel streets or make a detour to China to see her, I would.

I miss that it used to be as easy as looking out my bedroom window and seeing if Jill's mother's car was in their driveway to know if Jill could come out and play. Even the span of two connected back yards was once painfully too far away. Can you imagine what 2300 miles feels like?

-Sheryl

Independence Day

2010-07-03T06:45:00.000-07:00

At first glance this picture looks like a toddler toddling. But it's Noah, taking his first successive steps as a walker- on a ferry boat in Seattle where we were visiting for my job interview before finally moving here. It was June 8th 2007 and Noah was 16 months old. 16 months. I was starting to wonder if his inability to walk was due to me wanting to carry him everywhere because he was tiny and cute and tiny. But he walked. And now at 4, he just runs. Runs, runs, runs.

The 4th was always one of those holidays that showed up in the summer and I definitely wasn't connecting any dots to the intent or meaning. As a child, it was a neighborhood bonanza of marginally intoxicated family, friends and neighbors shooting off pyrotechnics and everybody loving them as if it was a Disney level fanfare. We got to run around in the dark and hold sticks of flames in our hands and attempt to not burn up a sibling. Who wouldn't love that?

Wait. Jill's mother didn't. We had to do most of the fireworks at her house in DAYLIGHT because that was the smart thing to do. And the woman had good reason because- geez we lived around some looneys.

But there was that time where Jill's dad brought over a whole box of fireworks to participate in my dad's neighborhood display. He was lighting some off while my dad and other neighbors were shooting some off and suddenly... everyone's attention was drawn to Jill's dad who had somehow caught the entire box on fire. MAN that was a good set of fireworks to watch! 20-some exploding pieces of fireworks going every which way!

The next year I'm pretty sure we returned to the fireworks in the daylight thing with Jill's family.

But anyhow, we landed in Seattle as a family on the 4th of July in 2007. We were spent to the nth degree after 4 days shuffling driving duties between my in-laws and Alan (most days nobody let me drive- no offense taken because paying attention while driving up and down mountains isn't my strong suit). We had everything we owned jammed into a yellow Penske truck. Plus Joshua was 4, and a newly toddling Noah and my giant, loveable golden retriever Max were all in tow. And when we got here... oh my. That was some independence. That was some true "we did what we wanted and we made it happen" level of independence. We moved away from everything we'd ever known. We were doing jobs we wanted. We were living where we wanted. We were in SEATTLE.

At 3 years later, I definitely miss the family that makes up the family part of BBQ's. I even miss the sticky-ness of 4th of July in Michigan, a hallmark that summer is here (it's raining in Seattle this morning but it's suppose to break 80 soon. Sometime next week. Really.). And I'm truly independent in way too many ways on this 4th of July... but... just as all that time ago Noah's independence sucked as he toddled away from me, it's what I wanted for him. It's what needed to happen. Independence is just one of those things that we need and want, but it can just be so, so hard getting to that moment where everything feels... right.

-Sheryl

Not Dying Yet

2010-06-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

I was at the doctor for an annual check-up and because I am quite positive that I'm dying. Every other minute of the day. I've become quite the hypocondriact. Every ache is a cancer cluster, every headache and aneurysm. It's really very annoying. And I'm pretty sure the doctor thought I was nuts. But she declared me well....pending the results from the speculum violation I received. So barbaric. Clearly a man invented that atrocity.

I love my doctor so much. It's possible that I'm a teensy bit IN love with her. I was telling a friend last night about how I had to wait for over an hour to see her yesterday, all while chasing a manic baby all over the place. She suggested I find a new doctor. But that will not be happening. I would walk over hot coals to see my doctor. I have to drive by her office every time I take one of the kids to the pediatrician and I actually feel this weird vibey pull towards her building. It sounds crazy, I know. But if you met this woman and she delivered your babies you would understand. When I was in labor with Grace I didn't want anyone but her. Not even Matt. Nothing was OK until she arrived at the hospital. She is like some kind of calming angel. She helped bring my three most important people into the world and nothing will ever be the same when she finally retires.

The same cannot be said for the some of the nurses at our local hospital. My sweet baby nugget got quite a bad chest cold last week and I had to take her there twice. Once by myself at 5am because Matt was already at work and I knew it wasn't a matter of life or death, so I didn't even bother calling him. The second time we went together in the evening. She was raspy, wheezy and kept choking on gunk coming up. The 5am visit went well and I had Alex along to help me. The nurses doted on Gracie and the doctor was super dreamy. The evening visit did not go as well. We were there forever, Gracie was having meltdowns left and right and the nurses seemed annoyed by this. We were clearly interrupting their hen fest. And the tech that took x-rays of her chest was equally as cranky. "Gosh she's really a stubborn one isn't she?" Um, hello bitch.....she's a baby that doesn't feel good and the bar you are making her lean against is banging her in the head. Not a fan of her!

Everything is back to normal now, thank goodness. Gracie is all better and I am not dying. Yet.

~Jill

Phenomenal Timing

2010-06-28T21:59:00.000-07:00

I called Jill and got no answer this morning. I was having a big what the HECK moment because Joshua decided he doesn't want to go back to his private school in the fall he wants to go to public school. It was 7 in the morning so my midwest eastern standard time zone friends are priceless during these 'moments'.

Except no answer from Jill.

Until 8:54. I had a meeting at 9 but I was sure I could spew out the whole thing and get her opinion in 6 minutes.

I thought she was calling me back. But she wasn't. She didn't even know I'd call because she had been at the doctor all morning.

I LOVE these moments of kindred insanity where things happen and bring us together.

I was 8 minutes late for my meeting because now I needed to know why Jill was at the doctor all morning.
-Sheryl