The Singer/Songwriter

My 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.

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.

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.

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".

I have decided that I am on team Calvin.

Being a Doppelganger

The 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.

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! 

So, as I was saying, I tell my husband this story and he says "Oh, Tom has a Doppelgänger."

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.

I am a Doppelganger...over and over and over again.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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!"

Doppelganger, Doppelganger, Doppelganger, Doppelganger, Doppelganger!!!!

I just can't stop saying that word!

Don't Stop Believin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Mean Streets of Hoboken



Daniel on the Hoboken Pier





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving at the Speed of Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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