tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13245278391097684022024-03-14T03:21:59.451-07:00Stuff That Happens in My Daycathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-67781818214574989292015-09-11T13:08:00.003-07:002015-09-11T13:08:37.064-07:00Thank you NY and NJ<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"></span></span><br />
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In
1999, we moved to Hoboken, NJ. I cried all the way from the JFK airport
to our new home. Jake felt terrible. I had never been more than a 4
hour drive away from my parents. I have also never been so homesick in
my entire life.</div>
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Jake and I both worked at American Express in Manhattan.
Our commute was a ferry ride across the Hudson River from Hoboken to
lower Manhattan. My first meeting was in a c<span class="text_exposed_show">onference
room that looked over the Hudson River with a view of the Statue of
Liberty. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life. Somehow,
with a poker face, I made it through the meeting, but the entire time
kept thinking in my head, "how in the hell did I get here?". </span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show">2 weeks
after our move to the east coast, I found out that I was pregnant with
Daniel. Once Daniel was born, I stayed at home with him. Each morning,
we would run along the Hoboken Pier and look out over the river at the
city. In the summer, I would sit down there while they mowed (largest
area of grass in Hoboken) and with my eyes closed, smelling the freshly cut
grass and could almost imagine I was back home. When friends and family
came to visit, we would first bring them down to the pier to show them
the Manhattan skyline and the Twin Towers. </span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show">We met amazing friends and
experienced so much of life while we were there. I finally kind of grew
up. I got a little bit tougher. I learned to be a Mom. I met Mom
friends. I learned to depend on Jake. Daniel turned into a city baby and
could sleep through anything (subways,Times Square, etc). I quickly
learned to always carry an umbrella, because when you walk everywhere,
you will get caught in the rain. We moved back home in August of 2011.
One month before the attacks. I will always be grateful to New York and
New Jersey for what they gave me (especially on this day).</span></div>
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" id="fbPhotoSnowliftTagList"><span class="fcg"> </span></span>cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-30605169224335560672014-10-02T15:40:00.003-07:002014-10-02T15:41:48.832-07:00The Thoughts and Hand Gestures of a Long Distance RunnerFor the past few months, I have been training to run the Chicago Marathon. I spend hours and miles running alone, almost everyday. It is therapeutic and agonizing all at the same time. Two weeks ago, my training schedule required that I run 20 miles. It was a beautiful fall day and I chose to run around some of my favorite lakes in Minneapolis. After the run, I posted photos on Facebook and a friend wondered why I had done this run alone.<br />
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Eight years ago, I ran the Des Moines Marathon with my friend Melanie Omar. 7 years ago, we ran the Twin Cities Marathon. Without Melanie, I would not have been able to finish either marathon. We had been running together on a daily basis for years. I always ran half a stride behind/beside her. Her on the left, me on the right. We would run and run and run and talk and talk and talk. Our runs were similar to when you are with friends and end up solving
the world's problems over a bottle or two of wine. We just happen to
solve many problems while running...or at least talking about
solutions. We called it "breaking it down and building it back up". We ran together so much that we didn't even train for the Des Moines Marathon. We just signed up two weeks out, went on a few longer runs to prepare and we ran the thing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Des Moines Marathon</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-pYcCZEj_W31AhVDarkIROjot2vJJZdpC710edYpnZggnZyNaZIvyHGC_Rqtor2ZO3xoATFhmP5Ia6gAEoSsfdowYUrbDbbLjauPdWF_RHAqfT_0QlCKAO-rO4DKXj1cm1h2nyK3cz6X/s1600/a+marathon+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-pYcCZEj_W31AhVDarkIROjot2vJJZdpC710edYpnZggnZyNaZIvyHGC_Rqtor2ZO3xoATFhmP5Ia6gAEoSsfdowYUrbDbbLjauPdWF_RHAqfT_0QlCKAO-rO4DKXj1cm1h2nyK3cz6X/s1600/a+marathon+2.jpg" height="158" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Twin Cities Marathon</b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The Chicago Marathon will be the first time I will run a marathon on my own. As much as I wanted to call friends to run with me to help me get through that 20 mile training run, I knew I needed to finish that one on my own. <br />
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So, as I run alone most of the time, I have quite a bit of time to notice things and think about stuff.<br />
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<b>Hand Gestures</b><br />
It is odd running by someone, whether they are running or walking or mowing a lawn or whatever. You are running past them, feet, if not inches from one another. You are so exposed to that other person and them to you. People handle this situation in quite a few different ways.<br />
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A very small portion of that population doesn't make eye contact and/or wave. These are usually the hardcore runners that breeze past me, almost floating along. Maybe they are concentrating on their form or completely lost in thought. Sometimes they might throw a slight head nod my way.<br />
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I am not so much in that category. I ramble along, changing form several times in my run, trying to figure out what feels most comfortable. I have a terrible poker face, so I am not good at not making eye contact or waving. Many times, I look similar to Forest Gump when he sees Lieutenant Dan for the first time in years (and he ends up jumping off his boat to swim to him because he is so excited). I think I get it from my Mom. Last year, my Mom and I were in Germany visiting my brother and we got lost walking around. My brother knew where we were because his friend happened to ride his bike past us. He noticed these two women (us) that he just knew had to be Craig's American relatives because we were smiling and waving and saying hello to him and everyone else that walked by us.<br />
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<b>The Point</b><br />
I have noticed that the most popular wave is actually not a wave at all, but the point of one or two fingers. Very casual, maybe no smile at all, but just a point or a possible peace sign. This is a challenge for me. I have to sort of hold back on this one.<br />
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<b>The Salute </b><br />
A few weeks ago, I crossed paths with a man two different times during my run. Both times he casually saluted me...sort of a top of the morning type gesture. I was honored and I am sure smiling ear to ear, since the salute was above and beyond the normal point.<br />
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<b>The High Five </b><br />
Another time, I was running toward a fella and he held his hand held straight up. He held it up for a good half block and had a gigantic smile on his face. At first, I thought he knew me, but nope...just a really happy guy. I am sure I had the same huge smile on my face back at him. How can you not when someone is smiling that big, running right at you. As he got closer with his hand still up in the air, I was sure he wanted to high five. I was mentally preparing to high five him, when at the last minute he dropped his hand and ran on by. Just saying hello. In retrospect, I wish I would have high fived that guy. He seemed like he would have been just fine with the high five. I have a neighbor that recently had surgery and he has jumped back on the horse and is running again. Whenever I see him coming, I always give him a high five. I high five him because I think it is awesome that he fought back and is out there again, loving up his run. The first time it caught him off guard. Now, when he sees me coming, he knows to be ready for the high five. His wife recently ran by my house and she high fived ME. I really think that is fantastic.<br />
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<b>The Becky</b><br />
I have a friend named Becky that I see out running every once in a while. She is more in my camp, where she can't not wave or say hi. We usually end up taking a selfie or jumping up and down or doing some sort of a quick dance and then we are on our way again.<br />
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<b>Friends</b><br />
Over the past few months, I love hearing a honk and look up to my friends driving by and giving me a smile and a wave. That always adds an extra spring in my step and big smile on my face. I am terrible at identifying cars, so I don't always see them first. Sometimes the honk scares the crap out of me, but that also kicks up my pace a bit.<br />
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<b>You are Crazy</b><br />
One day my friend Andy Lee was at stoplight, quite a few miles from my home. Andy saw me and smiled and rolled down the window. I thought he was going to say hello, but instead yelled "you are crazy!" That one made me smile as I ran down the road.<br />
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<b>Thoughts</b><br />
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I think about my friends, like Melanie and Becky that have shared in this love for running with me. I think of conversations that I have had with my friends when we have been on runs together. Sometimes I text people if I see them drive by. Sometimes I answer the phone if someone calls. I think about my nieces and nephews. I balance my checkbook and budget in my head. I usually have really good ideas...some lost, some remembered. I think about vacations or dinner ideas (some lost, some remembered). I make up to do lists, almost always forgotten, but somehow motivating to have the time to think up a to do list. I think about old times. I think about my family. I organize. I think about my kids and panic that we are raising them the right way. Sometimes I think about something funny and start laughing. Just like crying, it is hard to laugh and run at the same time. I can get quite a bit sorted out on a good run.<br />
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When my beautiful friend Katie McLenaghan reached out and invited me to run the Chicago Marathon as a member of <a href="https://connect.clickandpledge.com/Organization/bearnecessities/fundraiser/CathyMarxen/" target="_blank">Team Bear</a> , I agreed to run and support the <a href="http://www.bearnecessities.org/HomePage.aspx" target="_blank">Bear Necessities Pediatric Cancer Foundation</a>. I am so proud to be apart of this wonderful organization. Katie and I share so much in common, such as roots in Granger, Iowa, Dowling High School, Loras College and a beautiful angel that lost her life to cancer, but will be running with us and watching over us on October 12th. It just made sense to work with Katie in an effort to help these children and their families battling cancer.<br />
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My family has had heartbreak after heartbreak with cancer. I helplessly watch my friends as their loved ones have battled and continue to battle cancer. I have really only known cancer among adults and can't ever imagine children dealing with such a thing. So, as I run this marathon, I will be thinking of these children fighting the battle of their lives. This will help me finish the marathon. I will think of their families and how hard it must be to be strong for their children. I will think of my friend Barb, who I have recently gotten to know and how she was one of those parents. I will think of her beautiful daughter and what a strong, kind and inspiring young woman she has grown up to be. I will think of my friend Mark that just sent me a note letting me know that he is now cancer free. I will think of my friends Jen, Kathy and Fleming that are getting up everyday and being strong and being positive in the face of cancer. That will help me cross the finish line. I will think of my friends that have run alongside me throughout the years and they will be in my heart and on my mind and our past running conversations will keep me going when I want to stop. I will think of Andy Lee and his "you are crazy" and I think that he is right, but compared to those kids and their parents, my job in all of this is easy.<br />
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Thank you for reading. Thank you for honking, waving, high fiving, saluting, smiling...all of it. Let's go fight cancer.cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-15561169662374648012014-08-21T14:42:00.001-07:002014-08-21T15:47:19.351-07:00I Will be Your Wingman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few years ago, my Mom and I traveled to Germany to help my brother and his wife, Eva, prepare for the arrival of their baby. It was during this trip that I found out a few things about my Mom that sort of surprised me a little bit. She is fearless, funny and up for just about anything. Don't get me wrong, it needs to be within the limits of the law and there should be a degree of order to it, but if it is an adventure...she's game.<br />
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I've always known that my mom has a very good sense of humor (I mean...she thinks most of my jokes are funny) and she really does love to laugh. But, being away with just her really brought out a sort of carefree, wild side of my Mom that I had only seen glimpses of in the past.<br />
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It all started in the German countryside when our car broke down and not my Mom, my brother or myself had cellular service. My brother turned to me and said "well, you are the marathon runner, get out and go find us a gas station." While discussing what I would say once I found a gas station. (don't speak German), my Mom whips out her Kindle Fire and says, "I'm gonna get my Scrabble on." Craig turns to me and says "how does she even know to say that!?" Later I asked her why she was so calm when we had no working car, no phone and we were stuck on an off ramp on the autobahn. She said that it was an adventure and she was happy to have some time with her kids. Personally, I like to take my kids to Starbuck's to corner them and catch up, but to each his own, right?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Here we are trying to figure out how to get my Mom and my phone service to work. My brother had a phone with cellular service, because he lives in Germany, but it died at about the same time the car died, because he forgot to charge it.</span></div>
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Earlier this summer, I drove down to Des Moines to spend a few days with my Mom while my Dad was on a fishing trip. We decided we were going to have a ton of fun. My Mom rattled off a list of places that she had wanted to check out. I was in. I told her that I was her wingman, her "yes man" and for the next few days we would go anywhere she wanted to go and we would document it with selfies. Throughout the next few days, very kind people would ask us if we wanted them to take our picture. For the most part, we said no thank you, as we were on an exploration of selfie discovery.<br />
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I haven't really spent a lot of time driving around Des Moines in the past few years. I have to say that Des Moines really is a beautiful city, especially if you really get in there and look around with a lady who is up for anything.<br />
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Our day started at the <a href="http://www.gatewaymarket.com/" target="_blank">Market Cafe in the Gateway Market</a>. My Mom had been wanting to stop there for coffee and check out the scene. So, that is where our adventure began. Super cute. Great coffee. Healthy, fun food.<br />
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With a list of places in mind and no real agenda, we decided to take our coffee buzz on the road and start checking off destinations. Next up...more coffee. A few weeks ago, we had passed a cute little coffee shop downtown and decided that would be our next stop. As we headed downtown, I was SHOCKED to pass by what once had been old buildings was now the beautiful John and Mary PappaJohn Sculpture Park. Amazing! Where have I been? In case you didn't know about it either, you can read about it in the New York Times - <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/30/travel/escapes/30desmoines.html?_r=0" target="_blank">right here</a>.<br />
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We spent a little extra time at the sculpture garden.<br />
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Our next stop, was Scooter's coffee shop in downtown Des Moines. Great coffee, very friendly employees and a great location to sit out on the sidewalk and people watch.<br />
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As we sat and visited, a bus drove past and I suggested we just get on the next bus. It struck my Mom as kind of funny and with a snort, she almost spit her coffee on me. But, within seconds, she regrouped, looked up at me with a glazed, coffee bean induced smile and said "let's go". So, off we went in search of a bus stop.<br />
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On our way to the bus stop, we stumbled upon something that screamed adventure. Yes, the bus would have been fun, and especially funny with no destination in mind, but what we found next had the open road written all over it. Freedom, with the wind in our hair.<br />
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Of course, my credit card wouldn't work and we had to call the help line, but that was an extraordinarily pleasant experience. We were told to meet back at the bikes in 1 hour and someone would meet us to help with the credit card machine. It was kind of weird. I called a help line and a real live person answered the phone and then told me they would meet me in an hour...to help me. In person. The best customer service that I had experienced in a LONG time.<br />
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With an hour to kill, we ventured down the streets of Des Moines in search of the much talked about <a href="http://desmoinessocialclub.org/about/" target="_blank">Des Moines Social Club</a>. I live in Minneapolis, but had heard about the Des Moines Social Club's opening through multiple friends on Facebook. What a very cool concept. Way to support arts and creativity in Des Moines!<br />
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Here we are in front of the Des Moines Social Club. Look closely and you will see that our friend Cindi, CEO of the Des Moines Social Club, saw us walking down the street and photo bombed our selfie.<br />
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After spending some time visiting and looking around, we headed back to meet our guy at the bikes. As we walked back, we laughed wondering if it would be obvious who was meeting us or if we would have to sort of ask random people if they were our guy. Well, it was obvious. Once back we got back to the bike station, there stood our guy with a huge smile on his face. For the record, it wasn't my credit card, it was the machine. But, in seconds, the problem was fixed the problem and we were rolling down the street on a set of sweet wheels. Honestly, I didn't think my 71 year old Mom was going to follow me, but these were the moments of surprise I spoke of earlier.<br />
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Our next stop was the Des Moines Botanical Gardens. No problem, we just had to ride through downtown traffic, cross a bridge over the Des Moines river and make our way toward the plants. Ok, I was a little concerned that we would fall off our bikes. I was in for yet another surprise, as we made our way to the river and came up to the bridge. Seriously, the <a href="http://www.principal.com/riverwalk/iowa-woman-achievement-bridge.htm" target="_blank">Iowa Women of Achievement Bridge</a>! I had no idea. Now, that was pretty cool. We decided to skip the selfie for this one and get a real photo.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A stop on our way to the Botanical Gardens at the John Deere Chinese Pavilion within the Robert D. Ray Asian Gardens at the <a href="http://www.cccaiowa.org/files/riverfront.htm" target="_blank">Chinese Cultural Center of America</a>.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I hadn't been to the Botanical Gardens since I was a little girl. It was warm and tropical and beautiful inside, just as I had remembered it. This was a definite on my Mom's list of places to visit, as the word on the street was that the restaurant (<a href="http://www.dmbotanicalgarden.com/visit-us/dine/" target="_blank">Trellis</a>), inside the Botanical Gardens is spectacular. hahah! Funny enough, it was Monday and Trellis is closed on Mondays. So, we just drove back and had lunch at Trellis on Tuesday...because it was open. Yes, it was delicious with beautiful, fresh ingredients.<br />
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Well, after biking around the city like a couple of pros and missing out on lunch at Trellis, we were kind of hungry. Our next stop was La Mie Bakery off of 42nd Street. DELICIOUS. I had been there before and was happy to hear it was on our list. My Mom was so excited to be there that she forgot to put the car in park, so I had to sort of yell at her in the parking lot as the car was in a full roll backwards. La Mie has patio seating out in back by the parking lot, so everyone got to see that happen. Once we made our way in and ordered, we joined our new friends outside for a lovely lunch.<br />
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A little sweet treat after a hard day of bike riding, sight seeing and chasing cars? Ok. We made a quick stop at our friend Tommy Coleman's cute little candy shop (<a href="http://www.beaverdaleconfections.com/" target="_blank">Beaverdale Confections</a>) in the heart of Beaverdale. Tommy has everything from Picket Fence ice cream (something new to me), gourmet marshmallows and hand made candies.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tommy and my Mom whopping it up. I am more reserved, so I just took the photo (cough).</td></tr>
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Since my Dad was out of town and picked fishing over spending time with me while I was in town, we decided to stop at one of his favorite places. We took this photo and sent it to him immediately to make him sad that we went to Cooney's without him.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooney, my Mom and myself (Dad not pictured because he was on a fishing trip)</td></tr>
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My Dad also loves George the Chili King, so we stopped there for a photo. I am not a huge fan of the chili dog, so this is merely a prop. Because I am not one to waste food, we stopped back by our friend Tommy's and he helped us take care of the chili dog. I captured his first bite in a photo, but I know better than to post a photo of Tommy taking a huge bite of a chili dog. My 8th grade photo from Holy Trinity would be floating around the internet within moments. I like to call my 8th grade school photo "the awkward years".</div>
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We headed back downtown to check out the Gramercy Tap. Highly recommend. Very tasty and fun to sit on the sidewalk patio surrounded by the buildings and busy people walking by.<br />
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Because the night was young and so are we (71 and 41), we picked up our friend Mary and headed to Prairie Meadows for slots. It was kind of late, so we took bets on how long it would take to talk Mary into going with us. We basically called, asked and she said yes. So, we picked Mary up and hit the slots on a wild Monday night. As you may notice, I have on my new hat that I got at Cooney's (Cooney actually sent it with me to give to my husband, but it has a shamrock on it, so I thought it would be good luck). It wasn't.<br />
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To prove that my Mom and I know how to stay up late, gambling and carrying on, we documented the time on the clock on her car.<br />
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With a little less steam than the day before (1am is super late for both of us), we were back at it. We kicked the day off with coffee at Smokey Row. <br />
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We ended our adventure of Des Moines looking around the East Village and checking out the grounds around the State Capitol. <br />
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Again, just like the Botanical Gardens, I hadn't been to the State Capitol since I was a little girl. My Grandma used to take us on "field trips" to the State Capitol, always followed by a stop at KFC. The Iowa State Capitol and grounds around it are so beautiful, especially when you get up close and look around.<br />
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What a fun few days with my Mom and what a very fun city to explore. By far, my favorite moment of our adventure was when my Mom took off on that bike. Not too shabby for a 71 year young lady! So, here's to more adventures in our future. Thank you, Des Moines!!!<br />
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<br />cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-26381337815750302372014-03-22T09:57:00.001-07:002015-03-20T13:44:17.408-07:00Jodi HalversonMy friend Jodi passed away this past week. She left behind 4 amazing kids, extremely loving parents and an unbelievably enormous fan club. This lady had reach and she brought her A game to our everyday lives, whether she was roaming the aisles at Super Target, at the neighborhood Christmas party, at work or watching movies at home with her kids.<br />
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She was the best audience, because she had a laugh that came straight from her soul. I felt like the funniest person on earth when I was with her, because no matter what I said, she would laugh. She had a weird and wonderful sense of humor that quickly bridged the gap between stranger and new best friend with anyone new that crossed her path. Her laugh was contagious and if you were in the same room with her, you wanted to be close to that laugh. Her laugh made you laugh and pretty soon, you'd have a bunch of people standing around laughing, some not even in on the original joke.<br />
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Over the past few years, Jodi and I had grown apart a little bit. We had moved out of the neighborhood, our kids played different sports and life was busy. But, even though I didn't see her every day, when I did run into her, she always made me feel like the most important person in the world to her. In fact, when she died I was shocked to read comment after comment on her Facebook page about how she made people feel. Where in the world did she find the time to nurture us all, to make us laugh and listen to our problems, with a completely open heart.<br />
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Over the past week, my mind continues to circle back to Jodi and the good times. I think a lot about the early years and trips with our kids to the beach or the pool or the movies...dragging along snacks and diaper bags and everything else. Me, super uptight and Jodi laughing at my rigidness toward parenthood and showing me the ropes on how not to sweat the small stuff. She threw together HUGE end of the school year parties for the kids, chili on Halloween and every year would gather a small audience and make her kids perform a fashion show with their new school clothes. She loved her children so much and along with them, their friends. Jodi was the fun Mom. My heart breaks for her children, as they not only lose a Mom, but really their best friend.<br />
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And, while Jodi was the fun Mom, she was also the fun friend. She made parties more fun. She made Super Target more fun. She made life more fun.<br />
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Jodi LOVED my fear of animals. She was an animal lover herself and found my fear completely intriguing and hysterical. She loved my reaction when a dog would run toward me or a bird would fly too close to my head (probably not all that close). I would be in the fetal position and Jodi would be next to me, close to peeing her pants because she would be laughing so hard. One night, Jake and I got home from a night out and I walked into our kitchen and my bold ran cold, as a deer was standing on our deck looking in our sliding glass door. Jodi had borrowed the neighbors deer decoy and dragged it through our neighborhood, into our backyard and up to our deck, so that she could scare me senseless. She also borrowed a rather large fake owl and placed it on my front porch. I almost fainted the first time I saw that huge thing sitting on my front porch. I didn't mention the owl to her for a few days and left it there, torturing her on whether I had noticed it or not. And, each time I walked past my front window, I would forget it was there and over and over again, scare myself.<br />
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Jodi had a unique ability to reserve judgement. I know it was one of the biggest reasons so many loved her. If you felt bad about yourself, you called Jodi. She made you feel better about yourself and the situation. She never looked down on you and she had a graceful way of building you back up and restoring your sense of self worth.<br />
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This week has been interesting thinking about this, as I kept defaulting to "Jodi would want me to..."<br />
Jodi would want me to have another glass of wine. Jodi would want me to eat a sleeve of girl scout cookies. Hell no, Jodi would not want me to fold my laundry right now. That was the best part of Jodi. Whatever you wanted, well, she thought that was just fine. What's the hang up? Life is way too short to be stressed about an oreo cookie.<br />
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Over the last few years, whether we were hootin' it up in the dairy aisle at Super Target or if our paths crossed at the occasional neighborhood party, we always parted ways with the promise to get together and share a glass of wine. Just us. And, of course, it never happened. <br />
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I have been feeling guilty about that all week. Then yesterday, when I was thinking about her and her life and our inability to go have one glass of wine together, it hit me. Would Jodi want me to feel guilty about that? Ummm...no. Would Jodi want me to tell you about the fake deer on my deck because it would make you laugh? Yes.<br />
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I heard this song around the time Jodi passed away and now it will always be the song that brings her right back to my heart and mind. I miss her.</h3>
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<br />cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-55913467666448594352013-02-15T14:35:00.001-08:002013-02-15T14:46:49.061-08:00Our Suprise Field Trip Today<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Today my kids had the day off from school, so I decided we would go on a field trip. I didn't tell them where we were going. I had heard about a fun bookstore in the Linden Hills area of Minneapolis. It is called <a href="http://www.wildrumpusbooks.com/" target="_blank">Wild Rumpus</a>. It has animals that roam around the store (like chickens and cats - we only saw the chicken today). They have a fish tank in the bathroom, a big iguana in a tank and mice that you can watch through a window in the hardwood floors and so very much more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was fun not telling them where we were going. Calvin (my dreamer) watched out the window and about every 5 minutes asked when we would be there. Daniel (my first born and control freak) kept trying to guess, sure that he knew where we were going. Molly (my rock star) sang along with the radio and just enjoyed the fact that she wasn't home cleaning her room.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was worried that Daniel would be too old and not enjoy himself. I had heard about this bookstore and have wanted to take my kids there (before they were too old and too cool). Daniel is on the fence right now. He is at that point in his life where he is almost too cool, but the kid that is there in his heart still gets the best of him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, we pull up in front of Wild Rumpus (a 35 minute drive from our house) and Daniel and Cal (wasn't expecting Cal to be too cool), were both disappointed that we were at a children's bookstore. Molly, of course, couldn't wait to get out of the car. I thought at the very least they would love the name. Our favorite part of <i>Where the Wild Things Are</i> has always been when Max yells "let the wild rumpus start"!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I am parking, I go on the defense and explain that this isn't any bookstore and let them know about the animals and their mood starts to change. I can now see that they are interested. Next, we get out of the car and start walking down a pretty little street and run into the sweetest thing. I could see on their faces that they couldn't believe that this was just sitting there for anyone to take. It was a "<a href="http://www.littlefreelibrary.org/" target="_blank">little library</a>". It said "Take One. Leave One". It was so sweet and fun to see and we hadn't even reached the bookstore yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once we got inside Wild Rumpus, Daniel and Cal returned to their super cool selves again...until they saw other super cool preteens, right alongside toddlers looking in aquariums, checking out the bathroom fish tank, casually reading while a chicken peeked out from under a chair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOG6XluqQGqLfK622i0SjLaC73YUTSWdpDHgPpdyWq2Rezfl5ANNkJEq8GC-7YfJtuAgnh6XWvbPLGgQeNS_rgRcmlaJztMshytif6C-Tdav6ulcsdWr2TuU24GSXws6bQ5P8GfVA4drD/s1600/IMG_3201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOG6XluqQGqLfK622i0SjLaC73YUTSWdpDHgPpdyWq2Rezfl5ANNkJEq8GC-7YfJtuAgnh6XWvbPLGgQeNS_rgRcmlaJztMshytif6C-Tdav6ulcsdWr2TuU24GSXws6bQ5P8GfVA4drD/s1600/IMG_3201.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Molly was just Molly. She loved it all up. Every single second of it. She wasn't too cool for anything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qXRHY6Kd5NR6JpJZo94_6arZiEnmyxHY9LRRntrqYIBFo25tF2xd2ZYHDA5QVTunQNuKTW7Fqq1_fBdKk_BytW376Aitq77uDNUfDO5nDA_H-gTx5DiOqXsqr-SdkVupm4GERBEEPLbn/s1600/IMG_3200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qXRHY6Kd5NR6JpJZo94_6arZiEnmyxHY9LRRntrqYIBFo25tF2xd2ZYHDA5QVTunQNuKTW7Fqq1_fBdKk_BytW376Aitq77uDNUfDO5nDA_H-gTx5DiOqXsqr-SdkVupm4GERBEEPLbn/s1600/IMG_3200.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As we were leaving, Cal asked if we could come again. I knew he would like all of those animals. Daniel said he was surprised by how much fun it was. He found books that he had never heard of before. He said that we should get a chicken for a pet and we can name it Steve. I was so relieved that I had squeaked them in before they were too cool to appreciate what an amazing place this is. The tiny door was also a big giveaway. You can't be too cool AND leave by the tiny door. You can really only use the tiny door with a big smile on your face when you just had a really good time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnoFI4loc_EMZ3CuexpJPngRhdno7hQDIqa0dIPStBk6IGqeARZBc7ayy2j7Bzce1DpVeeCJXUGqRZRNFyUjVJ5pUTg869bdcoZqPfq7P308vyMpVrMQLiRaP8SzE8cgVcBDBwUwGw9dw/s1600/IMG_3203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnoFI4loc_EMZ3CuexpJPngRhdno7hQDIqa0dIPStBk6IGqeARZBc7ayy2j7Bzce1DpVeeCJXUGqRZRNFyUjVJ5pUTg869bdcoZqPfq7P308vyMpVrMQLiRaP8SzE8cgVcBDBwUwGw9dw/s1600/IMG_3203.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As a bonus, we found this guy across the street from the bookstore. And being on a "that was an awesome bookstore high" and a little bit of a sugar buzz, they were happy to pose with him. Daniel did panic a bit and told me to hurry up before someone yelled at us. He is from the suburbs. When was the last time he got yelled at for posing with a snowman? I don't know where the panic comes from. He is first born, I guess.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPOn1-3w5TIeoD-_b4sglevNljDCNF6mrlfMlXzMVD35pYW9HAUJaxLLGTYpEm43xGTvKSlLvNAA9TJnkv-2QF0HPdTybpYjJxnv0OaB3xG6CRJZ2iTIWWIZ1RdY6Ir0qJoiIjs-3B4ac/s1600/IMG_3204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPOn1-3w5TIeoD-_b4sglevNljDCNF6mrlfMlXzMVD35pYW9HAUJaxLLGTYpEm43xGTvKSlLvNAA9TJnkv-2QF0HPdTybpYjJxnv0OaB3xG6CRJZ2iTIWWIZ1RdY6Ir0qJoiIjs-3B4ac/s1600/IMG_3204.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">On our way home, we drove around one of our favorite lakes in the Twin Cities. Lake Calhoun. I wanted to pull over really quick and get a picture of the kids with downtown Minneapolis in the background. I pulled over (facing the wrong way along the street, thinking we could jump out and take a quick photo). Of course, the minute I did this, a police car pulled up. Daniel's eyes were HUGE (again, the panic). In fact, the policeman walked up to the car and started laughing because Daniel's expression was so funny. He kindly told me to legally park before getting out of the car. We have never had a run in with the law, so that added a little spice to the day.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZDNLSQC_31Xn_vtr93u0wu0V_V_QHluZYn2naLzJKymfjTBJvwyiH5RKufPKnDr0rf2uWZTeupTe8VTqH_96F-j5qp82oAMjegAl_fx6cDQ3z1oucTKGRkPTC57cwROuLhvy7VdJOzIE/s1600/IMG_3190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZDNLSQC_31Xn_vtr93u0wu0V_V_QHluZYn2naLzJKymfjTBJvwyiH5RKufPKnDr0rf2uWZTeupTe8VTqH_96F-j5qp82oAMjegAl_fx6cDQ3z1oucTKGRkPTC57cwROuLhvy7VdJOzIE/s1600/IMG_3190.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">cover album</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgowVPMNgKFO9y-Je2u0TsDqCSih6FAI5Ob25ZhjEO_TJYikICU4KHwFd_lkpU-VDhkgGQK2qup2SnW0MSqS9axa9LW4qAs9VGdaih80dHiOZjZkE_u_x6f7uAoHA85Bs_ZCExdYxcI40eL/s1600/IMG_3199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshr-qBmMSYt55psTTScAtJGrtP69Q4NgHsgi_DG8Unl4SknzgfadGANho5edFneCDBxIiTIOezf7Kj-oIvJFbsAJmcSyOV_KCeRZGSJu1nV2cUbL4lJAtVK7uyXP9fIN_eGBcDDab9cFn/s1600/IMG_3196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshr-qBmMSYt55psTTScAtJGrtP69Q4NgHsgi_DG8Unl4SknzgfadGANho5edFneCDBxIiTIOezf7Kj-oIvJFbsAJmcSyOV_KCeRZGSJu1nV2cUbL4lJAtVK7uyXP9fIN_eGBcDDab9cFn/s1600/IMG_3196.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZDNLSQC_31Xn_vtr93u0wu0V_V_QHluZYn2naLzJKymfjTBJvwyiH5RKufPKnDr0rf2uWZTeupTe8VTqH_96F-j5qp82oAMjegAl_fx6cDQ3z1oucTKGRkPTC57cwROuLhvy7VdJOzIE/s1600/IMG_3190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">You would think that you wouldn't be able to top a Bookstore with live, roaming animals or a police car that turned its lights because of your illegal park job. It just doesn't seem possible, does it? Well, it just so happens that peeing in a porta potty in 7 degree weather is completely awesome (to 10 and 12 year old boys). Their reaction when they saw that porta potty was like they had struck gold.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsf-REz5nHoSyaOrQb1pRN1amYXTh4rnmgfoV-Q3JLBd_36mbqMPByaY6i082NkbiiW8CfIzRVivXUhr2BVRCuH9QMSMnr1nZyZ47N1IFpgkv1qx7szpO_Rta1wSel8ygIqhcF3-7w-F9/s1600/IMG_3205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsf-REz5nHoSyaOrQb1pRN1amYXTh4rnmgfoV-Q3JLBd_36mbqMPByaY6i082NkbiiW8CfIzRVivXUhr2BVRCuH9QMSMnr1nZyZ47N1IFpgkv1qx7szpO_Rta1wSel8ygIqhcF3-7w-F9/s1600/IMG_3205.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Calvin waiting his turn to pee in the porta potty.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And, that was our surprise field trip today.</span><br />
<br />cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-17105744059572741272013-02-15T13:13:00.000-08:002018-09-28T19:46:55.258-07:00So, today my kids have the day off. I got up and went for a run and planned on taking them to the gym, so that they could shoot baskets before their basketball tournament this weekend (like we usually do). For some reason, while I was running, I started thinking about how when they were little, we would wake up in the morning and decide to run down to the zoo just to watch the divers feed the sharks. Or how we used to walk around Target (not even Super Target back then) for a good hour, just to kill time because we had nothing better to do between lunch and nap time...and we would have a really good time.<br />
<br />
Well, they are bigger now. We are constantly running from practice and games to Faith Formation and gymnastics and million other things. I feel like we don't do enough adventures, like we used to. I know that happens in life and soon enough friends will over take wanting to hang out with me. Maybe that is what happened this morning.<br />
<br />
When I walked in from my run, I told the kids that we would head for the gym in an hour. They all looked so cozy and happy and they were really enjoying their morning off. So, I asked if they wanted to skip the gym and go on a surprise field trip. They certainly did.cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-12086807373803187022012-12-18T21:55:00.004-08:002012-12-19T14:28:46.294-08:00To the teachers, volunteers and staff of District 279<div>
</div>
<div>
From the bottom of our hearts we
would like to thank you for your time, talent and patience with our greatest and
most precious gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We send them off on the first
day of Kindergarten… crying (most of the time we are the ones crying), only to
see them return, telling us about birthdays and half birthdays and reading cafes
and Friday Funday and songs about new shoes and songs about new haircuts and
book nooks and the library and seeing eye dogs and much, much more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hand them over to you when they are little
more than babies and you hold their hands and you sing with them and you answer
their questions and you teach them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
not only teach them things like math, history and social studies, but you teach
them about life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are their
example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of how you treat these
children…our children…they learn from you to be good and kind people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are a soft place to fall when they are
missing their Mamas or Dads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You help
them to be strong when they have had a hard day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They come to know you and love you from
seeing you in the hallways, the front office, the lunchroom or the library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They grow to trust you and from that trust,
we trust you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hear about your
families and your dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hear about
your vacations and your nieces and nephews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We know your favorite candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
know that you love coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We know that
you drink tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We know this because they
watch and they listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They love
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And because of you, our children
grow into beautiful young men and women, right before your eyes…and our
eyes.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
So, from the Principals to the
teachers, to the Paras to the volunteers, to the staff and everyone in between
at District 279, we are blessed that you are a part of our children's daily
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thank you for encouraging and
nurturing our leaders of tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
With great love,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
The parents of your
students</div>
</span></div>
cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-9944080687330236112012-09-21T16:29:00.000-07:002012-09-21T16:29:13.657-07:00And When There Was No Crawdads Left, We Ate Sand<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
The other day, my 10 year old Calvin looked at me with his big blue eyes and asked if it is possible for people
to be allergic to glass. I thought he was so cute that he asked such a random question and I pictured some person smelling a glass window and sneezing. So, sort of giggling to myself said
"Wellllllllll....Calvin, I have NEVER heard of THAT". But then he said,
"well, people are allergic to sand and glass is made from sand...".
Oh, I had never really thought of it like that. So, I said that we should
Google it (which has been a very popular response from me from the moment my
kids started to question things).<br />
<br />
We spend a lot of time discussing and figuring stuff out, from homework to just questions like this one. He asks a ton of questions. He thinks of really crazy ideas...like his invention of foot mints for stinky feet. In fact, all three of my kids are really curious. I don't remember being as curious as they are. Maybe I did question things when I was Calvin's age. Maybe I asked a ton of questions and connected the dots like
Calvin does, but I really don't remember. I remember just really liking art and music. I loved playing sports. As I recall, I didn't excel in the sciences.<br />
<br />
In fact,
when he brought up the fact that people could be allergic to glass because it
is made of sand, my mind wandered and I thought of the movie Raising
Arizona.<br />
Prisoner: "And when there was no more Crawdads, to be found, we ate
sand."<br />
H.I.: "You ate what?"<br />
Prisoner: "We ate sand".<br />
H.I.: "You ate sand?"<br />
Prisoner: "We ate sand."<br />
<br />
I am glad that my kids question things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It keeps me on my toes.<br />
<br />
Oh, and I did Google his question and got distracted about “moon sand”, so
if someone knows the answer just let me know.cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-22057573876159136282012-08-28T15:28:00.000-07:002012-10-25T09:12:54.009-07:00You Are Awesome!<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
A few years ago, I ran the Des Moines marathon. It was my first marathon and I had no idea of what was to come. I remember standing at the starting line with my friend Nancy in downtown Des Moines and being super nervous! As the gun went off, there was a huge wave of cheers and as I ran under one of the glass skyways, I saw a small group of people jumping up and down and cheering for someone in the crowd of runners. They were smiling from ear to ear and holding signs and just cheering. It moved me to tears to see these people so genuinely happy for whoever they were cheering on. Do you know how incredibly difficult it is to cry and run at the same time?</div>
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This past weekend, I competed in my very first Triathlon. The Maple Grove Triathalon, to be exact. It was an amazing experience from training with my friends, to bonding with new friends before the race, right up to the finish line. It sounds weird, but I kind of miss it.</div>
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So, today when I was out for my morning run, I ended up on the running route of the Triathlon and stumbled upon some words that again, moved me to tears.</div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Life moves so fast and is so crazy at times that when all the dust settles and you witness human kindness in any form, it can move you to the core. Someone out there took time to do this. Maybe for someone that they love or maybe they didn't know anybody in the race. Their house just happened to sit on the race route, so they grabbed some chalk and did what they must do best...act with pure kindness. </span><br />
<br />
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<br />cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-19087209604934137412012-08-05T20:11:00.001-07:002012-08-05T20:13:59.501-07:00The Carpool<br />
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When I was in the 5<sup>th</sup> grade, I was terrified of boys. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I am pretty sure I
didn’t know how to talk to boys until I was in my 20’s. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the 5<sup>th</sup> grade rolled around,
I thought boys were so cute that I would literally shut down if they tried to
talk to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the summer
between the 4<sup>th</sup> and the 5<sup>th</sup> grade being a game
changer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember that in the 5<sup>th</sup>
grade, the boys that used to eat glue, eat their boogers or just plain pull my
hair on the playground had a new glow about them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe even a swagger. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the 5<sup>th</sup> grade, boys went from
being friends I had grown up with to a complete mystery.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, now it is weird having 5<sup>th</sup> and 6<sup>th</sup>
grade boys of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is odd and
interesting to hear the other side of the story. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys’ side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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As I drive my boys and their friends from baseball games, to
golf, to basketball clinics, I hear it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I love these little boys, who are quickly turning into young men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was first introduced to the carpool
years ago, it was torture. It was all about farting and burping and punching
each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can honestly say that the
minutes were like hours when this would happen.</div>
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The carpool is now my friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is my time to hover over their
conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The carpool is similar to
a confessional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, everything
comes out.</div>
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Within even the last few weeks, the carpools have graduated
to a new level. This past week, 4 ten year old boys discussed the fact that
Michael Phelps is the most decorated Olympian in history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really cool listening to them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>It was sort of surreal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These boys that I have known since they were really little are discussing world events. They also discuss the MN Twins, their favorite
sports, their favorite teams, golf scores, tournament placement, wins, losses,
who made what team and now…GIRLS!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today
we discussed girls.</div>
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This is what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was driving my son Calvin and his 3 friends to golf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the boys said to one of the other
fellas, “I heard that some girls were calling you last week”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked my son “were those the same girls
that were calling you?”. Calvin said yes, they were the same girls and
apparently they had called 3 out of the 4 boys in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one seemed put off by this information. I know who these girls are and I know that the boys think they are cute and I also know who likes who (just like me and my 5th grade friends used to talk). So, I throw out there “those girls are calling all of you guys, what's up with that” just to see what
happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">That caused a little bit of discussion. Then, my</span> son Calvin with his buzz hair cut, flat
bill baseball hat and ears that he hasn’t quite grown into yet looks at me with
a huge grin and says “THEY CAN'T RESIST US!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, with that, they were back to discussing sports.</div>
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If I knew how boys felt about girls when I was in 5<sup>th</sup>
grade, I probably wouldn’t have been as scared of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all the same thing, just packaged
differently.</div>cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-59383620730016207192012-04-16T19:06:00.000-07:002012-04-16T19:06:48.189-07:00The Singer/SongwriterMy 6 year old daughter Molly sings about everything. Everything. Since the moment she could talk, she has made up songs. I refer to her as my singer/songwriter. One of her soon to be very famous songs is entitled "There's a New Kid in School. What Do I Do With Him?". She wrote that song at the ripe old age of 4.<br />
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Unfortunately, she takes after me in the singing department, so while it is cute that she makes up songs, they are usually really off key. The songs can break out at anytime...in the grocery store, in the stands at baseball games, riding her bike. Molly's singing has no limits. Most of the time she walks around the room singing her songs, picking things up, putting things back down, possibly running her fingers across your face, leaning against the staircase in dramatic fashion.<br />
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Molly makes up so many songs that her brothers HATE when she sings. Calvin, Molly's 9 year old brother recently was near tears and said "WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO SING ABOUT EVERYTHING?". This really bothered me. I told Calvin that Molly is creative and loves to sing. Happy people sing out loud and there is NO WAY that I will EVER tell Molly not to sing. Cal wasn't happy with me about my commitment to Molly's art.<br />
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This morning, as I was making my kids' lunches, I heard Molly break into song. I looked up and she was sitting at the kitchen table, eating her breakfast. Her sweet little face was lit up with a smile and she was looking directly into my eyes. I love when mornings are happy and there is no drama. I was just loving the moment and then I heard the words that were coming out of her mouth. Smile on her face, voice terribly high and off key. Molly is singing these words to me..."Your hair is kind of crazy. It looks fuzzy and is sort of poofy".<br />
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I have decided that I am on team Calvin.cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-26487406208943126552012-01-22T18:44:00.000-08:002016-01-22T10:28:43.106-08:00Being a DoppelgangerThe other day I was telling my husband about how I recently walked into my favorite Thai resturant to pick up my to go order and Tom, who I work with, was sitting in a booth facing me. Tom is great guy, so I give him a big smile and wave. "Tom" sort of nervously shifts his eyes from side to side and silently confirms to himself that yes, it is him that I am waving at and slowly waves back at me like he is mentally filing me away as a potential stalker.<br />
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Sometimes, actually quite a bit, I talk without thinking. As I was about to run over, punch Tom and ask what is wrong with him, I realize that as weird as it may seem, this guy might not be Tom. For one of the first times in my life, I stop myself and I don't talk myself into a hole. I just leave. A few days later, I see Tom's twin from the Thai resturant walking into Lifetime Fitness with a Lifetime Fitness uniform on. The guy from the Thai place really wasn't Tom! <br />
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So, as I was saying, I tell my husband this story and he says "Oh, Tom has a Doppelgänger."<br />
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Doppelganger. Doppelganger. Doppelganger. I CAN NOT stop saying that word... over and over in my head (Doppelganger...Doppelganer) since Jake said it. I have heard it a million times in my life, but for some reason I can't stop thinking about the word Doppleganger.<br />
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I am a Doppelganger...over and over and over again.<br />
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From high school on, I have been mistaken for someone else or have been told that I look like someone else more times than I could ever count. In high school, when I started to meet kids from other schools, I was told that I looked like a girl that went to one of the other high schools in town. <br />
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After high school, that very girl and I went to the same college and on many occassions people got us mixed up. And to make it even crazier, there was a third girl at that same college that looked like us. To really mix things up, I became friends with each of them. I don't think they ever became friends, so the circle was never completely closed. Quite often, I would hear something like "how did you get here so fast, weren't you just in class". This was during my first two years of college, so that was easy...No, I can confidently confirm that I was not in class...usually ever. <br />
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I visit doctors' offices quite a bit for work and 1 in 5 doctors agree that they know me from somewhere. Sometimes I say things like "well, I have had quite a few issues with Plantir Fasciitis, so maybe" - but, really I know we have never met. <br />
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Recently, I was at a shoe store and a woman looked downright annoyed with me. I asked her if I was in her way...possibly blocking her view of fabulous merchandise and she said, "No! Don't you remember me!" I had never seen her before. We went through the usual cross referencing of friends and activities and confirmed that no, we didn't know each other.<br />
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Right before Christmas, I was shopping at Ann Taylor Loft and I just couldn't make up my mind between a necklace and pj's for my sister-in-law. I ended up not giving her either gift, but the very, very nice lady behind the counter (who I had never seen before) says "well, if you change your mind before Christmas, you can always just return it. You are always so fun when you come in. We just want you to be happy". Unless her idea of fun is me dragging her into the dressing room and asking her if my butt looks big, I am pretty sure she's got the wrong lady in mind. <br />
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So, last night, after church, Jake, Daniel, Cal, Molly and myself stopped at Super Target for a few things. We were on our way to the checkout line when my 11 year old son says "Mom, those people are staring at you". I look over at who he is talking about and it is a Mom type looking lady and her two young daughters (maybe 9-11 year olds). She looks familiar, so I wave and she waves back and we keep moving. I say to Daniel, "What makes you think they were looking at me? Maybe they were looking at you and Calvin. Maybe those girls were looking at you!" This seemed to really interest both of my boys and all of a sudden they got incredibly squirrelly.<br />
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We were about to walk out of Super Target when the Mom and her daughters walk up to us. As I am mentally getting ready to figure out how we know each other, she (THE MOM) walks right up to my 11 year old son Daniel and says "didn't I just see you at the hockey rink!"<br />
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Doppelganger, Doppelganger, Doppelganger, Doppelganger, Doppelganger!!!!<br />
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I just can't stop saying that word!cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-86834354838909200392011-12-14T22:04:00.000-08:002011-12-14T22:17:06.942-08:00Don't Stop Believin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>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.<br />
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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).<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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). <br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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</div>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.<br />
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So, as I was looking out at the neighbor's slopes, it reminded me of my childhood.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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).<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Happy Thanksgiving!cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-3987863934038668802011-11-08T21:18:00.000-08:002011-11-08T21:18:11.804-08:00The Mean Streets of Hoboken<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwx307cyIuEsRCA6i4Zs_WhYuk9Ba7Q_UDBTEVuTR7xooPuSswfSJewKgH5PVCqOks84h-2e-TcEbs1H0yE813IEVd3y3YRV2_jznvXprNnWHv3SCeMIPZYhKlt_Exvb9CiVmpVntr8awp/s1600/Hoboken+Pier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwx307cyIuEsRCA6i4Zs_WhYuk9Ba7Q_UDBTEVuTR7xooPuSswfSJewKgH5PVCqOks84h-2e-TcEbs1H0yE813IEVd3y3YRV2_jznvXprNnWHv3SCeMIPZYhKlt_Exvb9CiVmpVntr8awp/s320/Hoboken+Pier.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Daniel on the Hoboken Pier</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><div align="center"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">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.</span>cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-61914597379429801012011-09-01T11:12:00.000-07:002019-08-15T12:48:39.266-07:00Moving at the Speed of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When my kids were really little, it seemed like that was how my life was always going to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time, it seemed as if life would always be that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time moved sllllooowww.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I saw a couple of Moms one day on a walk with their kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each Mom had a stroller with at least one baby/toddler in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a few other little ones on bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just dropped my kids off at school and was walking to my car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Moms were walking up to school to let their kids play on the playground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It occurred to me that to those Moms and kids, school was basically just a park to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had no idea of bus schedules, cold/hot lunches, homework or anything that school now represents to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My kids are funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They make me laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They get my jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They know how to soften me when I get crabby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, every once in a while I get a feeling of panic at how fast life is happening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It takes my breath away that they are growing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My oldest still has about 75% boy in him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is an older boy starting to take over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still drops everything to go look for frogs with his brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can be lured away with candy and still thinks the cake walk is awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Summers are easier now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All three of my kids generally wake up happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can get breakfast on their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They do their “jobs” and can be off playing while I work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hardest thing for me is that next summer they will be different kids…still my kids, but slightly different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They will be older and wiser...probably edgier. Molly probably won’t call me Mommy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daniel might not want me to hug him in public.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Calvin…well, all bets are off with Calvin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is my wildcard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So, as I write this, I know I am blessed with creative, wild and happy children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, at the same time, once school starts we are moving at the speed of life and it goes by fast!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With each new experience they will change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">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”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess we are ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Onward and Upward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">So much has changed, but so much has stayed the same.</span><br />
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cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-12227782824744494052011-08-17T20:18:00.001-07:002018-09-28T19:46:55.103-07:00cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-51823206988794617022011-08-14T20:00:00.001-07:002018-09-28T19:46:55.520-07:00cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-672025715318276142011-07-13T21:07:00.000-07:002011-07-13T21:07:10.169-07:00My Acceptance Speech<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I were to get an award for successfully making it through the day, this would be my acceptance speech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I truly mean we basically JUST make it through the day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is what I would say…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t believe I am being honored for making it through the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would like to thank all of the little people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would like to thank Super Target. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, I love you…and Starbuck’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s to my parents who had three kids themselves and get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for taking them while we let our hair down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t even mind if you spoil them…just don’t give them sugar or Mountain Dew.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would like to send out a big shout out to all of the babysitters out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you need some extra cash…call me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Call me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would truly like to thank all of those coaches (including my husband) that teach my children how to play the game, but <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">more importantly</b> 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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to old friends who know me so well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To new friends that automatically seem like old friends.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nancy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Red Wine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to my husband, who is a Dad and a coach and a good friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very, very solid guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He should get a similar award, but since there is only one awarded… ever…I will be accepting it</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to Rush Creek Elementary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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<sup>nd</sup> graders (I have already apologized) and especially…especially for telling the 4<sup>th</sup> graders to wear deodorant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You, having my back on that one is priceless.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To my Dad who taught me how to put a worm on a hook (huge with boys).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To my Mom who taught me how to be a friend to my daughter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sister and brother-in-laws. Nordstrom Rack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vodka. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cool bosses. Flexible work schedules. Nieces and nephews that have game. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">People that do random nice things that touch my soul and move me to be a nicer person to others.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And a big thanks to God for giving me a sense of humor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where is the post award ceremony party?</span></div>cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-78400320739198871322011-07-07T21:30:00.000-07:002013-01-31T13:50:26.207-08:00The Lawn Mower<div align="center">
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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He jumped in my car and off he went. Literally, the gas station was at the bottom of the hill...2 minutes away.<br />
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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...<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.</div>
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cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-66872742978801004462011-06-14T20:39:00.000-07:002011-06-14T20:39:45.791-07:00The NotebookOne 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Calvin. I will come back.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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:<br />
Safety Tips<br />
1. Never go to sea alone.<br />
2. Never make somebody laugh while they are drinking lemonade.<br />
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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.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">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.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">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!</div>cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-19484806646078236622011-06-08T21:05:00.000-07:002011-06-08T21:09:46.445-07:00One 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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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". <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcmH_2p6GSD_fLCSFNqKahCuAuScn14104LK3zLnIqIICUi4IJWNb6A06cullTSWagD_X8z9uNqMzz6zP0LoUnITBU1P5GD9zWvmKr_7M4y2tpuwaokvmOWZxL_OrNUj1d219VIDQUZ5P/s1600/fancy+rat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcmH_2p6GSD_fLCSFNqKahCuAuScn14104LK3zLnIqIICUi4IJWNb6A06cullTSWagD_X8z9uNqMzz6zP0LoUnITBU1P5GD9zWvmKr_7M4y2tpuwaokvmOWZxL_OrNUj1d219VIDQUZ5P/s320/fancy+rat.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>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.<br />
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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.cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-66817874030301073822011-05-29T14:18:00.000-07:002011-05-29T14:18:42.988-07:00I Am One Walmart Trip Away From A House CoatI 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. <br />
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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?"<br />
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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.<br />
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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...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ciHG928Kx7BtMTQ7dF_-cUjPHUJKbThwFkiqeoUKANOVik7BdojrYjwuZqN3-ckrIxgxxZvxqZiiq118-vPjBlkdV7v-ZedmP2QeAJ18wHrWodIMbU4YwaZ86dnbMgN6-7b0fn1MSjCL/s1600/slipper2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ciHG928Kx7BtMTQ7dF_-cUjPHUJKbThwFkiqeoUKANOVik7BdojrYjwuZqN3-ckrIxgxxZvxqZiiq118-vPjBlkdV7v-ZedmP2QeAJ18wHrWodIMbU4YwaZ86dnbMgN6-7b0fn1MSjCL/s320/slipper2.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> 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.<br />
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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!!!!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHCEGeJeBS0qRP84FYDhXfG4CFOCF4xxh4vY8ETqO-FQDJFDEFrHK464BrJfvE_bXc5RxT1kRKx6clhWC5bLTzQayJvmY6vIsPy7-Pa9HvrYAFNQtrThILseNw60TxERBrg42uBE_ggxz/s1600/slipper+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHCEGeJeBS0qRP84FYDhXfG4CFOCF4xxh4vY8ETqO-FQDJFDEFrHK464BrJfvE_bXc5RxT1kRKx6clhWC5bLTzQayJvmY6vIsPy7-Pa9HvrYAFNQtrThILseNw60TxERBrg42uBE_ggxz/s320/slipper+3.jpg" t8="true" width="180" /></a></div>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.cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-28855751694621408472011-05-27T08:16:00.000-07:002014-10-04T07:33:31.461-07:00The Baseball Park Rat<div style="text-align: left;">
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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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). <br />
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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.</div>
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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!</div>
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cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324527839109768402.post-25828455511947035032011-05-08T20:28:00.000-07:002011-05-08T20:28:49.267-07:00I 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. cathyjmarxen@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12520911901262872833noreply@blogger.com1