Don't Stop Believin'

The last few nights Oliver, our Elf on the Shelf, has been hanging out with my daughter Molly's barbies and in her Barbie Dream house.  Oliver has really focused on getting Molly's attention.  Daniel and Calvin (being older and wiser have been slow to warm to Oliver...only showing mild interest). But, in the past few days they have become more and more interested in Oliver's hiding spots, depending on the level of creativity.  They REALLY enjoyed when Oliver showed up in the Barbie Dream House hanging out with Peter Pan, GI Joe, Ken and Woody.  They thought that one was really funny.

So, what am I starting to do? Well, in the beginning I was trying really hard to knock Molly's socks off, because she is the only one that truly believes in Santa. But, well...she already believes. The fact that there is an Elf reporting from our house to Santa and back each night should be amazing enough as it is, in her eyes. So, I really don't HAVE to go out of my way to top that.  But, with Daniel and Calvin's new found interest in Oliver, I find myself thinking throughout the day of new places for Oliver to show up...bigger, better. And, to tell you the truth, something is happening.  It feels like a little bit of that Christmasy believin' that starts to fade with kids their age is coming back (just a little bit and guess what...I will take whatever I can get).

The other day they were in somewhat of a panic yelling at each other not to tell where Oliver was hiding that day.  Each of them wanted to be the one to find our crazy Elf. Minus the yelling and mild panic attacks, I loved that they were so excited to find him.

So, last night I decided that Oliver was going to work out a scene with the Playmobile guys. The Playmobile guys are my boys (especially Daniel's) most treasured toys from their younger days.  I could work for hours at home while my boys played with these little guys.  The neighbors used to lug their containers of Playmobiles to our house and we would have an afternoon Playmobile party.  I would walk into Daniel's room and from everywhere and anywhere, he would have these little guys hanging around all decked out with armor, swords and helmuts.  And even though he doesn't play with them anymore, he will never part with them and has a very hard time bringing them out for younger kids to play with when they visit.

So, there I am in the dark basement, digging through the Playmobile container when it hits me that my kids are growing up so fast.  It happens from time to time.  You are just minding your own business and then you see something that takes you back in time and it feels like a punch right in the stomach. Reality hits and you realize that life is just flying by. One minute they are little tiny fellas playing with their Playmobile guys and the next minute they are big kids trying to fill really big shoes.

Well, you know what did it to me last night?  That brown trunk...the one right up in front in the picture (next to the guy with the sign). 

Why would a tiny little trunk make me start crying? Well, that tiny little trunk is full of tiny little swords. I pictured Daniel deep in play putting those swords into that trunk for whatever reason his Playmobile guy wanted a trunk full of swords.  Just hours completely lost in his Playmobile world. And then I couldn't remember if he had stopped playing with these toys overnight or if it was gradual. Was the last time he played with these toys the same day he put those swords in that tiny trunk?

A few years ago, my friend sent me a poem or prayer or something that read like a Mom wish list. "I wish I could hire someone to change diapers. I wish I could go to the bathroom without my kids following me, etc".  And it ended with something like "but, I would trade all of these things for one more year that my children believed in Santa".  At the time that I read that one line, I kind of fell apart because Daniel was starting to really question Santa and I think more than anything, I just wasn't ready for him to grow up.

It is the silliest thing, but this crazy little elf seems to be bringing a little Christmas magic back to a kid that seriously has his doubts. I know he knows, but, like I said before, I will take whatever I can get when it comes to keeping them young. Even if it is just young at heart. They are growing up way too fast. Why not believe (even if you have to pretend)...heck, I still believe.

Is it the Sled or the Hill that Makes for a Good Ride?



The other day, we got a few inches of snow.  After the kids left for school, I was looking out at our backyard and with new eyes realized that some of our neighbors' backyards are nicely sloped and might serve us well this winter.  Our old neighborhood was flat and we always ended up driving to a good sledding hill.  Our new neighborhood has serious potential and our neighbors' yards in the back slope down into our backyard.  My hope is that the neighbors will be okay with my kids sledding down their hill, as we will be ok with their kids landing in our backyard. I think it will be a good trade off.

So, as I was looking out at the neighbor's slopes, it reminded me of my childhood.

In the late 70's, early 80's my parents bought us a Toboggan for Christmas.  On Christmas morning...under the tree...are you kidding me, it was amazing. At that moment, it seemed to be the best present of all time.  I am pretty sure it was regulation size (maybe not, but it was HUGE). It had a big red ribbon on it. In all its glory, it was quite breathtaking.

Throughout the winter, my brothers and I took it out sledding. Each trip ended in the same way. We would either all pile on and then just sit there...absolutely no movement or we would take a running start and all jump at once, only to stick rather than sled down the hill. We tried to make it work. It was long enough. It looked pretty. It just didn't sled properly.

We were street kids.  Our Dad was a cop. We knew survival. So, this is usually what happened...we made nice with some other kid on the hill and we always ended up relying on their sled. We might have even traded sleds with someone new to the hill.  Someone who wasn't aware that our sled actually sucked. The worst part was that we had this HUGE wooden sled that just looked pretty.  We usually had to rely on a kid with a plastic red sled from Target or maybe even from HyVee. Anything was better than our Toboggan.  Yeah, it looked pretty, but clearly, something was wrong with it.

Growing up, we had a hill (sort of) that was between our house and our neighbor's house. Maybe it was more of a slope. It was on the east side of our house. Sledding down this hill took up about 5 seconds of your life.  But, it entertained us for years. Up and down. Up and down. Our yard, down into the Miller's driveway. Sort of a quick ride down a very short hill with a sudden and aburpt stop in the Miller's driveway (quick stop because Jerry had shoveled it so clean).

In the winter, on a daily basis, we reeked havoc on the Miller's driveway and they never complained.  Jerry would shovel the driveway and my brothers and I would sled down the tiny hill only to push new snow onto a freshly shoveled driveway.  Never a complaint from Jerry.

Maybe it was the remarks from the hill. Quite possibly the remarks came from one of us (probably Craig or Jeff, but not me). Anyway, my Dad decided to fix the toboggan. I can't claim to know what he did to the sled. Crisco maybe. WD-40. Something. Whatever he did made the heavens open up and the angels sing. Our toboggan had game.

Within moments of my Dad greasing up the Toboggan, my brother Craig and I grabbed it and headed for our lame ass hill.  We had no expectations.  Our only hope was improvement.  We squared up, jumped on and in the blink of an eye went from the top of the hill to a moment of complete silence and everything went black (I am assuming we beat the speed of light) and then bouncing down into Jerry's driveway...actually skidding over the driveway, through the air and crashing through Jerry's garbage cans and hitting the fence behind the garbage cans. We completely knocked the trash cans over and ended up laying in between the garbage cans and the fence.

Craig and I lay between garbage cans laughing so hard that when Jerry's wife  (Marlene) came running out of her house, she thought we were crying. We had tears running down our faces and I can honestly say I pee'd my pants (snowpants) from laughing so hard. Marlene seemed genuinely concerned.  We continued laughing.  Laughing at the speed of the toboggan. Laughing at the garbage cans...just laughing like kids laugh. All of a sudden she realized that we weren't crying, but laughing.  This made her mad. She started yelling at us (basically for not being hurt) for knocking over her garbage cans.  She told us to get up and go home. I am sure her anger was partly from knocking over her trash cans, but I am guessing it was mainly from years of built up anger over messing up the newly shoveled driveway. We laughed even harder and eventually picked ourselves up and rallied up the hill.

From that moment on, the tobaggon was the vehicle of choice.  My only question...where was my Dad? He just got done greasing up the toboggan for us.  Wouldn't he want to see how it worked?  Did he actually watch us and then when we skidded over the pavement of Jerry's driveway, did he slip into the house?  Maybe he was laughing up at the top of the hill and when he saw Marlene come out of her house, he slowly backed away and then turned and ran into our house.  Who knows?  I am going to have to ask him.

So, anyway...the other day I was looking out at our backyard at our new neighborhood and wondered if these hills behind us have potential. I think that if my brothers and I could make a dinky little slope work for years, my kids can get to know their neighbors and work out a deal to get a piece of their hill. Who knows...maybe a toboggan is in their future.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Mean Streets of Hoboken



Daniel on the Hoboken Pier





As I was leaving my daughter Molly's room tonight, just before she went to sleep, she asked me to come back and give her "a really big hug".  She is a cute one, so I couldn't resist a request like that.  But, as I was hugging her something from long ago popped into my head and made me laugh.

I think I was about 7 months pregnant with my son Daniel.  At the time, we were living in Hoboken, NJ (birthplace of Frank Sinatra and baseball).  Every morning, Jake and I would walk about a 1/2 mile from our apartment to the ferry station and take the ferry across the Hudson River to Manhattan to work. Along the way, we would pass shop after shop and resturant after resturant, many of them being Italian resturants. The smell of garlic in the air at 7am each morning didn't agree with my morning sickness at all.

The walk home at the end of the day was much better.  The morning sickness had past for the day and pizza by the slice seemed like an excellent idea. There was also a Baskin Robbins along the way, which to my pregnant self was completely dreamy.

So, to say that I was 7 months pregnant is not painting a good enough picture. At 7 months, I look really, really overdue. I am not a cute little pregnant lady. I carry extremely out front and look more like someone who might be having triplets or maybe hiding a watermelon under their shirt. "No, I am sure I am not having twins" came out of my mouth a lot during all three of my pregnancies.

In Hoboken, people don't let pregnant people walk around without a gender guess or possibly a wager on when you are going to give birth.  I would walk to and from the ferry station each day ready for 3 out of 5 people to guess gender or due date. Most of them were right on the money that I was having a boy, but I didn't know it at the time. And, many of them were across and possibly down the block and would still make sure to yell their guess to me.

It was an odd thing. EVERY single day (no matter what kind of mood I was in, people would yell out their guesses to me).  When you are REALLY, REALLY PREGNANT and you have to walk to work...there is no hiding from anyone.  Most days Jake would be walking with me and if we were deep in conversation, the strangers and their guesses didn't come as frequent, which was a relief (and I really like to talk to people...I know).

One evening when Jake was traveling for work, I was walking home by myself.  Up ahead, on my side of the street was a man with a pizza sauce stained apron standing outside of a "pizza by the slice" joint. On the other side of the street, was a couple and they were sort of hugging and kissing each other. I noticed them and I could tell that the pizza maker noticed them too.  I knew there was going to be trouble in this town of people that yell out stuff to each other.  The pizza man starts giving them the business..."oh, look at them, he is hugging her and she is hugging him".  Instantly, I am in heaven.  For once, someone else is in the hot seat. I am sure I am smiling at the cute couple getting picked on by the pizza maker.  And then, sure enough...the pizza man looks down the block and spots me in all my pregnant glory coming at him. His eyes get huge and I know I am in trouble.  He yells out to no one in particular and really to anyone in a 3 block radius "WO, someone really hugged her!" and then just before he walks back into his pizzeria to leave me alone on the street with his comment still in the air, yells out "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER HUG ME?"

It guess it could have been worse. I could have been a homesick pregnant lady with very little family around, living on the east coast, having grown up in the midwest and nobody cared to ask anything about my pregnancy.  It is funny how these complete strangers, who all seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere took the time everyday to reach out and show interest in someone they didn't even know. People are good...and funny. And, what's even funnier is that a little tiny lady asking for a "really, big hug" tonight brings me back to all of it.

Moving at the Speed of Life

I am not ready for summer to end. While it is true that I am not a fan of cold weather, my sadness of summer ending has more to do with my children.

When my kids were really little, it seemed like that was how my life was always going to be.  I was so in survival mode (not getting enough sleep, getting the kids down for naps, bottles, etc) that it never occurred to me that someday we would grow up.  At the time, it seemed as if life would always be that.  Time moved sllllooowww.

I saw a couple of Moms one day on a walk with their kids.  Each Mom had a stroller with at least one baby/toddler in it.  There were a few other little ones on bikes.  I had just dropped my kids off at school and was walking to my car.  The Moms were walking up to school to let their kids play on the playground.  It occurred to me that to those Moms and kids, school was basically just a park to them.  They had no idea of bus schedules, cold/hot lunches, homework or anything that school now represents to me.  Just a few years ago, I was that Mom with Nancy walking up to play on those jungle gyms after the big kids were in school.  At that moment, it shocked me that we had grown out of that phase of our life and that the school playground was no longer just a park, but, well…the school playground.

My kids are funny.  They make me laugh.  They get my jokes.  They know how to soften me when I get crabby.  I know I am a lucky lady to have children that are growing up to be good people. They are going to be really good, fun friends to people.  But, every once in a while I get a feeling of panic at how fast life is happening.

It takes my breath away that they are growing up.  My oldest still has about 75% boy in him.  There is an older boy starting to take over.  I like that older boy, but it doesn’t stop me from missing the chubby little guy in the Baby Gap carpenter jeans dancing like a rock star to the Wiggles.  He still drops everything to go look for frogs with his brother.  He can be lured away with candy and still thinks the cake walk is awesome.  His still wants to participate in his 5 year old sister’s birthday party and more than likely will take out some of the younger kids if it means winning. But, soon enough there will be an edge that sets in that will set him apart from his brother and sister. He’ll start to hesitate and choose to watch instead of runoff with the younger ones. My husband is more ready for that than I am.

Summers are easier now.  All three of my kids generally wake up happy.  They can get breakfast on their own.  They do their “jobs” and can be off playing while I work.  The hardest thing for me is that next summer they will be different kids…still my kids, but slightly different.  They will be older and wiser...probably edgier. Molly probably won’t call me Mommy.  Daniel might not want me to hug him in public.  Calvin…well, all bets are off with Calvin.  He is my wildcard.

So, as I write this, I know I am blessed with creative, wild and happy children.  But, at the same time, once school starts we are moving at the speed of life and it goes by fast!  Schedules pick back up and every moment is filled with school, sports, and more making the days move so much quicker. With each win and loss this year they will grow.  With each new experience they will change.  But, I guess I will be along for the ride and instead of crying about how fast life is going by, I better suck it up and enjoy the journey. 

Ok, Molly just walked in and told me that she is very excited that she gets a real desk this year, not a table where everyone sits. She topped it off with “My own space”.  I guess we are ready.  Onward and Upward. 

So much has changed, but so much has stayed the same.

My Acceptance Speech

If I were to get an award for successfully making it through the day, this would be my acceptance speech.  Before I get too into my speech, let me explain that when I say “successfully making it through the day” I use the word “successfully” loosely.  I truly mean we basically JUST make it through the day.

This is what I would say…

I can’t believe I am being honored for making it through the day.  I didn’t think I would be awarded this honor, so I didn’t really have anything special prepared (remove my speech from my purse…after seriously digging and finding my acceptance speech crumpled together with a receipt that has a piece of one of my kid’s chewed gum stuck to it).

I would like to thank all of the little people.  Literally, if it weren’t for my kids I wouldn’t be a Mom. My daily life wouldn’t be a constant open mouth, racing to be on time, screeching roller coaster ride from one important sporting event to a birthday party to some sort of camp and so on. It continues to be quite the ride.

I would like to thank Super Target.  Thank you, I love you…and Starbuck’s. 

I would like to thank my sports Mom friends that make me feel ok with myself when I once again have forgotten snacks for whatever kid’s sporting event we are at. 

Here’s to my parents who had three kids themselves and get it.  Thank you for taking them while we let our hair down.  We don’t even mind if you spoil them…just don’t give them sugar or Mountain Dew.

I would like to thank the afterhours gym coordinator at school who acts like her calendar of events might be wrong and that she is glad that I am there talking to her, when deep down she knows that I am at the wrong place and that there is no way my kid has practice at her gym.

I would like to send out a big shout out to all of the babysitters out there.  If you need some extra cash…call me.  Call me.

I would truly like to thank all of those coaches (including my husband) that teach my children how to play the game, but more importantly teach my children to play fair, be good losers, have fun and to “be classy” when playing the game (famous advice from Coach Erickson). Whether you know it or not, what you teach them on the field/court translates to their everyday life.

Thanks to old friends who know me so well.

To new friends that automatically seem like old friends.

Nancy.

Red Wine.

Thanks to my husband, who is a Dad and a coach and a good friend.  Very, very solid guy.  He should get a similar award, but since there is only one awarded… ever…I will be accepting it

Thanks to Rush Creek Elementary.  You have blessed us with some very, very good teachers. Thanks for singing about new shoes, new haircuts, letting me volunteer to help with math to the 2^nd graders (I have already apologized) and especially…especially for telling the 4^th graders to wear deodorant.  You, having my back on that one is priceless.

Thanks to my brothers. I am stronger, sharper…always look behind an open door, know how to spit and don’t throw or punch like a girl because of you two.

To my Dad who taught me how to put a worm on a hook (huge with boys).

To my Mom who taught me how to be a friend to my daughter.

Good friends.  Sister and brother-in-laws. Nordstrom Rack.  Vodka.  Cool bosses. Flexible work schedules. Nieces and nephews that have game.

People that do random nice things that touch my soul and move me to be a nicer person to others.

And a big thanks to God for giving me a sense of humor.

Where is the post award ceremony party?

The Lawn Mower



As the 4th of July winds down, I am very sentimental.  I got to see my entire family, quite a few old friends and got to spend time in Des Moines and Clear Lake, which always leads me down memory lane. 

My family started the weekend in Des Moines.  We all came in from Germany, Omaha and Minneapolis. Our plan was to celebrate my Dad's 70th birthday.  He makes 70 look easy.  He is either a young 70 or just a funny guy whose personality is determined to outwit his age.  Either way, he doesn't seem 70.  He's just my Dad.  Funny.

Enter my "little" brother Craig. If you have met him once, you know him.  He holds nothing back.  He is an open book.  "Mystery" is not a good word to describe him.  He is funny, quick with a joke, wants to be your friend (unless you don't listen to his jokes) and definately demands attention.

The plan was that when we went to Des Moines for my Dad's birthday we were going to have a family picture taken. I went to Anthropology to buy something that I had my eye on. Family pictures...the perfect excuse to go to Anthropology.  While I was shopping, I started thinking about something and I just can't seem to shake it.

I was in my senior year at college at Loras.  It was Easter and I was going home to spend the weekend with my family.  Before I left for the weekend, I went to the Kennedy Mall in Dubuque, Iowa and bought a dress for Easter mass and brunch. 

I was so proud of my new dress that I bought with my own money.  I was so excited to show my Mom. I thought she would just love it. I drove the 3.5 hour drive from Dubuque to Des Moines with my Easter dress hanging proudly in the backseat window.

As I pulled into my parent's driveway, I saw that my younger brother Craig had beat me home.  In fact, he was halfway through mowing the front lawn.  He was hot, sweaty and was smiling from ear to ear.  My heart was so happy that he was smiling...he was so happy to see me.  In fact, he was so happy to see me that he just stopped mowing.  He was halfway through a strip in the front lawn and just stopped.  Half mowed...half not mowed.  It didn't matter.  We were together and we were going to have a fun weekend.

As I got out of the car, he came up to me...so happy, smiling. He gave me a huge, sweaty...stinky hug.  It was good to see him.  He asked if he could take my car down the street to the gas station to get something to drink.  It was hot.  Of course...grab me something while you are there.

He jumped in my car and off he went. Literally, the gas station was at the bottom of the hill...2 minutes away.

5 hours later, as my Mom and I sat in the living room watching out the window, we still believed that he would come back home with my car.  From time to time, we did laugh that he tricked me out of my car.  Yes, we did laugh.  But, still...

When all hope was gone, I called my friends and we rallied.  They picked me up and we went to our favorite gathering spot to see old high school friends.  Throughout the night I told old friends (who knew my brother) what had happened.  How my brother hugged me, took my car and never returned.  It was a little hard not to laugh at him.  One minute you want to kill Craig, the next minute he says or has done something and you are laughing like an idiot. 

My brother Craig has a rather large head of hair when it is grown out (think Kramer from Seinfeld).  When it is humid outside, it gets bigger.  The door to the bar opens up and above everyone's heads I see a large, fuzzy head of hair moving through the crowd, stopping occassionally to tell a joke...hug a friend. I bolted out of my seat and made my way through the crowd.  It was my brother (in the same stinky, sweaty clothes he had on when he was mowing the lawn) with a group of his friends.  Friends that I usually love to talk to, but now are the enemy.  Craig and I made eye contact.  As he saw me through the crowd, he smiled at me and somehow managed to make his way back out the door.  Gone, with my car...and my Easter dress.  Again.

The next morning when I woke up, my car was back.  I went outside to survey the damage. I passed the lawn mower, still sitting in the front lawn... half mowed, half not mowed.  My Dad would wake Craig up early to finish the job, as a means of torture for Craig who had been out until the early morning hours.  My car reaked like it had been packed full of college boys all night.  But, there hung my new Easter dress.  A little cock-eyed, but still hanging on the hanger.  All night they drove around in my car, with my Easter dress.  Careful not to make it fall off the hanger.

Life is weird and funny.  Family is good.  Old friends are so dear.  So, here's to Dads that give their sons their personalities and already know their next move and to brothers that pick on you, but don't let others pick on you and sweet Moms that laugh with you and want to see your Easter dress and old high school friends that will pick you up no matter what and don't let your Easter dress fall off the hanger. Here's to all of it.



The Notebook

One of my favorite days of the year...of any year, is the last day of school.  I loved the last day of school when I was in school and now I love it when it is the last day of school for my kids.

The only downfall of the last day of school is the amount of paperwork they bring home in a paper bag.  It can be stressful depending on the personality of your child.

Daniel is first born.  He responds to authority, schedules, lists and deadlines. We have to go through each piece of paper (each holding extreme sentimental value) and discuss, inspect and decide if it goes in the memory box or put in the recycling bin.  I learned early on never to assume anything goes directly into recycling without at least acknowleding it first (even if it is a spelling test from 3 months prior). Daniel is our rule follower...for now.

Calvin.  I will come back.

Molly is our youngest and just completed Kindergarten.  She is a very proud student and even though it is summer, she still wears her name tag. I love her teacher, Mrs Rigazio.  Each of our kids have had her as a teacher.  She is considered a rock star in our house.  She calls her students "my little friends" and sings about everything from new shoes to new haircuts to missing teeth.  She is also no-nonsense.  Molly only brought home about 6 items.  Each had sentimental value and I was 100% sure that we would keep each one for her to look back on when she gets older (a journal, her first alphabet book and other extremely cute, crafty memorable items).  Only 6 items, but 6 items that needed to be to be reviewed one page at a time, every day and shown to anyone that visits.

Calvin is second born. The middle child. Calvin is our easiest child.  His world consists of hand me downs and used toys.  He often takes back seat to his older brother or his younger sister.  He is easy going and is a very funny little man. The only person that can truly make Calvin mad is Daniel.  Calvin is a mess most of the time.  Messy hair, messy face, stuff on his shirt, etc.  He recently got his beautiful hair buzzed off so that he wouldn't have to comb it.  He prefers cargo shorts so that he can catch frogs and keeps them in his pockets until it is time to release them into the wild.  He likes to stare out his window at the trees blowing in the breeze.  He is not a fan of showers, washing his hands or flushing the toliet.  Calvin is salt of the earth.

Calvin's end of the school year paper bag was just short of disgusting.  It was a complete mess and he could care less what I kept and what I threw out.  All Calvin wanted was for me to take that bag and take care of what was in it so that he could get outside and take a look around.  I started sorting through the contents and easily tossed out most of the bag, which consisted of crumpled up papers.  Like my other two children, Calvin had a journal (there is not even enough time to explain what he wrote about in his journal) and then a few other notebooks.  The journal was basically the only notebook that had any writing in it.  As I put his unused notebooks on his shelf in his room, I did one last flip through.  All empty pages, except writing on one page within one of the other notebooks.  This is what it said:
Safety Tips
1. Never go to sea alone.
2. Never make somebody laugh while they are drinking lemonade.

Since Calvin has never been out to sea before, I asked where he learned such an important tip.  Apparently, my Dad taught Calvin safety tip #1.  This makes sense to me, as they have had quite a few man to man discussions.  And, I can only I assume Calvin knows #2 from experience.

Calvin might be a man of few words (being overshadowed by his siblings most of the time and empty notebooks and all), but at least you know he is thinking things through.

So, from all of us at our house have a good summer.  Enjoy the beautiful weather.  Enjoy baseball, boating and watermelon.  But, make sure to be careful at your neighborhood lemonade stands and use the buddy system when out at sea.  Other than that you, you should be fine.  Enjoy!

One Moment in Time...

Humans...not plants and animals.  I tell that to my husband when he talks about getting a dog or when our plants die.  I tend to not really excel when it comes to plants and animals.  The weird thing about this is animals are attracted to me.  I am told that they smell fear or they know that I am trying to keep my distance.  It is odd. 

My friend Alyce once had a blind cat and promised me that the cat didn't like people, so I shouldn't be scared of it when I went to her house.  I told her that her blind cat would find me and try and make friends.  Sure enough...as soon as I settled in to her extra comfy living room that blind cat was purring around my legs.

It isn't as if I don't like animals.  It is more like I am scared of them.  Sort of.  I truly like them from afar.  I love to take my kids to the zoo, which my friend Alyce finds very interesting...since I am so scared of animals.  I also like to take them to the pet store.  I am nervous at the pet store, but I love how excited they are to look at all of the animals, reptiles and fish.

We have fish.  I love fish.  We once had a fish that I called "Dog-fish" because whenever I would walk by its tank it would swim by me and wag its little tail.  I loved that fish.  My Mom pointed out that it just thought it was going to be fed and knew to swim toward me, but I just think I love that fish even more because it was so smart.  Well, when it died I cried.  So, I do like pets.  It is true that I tend to lean toward the pets that are in bowls a little more than the ones that jump on you, claw you or bite you.

So, Calvin (my 9 year old) struck it rich at his last birthday party and had a bunch of money to spend (like $12 dollars) and he wanted to buy a fish to go in his new room. It was super exciting news!  Our entire family went to the pet store to support Calvin and his fish purchase.

Buying a fish with Calvin is serious business and takes quite a bit of time.  Calvin has to belly up next to the tanks.  Consult with his 10 year old brother.  Weigh the pros and cons.  Take a break.  Go look at the turtles.  Go back to the tanks.  Talk to the store manager.  Stuff like that.

We all know the drill, so we tend to busy ourselves in other areas of the store.  I like to either hang out by the fish tanks, because I know I won't be attacked or by the front door in case something gets lose.  That way I know that I am that much closer to safety.

So, I am hanging out by the fish tanks when my husband yells for me to come look at something.  I know that my fear of the pet store animals amuses him, so I know whatever he wants me to look at can't be good.  He has a huge smile on his face and says "I would have never put those two words together". 

So true Jake, so true.  I didn't know anything named Fancy Rat even existed.  It absolutely sent shivers down my whole body and I was about to high tail it for the front door (knowing Jake could supervise our beautiful children...i.e. every man for themselves) when the Fancy Rat in the glassed-in cage caught my attention for a moment in time.  It was as if Dog-fish had come back to life in the form of a Fancy Rat. Like all animals before this one Fancy Rat, it was just trying to make friends with me. Just following me with its beady little gaze.

I repeat...Fancy Rat caught my attention for ONE MOMENT in time..just one moment and then I was running for those beautiful automatic front doors.

I Am One Walmart Trip Away From A House Coat

I am obsessed with our hardwood floors.  We had hardwood floors at our old house, but they were a light wood, so they hid dirt and dust pretty good.  Our new floors are a dark wood and I obsessed with them.  Not obsessed in the sense that they need to be spotless.  With three kids, I just can't afford to be a spotless type lady. 

When I say obsessed, I mean that you can see EVERYTHING on these floors.  If you wear shoes, you see the dusty imprint of the shoe.  If you go barefoot, often times you can see footprints on the floor.  When my husband is in a hurry and forgets something and runs back in the house with his shoes on, I make no eye contact...I just stare at his shoes.  His response is always the same.  He looks at me, focuses in on the eyes, looks down at his shoes and then says "WHAT?"

So, I have been talking with my lady friends about floor cleaners.  Water and vinegar is a nice option, but I think it stinks.  I have heard from two friends (thanks Ali and Sunny) that Bona is the best on dark hardwood.  I was told to go to Walmart to get it.  I like Super Target, but when I know that something that I need is somewhere specific...I don't mess around.  So, I got in my car and drove directly to Walmart to pick up Bona.

When I am in Walmart, I don't like to fool around.  I get in and I get out.  BUT, the cleaning product aisle is kind of big and they really carry a wide selection of cleaning tools.  For instance, check these out...

  On the top they look like slippers, but underneath they are like little mops.  Now, everytime I spot a footprint or shoeprint with my hawk-like eyeball, I can slide over and clean it up with my slippers.  My husband is worried that I am going to buy everyone a pair and make my family wear them around the house.

So, we are sitting in the living room and I had my new sloppers (I just made that up) on...sort of kicked up on the ottoman.  My husband thinks I am crazy anyway, so it is fine when he looked at me like I was crazy and said "you really like those new slippers, huh?"  Well, I bent over a little and kind of grabbed one off my foot, when all of a sudden the mop part seperated from the slipper part.  VELCRO!!!!

You can pull the Velcro completely off of the slipper.  I realize that my life is not all that crazy these days and I can be somewhat boring, but come on, that was pretty exciting!  Right in the washer.  Good as new.

The Baseball Park Rat

Our lives are in a state of constant movement all of the time.  Two boys, one year apart, in two different baseball leagues equals stuff going on all of the time.  Both boys either have practice or a game every night of the week.  I wouldn't want it any other way, but it does tend to get crazy around our house.

I know I am not alone.  I have so many great friends that are just as busy (some even busier).  They understand when I tell them that I ended up in the wrong parking lot with the right kid at the wrong practice.  There are some things that even a well mapped out calendar can't help.  Sometimes it takes a moment of tears on the steering wheel, re-grouping and moving on.  I AM the weak link in the carpool.  Well, we all survive these moments of madness and when it comes right down to it, there is nothing better than watching your kids do what they love.

With that being said, I would like to take a moment to recognize the baseball park rat.  I was one (hats off to Beaverdale Little League).  I roamed the ballpark while my brothers played ball.  I spent all of my money at the concession stand.  I idolized Melissa Chacon, one of the first girls to play baseball on the boys baseball team.  I was filthy every night from the dusty parking lot and had a gang of friends who were also ballpark rats.  Hanging out at the ballpark got baseball in my blood and inspired me to be an athlete.

Well, I am proud to say that my daughter is now a ballpark rat.  She has been a football park rat and a basketball court rat as well.  It doesn't really matter what sport the boys are playing or where they are at, it always shakes out the same.

We pack snacks.  We arrive at the game.  Molly sits with me for about 2 minutes and then is off with her pack of friends playing in the park, bleachers or waiting for a nearby game to end, so she can get in line for team snacks.  She has learned to wait silently in the shadows until other kids wander up to claim what is left once the kids on the team have gotten their snacks.

This is Molly's life in a nutshell.  She gets off the bus after school. We eat dinner at around 4:15pm, in a panic.  We head out the door to drop someone off at practice, only to head over to the other one's game.  As usual, when the boys both have games, I play a zone defense (Molly and Daniel), while Jake plays a man to man (he coaches Cal's baseball team). 

Each night is a complete surprise to Molly that we have to leave to go to a game.  I say that we need to hurry up.  She asks where we are going and when I tell her, she complains about going.  Most nights she runs upstairs to put on something spectacular for the game. This is also the same lady that we have to beg to leave the park once the game is over.  She is a trooper.  She is a strong lady and so this is why I take the time to recognize the baseball park rat.

Hats off to you and your gang of little brothers and sisters that show up to every game and do the same thing all over again.  We cheer for your older siblings, but you deserve a moment of recognition as well.  It is almost your turn.  I wonder what we will be adding to our already crazy sports calendar in the future.  You better believe that we will make sure your brothers will be cheering you on!



I Can Show You Right Where to Find Those.

My husband loves to talk about our kids, trips we have taken, our family, what we are going to do when we retire, etc.  My husband rarely goes into detail about his day.  I ask how it was and he usually says "it was ok".  Sometimes I dig a little and ask questions about people I know at his office and at that point he may expand on his day and share something interesting that happened.  Most of the time, it is normal stuff that happens at offices...American Idol pool, special of the day at the cafeteria, his travel schedule, etc.  He really enjoys his job, so I often wonder if he had to expand on what he does or what happened it might take too long to dumb it down for me.

He asks me how my day is and I let it rip.  Not too many details are left out.  More times than not he tells me that odd things tend to happen to me.  It is a known fact that complete strangers are drawn to me and my stories end up involving some random person that has approched me somewhere.  I know there is truth to this.  I get this from both parents.

Today I was at Super Target.  I was minding my own business shopping for file folders for my office.  A lady in her mid-fifties rounds the corner and comes into the office supply aisle.  She seems distracted, but looks up at me and starts talking.  At first I didn't think she was talking to me, so I looked around.

I realized that she was indeed talking to me and she was asking where the water filters were.  It was kind of weird.  But, random people talk to me.  I was fine with it.  I did wonder why she very boldly and confidently asked me where something was located though.  Did she know how much I shop here? No, I looked down and noticed that I was wearing a red shirt.  I also then noticed that she was kind of snotty and talking down to me and was sort of demanding that I tell her where the filters were and she was staring at me waiting for my answer.

It just so happened that I had been looking at some tumblers a few minutes earlier in the same area as the water pitchers and water pitcher filters, so I did know where to send her.  I said "well, I was just looking at some tumblers a few aisles over and noticed those very filters next to the water pitchers".  At that moment I saw her eyes truly focus for the first time since she rounded the corner.  She gave me the up/down and I could see that she then noticed my purse and she realized that I didn't work at Super Target.  She seemed downright offended that I given her directions to the filters and said "I THOUGHT YOU WORKED HERE!"  And then she took off around the corner.

I saw her three more times in the last 5 minutes of my time at Super Target.  When I went to check out the wrapping paper, we bumped into each other.  When I went to grab some Sharpie Markers, we crossed paths.  At the check out line, she shot past me.  All three times she completely ignored me and acted like she never seen my red shirt before.  I did notice that she had the water filter in her hand. Customer service is a priority for me, so that made me happy. 

Bright Ideas

The other day I was just sitting, looking out my front window and noticed two teenage boys standing in the neighbor's yard.  They looked too young to drive, but old enough to be bored with life.  The kind of bored that makes you come up with genius ideas to entertain yourself that border on possible bodily harm.

They were standing on the opposite side of the driveway from the other one.  They had a big rubber ball.  The rubber wasn't as thick as the kind that you used in dodgeball in school, but the same size.  Maybe a little more lightweight.  They were bouncing it and throwing it back and forth to each other. 

I was kind of moving around, doing some things but I kept looking out the window at them from time to time.  All of a sudden there was a little more organization to what they were doing.  Maybe that is what caught my eye.  Since they were across the street and down a ways, I had no idea what they were saying, but it became obvious quickly.  From my seat, I could see that the rules of the game were that the guy without the ball had to stand still with his hands at his side (without protecting himself with his hands) and let the fella with the ball take his best shot.  I have two brothers, so I am familiar with this game.  It either ends in laughter or you spend a ton of time trying to catch the person that just threw the ball at you, so that you can kill them.

So, tall, lanky teenage boy #1 gets in position with his hands at his side, waiting for the ball to come at him.  Shaggy haired, stocky boy #2 winds up and throws the rubber ball directly at his friend.  He nails him straight in the face.  Boy #1's head whips back from impact.  Both boys are bent over laughing so hard that I am now laughing out loud by myself in my house.

After a few minutes of laughing and what appears to be a little smack talk, the ball is thrown over to teenage boy #2.  Teenage boy #1 gets in position with his hands at his side.  Boy #2 winds up and delivers an extremely fast and accurate throw and hits Boy #1 directly in the crotch.  Boy #1 falls to the ground.  I have tears running down my face from laughing so hard.

I am not sure what happened after that, as my three ran in the door from school.  The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to the teenage boys and prematurely introduce this game to my kids.  They have enough bright ideas on their own.  Plus, as I naturally learned this game with my own brothers, so will they.  No need to rush into things.

So far, I like my new neighborhood.