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?