moosey moose

Looking forward to a happier, sillier, more carefree week.

I love that all it takes is a pair of paper antlers to make this girl giggle! Tickles me, she does.

Hope your week is a good one!

And if it starts to go downhill, get yourself a pair of paper antlers, and quick!

waiting...

I am 43 years old and I am sitting here waiting for my dad to call me up and yell at me like I'm still a little kid. Turns out there was a lapse in our auto insurance. I don't know what yelling at me is going to do to help anyone, except that maybe he'll feel better.

Daddyman and I know what a gigantic deal an uninsured driver is! We know how bad it could have been - and we know how hugely lucky we were.

It sucks!

I know. My stomach hurts like a mother f**er. I want to eat everything in sight - I am not doing that anymore, but I really, really want to.

I am not asking my family for financial help. This is a financial mess that Daddyman and I are taking care of. I don't even really care if I get my dad's emotional support - OK. That's a lie. I just don't want him to yell at me.

I wish that I could explain to my dad what it's like to try to raise a family in this economy. When my parents were young, they were lucky to go to college. Both of my parents have graduate degrees. They were also of the generation that after college, they found a job and there they stayed until they retired. It seems that almost everyone of that generation did that very same thing - one job, one career - moving up the ladder in one company, if you were lucky.

Now, I don't know ANYONE who has had one job for the last 10 years. Everyone I know moves around.

I am trying to budget, but our jobs are so piece-meal. I pay our bills and I juggle the finances and I sometimes steal from Peter to pay Paul. And - luckily! - everything is OK. It's not great, but it's OK.

My parents cannot understand why a budget is so hard to figure out! I have some income that is steady, but a lot of it comes from all over and at randomly different times.

I thought I was alone in this financial stress, until I started talking about it to friends. Oh, was that scary. Do you talk about money to your friends? I certainly was brought up to believe that money was secret and private and NOT polite conversation. Even people with "real" jobs. It turns out that almost everyone I know that is in my age group is doing the same thing. And we all work our asses off to make certain that everything looks like smooth sailing and stress free living on the outside.

No one talks up big purchases, but we take pride in bargain hunting and consignment shopping and the great coupon deals we get at Target. We smile and laugh and share potluck dinners - each bringing something to put on the table. None of us go out to eat anymore. Few of us shop as often as we've done in the past. The gadgets are fewer and farther between - we claim to be "looking for quality and craftsmanship." We proudly state that we are "older and wiser."

What do you think? How do you live? Is it going to get better? Does attitude mean anything?

I read The Secret, and I do believe in the power of positive thought. I do believe in the power of prayer, in this way: God gives us the opportunity to create the reality that we want - but rarely just drops the new car in our front yard... although, we have our fingers crossed and we're searching the skies.

I hope that all of that works on my dad. I am really, really dreading the conversation that has to happen.

(I know. Grow the f*** up! but still...)

done

This is how I have felt for the last couple of days as we deal with the car stuff. It's almost like a sitcom - except sort of tragic. I guess that's what humor is - being able to laugh through the difficult stuff.

So, we hit a couple of deer and totaled the car. It's just a car, and I've come to believe that the deer had a suicide pact. It only took them four lanes of heavy traffic to successfully reach their goal. I'm going to think of it as an act of kindness. We were sort of like Dr. Kovorkian for deer.

The car is still on an extended vacation in Wisconsin. We're still negotiating how to retrieve it from the "Car Spa." It's had quite an experience, and it is not ready to return. I guess if I'd had such a traumatic experience, I'd be reticent to return as well.

Lucky for us - we thought - that we'd recently purchased a new/old car. It's a finicky beast! Several nights ago, she decided that she would no longer tolerate coolant in her system and she sprung a leak. OK, leak is a delicate word for the geyser that occured under the hood of our tank. She basically vomited radiator fluid from Saint Paul to Minneapolis...

We had the whole family out for a nice evening with friends (We to see Wicked!), and the more radiator fluid we put in, the more radiator fluid that ran all over the floor of the parking garage. Soon, we were standing in a giant puddle of radiator fluid. We were beginning to feel like Noah in a flood of car liquid.

We inched along the highway - stopping every 10 feet to replenish the golden liquid in the radiator. It was not unlike nursing a child through the flu - a gentle sip every 5 minutes in hope that she'll keep it down and get better. It only took six hours and several moments of whining from everyone in the car - children and adults included - to reach our goal of home!

Upon returning home, I tucked the Littles safely into their beds and Helpful Hubby spent many, many hours on line researching our old/new car and finding a trust-worthy place to take it! At last, he found a reliable mechanic - and within walking distance - Hooray! We had a plan in place for the following day! We both fell into bed exhausted but reassured that all would be made right.

Daddyman and Volvo limped the six blocks to Tuan's Auto World. They gently encouraged the car into the shop and Daddyman waved goodbye. He walked home, and together we worried and nibbled our nails as we awaited the estimate... they could fix it, but they'd have to replace the timing belt and the water pump. Only $600.00!

"Go ahead," we said. "We need a car."

So, our 'trusty mechanic' toiled away the day. We got a call - no new timing belt needed! We celebrated. It would only cost $300.00! We got another call - car is ready. Daddyman set off on the hike to retrieve our once again trusty tank!

During all of this, we wiggled around our budget as we tried to find a way to pay for all of this. We live pretty much check to check, and this was going to be tricky. We were bound and determined not to ask for help. We also do not live on credit. We are a cash and carry household. The girls were relentless in their inquiries: How long until Daddyman gets home? Are we going to Auntie's house then? Can we stay all day? Can I watch the parade until Daddyman gets home? Are they putting a tv in the Volvo? That would be neat? When they fix the car, will we be able to eat in it? How long until Daddyman gets home? Is Daddyman home yet?

**Gee, my stomach hurts. Can't imagine why!?**

Daddyman was triumphant and returned with a working car! It wasn't long until he was sent off on a couple of errands - extra vanilla, forgotten ingredients - with one request: please, fill the car with gas and run it through the car wash. I guess that the guy who sold us the car failed to mention that the seal for the sun roof doesn't really seal. Daddyman found this out during his second shower of the day - this time INSIDE THE CAR in the car wash. The car was clean on the outside and soaking wet inside. And yet, he laughed. He said he was pretty certain that if anyone saw him they might call the guys in the white coats to come and take him away.

Daddyman return, wet but victorious. Car works! And all of the forgotten ingredients were gathered. The meal was prepared and we could now journey to join our family to celebrate and give thanks. (We all agreed that we are thankful for crumple zones and thrifty mechanics.)

Off we headed to celebrate Thanksgiving with our wonderful, extended family.

Note: This is my favorite holiday. My auntie hosts at her home about 20 minutes away - and it is a terrific day!

About 10 minutes into the drive, the car begins to act "funny." OK, not funny HAHA, but funny "OMG Why is everyone staring at us and pointing to the back of the car? Oh, that smoke that is billowing out of the back of the car. Interesting. It wasn't doing that before. Oh, neat. Now the smoke is coming over the top of the hood. I wonder what it is. Great. Now it's actually coming into the cabin of the car. It's kind of exciting. Can you still see to drive? Yes? Good. Open your windows, girls. I wonder if we should pull over or if we should try to get closer to Auntie's house? Put the flashers on. As long as there's not any flames, we're probably OK."

Feel like a rerun of Malcom in the Middle yet? Yep. I thought so, too. Except they are making a shitload of money for their pain and torture! And they are in reruns so they are getting residual checks!

We almost make it to Auntie's and we call for a rescue. This brings cousin to the rescue. We transfer the kids and the food to the next car and head out on the Family Fun - not really feeling fun, but certainly a couple of bottles of wine will help dull the pain I feel.

The feasting continues. We laugh and talk and hug and ignore the car and laugh some more, and finally we plan how to get all of us back over the river and home safely... it only takes 3 cars and several attempts to put radiator fluid back in the volvo - nope. Still won't hold her fluid! Even with lots of guys peering under the hood, because as we all know the more people who look under a hood the more likely it is to magically work again.

So, this morning, we are calling AAA. Nope, they can't begin our towing service until Sat. Our membership is too new. We call Papa - he'll help,but he's not awake yet and the family that stayed at his house is still there... We call the 'Trusty Mechanic' and he is anxiously awaiting the return of our new/old car... We are back to the bank statements trying to discover secret money somewhere... We are trying to eat everything out of our freezer and cupboards before we go to the grocery store again. We still haven't been to the grocery store after our trip to the Dells, and our cupboards are almost bare. (Does anyone have a good recipe for black beans, tomato soup, and brussel sprouts? Oh, and I'm serving it with Kix cereal, if that helps!)

So far, there will be no shopping on Black Friday. (Not my favorite thing anyway, so no big deal.) But it's beginning to look like a black Christmas as well.

"Mommy, why aren't there any pretty presents under the tree?"

"Oh, honey, your present is a car that works. C'mon everyone! Let's go outside and sit in the Volvo again. Bring a blanket - the heat doesn't work yet! But it will by spring! Hohoho!"

And yet, I am reminded: It is just stuff. Someday, we'll look back at this and it will be one of our 'family stories.' We will laugh at all of this soon, I am sure. We are all healthy. We have a great house and we are all relatively happy. I just don't want to have to solve this great puzzle. I want to be the child, not the adult! I wish it were all a hell of a lot easier than it is right now. But if it was, I guess we wouldn't value the important things...

I'll keep telling myself that. Maybe, I'll believe it by spring.

damn

So, I'll fill you in about the trip to the Dells a little later. This is the last scene of our vacation. It happened on our way home from Wisconsin.
We had a wonderful week. Swam, played tennis, worked out in the gym every day! Ate out a couple of times during the week, saw some movies, relaxed and bonded with the family - very lovely!

Then, on the way home, we hit a deer. Well, two deer actually. Hitting one is so easy, and 2 at a time just racks the points up a little faster.

We thought that the deer would be bedded down at dark, but apparently, because last week was the opening of deer hunting season, the deer were a little nuts. In Wisconsin, the hunters have to "earn a Buck." What that means is this: They have to shoot and register a doe before they can shoot a buck. And, according to the strange looking, but very kind young man at the rest stop #63 on WB 94, it is also rutting season - could you imagine the stress on those poor does? They are either being shot at by people in bright orange hats or they are being pursued by sex crazed bucks. I guess I'd just keep running, too.

The problem is, when they run across a very busy highway, they get run over.

I don't know how Daddyman did it. We were driving 65-70 mph in heavy traffic. I heard him say, "Oh, sh**!" Then, there was a mighty thump! I saw one of the deer tumble over the top of the van and felt the other one get pulled under the van...

Daddyman, pulled off the highway and stopped the car. We took a deep breath and got out of the car to check out the damage. The front of the family van was pretty much flattened! Amazing! The bumper was pulled under the front end of the car, but both tired were fine.

We felt most nervous about being on the side of the road in the dark on a busy highway, so we started the car and limped along the shoulder to the rest stop - a very lucky .5 miles up the road.

Once there, we could assess the damage a little better - lots of fur and blood, no fluid left in the car, not driveable.

We called my dad who agreed to drive into the night to rescue us in the dark of Wisconsin!
We called the state trouper who filled out a report and called a tow truck and marked the deer (apparently hunters are scooping up the deer that get hit on the road so they don't have to shoot a doe, and can go right to hunting a buck. Go figure!)
We chatted up the watchmen at the rest stop - very nice guys.
We ate sandwiches and cheese sticks ....

And I still feel shaky - two days later.

We are so very, very lucky. Daddyman did exactly the right thing - he didn't swerve. He just kept going. The deer did not come through the windshield. The car did not go off the road. Other cars were not involved. We didn't get hit by another car or a semi-truck as it barreled down the highway. We are all safe and healthy.

But, gosh, I am still shaky!

a letter of apology to an old friend

Sometimes, it's hard to say "I'm sorry." Especially, when you don't think that you've done anything wrong. I see that with the Littles all of the time. They drag their feet and hang their heads and sort of mumble an apology when asked to "make things right."

Well, now it's my turn to make things right.

I wrote a blog entry several days ago. An old friend read it, and her heart was hurt. I thought that she was a little defensive, but - after several days of reflection - I think that I owe her an apology.

Dear T.
I am sorry that you felt that I was unkind to your family. I loved your family. Very much! I loved your brother - he was my first love and will always have a huge place in my heart and my memories! The story that I told was just a memory. I meant it to be full of humor - can you imagine if that whole 'parking episode' had happened when your dad and my parents had been home? Thank goodness your mother was the only adult home! She handled everything with a sense of humor and love!

I am sorry if you thought that I was being unkind to your mom. I would never knowingly say anything to hurt her. Your mom made me feel loved during a time in my life that I felt invisible and full of teenaged chaos. She always made me feel safe and loved. In fact, I probably would have chosen her as my mother at that time in my life, because I thought she always listened to me when no one else would.

I ask that you re-read the post with an open heart and mind. Read to hear what I was really saying! And then, if you want to continue this conversation, I would love to hear from you! I truly hope that life has been wonderful for you these past many years, and I look forward to a chance to catch up with you!

Sincerely,
Ahna

we are outa here!

Guess where we are headed?
That's right!
To the Wisconsin Dells.
In November.

For those of my friends who are not native to this part of the country, November is NOT the height of the tourist season. It is cold. and gray. and - for a place that thrives on water slides and theme parks - there will be absolutely nothing to do.

AND I CAN'T WAIT!

We pack the car with as little as we can get away with - which, as the Littles get less little, seems to be just the bare necessities - jammies, toothbrush, swimming suit for our indoor pool and a little cash, and off we go!

When we arrive, we vow not to get out of jammies until well after lunch, we eat cereal for dinner, we watch a LOT of tv and movies (what a treat!), we sit by the fire and play games and do silly crafts and then, we wander around the vacationland-turned-ghost town, and we are blissfully happy!

This is a much needed vacation! We all feel the stress of this year - an election, difficult financial outlook, issues with discipline at school (not mine, the 'other' kids and seriously little follow-through by the administration.) The girls are fighting - a lot. Daddyman is like a stress-volcano, waiting to blow up at any moment. I feel like I'm living on too many cups of coffee - always on edge and tired of being needed! It is a much needed time away.

Why, you ask, do we venture into the Great American Family Vacation at such a strange time of year? Well, because I teach at a year 'round school, and that is what our schedule affords. Besides, off season is a heck of a lot cheaper!

(Here's how the year 'round thing works: 9 weeks of school followed by 3 weeks of 'summer.' It's like 4 quarters with a short break in the middle. Plus, we have all of the holiday breaks. It turns out that just when I think, 'I don't really like children. Why am I a teacher?' It's time for a break! We love this schedule in our house!)

We're going to take a computer and keep an on-line journal, of sorts. Maybe. Stay tuned - you'll surely see some strange things! :-)

random favorite things...

I was visiting my friend - "the other Ahna" - and she'd posted some of her favorite things. Here are some of mine...


*The tea kettle - bubbling water for the coffee press (of course, that may be the psychological thing of KNOWING the coffee is coming!)

*The Littles in jammy feet sneaking into my room in the middle of the night

*My dog's snoring next to me while I write at the computer.

*My husband's key in the door at the end of the day.

*My father playing the piano - his studio was below my bedroom when I was growing up. He is a composer and a conductor of choral music. He is a wonderful musician. Hearing him working as I was going to sleep was the safest feeling I can remember.
Noni singing - not so great, but wonderful and exuberant! And so LOUD!
The dirt road crunching and rumbling under the car tires telling us we're almost at the cabin.

*My sister/friend's voice on the other end of the phone - so happy to hear me. I love knowing her well enough to hear how her day is going over the phone. I love feeling so needed and cared about that she'll share herself with me.

*The hiss of the pressure cooker - I don't have a pressure cooker. My Grandma Picklepuss had one and the Fabulous Mrs. Byrd has one. It always means something spectacularly yummy is on it's way. G'ma P = pot roast. TFMB = curried cauliflower or some other wonderful concoction from Lorna Sass!

*The music of the ice cream truck. You know those nasty little songs that you can never stop singing. I hate the ice cream truck and those silly little songs and overpriced, nasty colored 'ice cream' treats. I LOVE how happy my girls are when we say "yes, you can get a treat!"

*The sound of the jar opening - that quick little woosh - when I open the pickled beets. I love how the juice makes everything else on the plate turn slightly pinkish. I also love roasted beets, but I just can't figure out how to roast them really well. I'll keep practicing. In the mean time - if you've got any suggestions, please let me know!

*The sound of my girls as they arrive home from school: "Ma-ah-ah-ah-m! I'm ho-o-o-o-ome!" Drives me nuts when they shout from one end of the house to the other, but I'd hate it if they quite!

What are some of your favorite sounds?

the new, older me

so....
Today is my birthday. And you know what that means! More about me.

Suffer. Or don't read - up to you.

Notice anything different? Yep. A little darker. Cheaper than plastic surgery and less permanent than a tattoo. My dad hates it, that means it's a winner!!! (OK, truth be told - I really wish that I had gotten a tattoo, but I can never decide on what to get inked into my skin. There are so many factors to consider: Where? Why there? Why get a tattoo at all? What to get tattooed? Who should do the tattooing? Do I really want to trust the guy who offers 'free inking' so he can get certified? Should I put it someplace that people can see, or hide it where only a few may find it? If I get a tattoo now, what do I tell Noni when she comes to me in a month asking for one of her own? You get the idea. I had enough difficulty choosing a new hair color, and that is something I can change when I grow weary of it.)

(Pecan. The color is pecan. With tastefully placed highlights.)

(It looks really brassy in the picture - but it's not. It's warm and yummy.)

Daddyman asked me this morning what the best thing about last year was, and I told him it was all good. He agreed. This was the year that I took myself back. It's good to be in your 40's. I feel young enough to 'get it,' and old enough not to care what anyone else thinks about it. It's good.

My mom made the best birthday meal tonight - thanks mom! - homemade pasta and meatballs (pretty good for a Norwegian girl from North Dakota!), salad, crusty bread and - yes! - homemade angel food cake with strawberries and fresh whipped cream. It was heaven. I felt so pampered and loved and taken care of!

This was the first year that I enjoyed my birthday meal without any guilt! I let my family take care of me, and it was good. Someone once said that it is a gift we give other people when we let them give a gift to us. OK, that's maybe the complicated version. I used to feel totally guilty when people spent their time and/or money on me. Now, I feel great about just saying 'thank you' and enjoy it. It was a wonderful night. My Littles were so sweet! No fighting, very little whining. My parents were happy and relaxed. Daddyman was happy and relaxed. I was happy and relaxed - and all of it BEFORE the bottle of yummy red wine! Life is good.

My new guilty pleasure is Craig's List. La-la-LOVE it! I don't know why. I guess that I like to 'window shop.' I've posted things - some free and some for sale. It's always worked out. I've purchased clothes for Via from a lovely gal in an outer ring suburb - they were wonderful. I've purchased shoes from a young airline attendant who claimed to buy lots of shoes while traveling. (We met in the parking lot of the Cathedral. It felt like a spy novel.) I even bought my car through a listing on Craig's list, and you know how I love my very old car! Thanks, Craig. Wherever you are! I love you and all of your long, long lists!

I wish that I could go back and enjoy the birthdays of my childhood as much as I have enjoyed this birthday. I wonder why it is that my memory is not of enjoyment, but rather stress and tears? Is it just kid stuff. My mom and dad did all of the right things? Maybe, I just remember what I saw in pictures, and most of the pictures from my childhood birthdays include me in tears. Probably wanted to be first in line or the leader and had to be the 'host.' Funny now how much I love being the host AND being the first in line. (embracing my inner flake!)

I hope that my kids enjoy their birthdays - there sure is a lot of stress on the parents for kids birthdays. Just had Noni's birthday. 14 little kids - am I NUTS? All went really well for the first 2 hours. We aren't the parents who rent clowns or limos or giant, inflatable jumping things. We send home modest party bags that have no candy inside. We plan games and activities at our house! We take lots of pictures and laugh a ton and the whole family joins in the activities with the kids - ie, 3 legged races include the littlest Little and Daddyman. The parties are a blast. Usually. Then, in the last half hour, all hell broke loose. The teasing between the kids got totally out of hand. Hair pulling and tears and sassiness to siblings and swinging belts above heads and hitting friends across the face with the buckle because he was "listening to my secrets." Everyone was naughty, and no one was at fault, really. It was a little episode of The Lord of the Flies. Everyone was OK - no blood. The kids barely noticed. I, however, collapsed in a heap of tears and anger. How could these lovely little children be so damned MEAN!? And my child was one of them.

It hasn't been completely resolved yet, but it's ironing itself out. I called many, many parents to apologize and explain. (Most had no clue.) I talked with many, many children - some mine, some not. I implemented house arrest for those who participated without a thought of consequence...

I wonder what Noni's birthday memories will be?

I wonder what Oma's memories of my birthdays are?

And still, it's been a wonderful year!

What are some of YOUR favorite birthday memories?

more of me!

I like the sun, even though my people prefer the snow - as is evident by our creamy, pale skin. (I once worked as a nanny. The delightful little girls - HA! - once announced that my skin was so white that it looked like the underbelly of a fish. Sweet. The same family sent me and their precious little children into the belly of hell - level 20, or something - they gave us a limo and tickets to see "The New Kids on the Block." I didn't actually hear the music. Too many little girls shrieking at the tops of their prepubescent lungs. Again, another delightful memory from the nanny job. Isn't it amazing that I now teach small children and have given birth to - and actually enjoy - 3 Littles of my own?!)

I fart. I like to fart. It feels good.

I don't like to fish. In MN, that is mostly unheard of. People fish in the summer. People fish in the winter. People build shrines to fishing in the winter, then they haul them out onto the middle of the frozen lake and stake their claim. Some people spend days and days in their fishing 'shacks.' Of course, I say shacks lightly - most of them have wall to wall carpeting, heat, plush furniture, several fridges and cooking appliances, and - of course - flat screen, wall mounted, HD cable TV. Crazy! I hate fishing. And I don't much like people who like fishing. Except my dad. But he only fishes in the summer so it doesn't really count.

My dog farts. I hate it when he farts. It is so stinky.

My favorite cake is angel food cake with strawberries and home made whipped cream. Like mom made when I was little. I have a pretty serious sweet tooth. Sugar and booze. love 'em both. And in my world, pretty interchangeable - just depends on the time of day or the day in the week. However, I hate sweet booze. Crazy!

When I was in High School, my boyfriend's mom used to make us ice cream drinks after a long week. I think she just wanted someone to drink with. On the weekend, she'd pull out the blender and whip up Grasshoppers and Solid Gold Cadilacs. Her husband was in the army - Lt. Col. He was the head of the ROTC at a state college in Northern MN. He was pretty absent most of the time. I don't really remember him very well - he was stern and believed that women had their place in life - serving the husband. Not a real surprise that I didn't marry into THAT family (even though the romantic boyfriend MAILED me an engagement ring when I was in college.)

(Of course I kept it.)

My high school boyfriend and I got 'arrested' by a State Park Rangers when we were 'parking' on grounds after hours. We were totally making out - steamed windows, the whole nine yard - when he knocked on the window of boyfriends very snazzy yellow sports car. Boyfriend panicked and stepped on the gas and we drove off the road and crushed a poor, helpless little tree. Park Ranger brought us in to State Park Headquarters - a lovely, little log cabin complete with cozy stone fireplace. He very seriously called our parents. My parents would have not handled the call well. Luckily, they were in Europe and we were being watched by a college student who wasn't really watching at all. Boyfriend's dad was on 'maneuvers' in South Carolina. So BF's mom drove out to the State Park and agreed that she would take us into her custody. She drove us home and made us fancy ice cream drinks. Hmmmm. Then we created a plan to replace the poor, helpless little tree.

I love my husband. He makes me laugh. He doesn't make me ice cream drinks. He's fixing my kitchen situation - more on that later!

me me me me me me me

I have been passionate about my children & husband...
I have been passionate about my faith and politics...
I have been passionate about my job...
I have been passionate about my garden...

but hang on to your socks, because for the next several days, this whole stinkin' thing is about ME.

I am close to celebrating my birthday, you see, so I am going to - as shamelessly as a Norwegian Lutheran Midwestern girl can do - celebrate myself a little!

Lucky you!

I am going to be 43 on Tuesday. Tuesday is veterans day. I am not a veteran. I do like that my birthday is 11-11. cool.

When I was little, I thought that they flew the flags just to honor my on my birthday.

I used to hate pickled beets, now - love'em. (but I prefer them roasted, but pickled is still pretty good. I like when they turn everything else on my plate pink. Weird.)

This is the best thing that's happened to me in the last year: I am learning how to laugh at myself - even when others are around. I no longer freak out, look for the nearest dark corner, turn deep crimson red, cry while pretending to laugh... you get the picture. Now, I actually think I'm kind of funny.

I really want to buy myself some fancy underwear, but I can't bring myself to spend the money. It's like buying a new wallet... why spend the money on something so few people are actually going to see and/or appreciate?

I need to see a dentist. I hate dentists. I bit my dentist's hand when I was 11.

I like my boobs, but they are getting a little flat. (I met a woman this weekend. She had her boobs 'done.' I know. She told me. Then she showed me. Stripped necked from the waist up in the middle of a cocktail party. She asked if I wanted to touch them. Well, kinda. But not really. Then she pointed to her nipples and told me that her doctor was brilliant. He made hers stand up forever. Really? Why? Now, she has perfect boobs but she wears a padded bra to conceal her forever pert nips. Her husband likes them, she says. I wonder, "can she feel anything any more?" I'll keep my floppy, tingly little pancakes, thank you very much.)

I love my life. When people ask me, "if you could do anything other than the job you are doing right now, what would it be?" I am the one who tilts my head to the side, with that ridiculously puzzled look and glassy stare - like the dog - and I think, "Why would I want my life to be different than it is right now?" I actually really dig my life! I like my job. My family brings me more joy and laughter and chaos than I ever imagined possible. When I don't like things, I change them. Some people call that flighty. They wish that I'd make up my mind. Some people - my mother - prayed that I would be more calculating. Instead, I learned to embrace, no CHERISH my inner flake and dance the crazy dance with it. And guess what? I AM DAMNED HAPPY! go figure.

It took me until I was 42 to believe the people that said "a healthy diet and regular exercise will make you feel good." Here's what I think: Why the F*** did it take me 42 years to learn that lesson? Good grief, if I could just learn to listen to what smart people say every now and then, instead of ALWAYS having to experience everything first hand. Do you know how F***ing hard it is to loose 40 pounds when your are my age and you've had 3 c-sections. But - I DID IT! So, I guess that makes ME an expert on eating healthy and exercising regularly - just ask me. I'll tell you. "I lost the equivalent of a first grade child by eating healthy and exercising? Yes, you can, too. I believe in you. Now, are you going to finish that 3 Muskateers Bar? If not, I'd love a bite!"

I tend to find random soap boxes to preach from every once in a while. It's quirky, right? Probably, it's just really, really annoying. Maybe that's why I like teaching elementary kids - because they HAVE to listen to me go on and on and on....

If I do give in and buy some sexy underwear (is it sexy if you call it underwear?) I am going to show everyone my flat boob pancakes covered in expensive, sexy lace!

Maybe.

So, there's a start. Read or don't read. It's all about me anyway! :-)

super heroes

I was writing with my students today - a lesson called "The Fantastical Binominal" - and we were writing about super heroes. It's one of my favorite lessons! As a large group, the students generate a list of nouns, a list of prepositions, and a list of nouns. They choose one word from each list - in that order (ie, Spiderman Into Cheese Grater) - and then, they write the story as a 2 minute quick write.

The results are usually fabulous because there is no time to censor their ideas. No one gets to say, "that wasn't funny enough" or "I don't know how to spell..." or "that doesn't make any sense." The students just write!

It made me think about how much we censor ourselves in our everyday lives. Granted, some of it is totally necessary. True, I'd like to punch the bill collector in the wiener, but I don't. I censor myself.

However, sometimes we censor ourselves from the necessary, the good, the indulgent...

I wish that I had told my husband how much I appreciated that he changed the lines on ALL of the beds, especially because I know that he doesn't feel very well. Instead, I grilled him about what time he thought he'd be home and prattled on about how tired I was and how I just couldn't put the girls to bed one more time...

I wish that I had told the mom who was behind me in line at Target that I was impressed with how calm she was while her children were squabbling next to her about some kid thing, instead of just sheepishly smiling and ignoring the conversation...

I wish that I had told the crabby lady that not everything is bad and evil, instead of rolling my eyes - again - because I just didn't have the energy to get into it...

So now, I challenge myself - and you - to do a "2 minute quick write" with your life! Don't censor. Trust your instincts! Be kind. Be honest. Be available!

Be a super hero in your own life!

curious minds

This little Montessori mind is working every minute! This particular photo was snapped yesterday afternoon when Noni convinced her sister that they could suck the apple juice out of the apple. They tried for a long time. Puncturing the apple with hard curly straws was more than half of the appeal, I'm sure. They did not get much juice out of the apple, and then refused to eat the apples because they were wounded and used.
*sigh*



On another interesting Noni note:

When I asked her what she wanted to do to celebrate her 7th birthday, she said she'd like to have a theme party.

"What kind of theme would you like?"

long pause.

"I'd like to have an 'Art Party.' You know, come dressed up as your favorite artist."

"What artist would you choose, Noni?"

long pause.

"I'd have to pick between these three: Frida Kahlo, Miss Betsy - my art teacher, or me. I think all of these people are my favorite artists. And we're all girls. I might have a hard time finding a Miss Betsy costume, and I'm kinda used to pretending to be me, so I think I'll have to go with Frida Kahlo. Do you think that we could go to Target after dinner to get my Frida Kahlo costume for my birthday?"


Anyone....?!

in search of the great pumpkin

Fall in Minnesota can be glorious! The colors of the trees are so warm and beautiful - reds, yellows, oranges - like a postcard or LLBean catalogue ad. The weather is often crisp, yet sunny - sweater weather. Yesterday was one of those glorious days - it was a day when people smiled at strangers knowingly, as if to say, "This is why we live in Minnesota."

Daddyman, the Littles and I decided early in the day to spend the whole day together as a family - as much time as we could squeeze in between sun up and bedtime! We simply had no other choice. These sunny, happy Saturday's in Minnesota don't last long and this day was glorious!

It was a 'pumpkining' day.



So, we filled water bottles and topped of the gas tank in the Odyssey, and set off on a voyage of epic proportions: to locate, secure and return home with the biggest, best pumpkin in the patch.



Apparently, we were not the only people in Minnesota that realized that these sunny, happy days are few and far between, and therefore, we should spend every single minute of them outside, enjoying the photo opportunities that present themselves on days like this.

It was an EPIC day at the apple orchard/pumpkin patch. There was a 10 minute line to get into the parking lot!

Upon securing an adequate parking spot in the vast field of similar suburban gold minivans, Daddyman and I smiled at each other warily, and trudged forward. We reminded each other that we had all day. It's about being together, not about getting somewhere... blah blah blah.

We paid our entrance fee, and followed the vast stream of Minnesotan 'stay-cationers' into the picture perfect orchard. Of course, we sampled apples and self-pick raspberries. We devoured hand-dipped caramel apples. We fed the sheep, the goats, the llamas, the goats, the llamas and the sheep, each time sanitizing our hands with 'magic soap' so we didn't spread colds between our furry, four-legged friends (according to Yaya, llamas don't do so well with colds. I mean, c'mon. They already have a problem with spitting. And a sore throat in that neck would be a bum-mer!)



Then, we hopped onto the hay wagon and bumped our way through the orchard. Every couple of rows, the seed-capped tractor driver would shout out the name of the closest variety of apples: "Harralson! Honey Gold." And then, he'd wait for someone to stir from their straw perch to indicate that THESE were the apples they were going to stuff into the plastic bag that had been so thoughtfully provided to every patron upon entrance at the orchard gate!

We were not tempted by the siren's call of fresh, crisp apples. We held firm, and waited. Then, after the third turn around the orchard, we saw them. The pumpkins, beautiful orange amidst the dark earth and the drying vines. Our pumpkins were in that field. Somewhere.

Then, the call came from the tractor driver: "Red Delicious. Pumpkins."

We unfolded ourselves from the bales of hay, and headed into the gloriousness that is pumpkinville!

We have only one rule for pumpkining: you may pick any pumpkin that you heart desires, but you have to be able to carry it back to the car ALL BY YOURSELF. No rolling of pumpkins is allowed, they must be carried in your hands!

This seems like a remarkably simple rule, but it is one that promotes great care and study of each and every pumpkin in the pumpkin patch. Each pumpkin is turned and touched and examined and evaluated for shape and texture ("I might want to paint it instead of carving it, you know!"). Finally, if the pumpkin in question has passed these grueling tests, it is picked up and the weight is judged by each child. "Can I carry this ALL the way back to the car?"


After almost 45 minutes in the pumpkin patch, each child and each adult carefully choosing their very own pumpkin, we were ready to return to the main gate where we would weigh our pumpkins, pay for our pumpkins, beg & whine for a homemade apple doughnut, and take our bounty home, safely secured in our laps.

Dirty and tired, we waited at the 'hay wagon transit' spot with all of the other tired 'stay-cationers,' carefully protecting our orange orbs from the swinging feet of nearby toddlers and frisky dogs.

Finally, the hay wagon came. It was full. Really full. Lots and lots of people heading back to the main gate. The tractor driver sighed and waited. No sounds, no apple announcements, he just waited. Like a parent waiting for a toddler to choose their candy at the end of a shopping trip, he waited until the riders figured out that they would have to move over so the rest of the weary pumpkin-eers could shove onto the hay wagon. And they did. And we did.

And then, as we rounded the last corner back to the main gate, it started to rain. Really, really hard. Big, juicy raindrops!

The Littles looked frantically from me to Daddyman and back to me. Daddyman and I looked at each other. We shrugged... What could we do? We had searched and we had found THE pumpkins that were obviously grown just for us! We smiled tentative, reassuring smiles at the Littles, and they sighed a little.

It was at that moment, the moment that we were getting soaked on the hay ride that we saw the line of other pumpkin hunters waiting to weigh their bounty. These people had a lot of pumpkins. I mean, really. Infants had been displaced from their comfortable rides by strollers full of pumpkins! Wailing toddlers had given up their radio flyers to wagons full of big, fat pumpkins! Dads and uncles and grandparents stood in this ridiculously long line with towering stacks of pumpkins to appease the women and children who were crammed into the store, searching for apple butter and pumpkin cookies.

And it was still raining. Really hard.

And the line was still waiting. Barely moving. Waiting to weigh their chosen bounty.

Daddyman and I took one long look at the line - easily 45 minutes to reach the front of the line - and shook our heads. No pumpkin was worth standing in the pouring rain. Oh, fickle Minnesota fall weather!

We set our pumpkins down under the nearest tree and turned to urge our girls to do the same.

Yep. That went over as well as you just imagined.

After we talked Noni down off the ledge, we headed through the mud-strangled parking lot in search of our ark that would float us out of the apple orchard. Noni's face painting (kitty nose and whiskers) was running down her cheeks in muddy rivers as a result of the hot, angry tears she cried all of the way to the car and the cold, pouring rain. Via and Yaya protecting their black cheek spiders with cupped hands and bent heads - following their family by sound and touch alone - never looking up once for fear that this artifact would be stolen from them, too.

Luckily, we found our car in little or no time, and we joined the exodus from the orchard and headed home.

It was a joyful, family-time car ride back into the city.

Noni was sobbing hysterically.
Yaya was whimpering with tired confusion.
Via was just plain pissed off.


And I understood all of it.

What kind of rotten parent would spend all day for NOTHING!?


Luckily, we found a little, tiny pumpkin stand on the side of the road on our way home. We thrust 8 dollars into the honor box, and came home with pumpkins.

Tiny, tiny pumpkins.

Our pumpkins.

And the girls were happy as little clams! They are already making plans for the next sunny fall day in Minnesota - a circus on the lawn or kayaking on the Mississippi!

what do YOU make?