It's A Small World After All

Reading List 2012

2013-03-13T14:02:00.001-04:00

A sad little list, one I am very belated about resigning to the last year. I'm sure I have forgotten some in the process of neglecting the blog.
Starting up the list for this year in my sidebar. Good stuff, and again, I'm not sure I've gotten them all. I'm back to ordering them to be picked up at the library. Wish I could get better at reading on my multiple e-reading devices, but for some reason I read so much more slowly. Too many distractions, maybe?
For 2013, I'm also going to start including the chapter books I read aloud to the kids. They count too, right? Besides, I want a record somewhere of what we share together.

Dinner A Love Story by Jenny Rosenstrach

Murder Plays House by Ayelet Waldman

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

Cradle Robbers by Ayelet Waldman

The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker

Make the Bread, Buy the Butter by Jennifer Reese

11.22.63 by Stephen King

Falling Together by Marisa de los Santos

Murder Plays House by Ayelet Waldman

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Stories I Only Tell My Friends by Rob Lowe

In Zanesville by Jo Ann Beard

The Magician King by Lev Grossmann

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me and Other Concerns by Mindy Kaling

Miss Pegerine's Home for Peculiar Children

And Then Came You by Jennifer Weiner

Thankful Tuesday

2013-02-19T22:02:00.002-05:00

It's been a long slog of a winter so far, with lots of overnight travel for J. There are always too many tasks uncrossed off the to-do list, far too many days that I don't find time for a shower, and many moments I wish I had more attention to spare for one of my children. I don't eat well, don't find time to exercise, and sleep poorly. There is no one thing to point to as a reason for despair or discouragement. I'm just getting tired of survival being the status quo, rather than a sometimes mode I have to slip into.
However, the more I feel this nagging sense of unaccomplishment, this feeling of falling behind, (Who, I'm not sure. But I always seem to be bringing up the rear in some way, even if it's just getting everyone buckled into the car five minutes after I mean to. Three or four times a day.) the more I keep seeing examples of others who are struggling with far more, and doing it with quite a bit more grace than I seem to able to be able to muster. There's sickness, and financial hardship, and so so much loss.
I am glad for these reminders that my life is infinitely blessed. I'm glad that most days, the smell of the tops of my children's heads, and a text from a friend or my husband or a call from my parents can keep me up out of the depths, ready to do it all again the next day. I'm usually even able to find the ways to count those blessings, single out the joys and the gifts. Here's to remembering to not just note them mentally, but to catalog them in writing them as well.

L., cheering "Home!" in his sweet voice every time we turn into our neighborhood.
O.'s bedtime questions: "Do you think it's really possible for humans to teleport? Because my bus parks the farthest away from my hallway's door. I have to walk the whole sidewalk every morning." "How long do you think it takes to feed an elephant?" "Do you think you can play that game telephone on a real telephone"
N., offering to help me fold laundry so I'll have time for us to paint our nails.
N. and Hazel, spooning in my bed on top of my pillows.
Making myself get out of bed at 6:35 to shower before any kids are awake.
All my kids big enough to sit by themselves in a booth at a restaurant.
Toys in the waiting area of the car dealership that actually occupy the kids while we wait for the car's oil to be changed.
Dear, good friends who are willing to help me patch together systems to watch each others' children so that we can have some semblance of sanity and be four places at once.
Dear, good friends who commit and follow through with making sure to check in, daily.
Finding out you are marginally more organized than you appear to be. Sometimes even finding things in the place they are supposed to be.
Eating a salad. Healthy enough.
Hazel did not destroy the house when I gave up chasing her to put her in her cage, and left her free to roam while picking up O. at Cub Scouts.
Actually finishing a blog post. Before 11PM.
Still time to fall asleep during an episode of Downton Abbey. Again!

Quentin Blair Shaffer: May he truly Rest in Peace

2013-01-16T22:40:00.003-05:00

And again there is a post of sadness. A week ago Monday, my grandfather, my dad's dad, died after a brief and quickly escalating illness. It was stunning to face this loss so quick on the heels of losing my other remaining grandparent. It is a season of loss, that is for sure. One I hope has reached its end.

Through it all, though, it's been reassuring to be able see the blessings that life has brought to me. To be entering my fortieth year and still have grandparents I have welcomed into my home, shared my children with, that is amazing good fortune. To have had their passings be relatively easy and peaceful, and largely without regret? I am so grateful. But our family continues to be sad, and we are tired of sadness. I was not nearly as close to this grandfather as I was to my grandparents on my mother's side, a factor that added its own weight of emotion to his passing.

My Grandpa Shaffer was a kind man, one who raised an amazingly wonderful man, whom I am so so proud to call my dad. Whenever I would see Grandpa, he always held on to my hand, pressed two palms on either side of my face, and gave me an amazing smile. I have fond memories of exploring my grandparents' house so full of interesting knick knacks and decorations, pretending to sing and play their player piano, and searching out all the hidden ceramic animals in his perfectly groomed backyard. I have no doubt he had great love for me, and was exceedingly proud of my dad and his family.

I want to share the words my dad shared at his memorial service. They give a good portrait of the hard working strong man that he was, one with an inimitable sense of style, who was able to overcome more than his share of difficult times.

Who was Quentin Blair Shaffer?

by Gary M. Shaffer

To the Shaffer side of the family he was always Quent. To my Mother and her side of the family he was Blair. His friends and those he worked with usually called him Blair or sometimes I would hear him referred to as Shaff. It was a little confusing at times. He preferred Blair. In the last year or so when he was dealing with medical issues Doctors and nurses would call him Quentin. I would ask him “why don’t you tell them to call you Blair?” He would say it was just too difficult to correct everyone when all the paper work says Quentin anyway. He was always one to go with the flow and not try and make any waves.

My sister Cathy and I always called him Dad; except for one time when I was about 8 or 9 years old I called him “Fath” which a friend of mine used when referring to his Dad. I was quickly told that he was Dad and would always be Dad. I didn’t make that mistake again.

My Dad grew up during the depression and as with many of his generation things weren’t always easy. To make matters worse his Mother died when he was 3 years old. Even though my Grandfather remarried, my Dad always said his sister Genny raised him. She was only 3 years older than he. His Dad had a small farm and operated a coalmine and to help keep things going my Dad quit school in the 9^th grade. I believe his early years made him a very resilient person that carried him through many obstacles during his long life.

During my Dad’s late teens and early 20’s he worked in the Steel Mills of Johnstown, PA. He started as a laborer and worked his way into doing maintenance on machines. When WWII came along, young men were joining the military. My Dad was told he had a perforated eardrum and couldn’t serve. I think he always felt bad that he couldn’t serve his country. He supported the war effort by working in the steel mills. He always told me he was proud of me for serving in the Air Force during the Vietnam era and I treasure the way he made me feel.

To get out of the mills he learned to be a welder, most of which was self taught. He did have the help of his brother Gale who was also a welder. They both worked for Thiele Body Company. He built all types of truck bodies from dump trucks to soft drink delivery trucks.

Even though Dad worked hard all day at Thiele’s he strived to make things better for his family and would work every other week in the evening from 6-11 at my Uncle’s service station. Some of my best times with my Dad were when I was in high school and I would work alongside him at my uncle’s service station. Dad always loved cars and he passed that passion on to me during the time we worked together. This service station experience also had an impact on me. My first real job out of college was with Texaco Inc. selling petroleum products to service station retailers and distributors.

Dad had his way of teaching you things and it wasn’t always hands on. Shortly after I got my drivers license I was continually bugging him about getting my own car. He would tell me that I needed to pay for my own car, and more importantly that I needed to learn how to take care of a car. The next thing I know I have 2 cars, both 1953 Chevrolets. One is wrecked in the front end and the other is wrecked in the rear end. He said, “If you can figure out how use the parts from each car to make one car, you will have a car.” That was quite an experience and a valuable learning experience. I managed to put together a drivable car.

Dad loved classic and antique cars. We often would go to car shows together. He would stop and spend time talking to many of the owners. My son Adam would sometimes go along when he was younger, but he at times would grow weary with all of Dad’s conversation. One time Adam just went to the car and took a nap until his Grandfather finished talking to an owner of an old Plymouth.

No one ever had anything over on Dad in terms of being a dapper dresser. He always looked sharp with pressed shirts and pants along with polished shoes. My brother-in-law Steve once said he was the sharpest looking truck driver he had ever seen, even while out on the road.

Dad was always trying to figure a way to improve his work environment. He figured a way while working at Thiel’s building truck bodies to become part of a travel crew that would transport truck bodies to truck manufactures and install the bodies. He learned to drive the tractor-trailers to the sites to install the bodies and return. After a few trips he was hooked on the truck driving. Through a friend he landed a job with Swank Refractory transporting circular brick used in the steel mills. He had reached another milestone in his life and became a full time truck driver. I would sometimes accompany him on his trips while in Jr. and Sr. High. I truly enjoyed those trips with Dad.

While I was a senior in high school, Swank Refractory sold all of their trucks and my Dad lost his job. Even though he was discouraged, his tenacious spirit prevailed. He found a lower paying job delivering oxygen and acetylene tanks for a welding supplier. While making deliveries in Bedford PA he would stop at the Eastern Express terminal and ask if they had any truck driving jobs. Finally he was told he could have a job in Columbus, Ohio if he was interested. Dad took the job.

Dad had the courage to pick up his family and move 300 miles away from a place he had spent his whole life. I remembered that courage when my wife Sally and I were faced with a move during my first months with Texaco to Ironton, Ohio. Our daughter Erin was born in Ironton, Ohio. Poor thing, for the rest of her life she has had to state that she was born in Ironton, Ohio. We ended up living in Proctorville, Ohio and really liked it. Dad, thank you for showing me the courage.

Dad spent the next 23 years of his life working for Eastern Express and Roadway Express. He loved driving the highways and byways even though his schedule was very unpredictable. He often said he felt bad because he wasn’t home more and was on the road.

After Dad retired he spent a lot of time working in his yard and flower gardens. He and my Mother had some beautiful flowers.

Dad had some health issues over time. When he was 60 he had a quadruple heart bypass. When he was 75 he had a triple heart bypass. When he was 88 he had a complete knee replacement. He always had the will and fight to come back. He instilled that fight in me when I fought back from cancer. During the last few years Dad was dealt the blow of some pretty significant hearing loss. He would often deal with it by just shaking his head or grinning in hopes that you would acknowledge that he heard everything you said. In fact he would get a little angry if you laughed a little knowing that he didn’t hear you. My wife Sally, daughter Erin and son Adam now call me Blair when they know I didn’t hear something. Once again my Dad has taught me an important lesson, don’t laugh at someone who is hard of hearing and figure out a way to correct your hearing when the time comes. That time is near.

Dad was never a hovering parent. His way of parenting was to set an example by the way he lived his life. He was committed to his work to support his family no matter how difficult it may be. He was loyal to his employer and everyday that employer got more than an honest days work. The example he set I believe was engrained in my sister Cathy and I. Our careers spanned several decades with commitment and loyalty to only a couple companies each.

Dad was the hardest working person that I have ever known. His work ethic was unparalleled. I like to think that he passed that work ethic on to me.

This last month has been difficult for Dad. He had multiple health issues and a lung problem being the must severe. He finally reached a point where he wasn’t able to absorb oxygen into his lungs. I was with Dad last Sunday and explained to him what his doctor’s appraisal was of his condition. Dad understood that he wasn’t going to get better and he said he was ready to go. I am sad that he is gone, but happy I was able to spend time with him toward the end of his life and that he died peacefully in his sleep.

L-Speak

2013-01-10T22:35:00.002-05:00

Every day, at one point or another, I get a little pang of panic that I'm letting days and weeks and months go by without documenting the moments. And then the laundry or the wrestling on the floor with couch pillows or the toast burning or the diaper stinking distracts me. And then it is again 10:30 at night and I can't stand the thought of sitting down at the computer to try to sort out a coherent thought.

Perhaps it's why I keep waking up at 2AM with sleep the furthest thing away from my mind's agenda. One of these nights I'll sort through the anxiety and make myself sit down to write, so there's some useful thing to come from those hours...

In the meantime, here are some of the thoughts that keep coming to me again and again when I miss writing on this blog.

We went to Disney World a month or so ago, the place where everyone's a child again. Instead, my children all grew up before my eyes. L. started talking in sentences. N. handled herself like a big school aged kid, capable of new things and ready to ride all the thrill seeker rides. O., who was sick for a portion of the trip, for the most part sucked it up and carried on.

So, before he's suddenly a teenager and I've missed ALL the cute stuff, a sampling of L-speak. Some of this has been replaced even since I wrote it down a couple of weeks ago, replaced by this constant running commentary. Like having my own little two year old play by play guy, narrating the action, and yes, constantly pointing out the questionable calls.

L.'s favorite things:

Tandy: as in Pez, chocolate, and most especially "sutters", Dum-Dum's preferred.

'Top!: as in, no more kissing me, no more hugging me, and most especially, no more singing any sort of song to me.

Mitty Mouse, Tidder, Winnie Pooh, Pih-it -- all who need many hugs.

Backhoes: Every morning in the construction-heavy parking lot of N.'s preschool: "Man ride it?" "Digging." "Youd." (Loud)

Teriel: At least two bowls full each morning. With milk. Best if marshmallow type.

Dooce: (Could be any of the following: Juice, Shoes, or Downstairs.)

'Rain: Doesn't need to be Thomas. But does need to be loud and fast.

Cheese: Preferably orange and square. Only partially unwrapped so he can do the rest himself.

Yo-urt: Any old kind is fine.

Roni: (Matti-roni if he's excited.) Blue box is good, but bunny kind is better.

Ice Neem. In a cone with yinkles.

"Do Puzzle? Mitty Mouse One? Very Fun!" As the last piece is placed: "You did it!!"

Air-pains. Riding in them is also "Vewy fun."

First Sentence: "Get out here pease, Hay-el", to the dog, whom he did not want under his crib any longer.

Favorite answers to questions:
"Yep."
"Eye Uh Oh" (murmured to sound exactly like "I dunno" with no enunciation.)

"Idea." (ie: I have no idea. As in: Where I put that thing that doesn't belong to me. Who made that mess. Why I didn't tell you I had to pee.)

Bedtime routine, as verbally dictated step by step:
Book.
'Nother Book.
Light, off.
Door, close.
Stars, blue. (on turtle night light)
Rock.
Hug.
Kiss.
Bed.
Noopy! (ie: get my stuffed Snoopy right here under my arm, now!)
Added since Christmas: Doddie Yankew (cover me in that comfy dog blanket Aunt Beth gave me for Christmas!)

Least favorite things:

Anything "Tawy" (Scary), like for example Durdles. (turtles)

Standing up to pee in the potty.

Walking on his own in any public place. Stops on a dime, throws arms up in air, runs in place, screaming all the while: "Upppeee. Uuupppeeee!" Every nice lady in the vicinity looks meanly at me and says "oh, is he okay?" Yes, he's okay. He's nearly two and a half, and has clear use of his legs, and if I don't stop carrying him everywhere, I will soon have a permanently deformed hip.

Any sort of food that is not "teriel" "cheese" or "tandy" Think he thrives on sugar dust.

Favorite bad words:
"No way!"
"What da heck!"
"Butt Cheeks."

*Yes, someday I'll write a post with details and pictures...

In Memoriam. Grandma 1923-2012

2012-12-21T10:37:00.002-05:00

Nearly a week ago, my grandmother died relatively unexpectedly at the age of 89. She had been battling health concerns for quite some time, though right after Thanksgiving she was doing well enough to move into an assisted living room, up from a nursing care one. It has been an emotionally exhausting week. We buried her the same day many of the funerals were occurring in another part of the country for the victims of Sandy Hook. Our family is heartbroken to have lost our matriarch, but we were so glad to have had the chance to have her as the center of everything for so very long. We all took moments to be grateful for a life so well lived that touched so many with such love.

What follows is the text of a piece I wrote to share at her funeral service. It is long, so I cut out a few sections when I spoke, but I include all of it here for those that would like to hear some of the ways she shaped me into the person I am today.

When I was three years old and my brother was being born, my grandma came to help take care of me. She had never been to McDonald’s on her own before, had no idea even how to order, and could not believe I wanted to have a Filet O’fish. But that day, I had my Filet O’Fish. It was small acts of heroism and devotion like this that marked my entire life as my grandmother’s granddaughter.

On Saturday, when I knew that she was gravely ill, I went through the drive thru and ordered and ate a filet o’fish in her honor.

Nearly everyone that met Grandma remembered her vividly and fondly. Even friends of mine who have only met her once or twice, briefly, ask about her with true interest to this day. She was kind, sparkling, loyal, gentle, a force. She was an excellent listener and speaker, and one of the strongest people I know.

She persevered, though not quietly, through many moments of true hardship throughout her life. A child of the Great Depression, she later became a young war bride raising her first child in the absence of her dear and beloved husband. She lost siblings and parents. Later in life, when she became a widow and was forced into a life on her own, she did not do it without complaining, but neither did she shrink away from it, With the encouragement and support of her family, she made good friends and built happy memories in several homes after she left the one on Bedford Street where she built a life and family. Even after the fire at Laurel View destroyed her home and possessions, which surely could have easily defeated many of her age, she continued on undaunted, tackling multiple heart attacks and other health concerns. The women in my Monday night Bible Study have been praying for Grandma off and on for nearly ten years now, and we are always amazed at the way she has fought back again and again, never losing her strong spirit and personality.

Speaking without a filter was not something that set only late in life for her. She was always quick to tell you exactly what she thought. I can still recall the time she said to me “You’re getting a nice little butt on you there. I was always wanted one of those. My sisters had them, but I always just had a chest.”

Yes, you always knew exactly what was on Grandma’s mind. Start a conversation with her one day and get interrupted, a week later she would pick right back up where she left off. I used to tell Mom that she had an internal pause button. She made sure everyone heard the same version of the story, too, nearly verbatim. I believe she truly just wanted to be sure each and every one of her people was included in the conversation.

The lesson I take from my grandmother’s approach from life is that it doesn’t do to swallow down the worst that it throws at you silently. I remember walking along with Grandma one time when bug landed directly on her chest. “Ack!” she exclaimed. “That bug just shit all over me!” Then she brushed it off and kept walking. No, sometimes you’ve got to yell about it a little, maybe have a cry to acknowledge that what you’re going through downright stinks. Then you’ve got to grab tight to those closest to you and figure out how to move on to the next day. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll discover you’re a little stronger and a little more able to handle whatever is to come.

Her devotion to each and every member of her family was unparalleled. It was downright embarrassing sometimes the way she bragged about “her gang.” At family reunions, she’d always be counting up how many she had from her brood to represent. At other gatherings, she’d list off all who were able to make it, and those who weren’t. How blessed we were to be in the strong beam of that fierce fierce love and pride.

It will surprise few to know that many of my memories of Grandma revolve around food: always food. My brother and I still talk about one cold summer evening at the cottage where the beef stew and homemade bread have never had their equal in terms of comfort food memory. From the homemade noodles she and Pap rolled out on their kitchen counter and dried on the backs of the wooden chairs around their kitchen table on Bedford Street to the gobs she was famous for making and offering with love, there was always something good made with love. At the cottage, we fried doughnuts and French fries, and she always made a big pot of oatmeal to share. She made peanut clusters and raisin clusters and chocolate covered pretzels and carefully packaged them into white gift boxes every Christmas including last year. * At Christmas, there were butterscotch cookies with red and green icing: I can still remember my cousins Jordan and Josh stacking them up from wrist to elbow for a snack in her apartment on Metzler Street. Every time I came to visit, there was a pan of Tom Thumb bars, my favorite. You could always count on Texas Sheet cake, ham and baked potatoes, bowls of popcorn, stashes of special potato chips and Cheezits, candy in every covered dish throughout her home, Klondikes in the freezer and Dutch Maid bread with butter on the table. There were special tupperwares for onion, chipped ham, and swiss cheese, and she put them all out on the table along with a sliced tomato for sandwiches at lunch. When I got married, and all the cousins were on the dance floor, drinks in hand, we tried to get her to join us. She waved her cake plate at us, saying, “You drink your drinks. I’ll just sit here and finish my cake and watch.”

(* I'm told I forgot to mention the strawberry jelly she made for everyone she knew loved it. I hear it was delicious. She knew I don't like cooked fruit, so I never got any. :))

Many of my best childhood memories took place with my grandparents firmly in the scene. Floating down the crick in inner tubes, riding bikes to Judy’s market for a snack, collecting seashells early in the morning on a beach in South Carolina, dying Easter eggs at their kitchen table, watching television in the summer time furniture arrangement of their living room. In my memory, Barney Miller or Hogan’s Heroes are always on. The cousins always woke my grandparents by jumping in their bed far earlier than she would have gotten up on her own.

Playing Fox in the Morning in their driveway. Drinking orange and lemon or grape and lemon by the glassful. Christmases piled high with gifts, the largest pile usually square in front of Grandma. Playing game after game of UNO, 500 Rummy and dominoes on long winter evenings. Collecting pinecones in cemeteries, or playing among the gravestones as Grandma and Pap took care of flowers for ancestors. Spending time on Aunt Jo-Ann’s porch with kittens.

When I first used Dreft detergent to wash clothes for my babies, I was transported immediately to the warmth of a big claw footed tub, where Grandma used to sprinkle soap flakes when we took baths.

My grandparents, along with my parents, were my first models of what a good marriage can and should be. Did they bicker? Yes. But they were both verbally and physically affectionate with one another. I can still remember her giggling and telling him that his whiskers were too scratchy to be kissing her, though not too convincingly. It was always clear they not only loved each other, but also truly liked one another, as well as understood each other. What a strong testament to the family they built together that their children and their children’s children still make a point to get together for a week’s vacation together each year. There are so few extended families that know each other the way we do in today’s fractured and geographically separated culture.

I’ll never forget talking about studying the Bible with her, listening to her praise my children, and just sitting beside her as she listened intently to whatever I was telling her. I’m so glad that my children got to know her through experience, not just stories and memories. My daughter Nora, who shares her middle name, was especially close to her, always sitting next to her to color or chat. When she heard she was ill this weekend, she said “Great Grandma is really my buddy. I’m going to draw her a card. Now what are her favorite things again?”

Though Grandma’s failing eyesight has kept her from being able to send cards for a while now, it seems impossible that I will no longer be attempting to decipher a long newsy note from her written on the inside of a greeting card. I’ve been reading her writing for as long as I can remember, on cards and in postcards, or reporting the day’s events and weather on the calendar hanging across from the toilet at the cottage. She truly was my first and most influential model of one who writes. She used to tell me that in school, her favorite thing was to write “themes.” Of the possessions she lost in the fire, the ones I mourned most were the journals she kept of her trips to Florida and other travels.

As a wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and friend, Grandma made all of the people in her life feel particularly valued. I once bought a framed print for her that said, “If you love me and spoil me, you must be my grandma.” That clearly summed up all the ways she went out of her way to make me feel treasured and special. It is difficult to convey how wonderful it was to be the object of such sincere and devoted love, to have someone in your life be such a firm and clear member of your own personal fan club.

At the cottage, she always got the top bunk above her and Pap’s bed ready for me with the reading light plugged in so I could stay up late to read and read. She knew, more than anyone except my mom, all of my allergies and food sensitivities. There was always a tin of banberry tarts without nuts just for me, or a bowl of five-cup salad without the pineapple. She was absolutely the only person on earth who peeled the skin off of every piece of sliced apple for me, and cut and peeled each section of orange so that there was not one speck of white pith to make me cough as I ate it.

In this room, especially, I do not think I am alone in the feeling of being the one most special to my grandmother. She had the ability to turn her sparkling, twinkly eyes on each person she met and make them feel just as special. I think the way my grandmother brought beauty and love to so many lives is a rare gift we are all so blessed to have received. That’s why I know that the next time you play a game of cards or dominoes, eat a particularly good piece of cake, drink a good glass of orange juice over ice, find a hankie in your pocket, or wear something in that lovely shade of red she preferred, she will be with you, her distinctive voice in your ear, and her soft hand on your arm.

Hazel

2012-12-13T20:50:00.002-05:00

More photos.

New dog.

We love her.

She is energy defined, but also knows how to take some amazing naps.

Finally housebroken.now she needs a little obedience.

Say, to come when called, and stay within the invisible fence ALL the time, not run off the retaining wall after squirrels, or dart off into other people's porches and garages. Say, to leave diapers in the trash can, underwear in the laundry basket, and wooden puzzle pieces in the puzzles. Say, not to jump up on every new person in the house. Say, to not make me look like an idiot by racing in laps around the house just out of reach every time I need to put her in her crate.

She has found her favorite spots on every couch, chair and bed, proving we are indeed "dog on the furniture people."

She fetches toys, something that makes J. happy.

She snuggles on laps, something that makes my children happy.

She is sweet, sweet, sweet, something that makes me happy.

We're so glad we welcomed her into our life.

Sweet Hazel.

September Kids

2012-12-12T15:15:00.001-05:00

A little photo essay I never captioned/posted back when we were deep in celebration of all of September's glories. I'll let them speak for themselves, as I obviously am short on words of my own these days.

Oh, sweet Scouters, my little Miss Moo. This is the one where I get mushy about my dog, whom I miss.

2012-08-09T23:09:00.003-04:00

I don't know if all writers are like this, but it often takes me quite a bit of time and distance to process important events and issues through writing. Fine when you're a poet, and you take the time to shape and craft the exact words and lines that will express emotion and experience.

In the land of blog, the days come and go so quickly when you don't post. You feel like you have something to say, but not time or attention to give to a moment in your life you'd like to pause and reflect upon, you can get to a paralyzing place and a big long gap in your posting history.

Such is the case with myself, ever since we had to put our sweet dog Scout to sleep three months ago. I am really not sure how others manage to get through the difficult moments in their lives and post so eloquently about them. I seem frozen, paralyzed by not being able to choose the right words, pay enough homage to the moments of my life. Before I know it, they are gone, and not even mentioned in a superficial or sloppy way.

I'm not going to say it's the only reason I haven't posted. There have been other issues that I've been working through behind the scenes. Add to that, all three children home and mostly awake all day, up until late at night, and simply, there is not enough time in the day.

However, there was a sense that I needed to pay tribute to the loss of a member of our family, even if it was of the canine persuasion, before moving too blithely on with the day to day craziness around here.

It's been three months, and still. I miss her, every day. I miss there being a dog in our house, and I miss her particular spirit.

My necklace jangles at my neck and I swiftly turn, thinking for a moment I'm hearing her collar announce her arrival in the next room.

I come in the house through the garage and am reminded again that I don't need to go find her, make sure she's still breathing, doesn't need help up and outside.

Happy to deal with the mess of the Small World.

I look around when I'm outside with the kids, sure I'll see her sunning herself out on the grass by the wall.

I went for a walk by myself one evening. Though she hadn't been able to come with me on the leash for months, it still felt strange not having something to do with my arms as I strolled.

There are crumbs. A staggering number of crumbs. Shredded cheese, hardened cereal. Banana sludge. Goldfish bits. Toast, muffin, waffle and bagel bits. Every single one that I have to sweep up into the dustpan seems an affront, a reminder of the ways I took my dear dog for granted while she was here. Climbing under the high chair even when her back legs were too unsteady to keep her vertical on the slippery hardwood for the best morsels of baby leftovers. Hoovering up the remains of lunch even when I thought she couldn't see or hear enough to know that we were done eating.

I'll admit, I don't miss cleaning up pee spots, or dealing with the loss of bowel functions. I am glad I don't have to feel sad for her arthritic joints and her mournful eyes. Old age is not for the faint of heart, for sure.

For fifteen years, nearly all of my adult life, I cared for her. For fifteen years, she was my true friend, who moved with me and lived with me and companioned me in six different homes. She amiably accepted husbands separate but definitely not equal, then three children, lived off and on with three other dogs. Not long before Scout passed away, when things were getting bad for her and I was struggling to know what was the right thing to do, a friend who's known both dog and me for a long time said, with tears in her eyes: "She saved your life. She was your best friend all that time, through your worst stuff." And that is truer than true.

My best girls.

She never walked well on a leash, never stuck around home when she was supposed to. In fact, was a Houdini at heart. The apartment I shared with my brother had a ramshackle pieced together fence made of loose boards and bits. Scout used to use her paw to push one aside, slide through, and be gone halfway down the street before I knew it.

Sometimes more cat than dog, she spent good stretches of the day by herself, sprawled belly up in the grass or upstairs on her pillow. But she knew when her company was needed, sidling up alongside me to nose elbow up so I could give her butt a scratch, then she'd lie right down next to the couch where you sat, to stay for as long as I needed.

Even as a puppy, she did mostly what she pleased. In obedience class, she did fine with sit, and stay, and lie down, but steadfastly refused to come. The instructor told me this would not be a dog we'd easily bribe with a treat. And it was true, for a dog, she was not so much eager to do what we pleased as she was willing to do what she thought might please us. Her only tricks involved "telling stories" in to form of repeated growly yowling noises in the back of her throat, and sneezing on demand. Her favored greeting was a growl of excitement while stretching luxuriantly.

O.'s first buddy, staunchest watchdog.

She was the kind of dog you could almost forget at times, until she barked loudly to announce the UPS man's arrival, or scratched insistently at the back door to be let outside. Our kids, who mostly knew her as an old dog, love to hear the stories about her as a younger dog. About how she was born in a barn with sheep, and that the day I went to go meet her, she peeked her head out the barn door and came trotting over just to me, as if to say: "Oh hello. There you are. I've been waiting for you to arrive." Or how she and O. would wrestle when he was a toddler, her mouth open in joy and mock viciousness. O. used to pat her a little too roughly, so that one of his first two syllable words was "gentle." Only he thought that word's definition was "hit the dog."

Because our house feels so much less like a home without a dog, we have cautiously decided we are going to open our family to another dog this weekend. Maybe it's too soon. We're not sure. However, we do think our kids should have a dog around. We have kind of been enjoying not having to let a dog out last thing at night when you just want to fall into bed, not stand around encouraging pee in the wet grass. But, we are willing to stand around some in the cold and rain, in exchange for some warm fur to pet. And the crumbs. Seriously, the crumbs.

Scout, cutest puppy there ever was.

Also, we remember the pleasant times of having a younger, sprightlier dog. We remember Scout, who high stepped through grass like a princess, so as not to get too muddy, but never passed up a chance to rub her entire neck and chin in a pile of cat poop or something dead. Who, with her little bobbed stump of tail, wagged her entire hind end with joy, joy, joy anytime you came home, or talked to her in happy tones. Who chased squirrels the entire lengths of every yard we ever lived in, throwing her back legs out to the side as brakes to avoid running into the brick walls at their borders. We remember the days when we'd call her up on our high antique bed, and she would leap through the air to turn in happy circles in the sheets. She loved popcorn, American cheese, and raisins from my father. She hated water, cats, and being rushed while eating.

Beautiful girl. Good dog.

We're hoping this sweet dog we're adopting, 9 months to a year old, will already have a few manners, because we're really not up to another newborn in this house. We'd love it if she'd actually return a ball after chasing it. So while we understand, and even hope, that this dog will be different than our last, we're still maintaining that this little one has got some mighty big pawprints to fill.

Last picture ever taken of my old gal. I think I knew it when I took it, but wasn't quite willing to admit it,
and that's why I included her in the edge of this shot of O's birthday

Hot on the Farm

2012-07-17T13:31:00.002-04:00

It's a hot one. How do I know? N. told me so.

"Mom. I am so hot I feel like I am in a stove!"

"Mom. I am as hot and hungry as a bull. I am snorting and about to run."

"Mom. I am boiling like I am in a pot!"

"Mom. I am thirsty as a flower."

Smudge on my lens, but N. was SO thrilled about the pony ride, I can't resist posting this anyway.

My favorite creatures.

Perhaps we shouldn't have chosen a day expected to hit 93 degrees to visit the farm. But, do they make days anything other than hot around here these days??

There were some pigs in one enclosure, and one of the workers told us that they put sunscreen on the pigs that morning. Two enjoyed it, the third wanted nothing to do with it. That third pig was nosing around the outside of the pen rooting around looking like it was searching for food. O's take? "I think that one is looking for food, hoping it is lunchtime. But no lunch for her. No sunscreen, no lunch. That's consequences."

Okay, so since I've broken the dry blogging spell with this winner of a post, might as well share a few other examples of O., and N. speak.

O.: "I am never getting married. I don't want some lady bossing me around."
N. "Oh yes, you will. Someday you will fall in love."

N.: "I know how to do that. Totally."

N.: "Mom! No never sit in that chair on the deck with the bird poop on it. There was a wasp building a nest in it."

O.: "N.! You are screaming like a girl!
N.: "Well. I AM a girl."

Hopefully more to come from me sooner rather than later...

P.S. I haven't been entirely silent on the blogging front. Recently, my bible study ladies and I embarked on a project of gratitude for the observable gifts of our ordinary everyday lives, inspired by our reading of the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

The resulting blog can be found at Up From the Church Basement.

Seven? Oh, all right. I guess I'll let you be seven.

2012-04-28T00:00:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Stacia was kind enough to ask me to join her poetry celebration in honor of National Poetry Month. I was so very honored.

She also said it would be okay for me to include the poem I wrote for O. here as well. Today's his birthday, so here in the Small World, it's all about him. He's turning seven, but as usual, the lucky one is me. I love you, buddy.

Haiku for Seven

--for O.

Tomorrow, seven!

A big kid,; it’s official.

How did this happen?

First boy of my heart,

whose newborn wails echo when

springtime windows open,

I miss morning nests

on the couch, reading Harry

and nursing, nursing.

I miss your backhoes,

trains, trucks, tractors, balls, and cranes.

Teach your brother soon.

Now when no kids wake

at night, it’s worry keeps me

up in the wee hours.

Thinking of you out

in the world, braving your way

on paths I won’t know.

This, the year you left

dinos for Pokemon, glad

animals still rule.

Fan of your break dance,

sibling kindness, fearless joy

on two wheels of bike.

I love your magic,

pranks and all; tae kwon do moves;

your Tiger Cub hat.

Not so your fart jokes,

back talking, button pushing,

all that growing up.

Nighttime snuggles still

are needed for hours, it seems.

When patience is thin.

Not room for two there,

You flop and never settle.

“One more minute please?”

“How does coffee taste?

What makes a hearing aid work?

Why is some skin brown?”

Then you ask the one

all kids find their way to, and

answer for yourself.

“L. is the baby,

and N. is your girl, but

I made you a mom.”

I Dunno...

2012-04-18T17:02:00.001-04:00

How did he get to be so cute?

I "dunno" either.

The Wearing of the Green

2012-03-20T21:24:00.001-04:00

St. Patrick's Day fell on a Saturday this year. The weather was glorious. March Madness was in full swing, with our team still in it. (Sorry, Irish fans. Really.) Ideally, that should have meant a day hanging out on the patio of a pub, drinking some Guinness or a pint of cider and listening to an Irish band. At least that's my husband's fantasy March 17th. I'll admit, it does not sound bad.

However, these days in the Small World, St. Pat's is a little less about the green beer and a little more about the wee lads and lasses that live in our house. It looks a little more like this:

Shamrock stamping done with green peppers and poster paint.

N.'s version. I think she said the pink outline was a dinosaur eating the shamrock?

Another "Irish" craft. Paper plate leprechauns!

I tried to convince the kids that leprechauns had left this breakfast for them. They weren't buying it. I KNEW not having that darn elf live with us at Christmas would come back to bite us. They did enjoy the Lucky Charms and tiny stack of pancakes, even if they knew I made it.

Lunch. Green eggs and ham. I didn't go so far as to read the book to them as we ate, but I did quote it extensively when N. refused to even touch hers. Much eye rolling in response to my "In a box! With a fox! He did like it when he tried it! He would eat it in a house! He would eat it with a mouse!"

J. gamely being enthusiastic about my green foods snack tray, and the shirt I bought him to wear for the day!

This big kid ate some pickles and cucumbers and grapes, while I tried not to get too emotional about not being along for his first haircut.

We went outside to explore the green grass and nature, and found this salamander in our yard.

See? Big kid.

Lucky, lucky me.

Old but not forgotten gratitude

2012-03-20T20:59:00.000-04:00

Completely forgot to post this as a collection of moments I was thankful for several weeks ago.

Certainly there were supposed to be words. I think the pictures speak for themselves so I'll go ahead and post this.

O & N

2012-03-08T17:19:00.002-05:00

Reported by N.'s preschool teacher:
N. wanted to make a special drawing for her little brother, who was not feeling well and was going to have to go to the doctor. N.'s teacher remarked at how kind this was, and then asked if N.'s older brother was as nice to her as she was to her little brother. N. put hand on hip and responded "Not so much."

And as evidence of this observation, the following was recently overheard in the family room.
O.: "N., your room smells like poop."
N.: "No, my room smells like roses and mermaids."

O., classifying playground politics in the same way he discusses Pokemon characters:
"There's different kinds of girls. There's the tag ones, there's the kiss ones, there's the banana peel (?!) ones, and the put you in jail ones. But S. is always the boss of the girl team, and I am sometimes the boss of the boy team. Oh, and sometimes they are hypnotize ones too, and make boys be on their team, but not me."

I have been reading Beverly Cleary's Ramona the Brave to O., and as we read, I felt struck by how accurately the writer portrays the anxiety, sense of injustice, and wonder in the life of a first grader. I wondered if O. was appreciating it too. He asked to continue reading it every night, and asked very appropriate questions as we read, so I thought he probably was. When we finished tonight, he asked if there were other Ramona books we could read. I asked why he liked Ramona.
O. "Because she eats her boogers." (For the record, she does not.)
Me: Geez, O. I was just asking a question. Can't we even have a conversation?
O. "Do you want to smell my butt?"
Me. "Seriously? This is how you talk?"
O. "What, it's manly-like!"

N., in a parking lot, hair flying everywhere: "This is WILD wind!"

N., recent nursery rhyme devotee: "From Wibbleton to Wobbleton is a long, long way!"

Caption on N.'s preschool drawing of her family: "My dad. And he is bald."

N. to me before I go to her parent-teacher conference:
"Is I'm doing great?"

N., looking in the mirror after I fix her hair:
"I like my pink tails. My hair is as gold as coins. Do you fink the leprechauns will think it is their gold?"

O. to N. as they chase each other around the house, both barking loudly:
"I'm hot and you're the dog. Hot diggity dog!"

O., upset at being "counted" (our discipline system that leads to time out after a third strike) for talking back: "Wasn't that 'one' for smart mouth yesterday??" (Why yes. Yes, it was. And today. And probably tomorrow. And probably until you're 23, unfortunately...)

Reading List 2011

2012-03-07T21:34:00.002-05:00

Starting over for 2012. I was going to say nothing stands out as outstanding in my memory of what I read last year. But then I started looking over the list, and some really fond reading memories were conjured up. Of course, it wasn't until today that I realized how patently absurd it was that I haven't published this yet, given that it is MARCH. A draft of my thoughts has been sitting here for the last month, waiting for me to come up with the time to add some meat to my reviews, but I think I'll just go ahead with this before it becomes APRIL.

A few highlights:

Finally discovering Calvin Trillin's tribute to his really amazing wife. Makes you aspire to live a life where at least someone will speak so lovingly and in awe of you and your life, as well as to make sure the people in your life make you this happy. (They do.)

Wishing I still had some high schoolers to share The Magicians by Lev Grossmann with. Sounds cheesey to call it a grown up Harry Potter, but that's the closest you can come. Grossmann does a great job of helping you really inhabit these kids' lives while you're reading. Just finished its sequel, The Magician King, and am even more impressed. This one was much darker, but absorbed me fully on a weekend trip to Las Vegas. Probably a good place to be reading about a fantasy world come to life, dark stuff and all, come to think of it.

Some really really beautiful moments of small town life in The Girls by Lori Lansens, in addition to it being a fascinating peek into what life might be like for conjoined twins. Feel like those girls are in my own heart for good.

Finally, finally hung in with Cutting for Stone long enough to end up adoring it. Not sure why it took me so long.

Still sad over The Dry Grass of August, a book that echoes the themes of The Help, but has its own quiet and wrenching beauty.

Listening to Room by Emma Donohoe. Still haunted by Jack's voice, as well as the plight of an amazingly brave young woman. Also sad and beautiful, for not quite the reasons you expect.

Lots of strong women: Gabrielle Hamilton, who made a life in food on her own terms, Tiny Fey, the ultimate model for how to become super successful without losing your feminity, and Olive Kitteridge, who I'm still not sure I like, but whose strength and honesty I have to admire.

If there are older girls in your life you're looking to share some books with, may I suggest the Penderwicks series? I gave the second two to my niece for Christmas, after she specifically requested books from me this year, and reported that she had enjoyed the first one I gave her last year. (I love that I am the aunt who gives books!!) These books have an old fashioned charm, in every good possible sense of that term.

And the full list...

Reading List 2011

When Parents Text

The Reading Promise by Alice Ozma

The Hour That Matters Most

Pirate King by Laurie R. King

Save Me by Lisa Scottoline

Blood Bones and Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton

A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness

The Magicians by Lev Grossmann

Once Upon a Time There Was You by Elizabeth Berg

Best Friends Forever by Jennifer Weiner

The Penderwicks of Point Mouette by Jeanne Birdsall

The Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffen

The Girls by Lori Lansens

The God of the Hive by Laurie R. King

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout

About Alice by Calvin Trillin

The Dry Grass of August by Anna Jean Mayhew

How I Became Famous Novelist by Steve Hely

Shaken, Not Stirred by Tim Gunn

Beautiful Joe by Marshall Saunders (re-read)

Maybe this Time by Jennifer Cruisie

Bossypants by Tina Fey

The Last Time I Saw You by Elizabeth Berg

Slam by Nick Hornby

Baby Proof by Emily Giffin

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

Still Alice by Lisa Genova

Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein (re-read)

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

The Case of the Missing Marquess (an Enola Holmes mystery) by Nancy Springer

Something Blue by Emily GIffin

Room by Emma Donoghue

I'd Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman

Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster

Candy Freak by Steve Almond

My Name is Memory by Anne Brashares

How Did you Get This Number by Sloan Crosley

Happy Hearts

2012-02-15T22:04:00.002-05:00

Someday I'll find a way to write a post that is not a cobbled together collection of captions, and shows I actually do have some thoughts in my head. I do, I promise, I do!

But until then, a little late, I wanted to share some of the Valentine's love around here.

We've had these little mailboxes up all month. I found them in the dollar spot at Target, and the kids had fun decorating their own with foam things we already had around. Everyone's has their name on it, except J's. L. ripped one of the "D's" off, perhaps to more accurately represent his name for his father?? The idea was to have everyone write happy little notes to each other and share them all month long. In practice, that meant me trying to write something nice for each kid every day, but only succeeding about two times a week. N. enjoyed putting little scribbles and sticker projects in for each person. They really did enjoy seeing the flag up and getting some mail. Looks like J. has something waiting for him in his.

I made the kids pose for a Valentine's shot, since we're always a little light on candids from February when it comes time to make the photo calendar for Grandma and Grandpa. This is the best one.

Funny face one.

Weepy and emotional for all kinds of reasons and none at all these days.
Particularly thankful for these Valentines of mine this year.

Sweetest boy in all the world.

Makes everyone laugh by throwing himself to the ground.

Figured out how to say "no." It's still cute, for the moment.

How can I stand for him to get ANY bigger?

That's it. Overalls until he's 12.

Princess of the Snow.

Queen of Twirling.

Recently told O., who was being uncooperative, "You are breaking my heart!"

Learning a routine in ballet class to the ditty "Under the Sea."

Even cuter than you think.

Who's this kid? Conga dancing at the mother/son dance at his school.

Kindergarteners through sixth grade boys left their wallflower mothers

in the dust to show off their "moves like Jagger."

Great night to be the mom of a boy.

Will probably keep my corsage forever.

No recent photos of J., my forever Valentine, except for ones with closed eyes the kids took with my phone. Our Valentine date this year? Pleading with the kids to eat some dinner so we could in good conscience provide them with a cupcake before J. and O. had to leave for the Cub Scout fire station tour. Romantic, no? Still, this man, who already took me out to dinner AND had flowers sent for our anniversary two weeks ago, took his son to Kroger at eight o'clock at night to pick out flowers. Love him. O. presented N. and I with roses and and a pink bouquet right before bedtime.

Made up for the fact that O. made handwritten Valentines at school for everyone in the family but me. Sort of.

Of Marshmallows and Rice

2012-02-02T15:48:00.002-05:00

Mini-marshmallows are a pretty hot commodity around here. L. eats them by the fistful, O. needs them for his two marshmallow shooter guns, and N. is always up for making a pan of rice krispie treats. I'm not sure why I thought we needed another way to have them strewn all about the kitchen. But, the recent project we worked on using them was a much bigger success than I anticipated.

One of the very first things I pinned to a board on Pinterest was a picture of structures made with mini-marshmallows and toothpicks. I went back to the pin, and tried to follow it to its source. Unfortunately, it led nowhere, so I can't link you to my inspiration, but the point is, I got a box of toothpicks out for the kiddos, poured some marshmallows in a bowl, and let them have at it.

O. got really into the construction thing, after I demonstrated a couple of shapes for him.

He started with a simple square, and ended up with this:

Along the way, we problem solved some structural issues, debating what would be the strongest way to build and to support the growing levels. We also discussed architecture as a career possibility, something that would combine his current love for drawing with an eye for building.

N., of course, decided to make a crown. Guess I should have suggested fashion design for a vocation, but I'm pretty sure she knows that's a step down from princess. And she was already feeling more like a ballerina that day, as you may be able to tell.

All I know is, they got along really well in the hour before dinner that day. And when L. disappeared with the bag of marshmallows, I'm pretty sure he only ate half of it.

And...just in case you think my Pinterest projects are all aimed at the preschool and older set, here's a photo of a one I made for L. as a gift for Christmas. It's an I-Spy bottle, filled with rice and small odds, ends and trinkets from around our house. I've seen similar gadgets in toy catalogs at pretty high prices, and had thought it would be pretty easy to duplicate at home. Whether or not L. would actually use it to play I-Spy, I knew he would enjoy shaking it up.

However, making it out of standard water bottle not only seemed less than aesthetically pleasing, I also wasn't sure I'd be able to find enough objects small enough to fit in the small opening at the top. So, when I saw this version, I became obsessed with finding a similar vessel to make my own version.

The author of the blog where I found the idea mentions that she used a bottle from a specialty home store. I figured that was code for TJ Maxx or Home Goods, so I checked out both. I found a similar bottle, but it was made of GLASS. Not so good for my toddler to be chucking across the hardwood floors. I thought I was going to have to settle for a re-usable clear plastic water bottle I bought at TJ's instead. But then, on a separate trip to Home Goods, I found a whole four pack of the bottles (the brand name is Voss).

Finished project!

Turns out, that wide lid actually conceals an opening the same size as a standard water bottle. That will teach me to get compulsive about a version of something that mostly exists in my head. Anyway, I was able to find objects that fit inside, and the project ended up working out pretty well. J. applied some Loc-Tite to the lid so that it would be at least semi-permanently sealed, and so far it has not come open. L. does enjoy using it as a musical instrument mostly, but the other kids like to look around to see what is concealed inside it. I don't think O. realizes I made it with their junk yet, because he keeps saying "Hey! We have a little dinosaur like that!"

I'd like to say these projects are evidence that you can have fun with objects you just have lying around the house. The 10 plus dollars I spent tracking down bottles for the I-Spy would serve as direct contradiction to that, and I'm pretty sure we now need to replenish the cupboard with both toothpicks and marshmallows. But that's okay. I'm pretty happy with the experience of both these crafts.

How about you? How do you keep your toddler entertained? What saves the hour before dinner in your house?

If you have any Pinteresting to share, either head on over to mep's to link up with the Real Women of Pinterest, or let me know and I'll post your pictures here!

Ridiculosity

2012-01-27T09:03:00.003-05:00

On this week's installment of "just how ridiculous is my life?"...

There are five, FIVE, opened boxes of cereal on my counter.

Oh wait, toddler just dragged a box of the "healthy" marshmallow type I stopped buying because he only eats the marshmallows and leaves all the cereal on his tray out of the back of the cereal cupboard. And is ripping the box open himself and feeding it to the dog. So make that SIX.

Close gate so baby doesn't fall down stairs trying to go down. Open gate so dog doesn't fall down stairs trying to go up.

I mopped the floor yesterday. Actual, move the chair out of the room and mop underneath the table and everything mopping. While I was upstairs changing the baby out of his milk soaked clothes, someone knocked a bowl of cereal milk onto the floor. (I think it was the dog. She can't hear, see, or walk quite right, but apparently she can climb up on the table.) I pick up the dog off the floor where she has gotten stuck in a sprawled out position, and move the chairs again to mop up.

In the meantime, my own toast breakfast has burned. I made extra because I knew as soon as it was ready, someone else would want some. Now there is only one piece left in the loaf.

I just made a new cup of coffee because mine was still sitting on the table, cold, again.

Thankful Tuesday

2012-01-24T22:03:00.000-05:00

I'm bringing back the gratitude.

Tuesdays, I'm going to try to show up and share the thankfulness. (I know, Thankful Thursday sounds better, but I'm already trying to do the RWOP thing on Thursdays, and that's enough, right?)

It makes everything look a little better at 5:30 on a Tuesday (most often, a solo-parenting gig night) if I'm staring at the frozen box of pizza still not in the oven and the pools of melting children circling the kitchen island through the lens of "what am I going to say I was thankful for today?"

I'd rather write some thoughtful composed essay, but for today, I'm settling for some bullet points.

Thanks be for:

Total uninhibited, unbridled peals of laughter bouncing from one of three kids to the others.
A sixteen month old's thrill for attention that makes him throw the stuffed animal, then hit someone with a pastry brush, over and over and over again to make them laugh even harder.
Watching American Idol at naptime with my girl. Who sighs and says "Enchanting..." when a girl with an angel voice sings a song.
The sight of toddler legs pumping in a waddly run as fast as they can to run away with someone's something he is not supposed to have. Then seeing his grin over his shoulder right before he throws his entire body into a couch cushion to "hide."
Taking turns reading with sweet O., who is really truly, finally doing it. Slowly, and methodically, but with pride and accomplishment and NOT frustration. It is one of the best things yet about being his mom. He reads me a O. speed book, and I read him a chapter, or two, or three. We're back into The Magic Tree House series, after a year or so's break. We also got the chance to see Hugo together, after reading The Invention of Hugo Cabret before Christmas. O. is calling this his favorite story now, and feel so honored to have shared it with him. Have you read this book yet? If not, you really should. I'm hoping against all hope this boy will still want to read with me on his way to high school.
Having my family to dinner after watching the twins again for the first time in a while. Conversation, food, drink and N. keeping my cousin (who she has only met twice before) completely in her thrall the whole time. (And many thanks to him for being so indulgent of her). Snuggles and smiles with babies all day beforehand.
Swimming session in our indoor pool (aka Mommy and Daddy's bathtub) on a January afternoon. For N., just because she saw her Fourth of July swimsuit, it made her think of her cousin S., and she needed to put it on. Saved me from having to bathe all three children at bedtime tonight.
Plans for exercise tomorrow -- mall walking with my friend and her baby while N. is at school. I need the movement and the company.

And that's all I can think of right this very minute, though I know there are plenty plenty more. What about you? Feel free to share your own Thankful Tuesday thoughts in a comment.

Real Men Do Pinterest Too.

2012-01-19T20:55:00.000-05:00

If you've ever been to my house for longer than an hour or so, you've most likely witnessed a costume change or two by N. Sometimes it's to switch into pajamas, sometimes to put on one of her own sundresses in December, and often it's into a princess dress-up outfit.

Whatever the case, there are almost always piles of clothes in the corners of rooms, or behind chairs, or underneath tables. I have to be vigilant about seeking out laundry not just in hampers. I've purchased bins to keep the dress up clothes and accessories contained, but nothing has really done the trick. A year or so ago, we had a playdate with a friend from school. There are three girls in that family, and they have an unfinished basement that serves as their playroom. Along one wall, the mom had hung a closet rod between some storage crates, and all the dress up clothes were hung from hangers. This was pretty much N.'s idea of heaven. She kept asking when we could go back so she could play dress up, or when she could have her very own set up like this.

Since N. has to share the toy space in this house with Playmobil animals, legos, nerf guns and assorted baby toys that L. does not play with, I could not see devoting quite the same amount of floor space to what amounts to a second closet.

However, I did come across an inspiration project on Pinterest that looked like it might work. It was a super cute dress up space made by removing the drawers from an old dresser and installing a rod to hang the clothes from. You can take a look at the tutorial here.

A friend also saw this project and took it on, posting her own very cute version on Facebook. We have no extra dressers lying around our house, but I found myself looking for them at Goodwill and the like. Then I realized what we DO have are extra bookshelves. The kind I bought at KMart back in the day and used in my classroom to hold all the novels that high schoolers pretended to read during Sustained Silent Reading. J. had recently moved one into the storage area of our basement when he got real furniture for his home office.

I mentioned the project to J., sure that he would think me crazy, or tell me that we didn't need another item to feed N.'s quick change habit. But, turns out, the costumes all over the floor bother him even more than me. And he agreed to at least look into it. I showed him the inspiration photos and he remembered the one the friend had posted to Facebook.

A little measuring and collecting of materials from his workbench, and the project started to take shape. And then he got a little obsessed with it. He made multiple trips to Lowe's for the proper colors of spray paint and sandpaper, searched out drawer pulls to mount accessories on the sides.

He worked on it over his lunch breaks during the day, sanding and painting and mounting the dowel rod. He contemplated how to personalize it with stencils to read "Princess N." He drilled holes to install the accessory hangers, and finally inscribed it with a message on the back "To my Favorite Princess, Love Daddy."

Needless to say, she was thrilled when she saw it on Christmas morning.

Had to try on the new Cinderella bride dress right away.

It's now installed on the one remaining open space of wall left in her bedroom. Can't say that she's particularly good at hanging everything up again when she's done, but at least everything has a home now. And she thinks she's pretty special to have her own dress up area in her room.

J. may not be browsing the boards of Pinterest, but he's proof that Real Men can get on board with a crafting project, as long as it means making his little girl happy.

Are you Pinteresting too? Seems I've gotten a lot of new followers lately! If you're interested in taking part in the Real Women of Pinterest, link up over at mep's place. Or send me your photos and I'll post them here.

O. & N. Speak, Old and New

2012-01-18T21:56:00.002-05:00

I've been saving up some O. and N. speak for a while now, since well before Christmas, and haven't gotten around to sharing it yet.

I've wanted to write a year end/year beginning post, to reflect on all the wonders of 2011, and all that I'm working on for 2012.

But, after a pretty magical Christmas season this year, we had a tough border between the old and new year. My sister in law's mother passed away very suddenly, Jim's dad spent some time in the hospital (he's doing okay now), and it looked for a while like we were going to have to make final decisions about my dear Scout dog (she's doing better for the time being). All emotional events, each life altering to varying degrees, enough to make me pretty darn sober about the dawning new year for a while.

For right now, 2012 seems to be about helping and supporting those I love that are aging, the ones that are sometimes suffering, and those that are grieving. It's about continuing to be grateful for all that we have been blessed with, and for finding the ways that this year can be built on creating good things and good memories, even as we struggle to deal with difficult ones.

I have some small, concrete ways I'm working on staying more organized and healthful and overall just mindful this year, that hopefully I'll be able to share in more detail as the year unfolds. I'm hoping I start to feel more like writing, and writing with more purpose and intention. November's gratitude project really got me excited about having a reason to write everyday, so I'm hopeful there's something like that awaiting me this year.

In the spirit of making sure I capture and celebrate as many of the things that are good and right with my world, I thought this was as good a time as any to share some of the highlights of conversing with O. and N. over the last month or so.
(I should say, that another reason I had not shared some of these in a while is that there seemed to be many more from N. right now than O. I'm going to just chalk it up to the fact that she is at a particularly adorable point in her thinking and sharing. Also, O. is in first grade. Which means he is not only not at home all day, he is also nearly physically incapable of uttering a sentence without the word 'fart' in it.)

N., snuggling before bed: "You'll always be my little mommy. I love you by my heart."

N., indignant about being asked to help clear off the table before dinner: "What am I, Cinderella, and you're my evil stepmother?"

O., home from tae kwon do: "I'm working on my macaroni punch!"

O., commenting on a neighbor's Christmas lights the week of Thanksgiving (I told you these were old!): "Geez, dude. I think someone's getting ahead of himself!"

O., running from the family room near L., to the kitchen: "I'm getting out of the poopy section!"

N., every day after we purchased her Christmas dress until I finally let her wear it to school: "Is it a special occasion today?"

N., losing at Old Maid: "Hicklesticks!"

N., refusing to help me empty the dishwasher: "Princesses don't do chores!"

N., discovering a snapshot of O. from two years ago: "Awww. Look at this picture. O. was so cute then. That's when he was nice to me. He was really helpful then."

N., as I try to discuss with her a new trend of tears at preschool: "Can we get over this already?"

O., to N.: "You're a shenanigan."

N., reporting about our trip to the Children's Museum in Indianapolis: "Of course I had a favorite. There was Barbies there! Can you guess what was my NOT favorite? The dinosaurs."

N., parenting judge: "That was two things you were right about today. You're a great mom."

N., to her dad: "Can you just give me a rest, please? Mommy already told me all that."

N., cheerleader of failed Pinterest projects: "But Mommy, you I thought you don't ever give up."

N. to L., who keeps knocking down her wall of pillows on the couch: "L., can you just let me wewax!"

O. to N., when she complains that the living room is too messy for them to present their planned stage production: "N., it's okay. It's not the end of the world. Geez."

And okay, Mr. L. has a few words of his own to share:

Dya! (yes)
Doe. (no)
Da! (Daddy)
Hi! (Hi!)
Du. (juice)
Baa. (ball)
Woof. Dow. (dog/Scout)
Hot! (for candles, coffee or ovens)

Faux Snow

2012-01-12T06:00:00.000-05:00

With temperatures hovering mostly in the 40 to 50 degree range, January hasn't felt much like winter around here so far.

But that's not stopping us from doing a few wintry Pinterest inspired crafts! We haven't quite resorted to cutting out snowflakes for the windows yet, but I did find this very cute idea for a ice skating scene.

N., always up for a "project"!

The idea was to use salt for the ice, cotton balls for the snow banks, and then cut out some figures to do the skating.

We "painted" a piece of construction paper with glue, then applied some kosher salt and stretched out cotton balls. N. wanted to just stick the balls on, but I didn't want to waste so many. (Really? Why do I get like this about our supplies?)

We may have gone a little overboard with the salt. Looks a little more like a street in our neighborhood in anticipation for one inch of snow than a sparkling rink awaiting skates.

We went through a few of N.'s coloring books and found some pictures that were winter sport related. Or just dancing, in Minnie's case, though she does look like she's doing some sort of figure skating move. N. colored them, I helped her cut them out, and then we glued each picture to card stock. I gave each one a little paper stand like a paper doll.

And then N. got to playing with it.

Figures obviously not to scale, but N. played with it on at least three occasions.

This post is a part of the Real Women of Pinterest series. Go check out what mep and others are crafting as well!

Oh, okay, we did have ONE day of a smattering of snow. Barely enough to call snow, but the kids were excited, and it gave J. and I a reason to give the kids the sleds we bought them for Christmas but forgot were in the back of his car until the end of Christmas day. So, here are a few photos of the kids doing their darnedest to play in snow that was melting all around them.

Moooom! These don't work at all!

Ha Ha Haaaa! Mine does!!

Cute boys.

Love this one.

"I am cooold! Can I go inside and have hot cocoa now?"

Tree Time

2011-12-21T06:30:00.000-05:00

I already filled you in on some of the post-decoration Christmas tree drama around here this year. So far, the wire and Jenga blocks are continuing to keep it upright, and my glue gun is keeping up with the L.-associated breakage. Here's a photo essay of the choosing and decorating the tree this year.

Animals! L. making his standard growling noise for all creatures.

L., sick of being manhandled by his siblings.

Anxious to get in the straw maze.

Three of my favorite men.

Lights on!

First ornament on the tree. N. has been playing with this angel for two months now,
and talking about putting it on the tree.

Is this one considered fragile, Mom?

Performers.

Helper.

Ball!

A Zooful of Cheer

2011-12-20T11:00:00.000-05:00

Last week we continued one of our favorite Christmastime traditions: visiting the Cincinnati Zoo for the Festival of Lights.

The kids and I visited the zoo back in early November, when they were already getting ready by stringing lights in all the trees.

O. has been asking when we will get to go back and see Santa's reindeer ever since. The mild weather this year meant we got to enjoy everything without dealing with too much whining about how very "chiw-y" N. was, at least until the end, when it was time to head home anyway.

O. was literally bouncing with excitement the whole walk in from the parking lot,

so I'm amazed that we got him to stand next to the

gigantic Christmas tree long enough for this shot.

Once we started seeing the animal shaped light creations, O. kept asking to get a picture with them. I was surprised, because he lately does not like to cooperate with posed pictures.

Then I figured out that he had a plan for a whole series.

N. is not in on the act quite yet.

Ah, now she's got it.

What fun we had together!

Should have been our Christmas card this year...

2011-12-16T19:01:00.000-05:00

We already sent out our cards, a montage with some semi-professional pictures of the kids throughout the year. I wasn't up for trying for a group shot where all three were both smiling and had eyes open. I found myself a little sad I didn't have a Christmas-y shot of them yet this season, so I tried getting them to don Santa hats the other night.

Yep. These are my kids.

Clowning princess, my mostly sweet Cub Scout, and the happiest baby on earth.