Getting over the "What the hell were we thinking?!" phase.

When she asked what we thought of her going on a mission trip to Haiti the Big Guy and I thought it sounded great....fun, enlightening, good for her, good for them. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of deep thought going on before the papers were signed and the deposits made...and there is a big difference between what sounds good and what sometimes is good.

When the "thinking" deepened and plans solidified so did the preparations. Leadership training at church (for the oldest Wild One), passport obtainment (with all the challenges of getting an underage child out of the country with no parent....which is actually easier than getting one out with only one parent)...travel clinics with all the warnings: typhoid, hepatitis, flu, tetanus, rabies, malaria, clean drinking water, slums, thieves, pedestrian safety, guard dogs and their last question to me, "Have you thought about travel insurance...incase she needs to be airlifted to Miami?" (Nooooo!)...internet research which I could have done without: US warnings against travel to areas including Haiti.

I thought I had gotten past that, talked myself into trusting that we had made the right decision. That was until we left her at the airport at four in the morning. The Big Guy and I left...he held my hand and didn't mention the tears. The ride home was pretty quiet, we talked about work and our schedule and then went about our day. It wasn't until later that night when we were getting ready to leave for an LAX game that we allowed ourselves to let it out.


We looked at each other and simultaneously said, "What have we done?" 

We have both commented in the past about news stories describing terrible things happening to missionaries, wondering why they would put themselves at such risk. What were they thinking? We started giggling through our (OK my) tears knowing that we were now a part of this craziness. In the same moment we both realized that what we had done...we allowed our daughter to make a choice, to live in the moment and not be held back by fear. We have taught our kids to live for what they believe, what makes them happy and to not let obstacles get in the way. 

I can't put in words how proud I am of my baby girl! 

And no, I won't sleep well until she is safely home, but in the mean time I know she is exactly where she is meant to be.

Healing Haiti Woodridge Church

File and Smake it.

We all know there is something irresistible about the hind end of football players on the field...all bent over waiting for the snap...tight poly stretched across their buns. OK snap out of it...entirelry different story when the players are 10 years old...and your offspring. Still cute in a skinny, "that's my boy" kind of way. It doesn't matter how good they are (unless they are really, really good...and then you don't really need to talk about it, everyone just knows), it really is about how much fun they have out there. They work together, they respect the coaches, they take crap from the coaches, they grow thicker skin, they sweat, they cry and they roll on the field when they win. It is all still new, they try different positions and they make mistakes. The coaches revert back to boyhood and the boys feel like men. Sometimes it just comes together...and sometimes they win...sometimes by one point.

Have Thoughts...Must Write.

My head is full. It feels like it may explode. Don't worry it won't be coming out orifices of my head...hopefully. If I am lucky it will all spew forth from the end of my fingertips. I must discipline the thoughts bouncing around the inside of my skull, tame them and mold them into coherent stories to be written and stored for as long as this thing they call the internet survives. Oh yeah...I must also find the time to tackle that mountain. This cannot including sleep time or running time when I just happen to have many great ideas...but fail to remember them when I actually have a key board or a pad of paper handy. However, the Big Guy has the perfect solution to that problem: nipple rings, one on each side...a pad of paper hanging from one and a pen from the other. How would I survive without him?!

Waiting for a rainy day.

I spend long winters waiting for hot sunny days...and then when they get here I feel the need to be outside enjoying them. But every once in a while it is nice to have a cool, rainy day to give me the excuse to stay inside and get a few things done. Yeah sure, I could do a load of laundry or wash the kitchen floor...which will just be dirty again tomorrow when we are all back to running in and out from the hot sunny day...the mud left over from the rain the day before...you get the picture...but I would much rather gather on the couch with the Wild Ones, have a few snuggles, read a few books, play a few games and then just in case we haven't had enough lazy time...head off to a movie that we have been dying to see. OK, it has rained and we've done all that, now...BRING BACK THE SUN...please!

Talk about neglect!

Something always has to give...as "they" say. I have been busy starting a business...spurred on by a client that thought I was already in business. She heard from a friend of a friend that I was ready to go and who was I to say I wasn't. Perhaps it was the kick in the butt I needed to take the leap...OK it WAS the kick I needed. I feel a bit behind the 8 ball with my own business, but my first project is complete...with a little on-going consultation to boot. With that done, I now have time for my life again...well a little anyway until school starts back up after labor day. Until then, I will try to take time for the kids, time for the Big Guy and a bit of time for myself...all mixed in with the continuation of the new business. Oh, the name of the business..."lollipop design"  Website Design, Communications and Marketing for small and start up businesses...website anyone?

Tooting My Own Horn.

Don't you just love the "corner", "neighborhood", "mom-n-pop" shops? I have been looking for a saxophone for the bean Wild One and let me tell you for a woman who knows "not so much" about music...this has not been fun. I searched craigslist, local sites, talked to friends and neighbors and even thought of checking the local junk yard. I researched and found the size and brand I wanted and determined a price I would not go over...keeping in mind that we are talking about a 10 year old with no previous music experience who thought he might play the flute cuz someone told him it was an easy instrument to learn...which quickly caused an earsplitting fight with the tallest Wild One who just happens to play the flute...quite well and easily I might add. I scratched off craigslist and online ordering and made a list of music stores that sell used equipment and happen to have the exact sax I...I mean the Wild One...wanted. All four locations happen to be waaayyyy across town so I checked the maps and made a game plan. As I drove up to the first stop...35 minutes later...I knew I was going to find something. The shopping area was nestled in a quaint little neighborhood of old brick buildings, sidewalks covered in chalk and no Starbucks or Caribous with in miles (you might think that is a bad thing...and on some days I would agree...but I would so rather walk into a corner coffee shop where everybody knows my name...well they wouldn't there cuz I live so far away and have never been there before and the local Caribou baristas do know me...or perhaps I should say my car but that's beside the point). I went in and found a young man (ha...he was probably 30) who promptly introduced himself and told me that he and his father own the store and have been dealing with instruments for over 35 years. They prep everything...as in tune and repair...before they are willing to sell it and offer great guarantees and inexpensive yearly tunes. I fell in love with the store and found an instrument slightly out of my price range. I asked what other options they had and after looking at a few things, the young man offered me a deal on the first sax I picked out...of course with the strap, oil, reeds etc I quickly ate up my savings. But really, where else would you get this type of service and deal? I hope they are the real deal...otherwise I am a huge sucker and they are laughing all the way to the bank!

I Always Wanted a Nickname.

Sure I have a couple of nicknames...a couple of 40 year old men call me Kitten, the Wild Ones call me Bunsie and some times Mombo, I kind of remember my dad calling me KiKi before I was old enough to ignore him and a few close friends call me Kimi...but no universal nick name that everyone knows as me. So last week a couple of things happened to me...OK actually I caused them to happen...and I found a new nick name for myself. First, I dropped off the wee Wild One at baseball...across town...even though I didn't see any other orange shirts (but I did leave him with the tall Wild One...and her cell phone, TG!) and then raced up to the high school trying not to be late (again) for lacrosse. I was feeling a little weird about not seeing any team mates at the baseball park and as I went around the corner of the lacrosse field I realized why...13 little baseball players all dressed in orange warming up for their game. Thankfully the Big Guy had freed himself from his traffic jam and was able to pick up the two abandoned Wild Ones and get them to the proper...and safe...field. Second, I allowed the tall Wild One to stay after school the other day to study for a math final...which was weird cuz she usually would have volunteered after school that day in the wee Wild One's classroom...but he was home sick and she needed some extra, quiet study time. So I went to get her, cranked the music and raced home...smile on my face as I realized I was just ahead of the bus. I rolled to a complete stop in front of the garage and as I was reaching to turn the car off...my cell phone rang...with the dreaded school phone number. Yep, the school secretary wondering if I was on my way to pick up the middle Wild One. I was so excited that I beat the bus that I didn't even stop to think that he wasn't even on it! AND...I had just left the school 10 minutes earlier with his sister. So the next time you see me, feel free to call me Moty...you know, Mother of the Year!

Go Green? Almost.

I recycle, I refuse unnecessary bags at stores...and use my own when I don't forget them in the trunk of the car...I turn the water off when brushing, I even double up on shower time with the Big Guy. I pay my bills by wire (although some still send the paper bills and then print "do not pay...scheduled for automatic deduction" which goes right into recycling...don't they get the point of paperless?) and am trying to create a compost center at my house. But for the life of me I cannot get rid of my 12 paper calendars...which are in every room and even in the car...I know the trees frown upon me, but I wouldn't make it through the first hour of the day without them. I am also in need of a reference manual and upon checking on-line (after seeing the long reserve line at the library) apparently I have the option of the paperback or on-line edition. People, I know the right choice and I want to follow that path...but I feel hives rising on my neck at the thought. I know that it would be easier to open the laptop and browse page by treeless page, but there is something about being able to feel the smooth pulp between my fingers and add my own lead scratch marks that takes my fingers hostage and hovers them over the paperback option. I will do my best...perhaps I should haul my computer outside, sit in the shade and take inspiration from the fact that I still have that option for staying cool...which reminds me of my favorite summer activity...reading my paperbacks on the hammock leisurely stretched between two tall birch trees. See what I'm dealing with here!?!?

Tribute to Brett Favre.

I mean the Favre we talk about and still love (to hate...for some of the die hard Vike's fans) that rivaled our home team, but caught the attention of the wee Wild One. Yep he had the fever...Green Bay hats, blankets, winter coat, mittens, scarf, Favre jerseys, t-shirts...and took a lot of grief for it. I thought I would show my support of him and let nature turn our yard into a shrine for Favre lovers all around us (OK for the two other fans I know of). Come on you have to admit they are kind of cute...I get bouquets from the Wild Ones all the time (some as tall as 14 inches and some crazy fused ones that have five heads) and I hear they make a delicious side dish. I'm guessing the new neighbor across the street is not a Green Bay lover...the chemical trucks have been there twice a week trying to rid his yard of any Favredom. He even burned a patch of lawn...perhaps he is a Viking's fan and is preparing to plant purple and white flowers instead. That would be great cuz when my seeds float over there and sprout their pretty gold flowers next year it will be the perfect touch that his Viking's bed was missing.

Everything Keeps Revolving...No Matter What We Do or Don't Do.

Just when I thought life's craziness was subsiding and the lazy days of summer were headed my way...I realized that they (the things that wreak havoc in my life) were just really good at playing "Hide-and-seek," but I wasn't seeking...I swear. I have lost count of clinic visits and trips to the hospital...and may be headed there again later today. This time it should just be minor, but never start the celebrations too early. Perhaps it is all a master plan by the Wild Ones to shorten the amount of time that they have to spend in school...although I'm pretty sure they would pick school to the pain and the tests they have had to undergo. Cross your fingers and say a prayer, but I think we are going to dive into summer vacation (and many new posts) next week with three happy healthy Wild Ones...and one really tired mom.

Tick...I mean..."Tis the Season.

In my mind, Memorial weekend always seems to kick off summer. We are pretty safe planting flowers and hooking up the hoses. The Grouchy Dog has been opened and the boat uncovered...and now we can really start to use them. Each year we make the trek up the "The Cabin" to start the summer festivities. It was a beautiful weekend filled with laughter, sunshine, fun and ticks (and yes for you die hards, the vodka was flowing...we-my two sidekicks and myself-even initiated the End Zone). But back to the ticks...the first one is gross and makes everyone a little more alert, but by numbers 12, 13...22 it's just not so bad any more. We picked them off in the weeds, the tall grass, the woods and even just sitting in the grass (ok I was actually laying in the grass...after getting beaned in the head with a soccer ball...I don't believe the big guy when he said he was aiming for the Wild One...his hands, not his head).  I found two crawling on me just before we left and a couple on the Wild Ones...and Miss Z. We did one last "once over" before we headed out...we were a little crammed in and didn't have room for any hitch hikers...and came up clean. We decided to catch a movie on the way home (leave it to the Fun Family to wedge one more thing in before the sun goes down) and right as the lights began to dim, I felt something on my hip. I was pretty sure it was nothing (after all I had triple checked) and I really didn't feel like pulling my pants down in the theater...so I tried to sit still and enjoy the movie. Fast forward about 3 seconds...I whippped my pants down over my right hip and there he was...a huge bugger making his way upward. I had to wait until there was enough light coming from the screen so that I could pick it off...and then sat there squishing it between my fingers thinking, "Now WTF am I going to do with it?" I ran to the end of the isle and flicked it onto the metal part of the step and then poked it...I figured if it was still moving it would never get past all the other people and make it back to me...I felt pretty safe...but, I sat through the rest of the movie squirming, flinching, gawking and scratching at every little flicker of dust that came near my body. We all arrived home safely and with no more tick attacks. We all lingered in hot showers and baths and  climbed in for a "OMG I am so happy to be sleeping in my own bed" good nights sleep. And we all slept like babies...including the little brown friend we found this morning burrowed in the side of the tallest Wild One.

Sometimes I feel like research on the internet is like reading National Enquirer. Someone sends something to your in-box about some cool new thing or most likely some warning of what not to do, have, eat, say...fill in the blank. At first you think, "Wow, I didn't know that...hmmm...will have to be more careful about ______." 

It's kind of like walking past the "newspaper" (that is what one of my grandmothers used to call the N.E. If you questioned something wacky that she said, she would look at you like you didn't know a whole lot and say, "Of course it's true, I read it in the newspaper."). You know that the stories in the "newspaper" are not true or real (perhaps based on a real word that may have been uttered with in a mile of said information that is being touted), but something makes you look and even quickly wonder if it could be possible. The next thing you know you are at a party (never an empty cup in hand) and you proclaim some far out truth...that you know to be true...cuz you saw it in the "newspaper".

Same thing happens with the e-mails claiming your left arm will fall off if you eat green veggies grown in soil made from the organic compost that came from the pharmaceutical plant in Alaska. After you read it you are a little freaked out and you want all your friends to be freaked out too...OK maybe you just want to make sure they don't lose their left arm...so you hit forward before your brain has had the chance to send out the "this is absurd...snicker and hit delete" message. In the case that you get the message and don't hit forward cuz you think maybe you need to check it out a bit first, beware of the internet. I guarantee that if you search for "green veggies cause missing arms in Alaska" you will find just as many sites that confirm the email as sites that don't say anything, but just make a laughing sound when you enter them.

So while the internet can offer a wealth of information, I caution you not to believe everything you read. Did you know that the name wikipedia came from the two words wicked and encyclopedia? Anyone can create (or change existing) entires with little or no knowledge of the subject at hand and often do so to create mayhem in the world. Believe me, it's true...I read it online.

Mothers...Happy Day to y'all.

Do we really need a day to celebrate mothers? I mean I AM a mother, I love my mother, most of my friends are mothers...but there would be nothing without us mothers (check 6th grade sex ed if you really doubt that). So really a day? It should be a celebration of life everyday...come on at least a weekend! And shouldn't it be about being pampered...and maybe, just maybe getting a break from being a mother? I don't like the pressure of finding the right gift or doing the right thing and I don't like wondering what my family will plan...or if they will plan. I think all mothers should unite and treat each day as if it were Mother's Day...cuz after all it pretty much is. If you insist, we could also plan quarterly weekends away...to reflect and refresh and come back as better mothers (I have heard that works!). So cheers to all the women I know that are mothers...not just on that one Sunday in May, but everyday that you give out hugs, kisses, wipe noses and faces (and for some...bottoms), brush away tears, stay up late wondering whether you are going to ground your child for 3 years or pull them into your arms when they show up two hours late, reluctantly let them ride their bike...or hand them your car keys...to a friends house for the first time, celebrate good grades, cheer at sporting events (especially those held in pouring rain, flurries of mosquitoes or blistering sun), make meal after mean, wash the same clothes over and over, bite your tongue when you know you are right, stand back with tears in your eyes while they stand up for themselves and all the other activities you do on a daily basis...all for the best gift of all...the love they hold in their hearts (whether they show it at all times or not).

Be careful what you start.

You're a new mom...innocent in the ways of raising kids...eager to do your best...you want to get involved and make sure you contribute to their education. First comes ECFE (that's early childhood family education for you newbies) and it's great, you meet a bunch of great families, expand your community...then just when you are living the life they ask for a little favor. Could you spend an hour working at a club activity or donate some mashed potatoes for the Thanksgiving preschool celebration? Run!!! OK, you don't have to run...but don't give them your real name, phone number or email. I'm not kidding. Pretty soon you will be chairing your own committees or the whole damn program and before you know it...you will be working part-time (did I mention "unpaid"?) between all the community schools...volunteering with teachers in the class room, phy-ed class, art classes and mentoring students after school. You will be making cards, buying treats and hauling cakes to school. Once they have your name, they know how to use it. My suggestion to you...other than the obvious, "No thank you"...go ahead, help out a little (it can actually be quite fun) but give them an alias. We all have some kookie, mysterious or perhaps elegant name we secretly wish our friends would call us (don't we??). I suggest when someone solicits your help you smile, say "Sure, I'd love to. Have we met? Let me introduce myself, my name is Cleopatra Wowasake."

Every man (or student) for himself.

You really get the flavor of people when a "pandemic" comes to town. Yes our quaint little village has been struck again...this time with the swine flu (now known as H1N1 Novel Influenza for fear of offending any pig farmers out there). The schools were closed yesterday "as a caution" and we were all advised to stay home and not congregate. The "probable case" came from the high school and we were exposed to families (and some kids themselves) with kids in high school not just Friday night and Saturday night, but at a Sunday brunch as well so...we laid low yesterday...didn't even run to the store for milk (which had a lot more to do with how much work I had to do than not spreading/catching any germs). Today the High School remains closed, but the middle, intermediate and elementary schools are all back in business (disinfected by the custodians...who are immune? I hope the bus company followed suit). So let's see...should we assume that those high schoolers who have been exposed have no siblings who are in the other three schools and that their parents are not off at Honeywell or walking the skyways of Minneapolis...or how 'bout the Big Guy who hopped on a plane to New Orleans yesterday? He was not sure whether to be worried about passing along germs on the plane or catching something worse down in the bayou. I know people who took the day off from school as a vacation day and got together with groups of friends...which pretty much makes this unstoppable. What I am saying here is that if it's going around, you're going to be exposed no matter what you do (short of building a bubble around yourself...and maybe even by then you would have been exposed anyway and then you would be trapped inside your padded cell with all those nasty germs). Between leaving school on Friday (and I volunteered at three of the four schools that day) and prior to knowing the germs were multiplying in our area, our family was in contact with families from two other school districts and three different colleges not to mention all the offices and cities associated with the various adults in the rooms. So...the Big Guys solution on Sunday afternoon after receiving the news, "I'm going to take this matter into my own hands and drown it with vodka...lots of vodka." Seems to be working.

Planning committee.

I am strapped for time, over scheduled and being pulled in 12 different directions. I need time to sit down and figure out where all the paths are leading and how I can merge some of them...or at least get them to run in parallel directions. That got me to thinking about how we (go ahead and admit it...you'd take them if someone offered) could use a few more hours in each day. Now I know that is not how the world was designed, but who says things have to stay the same? Things are renegotiated all the time...contracts, salaries, relationships...so why not hours of the day? I'd like to propose a committee, I'll even chair it...cuz I have so much extra time...to renegotiate the number of hours in a day. I'll start high, give a little-to look flexible...then dive in hard for the best deal (OK, I have been know to meet half way...but I'll be strong). What...another 4 hours...day light of course...that's not asking too much...just a little breathing room. Settled. Now, who can connect me with the Maker of the World? Tomorrow at noon would be good.

I can see it now.

Breaking News: Independence mother sought in questionable practices (for jail or institution?). An unnamed 41 year old woman had been accused of locking two sons in their bedrooms...no, not bad enough; duct taping them back to back...no, they might think that was funny; sending them to the basement with nerf guns...no, they might break something; making them load the dishwasher and mop the kitchen floor...no, they would some how turn that into skating on soapy rags; putting them in the backyard and locking the door-from the inside...no, they would consider that an adventure; leaving boys in house and sitting in her car with the radio cranked full blast...no, the neighbors might investigate; back to sending them down the hall to their own rooms (and letting them duke it out all the way there) with a stern warning to stay there and NOT interact with each other...ahh, peace and quiet (perhaps a cocktail at the Grouchy dog...for the mother...not the boys)...for two minutes...then whispering, and scheming and some sort of elaborate plan being acted out at the end of the hallway...fun, adventure, collaboration, sounds of havoc and possible destruction.  Just the way is should be...but shhhh don't tell them where I'm hiding.

Not the way I remember it.

Too bad the libraries cannot charge admission...or rent out quiet space or tables. I opted to work from one of the local libraries today to avoid the distractions of a home office (animals, laundry...the refrigerator) and was shocked to see the crowds. I got here early and it was like Macy's the day after Thanksgiving. No lie...I stopped counting at 50...and that's referring to the number of people waiting at the gate to get in. The security guard that opened the gate looked like he was ready to call for back up. I had to do a little elbowing and a drunken walk to keep people from getting in front of me and taking the coveted spot in the corner study room...the private one with outlets and glass doors. I stepped out to take a break and almost every chair in this place is being warmed by an adult butt attached to a face that looks like it would rather be some where else. Some studying, but mostly people working or looking for work. It's really quite a site to see...and really quite sad. Damn economy!

It's all Semantics.

Do you have any idea what I'm trying to say here? I use text messaging and instant messaging a lot...and oh yeah, I write a few blogs (did you catch the tone of my voice changing there?)...and I have a habit of using sarcasm (yes, I should probably take that up with my therapist). I can use the standard text language to shorten my stroking time (even impressed my teenaged niece with my speed and agility...and you won't hear that often in the same sentence with my name) and can add a few icons to help with the mood, but I have not mastered the art of typed semantics. I have pissed off a few people who could not "hear" my snickering behind the words and left others confused as to what the heck I was talking about. I know this is an issue for sociologists, especially in the study of children and their use of non-face to face contact. They are not learning the same things we did as kids...only the really brave or stupid kids called someone a bad name to their face, but were poised to duck or run even before the last words were out of their mouths. I could write a book on cyber bullying, but all I really want to know is how to get my voice across written media...with the intent and feeling in which I say it in my head. For now I will just sit back and wonder who and how many actually get what I'm trying to say...and no one will ever truly know.

The Passing of Winter.

I feel really badly for the teachers at this time of year (at least in places that truly have four seasons). The Wild Ones are all home by four, but the house is quiet until after eight...and then the only noise is that coming from my mouth as I stand in the door an holler at them to get their skinny little butts in the house and start getting for bed (some times I even threaten no reading time if they don't hurry up). Then they are up at the crack of dawn, scrambling into clean (I hope) clothes and stuffing some protein and carbs in their system so they can get outside to get a few innings of baseball in before the bus comes...and then stomping off to the bus if Sandy comes before they get their last (home run I'm sure) hit in. The fresh air feels good and the heat from the sun is intense (even at 40 degrees this morning...wearing shorts and t-shirts). I don't have the heart to say no to the late nights and the early mornings (as long as they scramble through the homework and some nutrition) and I hope that the invigoration that they get will carry them through the day when the lack of rest starts to settle in. Perhaps I should pack a treat for the teachers to help them deal with the sun and fresh air starved Minnesota children who have finally been unleashed into the most welcomed time of year. Better yet...I should just try to get them to bed on time.