Musings from the dogpound

The End is Near

2008-08-27T10:34:00.008-04:00

This is not my favorite time of year. The days are growing shorter, the nights cooler, and in less than a week the kids will be heading back to school. Once again summer has passed by far too quickly, and I am not ready to say goodbye. This summer was not one of our better ones. Much of it was rainy, or at least gray and cool, not a nice beach summer, not a nice summer for doing things outside. The lack of true summer weather and beach days made it go by even faster, and I fear our winter will seem even longer.

Our vacation week was a wash. With the exception of one day, which we thankfully spent at StoryLand, every day we were on vacation it either rained or threatened rain. We didn't make it to the beach, had to cancel a day at the lake with friends, it was a crappy week. We made the best of it and have the pictures to prove it, but it certainly wasn't what we had in mind.

Now summer is almost over. As far as I'm concerned, summer ends on Labor Day. Sure there are a few days in September that would be fine beach days, but with two-thirds of my little ones in school the beach doesn't seem so appealing. I would feel guilty enjoying the surf and sand with Bella, knowing that Phillip and Kylie were sitting in stuffy classrooms.

This time of year makes me very melancholy. The relaxing, unscheduled days of summer are almost over, to be replaced by the rush that accompanies the school year. We will rush in the mornings to get out the door, we will rush to get to dance and karate, we will rush to finish homework, get showers, eat dinner, and get to bed at a decent time, so that the next day we can rush through all those things again. I am also melancholy because the beginning of the school year is a very real reminder that my babies are growing up. This year Kylie will be headed to fourth grade and Phillip to first. Where has the time gone?

As much as they fight, bicker, and generally drive me crazy some days, I will really miss those two when the big yellow bus takes them away next Tuesday. I will cry when it rumbles past, taking them away from me for the next eight hours. I will look at the clock throughout the day and wonder what they are doing, if they are okay, if everyone is being nice to them, if they miss me too. Gradually we will settle into the routine, but those first few days my heart will ache for them. I will listen for their footsteps, their laughter, the inevitable arguing, but it will not come. Bella will do a good job of filling the void, but there is only so much one three year old can do to make up for the quiet that ensues when a nine year old and six year old are gone.

Next week I will go back to watching the clock. I will anxiously await the arrival of 3:30, the time when the bus usually returns my two little rugrats to me. I will greet them with hugs and homemade cookies, ready to hear about all of their first and fourth grade adventures. Yes, the end is near, and I for one am nowhere near ready.

Time Flies

2008-08-20T09:50:00.011-04:00

I can't believe it has been over two years since I last posted on my blog. I'm not exactly sure where the time went, but I know that it has gone by fast. There was no particular reason why I stopped writing, I guess life just got too busy and something had to go, so it was my writing. I have missed it. Writing here was a kind of therapy for me, even if no one else ever read it. There have been so many things over the past two years that have made me think "I need to blog about that", but then life would get in the way and it just wouldn't happen. So today, as I sit at my desk where I'm supposed to be working, I am re-committing to my blog, re-committing to doing something a few times a week that is just for me.

In the two years since I last posted much has happened. Rob has taken on a new position (with the same company) that kept him busy at work and away from our family for much of late 2006 and most of 2007. Things are better now, but it was not easy on any of us having him work 15 hour days, five, sometimes six, days a week. For the first three months of 2007 he was working seven days a week. Now he has things under control and is home by 6:00 most days. After having him gone so much last year the kids and I certainly appreciate having him back.

Kylie has completed both second and third grades and is doing well. She will be going to a different school this year which will be an adjustment for all of us. It is older than the school she has been in for the last four years, so there will be some definite changes for her. As she has matured she has evolved into this amazingly helpful, conscientious, and responsible child that I never could have imagined from the head banging toddler of six years ago. She is wonderful with her younger siblings, talking them down from tantrums and disappointments, negotiating deals with them when we are seemingly at a stalemate over any given issue. I am so proud of the young girl she is becoming and I tell her that every chance I get. She still has her moments and her meltdowns, but who amongst us doesn't? They usually come when she is feeling tired or overwhelmed, and given a little time and space she can recover in a reasonable amount of time. She still does dance and impressed both her Dad and I at the dance recital this past spring. For the first time in her six years of dance she seemed to be comfortable and know what she was doing. She didn't look off to the side at the teacher for instruction, she didn't look to the other girls, she danced her dances with confidence, grace, and purpose. I suppose that is just another example of how she has grown, not just as a dancer, but as a person. To put it quite simply, she blew us away.

Phillip has both a year of pre-school and kindergarten under his belt and is grudgingly moving on to the first grade in two weeks. He claims he doesn't like school, but I think that's just because it takes him away from home and me, where he is most comfortable. He has grown and matured in many ways, but he is no longer the easy-going guy he started out as. Most of the time he is happy go lucky and good natured, but sometimes when things don't go his way he lets his temper get the best of him. Don't be fooled by the dimples and twinkling blue eyes, he can pitch a fit with the best of them. Fortunately he saves them for home where he feels the most secure, and at school, friends' houses, etc., he is the picture of charm and cheer. For the past year he has been taking karate, and so far at least he wants to stick with it. He is already quite popular with the ladies, and they with him, so mommas you might want to lock up your daughters. Lately he has been very concerned about the clothes he's wearing, his accessories, his hair (he wanted a mohawk but settled for a flat top), and overall looking cool. He's a sweet, funny little dude, and no matter how angry he makes me one flash of those dimples can melt my heart. (Even when I catch him peeing in the litter box, which I did last week! He denied it, but the mischievous grin on his face spoke volumes - as did the huge wet spot in the litter box which was clearly not made by a four legged house cat!!)

Sweet Bella has the world wrapped around her finger. Her hair goes halfway down her back, but it's so curly that the spirals only reach just past her shoulders. She is a comedienne and will do whatever it takes to get a laugh. Her first dance recital was this past May, and while she spent most of her time on stage looking around with her fingers in her mouth, she still looked adorable and enjoyed herself. Kylie was the "junior assistant" for Bella's dance class, and I swear seeing my big girl help teach my little girl just about made my heart burst. Bella talks non-stop and has an amazing vocabulary. She is a true testament to the fact that the younger children learn from the older ones. Lately she has decided that she wants a baby. The other day she brought me a catalog of children's clothing that she had been looking through. "Momma, Momma, I found someting' I want!", she said, bouncing up and down, barely able to contain her excitement. Expecting to see a dress or some other article of clothing that was sure to be a fashion statement for the three year old set, I was instead shown a picture of three babies, two dressed in blue and one in pink. "Momma,", she squealed, "can you order me da baby sista? Please??!! I want da baby sista!!! Call dem, Momma!". Through my laughter I told her that her Dad and I were working on it, we'd see what we could do.

As for me, all is well. Given that I have a great husband, three healthy, beautiful children, and a nice house, I don't really think I'm in a position to complain. Rob and I are still trying for number four and it's frustrating that it's taking so long, but there's not much I can do about it. I had another miscarriage in the fall of 2007. It was a long, drawn out, miserable process that spanned five weeks from the very first spotting to eventual d&c. During two of those weeks Rob was in Germany, which sucked more than words can say. Since then we have been trying for one more, but so far no luck. I'm 39 so I feel like that window is slowly closing, but it is what it is and there is only so much we can do. If for some reason number four is not meant to be, then I will accept that and be happy with the blessings I have. For right now though, I'm not quite ready to concede that point.

So Musings from the Dogpound is back up and running, even if it's just for me. I figure in a 19 hour day I should be able to squeeze out at least a little time to visit here and write something a few times a week. It's my gift, from me, to me.

Bella at One

2006-04-13T08:50:00.000-04:00

Our baby girl with eyes of blue,
Rosy cheeks, a mohawk ‘do,
Chunky thighs and dimpled feet,
Fat legs never looked so sweet.
A laugh that makes my heart do flips,
Whenever it escapes her lips,
Busy girl, on the go,
Things to see, people to know.
On her belly she slides ‘cross the floor,
Soon she’ll be upright, running out the door.
Happy girl, she likes to hum,
When she snuggles her Taggie and sucks on her thumb.
Smiling, laughing, screaming with glee,
Just happy to be here, happy to be.
Waving, winking, blowing kisses,
Making her first birthday wishes.
Kylie and Phillip say it often and loud,
Bella’s our baby and that makes us proud.
Our sweet little girl from heaven above,
Precious bundle overflowing with love.
Someone was missing, just didn’t know who,
Thank goodness we found out, Bella, it was you.

"Phillipisms"

2006-04-11T08:32:00.000-04:00

Phillip at 4......

Upon entering the bathroom at the house of our friends (it was a little cluttered and messy): "Hmph, I can see that they don't clean their bathroom!"
His thoughts on our friend's baby: "Momma, their baby is so cute...she's not as cute as my baby though!"
Upon discovering there was no coffee to be had one morning: **smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand** "That's it, I'm going back to bed..." and heads for the stairs.
Three days after my Dad's surgery when the nurse came in to his room and hooked him up to do an EKG while we were visiting: "Momma, when's Poppa gonna light up?"
Said while playing with Bella: "I love my baby Momma, but if you don't mind I would like a little brother next time."
Recently when we went to pick Kylie up from my brother & sister-in-law's house: "Well, well, well, just look who's here with Aunt Brenda, it's Uncle Boyd!"
The other day in the van on the way home from my parents house (said to Kylie following negotiations on what they were going to play when we got home): "Okay Kylie, so we're going to play in the tent and pretend we're camping - are we clear about that?"
Hollered from the bathtub one night: "Momma, Momma, come here quick! There's something under my tinkler and it has balls in it!"
Hollered from the bathroom one morning: "Hey Momma, my tinkler's growing!"
Said to my Dad when he wasn't getting his way: "Poppa, are you trying to make me angry?"
His thoughts on birth order: "I'm mad at you that you didn't get me out of your tummy before Kylie. Why did she get to come out first?"
Last week he told me he wanted to be a builder when he grew up. He then proceeded to ask me if he had to exercise to be a builder, and I told him that was probably a good idea because it would help him to be strong. He proceeded to start flexing his muscles and striking different poses. When I asked him what he was doing he said (very matter of factly) "I'm doing my 'Fitness Made Simple' with John Basedow for exercise." (I'm not sure if anyone has seen those commercials, but they run here all the time. While he may not be the ideal target market, obviously Phillip has been paying attention!)

No doubt about it, Phillip keeps me laughing!

TMI

2006-03-15T11:00:00.000-05:00

Did you ever read something and as soon as you finished it wished you hadn't? I did, yesterday. I was at work when our computer consultant showed up to do a few things on my computer. Since pretty much everything I had to do required the use of my computer, I found myself with a few free minutes. To fill the time I picked up the issue of the Wall Street Journal that sits on the corner of my desk. Every day at work we get the WSJ and our local paper. While I glance through the local paper from time to time, I seldom look past the front page of the WSJ. For some reason yesterday I flipped through the sections of the paper, scanning the first page of each section - first section A, then B, section C, then D. On the front page of section D, which is the health section, I spotted an article entitled "Doctors Search for Ways to Improve Detection of Dangerous Brain Aneurysms". Since my Mom had surgery to repair two brain aneurysms in 1991 this article piqued my curiosity.

I read the article...then wished I hadn't. I'm not a hypochondriac, really I'm not, but reading the line "evidence is mounting that brain aneurysms are genetic" sent a shiver up my spine. The fact that my Mom had two brain aneurysms repaired before they ruptured is only part of our family history. She also had a nephew who had a brain aneurysm that ruptured, and her father died (before I was born) of a stroke, which could have been caused by a ruptured aneurysm. Clearly this theory that brain aneurysms might be genetic is not a new one. At the time of my Mom's surgery her doctor suggested that all of her children have an MRI around the age of 40 to rule out the possibility that any of us have aneurysms. I knew this, but somehow seeing it in the paper made it more real.

My greatest fear, aside from something happening to one of my children, is that something will happen to me. I can't imagine leaving my children without a mother, just the thought of it brings me to tears. This information alone is enough to feed my fear, but the flames are further fanned by the fact that peripheral vision deficits can be one sign of an unruptured aneurysm, and when I had my last eye exam this past December I failed that test the first time I took it. Of course, I passed it the second time, but still....

I wish I could go back to yesterday morning and choose to do something other than pick up the WSJ. Since I believe that everything happens for a reason, I'm having a hard time dismissing the fact that I picked up a paper that I never read and found this particular article. On the other hand, I'm also having a hard time envisioning myself calling my doctor and asking her to sign off on a thousand (or more) dollars worth of testing for no apparent reason. I'm sure I'm perfectly healthy, I have no real reason to believe otherwise, I'm just a victim of too much information.

Love is...

2006-02-15T08:35:00.000-05:00

(My intention was to post this on Valentine's Day, but I didn't get a chance to finish it until today.)

Valentine's Day is nice in theory, a day to celebrate love, who can argue with that? Unfortunately it has been commercialized to the extreme. Instead of love the focus these days seems to be on flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and other material pursuits. Rob and I were discussing the sad fact the other day that of all the couples we know (that aren't family), we don't know many who are truly happily married. I think the premise behind Valentine's Day is partially to blame for that. Too many people think that love is all about flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and endless romance. That's nice, but it's not reality. Love is about what's left when the flowers die, the only evidence that the chocolates ever existed is lovehandles, and the jewelry is left sitting in a box somewhere awaiting a special occasion.

Among other things, for me love is...

taking the van to the gas station on Sunday afternoon to fill it up so I won't have to during the week.
coming home from the beach on a hot summer day with sand covered, tired children, to find that when he got home from golfing Robbie vacuumed the house, did all the laundry and put it away, then having him offer to bathe the kids and take us all out for milkshakes after.
helping me clean up Kylie's bed after she threw up all over herself in her sleep, without being asked.
sharing a sweet Kahlua cigar under a sky bursting with stars on a February night when the thermometer is hovering around 8 degrees.
calling from work, hearing a demanding preschooler, an overtired infant, and a wiped out wife, and saying "don't worry about dinner, I'll bring something home for all of us".
buying a strawberry cheese croissant when you're on a diet and hiding it in your wife's briefcase so she'll find it when she gets to work.
calling on the way to the airport at the start of another business trip, and leaving a message on my cell phone thanking me for being a wonderful wife and mother, and reminding me to take care of myself while he's gone.
calling me at work just to make sure I made it there safely.
coming downstairs after putting the kids to bed to find a glass of wine waiting for me in the kitchen.

Love is about the stuff that happens when you least expect it, when nobody else is looking. It isn't always as pretty as a bouquet of flowers or as sweet as a box of chocolates, but it grows, endures, and whether given or received, is the most precious gift there is.

My Funny Valentine

2006-02-07T09:44:00.000-05:00

Kylie's teacher recently asked each of her first graders to write a poem for Valentine's Day. This is Kylie's:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My dog smells,
And so do you.

That's my girl...

Dirty laundry

2006-01-26T09:06:00.000-05:00

It was just after lunch and I was pacing from window to window like a nervous school girl awaiting her first date. Finally it came into view, lumbering down our street, the truck from our local appliance store. It stopped hesitantly in front of our house which started the dogs barking and Phillip jumping up and down shouting "they're here, they're here!".

We had entered our local appliance store on Saturday morning filled with anticipation at the prospect of purchasing a new washer and dryer. Our old ones had come with the house, and had no doubt been purchased by the previous owners when they had the house built in 1987. They had served us well for the past eight years, but we were beginning to feel that they were running on borrowed time. With the promise of a modest bonus on the horizon for Rob we decided to be proactive and make the purchase before our current machines died. We chose to patronize our local appliance store instead of a "big box" store for a few reasons. First and foremost, our local store delivers, sets up the new appliances, and takes the old ones away, all for free. Second, the guy who runs the store is a local guy who has been doing this his whole life. He is a wealth of knowledge, has used most of the products that he sells at one time or another, and is not afraid to give you all the information on any given product, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Finally, the thought of going to a big store with three children and trying to make an informed decision on a fairly major purchase was less than appealing. Yes, local is good.

My criteria for the new appliances were fairly simple. I wanted a washer that would not suck our clothes under the agitator leaving them with streaks of grease on them, and a dryer that would dry our clothes in less than three sixty minute cycles. We had done a little bit of research on our own, and the thought of a front loading washer was somewhat appealing, primarily due to the absence of an agitator. Mark, the appliance guy, listed off six to eight things about a front loading washer that in his opinion made them superior to a top loader. When he was finished we asked him about the other side of the coin, surely there were drawbacks. He could only provide us with one, "front loaders tend to be more expensive than top loaders". Given the list of good things he had just told us about front loaders we refused to be scared off on price alone. He led us to a very nice looking GE washer and dryer pair, and told us that those were his favorites at the moment. He said that GE was the last to enter the front loading washer market, so they learned a lot from the mistakes of their competitors. Beside this pair was a very impressive GE upright washer with its matching dryer. He said that machine had been marketed by GE as the "top loader that thinks it's a front loader" due to its lack of an agitator (but did I really want an appliance that suffers from schizophrenia?). This impressive duo was linked together by what he referred to as an "umbilical cord", so that the dryer would know what was in the washer, how much moisture was left in the load, and when to expect the clothes, so that it could "prepare" for the incoming load. I was more than a little intimidated at the thought of my dryer sitting in the basement, patiently tapping its perfectly balanced foot, waiting for me to descend the stairs and move the laundry into it from the washer so that it could go about its business. I had visions of it calling upstairs to me "Hey lady, this load of wash has been sitting here for four hours waiting to be put into me so I can dry it. If I could move it myself I would, but I can't, so shake a leg, would ya?". I mentally crossed the schizophrenic washer and too-smart-for-its-own-good dryer off my list of possibilities.

In the end we decided on the GE front loader and matching dryer that Mark recommended. GE has a very nice policy about returning any appliance within thirty days for any reason with no charge and a full refund, so if we decide we don't like this pair P Appliance will pick them up and we can start over. I did my first load of laundry last night, and so far so good. The washer appeared to know that it was a front loader, there was no sign of a split personality. And the dryer, while clearly intelligent (it has a setting where you can tell it to stop when it senses the load is dry instead of just setting it for a specific amount of time), does not appear to have the unsettling ability to judge me or my tardiness in moving the load from one machine to the next. (Although I will admit last night I was riveted to the washer as I watched the estimated minutes remaining count down on the aesthetically pleasing digital display. No sooner did the stainless steel drum stop spinning and the door unlock then I was moving the contents to the dryer.) Somewhere deep inside me is the shadow of my sixteen year old self, no doubt weeping at the thought of me being so giddy over a new washer and dryer...

2005

2006-01-07T23:03:00.000-05:00

For the last five years my family has all gone out to a restaurant together after the holidays. It is typically the only time we are together during the year when we're not at someone's house so everybody gets to enjoy themselves. This tradition started in January 2002 when we all gathered to celebrate the 25th wedding anniversary of my brother and sister-in-law. The following year found us celebrating my parent's 50th wedding anniversary. After two years of celebrating we decided it was so much fun we needed to do it every year. Tonight was the night we gathered together to celebrate nothing more than surviving another year. In honor of tonight's dinner I wrote a sort of retrospective of 2005...

2005

2005 started out cold,
Especially at Floyd’s house
So I was told
At Windows we froze
The heat was unseen
So this year we’ll kick off
At the Silver Tureen
Now as we all gather
In good health and good cheer
Let’s take a look back
At a pretty good year…

A sweet babe we welcomed into our fold
In a hurry to get here a joy to behold
Sweet Bella’s a treasure, a girl like no other
And she’s lucky to have the best sister and brother
Kylie and Phillip are second to none
Spending their days playing games, having fun
Sometimes they disagree, sometimes they whine
But most of the time they get along fine
Edie and Robbie built their addition
We hope the kids like it, we spent their tuition.

On Wyndegate Drive some changes took place
Floyd and Gail took some time to jazz up their space
New windows, wallpaper, floors, carpets and deck
Some money was left so they said what the heck
Ash got her license, lets buy her some wheels
Now she can drive home when they kick up their heels
Kayla kept busy with babysitting and soccer
Soon she’ll be moving stuff to a high school locker

Cherie and Mike brought home little Pip
A cute little pup with a bum little hip
Nobody is sure for how long she did roam
But she and Chawi are happy that she now has a home.
Cherie turned fifty and did it with grace
With a drink in her hand and a smile on her face.
We celebrated in style, a night fit for a queen
Complete with a shiny black stretch limousine

Ross finished high school and went off to college
To join brother Chris in pursuing more knowledge
Boyd and Brenda were ready for a bit of a rest
And adjusted quite well to their now empty nest
They find themselves busy, there’s still lots to do
When you go from a household of four down to two
This year finds them headed off on a cruise
I hope Boyd finds a way to smuggle some booze

Mom and Dad kept from getting lazy and fat
Busy with grandkids, Shriners, and gals in red hats
They had a good year with one minor glitch
In Poppa’s heart they found a small hitch
It was a rough time but look at him now
Now let’s take a moment to thank the poor cow…

Heidi and Isabelle, Anna and Chris
To not mention you would make this remiss
You’re all family too and we’re glad that you’re here
To join in this evening of fun and good cheer.

This family’s unique, so is everyone in it
And I wouldn’t change a thing, not for a minute.
So let’s raise a glass to welcome this year
Let’s hope next year finds us healthy and here!

Pictures

2006-01-01T23:34:00.000-05:00

A few pictures to accompany the most recent post (for some reason I wasn't able to include them in the post itself):

Mr. D's sunset

Bella and Ross (her favorite muppet!)

Our finished mudroom

My elves...the reasons I will believe next Christmas

Christmas

2006-01-01T23:30:00.000-05:00

The Christmas tree lays forlornly on the deck, stripped of its colored lights, silver beads, blown glass and precious home-made ornaments. The mantle sits bare above the woodstove, no longer the resting place for garland, sparkling lights, and assorted Christmas characters. Snowmen, santas, reindeer, and other seasonal trimmings are tucked snugly back in their boxes, patiently awaiting their return to the storage area over the TV room which will be their home for the next eleven months. Another Christmas has passed.

Like most things in life, this Christmas was a combination of good and bad. Fortunately the good far outweighed the bad. Unfortunately some days I allowed the bad to overshadow the good and steal some of the joy away from what is typically my favorite time of year. Primarily the bad boils down to the fact that we were just too busy. The long list of things that had to be done in the weeks leading up to Christmas led to far too many late nights, early mornings, and hectic days. The good is easy, our family was blessed to celebrate Christmas together and in good health.

There are things from this Christmas season that will stand out in my mind forever.

This was the first year that Kylie wanted to use her own money to buy presents for Robbie and me. She was determined to get her own gifts for us, and all attempts by us to dissuade her from doing so were unsuccessful. For her Dad she decided to get a Dunkin' Donuts gift card, and for me she chose body lotion, which she also wrapped herself. She was so proud of those gifts that she insisted we open them two days before Christmas, she just couldn't wait any longer. She understands that we give gifts to each other, and that sometimes we have to help Santa Claus, and she still believes in Santa. I hope that she still believes next year.
One snowy afternoon I was trying to address Christmas cards, feed Bella, fix dinner, make calls to arrange for Kylie's school party, and give the kids a bath. Kylie was in the tub and Phillip was waiting for his turn. I had put a Christmas cd on the stereo and Elton John came on singing "Step Into Christmas". All of a sudden I couldn't help myself, I cranked the volume up, grabbed Phillip, and started dancing around the dining room with him. By the time the song was done Phillip was giggling so hard he couldn't catch his breath, Bella was laughing at us from her high chair, and Kylie was hollering for me to get her out of the tub so she could dance too. I wish I had danced more this season - maybe next year.
Losing Mr. D. He passed away early on the morning of December 8th. Later that morning my Mom said that she had been planning to put her lights out that day but under the circumstances she didn't know if that was appropriate. I encouraged her to do it, reminding her that Mr. D enjoyed the decorations and would be upset to think that she hadn't put them out because of him. I told her that she should light the place up so that he could look down from heaven and say "there's Phil and Betty's place!". Since my Dad was still recovering from his surgery I helped my Mom decorate their pole light and back deck, and hang the kissing ball over the front door. Their house looked beautiful, glowing with Christmas cheer. The next day we were hit with a snowstorm that started at 7:00 am and dropped 17" of snow before ending around 4:00 that afternoon. The sky cleared immediately, and we were treated to one of the most spectacular sunsets I have ever seen following a snowstorm. I told my Mom that was Mr. D's way of saying "you guys lit it up down there, I'm taking care of things up here".
Bella's first Christmas. The look on her face Christmas morning as she (with a little assistance from me) unwrapped an Elmo piano was priceless. As the keys lit up and Elmo's head bobbed along with the tune she grinned from ear to ear, bouncing along with Elmo. That moment was surpassed only by her delight in discovering that her cousin Ross is a living, breathing muppet. She was fascinated by his unruly hair and beard, taking several opportunities on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to rub her face alongside his - truly priceless.
Wallpapering the mudroom. It was our desire that the mudroom be "finished" for the Christmas Eve party. About two weeks before the party I made peace with the idea that the room would not be papered, we simply didn't have the time to get it done. Rob, however, was determined. We started wallpapering at 9:30 pm on the Thursday before Christmas. We finished the top half of the room at 4:00 am on Friday. We picked up where we left off Friday night, resuming wallpapering at 9:00 pm, and finished the room at 3:30 am Saturday. Later that day Rob put up the chair rail and mop-board, and the mudroom was officially declared "finished".
The scene in my parents living room on Christmas morning. This was truly the best gift of all. My entire family was assembled together, sprawling from one side of the room to the other. The room was filled with the sounds of laughter and orders being taken for mimosas, the smell of monkey bread, quiche, and pork pie baking in the oven, little piles of shredded wrapping paper and discarded ribbons, and love.

My goal for next Christmas is to enjoy the season more. It will be my brother's turn to host the Christmas Eve party, so that will ease much of the burden we shouldered this year. I am determined to do more shopping throughout the year instead of waiting until after Thanksgiving when people are usually ready to respond to my request for lists (in fact I have already started my shopping for next Christmas and have taken care of my sister and one sister-in-law!!). Next Christmas I will dance more, laugh more, enjoy more. I will believe in the magic of Christmas, I will believe in Santa Claus, I will believe...

Funk'd

2005-11-30T11:30:00.000-05:00

Lately I find myself given to giant sighs and walking around with my shoulders so tensed up they rest just slightly below my ears. I have been in a funk. There has been too much going on, too many things to do, too many places to go. Just when I think things might be improving something else comes along to add to the confusion. Here is a short list of things that have been on my mind: my Dad's surgery and subsequent recovery; Rob's classes that are quickly coming to an end and what help I need to give him in order for him to pass; Phillip's birthday (today!) and party (this Friday night); the family Christmas Eve party (at our house this year, we can expect anywhere from 40 - 60 people to drop by during the evening - give or take); decorating the house for Christmas; trying to get the mudroom "finished" with wallpaper, etc. prior to the Christmas Eve party; Christmas shopping; my "room mutha" duties for Kylie's class - currently helping to plan a going away party for the student teacher, soon to be helping with the holiday party; trying to make time to go in to the office with limited childcare; Christmas cards (I really wanted to "create" my own this year using Adobe & some digiscrapping stuff!); and of course the normal, everyday business of raising three children, two dogs, two cats, and a husband...

I'm not sure if anyone knows I feel this way. I am by nature a happy and easy-going person and it really takes a lot to get me down. I'm pretty good at rolling with the punches, I don't complain, I don't whine, I just keep it all inside and eventually it gets better, usually. This time I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting, but "stuff" just seems to keep coming. I came home one day last week to find one of our dogs had diarrhea all over the new mudroom tile (and light grey grout - ack!) so that had to be cleaned up; Bella had a virus over the weekend and was just not herself, so of course I worried about her (fortunately she is now back to her incredibly happy, sunshiney self!); my Dad didn't feel up to coming to Thanksgiving dinner at my brother's house so that sucked; we weren't able to find a Christmas tree we liked to cut the day after Thanksgiving like we always do so we're looking again this Saturday; okay, enough!!!

Anyway, my point in writing this is not to throw myself a pity party, rather to proclaim that this morning on my way to work (Phillip is with his aunt Brenda who is no doubt spoiling him rotten, and Bella is with my parents who are no doubt doing the same!) I had an epiphany - nothing is going to change until I change! Instead of waiting for things to improve it is time for me to suck it up, put a smile on my face, and get on with life. This is Bella's first Christmas season and I refuse to ruin it by being in a funk. I am so blessed to have healthy children and be surrounded by a loving family, all of whom are in good health. We have a beautiful home, financially we're doing fine, I have no right to be in a funk! All of the things I have been "funking" over can be dealt with, some easier than others, but there is nothing life-threatening or catastrophic, nothing that can't be "handled". Once I determined that and gave myself a swift mental kick in the rear I felt better. I'm smiling again, and my shoulders haven't tensed up once this morning (not even when I talked to my boss who is returning from California and would really like me to try to come into the office for a few hours tomorrow morning - even if I have to bring the kids - even though I was hoping to use tomorrow and Friday to clean, cook, and prepare for Phillip's party - not even then!!). I'm back!!

Phillip at four

2005-11-30T09:29:00.000-05:00

Tonka trucks and Matchbox cars,
Four short years and two small scars.
Hammers, nails, level, and square,
Twinkling blue eyes, curly blond hair.
Dump trucks, backhoes, dirty-faced kisses,
A mischievous grin, little boy wishes.
Giggles that lead to fits of delight,
Extra tight hugs and kisses goodnight.
Phillip is four and a joy to behold,
Although he doesn't always do as he's told.
Discovering the joys of being a guy,
Lately he likes to give burping a try.
"'Scuse me", he'll say, "but I just burped twice",
"Aren't you going to tell me my manners are nice?"
A little old man in the shape of a boy,
I'm blessed to count him as one of my joys.
Four years already, the days go too fast,
And like all good things I know this time won't last.
So for now I will treasure these little boy things,
Before they all slip away on time's golden wings.

Daddy's girl

2005-11-17T21:06:00.000-05:00

Daddy was my first Prince Charming, first real hero, and first true love, all rolled into one. He was bear hugs and kisses, Saturday morning rides to the dump, learning how to swim, belly laughs, burps, farts, and tickles, tied up in a neat package with a couple of "y'alls" and a lingering southern drawl. There is something about seeing the person who helped to raise you, gave you bedtime hugs and kisses, and placed your hand in the hand of your future husband on your wedding day lying in a bed, hooked up to various machines and tubes, heart beating with the assistance of a special pump, that hits you square in the gut and makes you want to drop to your knees. My Dad was anything but the picture of health last night when we finally got to see him, complete with his new heart valve.

Today was a little better. He was awake and able to talk to us. He didn't think he was doing well, he felt weak. It's difficult to resist the urge to say "Dude, gimme a break, they had your chest cracked open yesterday and messed with your heart, congratulations, feeling weak is an accomplishment!", somehow I don't think he would find comfort in that. Instead we took turns holding his hand and telling him that by all accounts he was doing well, and would soon be feeling better.

Phillip explained to someone in the waiting room today that "Poppa had a broken heart. So they took out a piece and gave him a new one and now he's going to be all better". I don't think I could sum it up any better.

Things that go "thunk" in the night

2005-11-08T09:24:00.000-05:00

I knew when I heard the "thunk" it couldn't be good. When I turned my head in the direction of the noise in time to see Phillip's head rebounding from the corner of the wall, I figured we would soon be on our way to the Emergency Room.

It had been a nice day. A quiet Saturday spent cleaning, doing laundry, moving furniture, and cooking. No racing around, no places to be, nothing that had to be done. Rob had spent the day at the house of our electrician friend, his first day paying back the labor that our friend so generously donated to help us light up our addition. I missed having him home, we tend to be joined at the hip on the weekends, but I knew it was payback time so I tried not to pout too much as he left that morning. The kids were good and helped me start moving things into Phillip's new bedroom. We had invited my parents over that evening to see the addition now that it was finished and carpeted. They arrived a few minutes before Robbie got home.

We enjoyed showing Mom and Dad the new construction with working lights, ceiling fans, tiled mudroom and bathroom, and pretty carpeting. They ooohed and aaahed at all the right spots, and after the tour we snacked on some goodies that I had made and had a drink. When they were done eating Rob and my Dad headed upstairs to take Phillip's bed apart and move it into his new room. I had already moved his mattress, boxspring, bureau and nightstand, but I ran out of time before I could take the bed apart and move it too.

Once the bed was set up in the new room they called us up to see it. The room looked beautiful, and after we admired it for a few minutes we started out. My Dad and Rob were planning to head out on the deck to have a cigar, and Mom and I were heading for the kitchen to have some brownies. Kylie and Phillip were playing around in the little family room adjacent to Phillip's new bedroom when he lost his balance and fell on his butt. All would have been well if he had stopped there, but apparently the momentum he had when he fell caused him to rock backwards on his bum, smacking his head on the metal-edged corner of the wall behind him. That was the "thunk".

Phillip immediately scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for me. I wrapped my arms around his sobbing little body while searching the back of his head for blood. Just as I began to exhale I saw the faintest line of blood begin to seep from under his blond locks. That little bit quickly became quite a bit as Robbie ran downstairs to get some ice and a washcloth. There was no question we would be headed for the hospital.

Phillip cried for a few minutes then settled down. We explained to him that he needed to go to the hospital so a doctor could look at his head, and that Bet and Poppa would stay home with Kylie and Bella. He talked non-stop all the way to the hospital, wondering aloud at least twenty times if maybe they would have a toy there that he could bring home? His constant chatter was reassuring, he was certainly acting like himself!

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet when we stepped through the doors of the ER. Only two other patients appeared to be waiting, which seemed unusual for a Saturday night. We stopped by to see the Triage Nurse, who surprised us by saying she really didn't think Phillip would need anything to close his wound, then we took our place in the waiting room. Once again Phillip reassured us that he was truly okay by threatening to unleash his wrath upon us if we refused to buy him a soda from the brightly lit machine in the waiting room. We did refuse, but fortunately there was a water cooler nearby so we were able to soothe the savage beast by giving him a cup and letting him dispense his own water.

Soon we were shown into a room and visited by a doctor who spelled out to us that s-t-a-p-l-e-s were the closure of choice in cases like this. He offered to let us hold a numbing agent on Phillip's head, but cautioned that in order to be effective it needed to be held firmly on the wound for twenty minutes, and it would burn. We decided that would most likely make things worse, and opted for him to just do a quick "distraction and bam-bam", as he described it. While he stepped out of the room to gather the necessary items we were visited by a nurse. Phillip showed her a small binder clip he had found on the window sill and asked if he could keep it. She told him he certainly could, and as she left the room remarked "that's not the only office supply you'll be leaving here with tonight!", Rob and I got a chuckle out of that...laughter is good medicine.

Finally the doctor returned and Phillip was placed on Robbie's lap, facing him. He rested his head on his Daddy's shoulder, and with me beside him the doctor quickly placed two staples in his little blond head. He cried briefly and that was it, we were free to go. On the way home we stopped by Wal-Mart to see if we could find a little something for our brave boy. After countless circuits of the toy department riding in the basket of the shopping cart, our little staplehead settled on something and we headed for home. Once there he placed his sweet blond head, complete with two shiny staples, on his pillow and peacefully spent his first night in his new bedroom.

Thirty days

2005-11-01T08:53:00.000-05:00

The phone call came amidst the giggles of Tigger and Scooby Doo, the coos of Piglet, the ringing of the doorbell as trick or treaters came in search of candy. I could tell from the tone of my Mom's voice, from the look on her face, the news was not good. It was Mrs. D, my parent's neighbor, calling to say that she had asked the hospice nurse that day how much longer she thought Mr. D had. Her answer was thirty days.

Mr. & Mrs. D have lived behind my parents for as long as I can remember. They are roughly the same age as my Mom and Dad, and I have known them my whole life. Mr. D retired from the Navy many years ago and went on to work as a hospital administrator. Mrs. D works informally in the communications sector. She has always been the person in town who knows everything about everybody and been happy to share it.

The D's are nice people. They have a nice home in a nice neighborhood with a nice pool out back. It is obvious to look at their house that it is owned by people who take great pride in caring for it, in making it a home. Over their garage is an apartment where Robbie and I lived after he got out of the Navy. It was a cute little place and we spent a very happy year there. That little apartment is where we started our family, by bringing home first Merlin, then Mookie, our two Maine Coon Cats. We could look out the little "porthole" style window that was at the top of the stairs leading to the apartment, right outside our door, and see my parent's house. In the year that we lived there it was not uncommon to flip on the light at the bottom of the stairs, walk up the stairs to our door, look out the window and see my Mother flipping the light on their back deck on and off to greet us. Robbie was convinced she spent that year sitting at their deck door watching for us to come home.

Despite being nice people, Mr. and Mrs. D's lives have been invaded by a nasty disease. Mr. D has bone cancer. He is not doing well and is in terrible pain. It has been difficult for Mr. D to accept that he can no longer do many of the things that need to be done around the house. I would imagine it must be difficult for anyone who has spent a lifetime being self sufficient to suddenly find themselves in a place where they must rely upon the kindness of others. It has been equally difficult for Mrs. D to watch the man she loves in constant pain, both physically and emotionally.

Thirty days. After seventy some years of living and fifty or so years of marriage, Mr. D now has, at least in the estimation of one healthcare professional, thirty days. I'm not exactly sure what one does with information like that. How do you look at someone you have spent a lifetime loving, knowing that in all likelihood they will be dead before the calendar turns to December. I resisted the urge to write "gone", instead of "dead". He isn't "going", he is dying. Gone makes it seem less final, less scary. But it is final, and regardless of your spiritual beliefs, it is scary. Thirty days from now we will have just celebrated Phillip's fourth birthday and we will be looking ahead to the holidays. I don't know what the next thirty days hold in store for Mr. and Mrs. D, but I'm praying for a miracle.

Family values

2005-10-31T09:36:00.000-05:00

On countless occasions I have told myself how fortunate I am that on the two and a half days a week that I work my parents are able to watch my children. I have the comfort of knowing that Phillip and Bella are being well cared for in a loving environment by people who are teaching them good values. Recently something happened that has forced me to re-think that...

Last Tuesday when I went to pick Phillip up he was sitting in my Dad's lap. He raced over to me and gave me a big hug, then stood back and wiggled his fingers at me. "Hey Momma, wanna know what these are for?", he inquired with his trademark mischievous grin and twinkling eyes. Not really sure that I wanted the answer but knowing that it was coming anyway, I replied in the affirmative. "They're for picking boogers!!" he hollered, doubling over and laughing hysterically as the words rolled off his tongue (because, of course, anytime an almost four year old boy gets to say "boogers" he has to laugh hysterically). "Really?", I replied in my best Mommy voice (at least the best Mommy voice I could muster over the laughter that was bubbling in my throat), "who told you that?", to which he responded "Poppa". With raised eyebrows I looked over his head at my Dad who was still sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, his mischievous grin and twinkling eyes a carbon copy of my son's. "Hey!", my Dad protested through his own laughter, "don't go getting me in trouble, that's not what I said."

As it turns out Phillip had noticed that day that my Dad had a particularly long fingernail on one finger. When he asked my Dad about it, my Dad replied "that's my nose-picking finger". This has been a running joke in our family for as long as I can remember, but Phillip thought it was about the funniest thing he ever heard. I guess he figured if one nose picking finger was good, then ten would be even better. For the next several days Phillip ran around wiggling his fingers and asking people if they knew what they were for. I may have to pay a little more attention to just what my parents are teaching these little ones!

Wake-up call

2005-10-26T11:48:00.000-04:00

Apparently the staff here at Chez Dogpound has been waking our sweet princess Kylie too early in the morning. The other night after she had gone to bed she ran back downstairs and told me that she had left a note on her bureau for me. I was busy at the time and told her I would get it later. I forgot about it until the next morning at 6:20 when I went in to wake her up to get ready for school. This is the note:

I laughed at the thought of my seven year old daughter leaving a note for a wake up call, like she was a guest in a grand hotel. Then I proceeded to wake her up anyway!

Room mutha'

2005-10-25T20:48:00.000-04:00

The call from Mrs. S came the second week of school, asking if I would be the room mother for Kylie's class this year. She explained that she needed someone that she could put in charge of classroom projects who would gather the materials necessary for the projects and coordinate volunteers. Of course I said yes, that really isn't the kind of request that one turns down. I knew at the time it was some sort of twisted cosmic joke, that somewhere in the universe the gods were laughing and saying "watch this". Being room mother requires two of the things that I dislike doing most of all, relying on other people to follow through on things, and calling people I don't know on the phone.

In my role as room mother I have to call the other parents and ask them to supply various items for special projects Mrs. S's students will be doing. So far I have had to request gumdrops, headbands, pipe cleaners, spices, sheets, pumpkins, paper towels, and aluminum foil. Some of the items I have just supplied myself; I figure that way I know they will be there when they are supposed to be. Truthfully that would be my first choice for all of the projects, but it would get pretty expensive! Instead, I dutifully work my way down the list of parents, making sure that I take turns and don't ask the same people for things all the time. From the time Kylie brings home a list from Mrs. S requesting various items for a project until the project is completed I worry. First I worry that I won't be able to find people willing to donate the items or volunteer and either the kids won't be able to do the project or I'll end up having to buy everything and volunteer. Then, once I have succeeded in lining up people to donate/volunteer, I worry about whether or not they will remember to do what they have committed to doing.

I've never been great at group things. In college I absolutely hated group projects, the very idea that my grade depended on the quality of someone else's work and their level of commitment made me sick. While I'm far from perfect, I am extremely conscientious. If I say that I'm going to do something I do it to the best of my ability, come hell or high water. I have noticed in my journey through life that not all people share this ideology. There have been many times that I have been disappointed by people telling me they would return a call, get information to me, or do something for me and then failing to do so. Maybe I'm just a control freak, but I would much prefer to do something myself because then I know that it will get done.

The other part of being room mother that I'm not loving is calling people on the phone to ask for things. Apparently I suffer from some sort of phone anxiety, because I always get nervous about making these calls. Before each call I rehearse what I'm going to say, and as I dial the phone I can feel my cheeks getting flush and my pulse quickening. Part of it is that I don't like asking people I don't know for things, and part of it is that I tend to be shy (although over the years I have gotten pretty good at hiding that!). The most recent round of calls I made resulted in four parents not even returning the message I left for them. Of course I interpret that as meaning they aren't interested in donating/volunteering. so it will be twice as hard for me to hit them up the next time I need something (I'm such a wimp!). Logically I know that it's more likely that they either got the message at a time when they couldn't return the call then forgot about it, or they inadvertently deleted the message, or maybe someone else retrieved the message and they never got it, but there's still that little insecurity there that makes me take it personally.

So far I have coordinated four projects for Mrs. S's class without any disasters. Everyone has sent in what they said they would send and nobody has been mean to me on the phone. I have a spreadsheet all set up that has each student's name and phone number, their parents name, notes on when I have called and with what result, what they have sent in and when, and if they have volunteered. I have the organization part down, I just need to work on increasing my nerve when it comes to calling people and trusting that they will do what they say. All things considered I think this will be a good experience for me. It's outside my comfort zone which is probably someplace I should venture a little more often. My name is Edie, and I'm the room mutha!

Fast and furious Friday

2005-10-20T08:35:00.000-04:00

Wow, another busy week at the dogpound! As evidenced by my previous post, last Thursday was Kylie's seventh birthday. We had a little celebration for her that night with cake and gifts but her family party was Friday night. On Saturday two of her friends were coming over to have another little party at our house. I knew Friday was going to be crazy busy, and it lived up to my expectations.

Friday morning started off with Phillip hollering excitedly through the bathroom door just as I stepped out of the shower at 7:02, "Momma, there's a big twuck out fwont and a guy walkin' up the dwiveway!!". There I stood dripping wet, and not quite ready to receive the load of sheetrock that was being dropped off for our addition. We had been told the truck would arrive between 7:00 - 7:30, which I knew meant 7:30 at the earliest because those things are never on time - wrong! I quickly ran a towel over myself and hopped back into my jammies to go meet the truck driver before he hit the doorbell and sent the dogs into a barking frenzy which would wake Bella. Since Rob was still sleeping (we had been up until 1:00 that morning) I went out to move the car so the truck could get in the driveway. After that I ran back into the house to wake Kylie who had to get on the bus in 25 minutes, and Rob who had to be at work in an hour.

From there things were a blur as I rushed around to get Kylie out the door and Bella and Phillip ready to go to my parent's house. It was my first day volunteering in Kylie's class and I was supposed to be at school at 8:10. I left the house a few minutes before 8:00 and raced over to my parent's house, arriving there at 8:07. I hurriedly kissed the kids and hopped back in the van, bending the speed limit just enough to make it to Kylie's school at 8:17 and her classroom at 8:20. I worked with some of the students until 9:30, at which time I raced home to make sure the freezer repair man wasn't waiting for me ("yes, Mrs. R., our man will be there sometime between 9:00 and noon on Friday", "okay kind repair people, I will sit here and watch out the window for him to pull into my driveway as I have nothing else to do with my life"). He wasn't there yet, so I updated the note I had left on the door for him to say I would be home at 10:15 and buzzed back over to my parent's house. I picked up both kids and managed to pull into the driveway at 10:14 - phew!

At that point the rest of the day became a race against the clock. We had twelve family members arriving at 6:00 for Kylie's birthday party and I had lots to do to be ready. I no sooner started making the big pot of chili I was planning for that evening than Bella wanted to nurse. I retired to the couch where she proceeded to snack for about ten minutes before really getting down to business and filling her little tummy. After that I snuggled her down in the pouch where she rested her head comfortably on my chest and watched me prepare the chili.

Once the chili was made and starting to cook it was time to tackle the cake. Kylie insisted she wanted a whoopie pie cake for her birthday, despite my best efforts to convince her that we could get her a really good cake from the baker who makes almost all the cakes for our family parties. I figured one cake wouldn't be enough, so I set out to make two. Just as the first one was coming together nicely the freezer repair man arrived. I showed him to the freezer and returned to the kitchen where I managed to get the first cake made and in the pans just as Bella started to doze off. Phillip was remarkably good through all of this, playing, helping, watching the freezer repair man, watching tv, just a happy little guy.

$84 later the freezer was working, the freezer repair man left, and things were quiet. My chili was bubbling, the first cake was baking, the second cake was taking shape in the mixing bowls, and I felt like I just might be ready by 6:00 (although I still had a little cleaning to do). About that time the doorbell rang, the dogs took off barking, and Bella almost jumped out of the pouch. It was the sheetrock guys who had arrived to begin hanging the sheetrock. They began traipsing through the house in their wet (did I mention it was raining?), dust covered boots and I immediately gave up on the idea of cleaning the floors prior to the party. The dogs were wild, Phillip was wild, and sweet Bella decided that her nap was not yet finished so she went back to sleep. I crept up the stairs and, holding my breath, gently placed her in her cradle where she slept soundly for three hours (go Bella, go Bella!!!).

About twenty minutes after the sheetrock guys arrived the furniture delivery guys arrived, bringing Phillip's new bedroom set and more craziness with them. Unfortunately all of Rob's efforts for the week had been concentrated on hanging the insulation in advance of the sheetrock guys starting, so he hadn't had time to dismantle Phillip's crib which meant there was no place for Phillip's new bed to be set up. I pushed all thoughts of Kylie's potential displeasure out of my mind and told them to just put everything in her room for the time being as there was obviously nowhere in Phillip's tiny room to place any of the items. It was at this time that Foster, one of our golden retrievers, kicked into bratty kid mode. With furniture guys going in and out of Ky's room, and sheetrock guys going in and out of Phillip's room (the access to our addition is a doorway through his existing room, he will get a new bedroom when the addition is done) his kleptomaniac tendencies kicked in and every time I turned around he was sneaking around with a stuffed animal hanging out of his mouth - remind me again why I wanted a dog!! By the time I was able to close the doors to both bedrooms I had a pile of eight slobbery stuffed animals sitting on the counter - ick!

Through the chaos I managed to finish my cakes and get Phillip a bath. Kylie arrived home from school shortly after that and I tossed her in the shower (so nice that she can do that now that she is older!), and when Bella woke up she too was treated to a dip in the tub. I got the bathrooms cleaned and my tables dusted, frosted the cakes and put them in the fridge, and e-mailed Rob a last minute list of things to grab at the store on his way home (early, I suggested, if he knew what was good for him!). He got home in time to vacuum the house behind the recently departed sheetrock guys who promised to be back at 7:00 Saturday morning to finish the job. I whipped up some buffalo chicken dip to cook a little later and headed upstairs to change my clothes and nurse Bella before company arrived.

As is the norm for our family parties everyone brought food so we had plenty to eat. Kylie could barely contain herself and opened her gifts about an hour after everyone arrived. She was thrilled with all the goodies she received (including a set of "Little House on the Prairie" books, which thrilled me too!) and started lobbying for cake shortly after the presents were opened. It turns out one cake was exactly enough to feed everyone, which meant I still had a cake left for Kylie's party with her friends on Saturday (I was going to get up early and make another cake) - yay!! It was a nice party but I was relieved to have it behind us. There was more than one moment during the day that I considered greeting guests in my sweats with half baked cakes and cold chili, but fortunately that didn't happen. Most importantly, Kylie had a wonderful time and enjoyed every minute of her party.

Kylie at seven

2005-10-13T08:41:00.000-04:00

Seven candles on her cake,
Birthday wishes she will make.
How have we gone through seven years?
With countless kisses, hugs, and tears.
From baby girl, to dancing queen,
Most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Determined, tenacious, persistent, discerning,
The girl has no patience, but slowly she's learning.
One minute a toddler in head banging rage,
The next a young girl, in the turn of a page.
With constant amazement I watch her mature,
Serenaded by giggles and joy that is pure.
Bushy the lion is still her best friend,
Her affection for him never will end.
A beautiful smile that lights up the place,
Big baby blues that dance in her face.
She is constant motion, she never slows down,
Always dancing, and spinning, and whirling around.
Slow down my sweet girl, you're growing too fast,
A constant reminder that babies don't last.
My first baby to hold, to rock, and to love,
My first precious gift, from heaven above.

Uncle Bus

2005-10-09T20:38:00.000-04:00

Nine years ago today my Uncle Buster, one of my favorite people in the whole world, passed away. He died of a heart attack in his sleep; it was sudden and unexpected. Rob and I were living in Illinois at the time. We had no children, we both had demanding jobs working 60+ hours a week making good money, and we both wanted to move back home and start a family, "some day". At that point in time we really didn't have a timetable for our move back home. There was no rush, and aside from missing my family, our life in Illinois was pretty good. Then came the phone call telling me that Uncle Bus had died.

When I got off the phone from my parents I sat on the living room floor in our apartment clutching a box of Kleenex and watching the videotape of our wedding. I was desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Uncle Bus, to see his handsome face and twinkling eyes one more time, to hear his infectious laugh. I think that's where Robbie found me when he got home. Through choked sobs I told him what had happened, that Uncle Bus was gone.

It was decided that I shouldn't return home for the funeral. My parents worried about me traveling alone being so upset, and we would be home in a little over a month for Thanksgiving, then Christmas after that. Uncle Bus' funeral was on a Friday. I left work early that afternoon. At the time the funeral was to start I was just approaching our apartment. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, and as I turned on to our road the Vince Gill song "Go Rest High On That Mountain" came on the radio. As I leaned forward to turn up the volume on the radio I looked out the windshield up at the sky. Overhead, stretched across the blue sky with it's puffy white clouds, was a beautiful rainbow. Between the song and the rainbow the tears flowed down my face. I believe that was my Uncle's way of saying goodbye.

It took a long time for my heart to heal from losing Uncle Bus. I still get teary when I think of him. I would love for him to know my children and for them to know him, they would adore each other. His death changed my life in many ways. He was only a few years older than my parents, and our return home from Illinois suddenly took on a sense of urgency for me. Losing him set the wheels in motion, it was time to move home and start a family. I wanted to be sure that my parents had the opportunity to know and love my children. One year and one day after Uncle Bus died we closed on our house in Maine. Two years and four days after his death Kylie was born. Losing Uncle Bus made me realize that nothing lasts forever. I would give anything for him to still be with us, but because of his death we made choices that have given us the life we have today. I miss you, Uncle Bus.

Edited a few hours after originally posted to add: I believe that the people we love are still around us spiritually, even after they pass. This morning I told my Uncle Bus it would be nice to see a sign, just to show me that he's around. Tonight while I was in the basement doing a few things I opened the freezer that stopped working almost two weeks ago. I had left some ice packs and a bunch of the "Flavor-Ice" popsicles in there since I didn't have room in the other freezers for them and I figured they would re-freeze easy enough once the freezer was fixed. The repairman isn't supposed to be here until this coming Friday. I had opened the door to the freezer this past Thursday, and found the inside to be room temperature and the ice packs and popsicles completely thawed. Tonight when I opened the freezer it was icy cold inside, and the contents were frozen solid. I can almost hear Uncle Bus saying "Okay little girl, here's your sign...".

Blogger withdrawal

2005-10-06T10:02:00.000-04:00

I am suffering from an extreme case of blogger withdrawal. Despite my best efforts I haven't found the time to get here and write in the last week. Things have just been too busy. I feel like one of those poor hamsters that runs endlessly on the little wheel in her cage, running, running, running, but never really getting anywhere. I have no real reason to complain, I know that we are incredibly blessed. I'm healthy, my family is healthy, we have a roof over our heads, food on our table, and we're able to pay the bills. Still, I don't handle long-term insanely busy well (short-term I'm fine, I actually thrive, but after awhile it wears on me).

Rob has been traveling for three out of the last four weeks. Two of his three trips were unexpected and came with little warning. One Tuesday he found out he was leaving first thing Wednesday morning and wouldn't return until Friday night. That same Thursday he found out he would be leaving again Monday morning and not returning until late Friday night (this week). In between he has been spending Saturdays working on the electrical in our addition with our friend the electrician, and any other spare time has been devoted to his Money & Banking and Algebra classes (he's working on his Bachelor's degree).

It's times like these that I realize how dependent our family is on teamwork. One of the reasons Rob and I have such a good, successful marriage is because we make a great team. He will do anything he can to help me out, and I do the same for him. We don't keep track of who does what or whose "turn" it is to do something, we know it all works out. This past Saturday while he was working on the electrical stuff I did his Algebra homework for him (shhhhh...don't tell his professor!). I figure he's going to have to learn it eventually, but this way he didn't have to spend a good part of the day Sunday doing it, leaving him free to go to the playground with me and the kids. I really wanted us to enjoy a little slice of family time before Monday morning rolled around and he left for the week. On Sunday after our visit to the playground I returned home to iron clothes for the week for him and Kylie. While I did that he did the vacuuming so I didn't have to - teamwork.

Having him gone so much these last few weeks just makes things crazy. I miss him and the kids miss him, he takes a little piece of us when he goes. Beyond that it seems like without him at home I'm able to just keep up with things, but forget any extra time to blog, surf the 'net, or just take it easy. From the time my feet hit the floor at 4:30 am until I drag myself to bed at 11:30 pm I run, much like the little hamster in my first paragraph. There was one night last week that looked promising. The kids were all sleeping, I had the next day off of work (which, of course, picks now to be crazy busy as well), and I was anxious to hit my blog. I went downstairs to the freezer to pull out some ice cream for dinner (did I also mention that when Rob is gone I feed the kids but usually either snack or eat nothing myself - it's an unintentional and not entirely healthy weight loss plan) and found a little puddle on the floor under the freezer and food inside the freezer that was just beginning to soften. To make a long story short, instead of making it to my blog that night I spent the next two hours cleaning out our ailing freezer and trying to fit it's contents into the top freezer compartments of our two refrigerators.

Anyway...enough whining. I just wanted to explain my recent absence (and write something!). I'm hoping that with Rob's return tomorrow night (Saturday morning, actually) we will slowly return to our normal pace of busy, and leave this pace of insanely busy behind, for the time being anyway.

Phillip scissorhands

2005-09-28T09:51:00.000-04:00

Phillip has been quite the little devil lately. I'm not sure if it's the phase of the moon, the way in which the planets are aligned, or just plain being almost four, but he is definitely giving us a run for our money.

A couple of weeks ago I went to the grocery store with the girls while Phillip chose to stay home with Rob and our friend Leo, who is doing the electrical work in our addition. I noticed later that afternoon that Phillip's shorts had a little cut in them right at the bottom. It was obvious that it was a clean cut that had been done by scissors as opposed to a tear or rip. When I asked Phillip about it he got this impish little grin on his face and peeked up at me from under fluttering eyelashes so long they would make a southern belle green with envy. He claimed he didn't know how his shorts got cut, but his face told a different story. I continued to press him until he finally admitted that while Rob and Leo were busy working he had managed to got the scissors out of the (locked) drawer and cut his shorts. Since the shorts he was wearing were actually a pair of old sweatpants that I had cut the legs off of I wasn't terribly upset that he had cut them. Still, I wanted him to understand that under no circumstances should he be touching our scissors, much less using them, and that regardless of the age and/or condition of his clothing it was not okay for him to cut it. We had a little talk, Phillip apologized, looked suitably contrite, and all was forgiven.

The following weekend Phillip was getting ready to take a bath. As I was gathering up his clothes I noticed that one of his socks had been cut, as had his t-shirt. Our follow-up investigation concluded that this act of apparel vandalism had been committed using his little craft scissors. This time we sent him to his room for a brief stay and told him that he was not allowed to use his scissors for thirty days. That night after Phillip went to bed I gathered up all the scissors and nail clippers in the house and hid them away. We thought we had seen the end results of all of his cutting experiments but we were wrong. A few days later when he was getting his hair cut Michelle, the girl who cuts our hair, found a spot on his head where he had obviously taken the scissors to his hair. In an effort to curtail any future attempts at self-barbering she told him that if he cut his own hair again it would turn pink. A few days after that I noticed that the little tuft of fur on the top of Comet's head looked different. He has what can only be described as a little cowlick on the top of his head, where a little patch of almost white fluff rises to a point above his otherwise golden fur. Except now the cowlick doesn't come to a point, because you know who also tried his hand at grooming the dog. When I asked Phillip about Comet's cowlick I got the usual response, mischievous little smile, eyes lowered to the ground, and batting eyelashes...this boy will never be a poker player.

With the scissors locked away Phillip has directed his energy towards tormenting Kylie. He has taken to sneaking into her room during the day while she's at school and either messing it up or taking her things. The other night while my parents were here for dinner Kylie realized that her little notebook that hangs on a keychain was missing. I could tell from the look on Phillip's face that he had a hand in its disappearance. He had a laundry list of places the notebook was, first he said he flushed it down the toilet, then he fed it to the dog, after that he insisted it was in Kylie's room and took her up to look for it. My Mom was convinced that he didn't really know anything and that he was just messing with Kylie, but I suspected otherwise. I pulled Phillip aside and whispered to him that I would give him another of the brownie bites I had made for dessert if he would give me Kylie's notebook. His eyes lit up, he put his foot up in the air, and patted the ankle of his footy pajamas. Sure enough, the little stinker had dropped it into the leg of his jammies!

For all of his mischief Phillip is the most lovable little squirt around. Countless times in the course of the day he will come to me with hugs and kisses. He tells me I'm beautiful (even when I'm in my jammies) and is always quick to offer up an unsolicited "I love you". Between that and those dimples it's hard to stay angry at him.

Seeing is believing

2005-09-22T21:28:00.000-04:00

One thing that I have always tried to do is not discipline one of our children if I don't see them doing whatever it is they shouldn't be doing. I try not to hand out punishment based solely on one of them telling me the other did something or based on the hollered accusations that sometimes fly freely around our house. Recently the wisdom of this was brought home for me.

It was late on a Sunday afternoon so I made a quick dinner for the kids and they sat at the bar to eat. Phillip started swinging his feet and kicking the bar from his barstool. Robbie asked him to stop and he did. A few minutes later he started doing it again. Once more Robbie asked him to stop and he did. A few minutes later we hear the familiar thump of his little feet bouncing off the bar. Robbie told him a third time in a very no-nonsense tone to stop kicking, and he did.

At this point Robbie stepped outside for something and I went to the front door to clean our new storm door. While I was cleaning the door I heard the thumping start again. Resisting the urge to holler at Phillip from my spot at the front door I put down the window cleaner and headed for the kitchen. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen I saw Phillip sitting in his seat with his feet tucked under him. Beside him sat Kylie, swinging her feet and kicking the bar. Both of them were eating their dinner and watching television (nasty habit, we're working on it!) and had no idea I was standing there. About that time Kylie hollered "Phillip, stop kicking the bar!". Imagine her surprise when I said from behind her, "It's kind of hard for him to kick the bar when he's sitting on his feet, don't you think?".

I wish I'd had a camera to capture the look on her face when she realized she was busted. She made a feeble attempt to shift the blame to her little brother, but quickly realized it was a waste of time. Instead she gave me a sheepish little grin and returned to eating her dinner. After delivering a short talk that touched briefly on the concept of "framing" someone and the potential ramifications associated with that I returned to cleaning the storm door, extremely thankful that I had taken the few seconds to walk to the kitchen and see for myself what was happening.

Dad's broken heart

2005-09-16T00:08:00.000-04:00

We found out this week that my Dad has to have aortic valve replacement surgery. He is going today for cardiac catheterization so that they can better assess the condition of the valve and also check the coronary arteries since he had bypass surgery thirteen years ago. Hopefully his arteries will look fine and he won't need to have any type of bypass done in addition to the valve replacement.

My Dad is a character. He is a southerner (born and raised in North Carolina), and despite living in Maine for the last 40+ years he still has a recognizable drawl. He's a master storyteller (sometimes he tells the same story more than once, but we forgive that) and has a saying for any occasion ("slippery as snot on a glass doorknob", or "he couldn't pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel" to name a few). When he was was seventeen he joined the Navy and spent the next twenty years of his life serving his country. It was during that time he met my Mom, they fell in love, and started their life together. When his Navy career was over they returned to Maine (my Mom's home) and put down roots. They still live in the house in which I was raised. This past January they celebrated fifty-two years of marriage.

When I close my eyes and think of my Dad I can hear his laugh and see his eyes twinkle. Many people have told me they can see a lot of my Dad in Phillip. I think they both have the same twinkle in their eyes when they smile. Phillip is Poppa's boy. He thinks Poppa hung the moon and it's mutual. Poppa adores all the grandkids and enjoys spending time with them. He has told me on many occasions that his fondest wish is to live long enough for all of his grandchildren to remember him. It's easy to forget that my Dad is 79. He doesn't look it, and he certainly doesn't act it (and if he did my Mom would give him a swift kick in the fanny and put an end to it!). I hear 79 and think "old", but my Dad isn't old.

I'm anxious for today to be over and to find out the results of Dad's catheterization. The kids and I will go to the hospital for a bit to keep my Mom company while it's being done. Hopefully all will go well and he'll be home tonight. Once his doctor sees the results of the catheterization he will decide exactly what surgery is needed and when it will be done. I'm hoping and praying with all my heart that my Dad's broken heart will soon be mended and as good as new. He still has grandchildren to spoil...

Hidden treasure

2005-09-10T15:50:00.000-04:00

I have spent a good part of today helping Kylie clean her room. As I have mentioned in the past, she is a bit of a pack rat. Since Rob is at an all day golf outing it seemed like a good day to tackle (and trash) some of the "goodies" she has accumulated over the last several months.

One of my favorite things about doing big cleans is that so often you find "hidden treasures" that you had long since forgotten existed. My big find today was this:

This is a poem to Kylie

This is a poem to Kylie

Kylie the youngest and the smallest

Almost two and a half months

Most observant of us all

Loudest screamer when she screams

Little angel

Passed like a gift at Christmas

Everybody wants to hold

But only one can

Missing out on Thanksgiving

But next year she won't

So I write this poem to baby Kylie

For youth and childhood

At any age

I received this as a Christmas present on Kylie's first Christmas. It was printed on blue snowflake paper, laminated, and signed by the author - my nephew Ross, who was twelve at the time. I remember reading it for the first time with tears running down my cheeks, in awe at my little nephew's very accurate depiction of his new cousin. Ross is now in his freshman year of college and Kylie is in first grade, yet in his poem I can still see the "little angel" that inspired her big cousin to put pen to paper, and the little boy who was so proud of the poem that made his aunt cry. That alone was worth the hours spent cleaning Kylie's room.

Some random musings from the dogpound...

2005-09-09T14:49:00.000-04:00

When your beloved eleven year old cat hocks up a furball on your freshly changed bed (which you notice when you go to pull the blanket up over the clean sheets you lovingly smoothed on the mattress a mere ten minutes ago), is it okay to swing said cat around by his tail then let him loose and see how far he can fly?
Can a snack sized bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies be considered lunch if accompanied by a glass of milk?
The people across the street from us have decorated their yard with (among other things) three junk vehicles, a snowplow, a large (dilapidated) shed that was towed in on a flatbed, a dog house, a pit bull, and a two person glider swing that has been home to a life sized Uncle Sam doll for the last three years. They never put out recycling, put trash out once every 3-4 weeks, and don't mow their lawn....I'm thinking of two words, they rhyme with "light flash", anyone ... anyone ...?
How can two people as "clutter-phobic" as my dear hubby and I be raising children that are such pack rats? Scraps of paper, empty (but clean, thank you!) plastic bottles, screws and washers abandoned from our construction project, old gift bags, my sister's dogs' old tags, you name it, they treasure it. God clearly has a sense of humor.
Is it justifiable to smack your builder with a two-by-four when he promises you every Friday that he and his crew will be here "all week next week" then they show up for two days? A week and a half ago he told me they would be finished in a week and a half - I think they're still a week and a half away from being finished. The up side of it is that they do great work, and he's a nice guy - otherwise...**thump**!
Who taught Bella how to blow raspberries, and where is the off switch? She is in constant raspberry blowing mode (since yesterday) - everything is soaked!!
How is it that Phillip knows exactly how many times he can scream "Moooooommmmm" before I snap - and just when I'm on the verge of losing it my "WHAT!" is met with twinkling blue eyes, a dimple framed grin, and an "I wuv you!"?
And to end on a happy musing...Kylie has made friends with "the new girl". Her name is Melody and based on the frequency with which I'm hearing her name I would say she has been welcomed with open arms. Ky came home today with a new little dressy wallet (new to her but gently used). I asked her where it came from, and she said they had popsicles today as a treat for keeping their desks and classroom nice and neat this week. She and Melody both wanted the last orange popsicle, so Kylie said Melody could have it. Her teacher let her pick a little surprise (the wallet) out of the grab bag for being a good friend. **Sigh**....she is getting more mature every day.

Happy birthday to you!

2005-09-04T19:39:00.000-04:00

Medallions of lobster tail topped with caviar, seafood stuffed mushrooms, mini-crabcakes, and scallops wrapped in bacon for hors d'oeuvres, choice of Caesar salad (with or without anchovies) or house salad, and choice of grilled scallops, lobster ravioli, or ribeye for dinner...yum! Nobody left Cherie's 50th birthday party hungry, and if they did it was only because they wanted to save room for the chocolate cake with mocha hazelnut buttercream frosting.

Our evening began with a stretch limo pulling into the yard around 6:20.

My sister Cherie and brother-in-law Mike were waiting inside for us when Bob the driver opened the door. Cherie poured champagne for us (sparkling grape juice for the kids) as we continued on to my parent's house. Kylie and Phillip loved the ride, in large part because they didn't have to be in their car seats or wear seat belts - freedom! After we picked up Bet & Poppa we continued on to a local restaurant where we were shown to a private room upstairs while Cherie and Mike continued on in the limo to pick up first Boyd's family (and bring them back to the restaurant), and then Floyd's family.

It was an evening of good food and good drinks, all enjoyed in excellent company. The night wrapped up with cake and present opening back at Cherie & Mike's house (after a couple of relays by the limo). Shortly after midnight, at which time we expected the limo to turn back into a pumpkin, Bob deposited us back at our house. With two sleepy children and one sleeping child (Bella gave up on partying early in the evening), we returned to reality. Happy birthday Cherie, and thanks for a wonderful party which was truly a gift to all of us!

Put your fingers away

2005-09-02T20:29:00.000-04:00

I am tired of the blame. I'm tired of turning on the news and seeing angry politicians and talking heads blaming President Bush, racial prejudice, and anything else but Mother Nature for the destruction that has been wrought upon our Gulf Coast. Has the response to this disaster been seamless and perfectly executed? No. Has it been done to the best of the ability of those involved? Dear God I would like to believe so.

Maybe I'm naive (in fact I'm quite sure I am), but I truly believe that people are responding as best they can. I can't even begin to imagine the logistics involved in getting the supplies and rescue personnel to an area that has been devastated the way that New Orleans and the surrounding areas have been. You can't just shuttle countless troops to the area without considering and planning for how they will be housed, fed, kept safe. You can't drop supplies from helicopters into flood waters below and hope that people are able to get them. Clearly the system hasn't worked nearly as well as it should have in this instance, but I don't believe that systemic failure can be attributed to people not wanting and/or not trying to do the best they can under the circumstances. Yes, the response has been unacceptable (even the President agrees with that), but to attempt to lay the blame for that at the feet of a few individuals is equally unacceptable.

I weep at coverage from the area showing people suffering, babies so dehydrated they can barely keep their eyes open, people who have nothing left but the clothes on their backs and, if they're fortunate, their loved ones. My heart breaks at the faces, the stories, the pictures. But my blood boils at the blame. My blood boils at Kanye West saying that George Bush "doesn't care about black people" (which he just said on the NBC relief concert that is airing as I write this). Right now pointing fingers helps nobody. There will be plenty of time in the weeks and months to come to convene special congressional committees which will spend millions of dollars investigating why the federal government was so slow in responding to this catastrophe, why the levee system in New Orleans failed, and countless related issues. There will (hopefully) be plenty of time to improve the emergency response system so, God forbid, the next time disaster strikes we will be better prepared to respond. It's easy to look at this situation from a thousand miles away and point out all the screw ups and snafus, all the things that we should have, would have, could have done differently, done better. But the fact of the matter is that serves no purpose right now. Put your fingers in your wallets and donate money, put your fingers together and pray to God for these poor people, but put your fingers away if all you can do is point. When the dust settles and the flood waters recede there will be enough blame to go around. For now the only name that should have any blame associated to it is Katrina.

She's gone

2005-08-31T09:39:00.000-04:00

The big yellow bus belched it's way down our street this morning, stopping at the end of our driveway to swallow up my little girl and transport her to the first day of first grade. Robbie and I went to her school last night to see her classroom and meet her teacher, Mrs. S.. She has been teaching for twenty-one years and has more enthusiasm than one person has a right to have. When we left the meeting Robbie remarked "she's a little high octane for me", but I suspect for a room of first graders she is absolutely perfect.

There's something comforting about living in a small town surrounded by the rest of one's family. Mrs. S. also taught Kylie's cousins Ross, now 18 and heading off to his first year of college, and Ashley, now 16 and beginning her sophomore year of high school. She was delighted to learn last night that Kylie is related to them, and I would imagine that when she sees Kylie she will notice her resemblance to Ashley. We learned last night that there is a new girl in Ky's class whose family just moved here over the summer. I asked Kylie last night to be friendly with this little girl, introduce her to some of her friends, and include her when they gather for snack, recess, and lunch. I have heard too many stories lately of "new" kids not being welcomed at school and it hurts my Mommy heart to think that things like that happen.

By now Kylie should be settled at her desk and have the note that Mrs. S. asked each parent to leave on their child's desk last night. She has another note in her lunchbox, she'll find that when it's time for snack. There's a poem that I wrote when Kylie started Kindergarten that still applies:

Her little nose pressed to the glass,
how did the time pass by so fast?
Her little hand goes up to wave,
I will not cry, I will be brave.
The years have flown by since the day
that we first brought her home,
and now the big bus rolls away,
my little girl is gone.
A school girl now and off to see
the wide world waiting there.
I hope the world is kind to her,
it can be so cruel and unfair.
I stand alone and watch the bus
as it rumbles down the street.
My smile fades as a tear slips out,
have fun at school, my Sweet.

The first day of school is sad. The sadness is a combination of the realization that another summer has come to an end, and the realization that my child is growing and becoming more independent. While I realize the latter is a good thing, it's bittersweet.

Katrina

2005-08-31T08:57:00.000-04:00

I knew it was bad. I'd heard the reports on the news, mainly via the radio because I hadn't had time to watch TV. I knew there was flooding, I knew people had lost their homes, their families, their lives, but I didn't really know, until I saw the pictures. Yesterday afternoon while I was sitting on the couch nursing Bella I decided to turn on TV and check out the news on the aftermath of Katrina. I turned to MSNBC and was in no way prepared to see the devastation they were showing.

I watched with tears rolling down my face as a Coast Guard helicopter rescued one person after another from the roof of what had been their homes. I listened to the stories of the survivors and wondered how one even begins to rebuild a life destroyed by a force with such an innocent name as Katrina. There is heartbreak on every corner, as far as the eye can see. I sobbed when they interviewed the man who followed his wife's request and let go of her hand so he could hold on to their children. She is but one of what will no doubt turn out to be hundreds of lost souls. When Kylie found me on the couch with tears flowing and my hand covering my mouth in horror at what was flashing on the screen in front of me I tried to explain it to her. How does one go about explaining something like this to an almost seven year old when there really is no good explanation? Her eyes grew wide as she watched some of the coverage with me, and she said "Momma, will we ever get a storm like that here?". I assured her that it was unlikely our little corner of the world would ever have to face such a beast, and turned off the TV before I provided more fodder for her nightmares.

God bless the people affected by Katrina, and also the rescuers who are doing what they can to help them. On a related note I hope there is a special corner of hell reserved for the looters who see this as an opportunity to get a new television, jewelry, or other luxury item without paying for it. I'm not sure how low on the evolutionary chain you have to be to capitalize on a situation like this, but I'm pretty sure it's somewhere in the range of pond scum.

A nifty fifty mystery

2005-08-30T14:59:00.000-04:00

This coming Saturday my sister Cheryl will turn 50. My family has been bugging her for weeks, encouraging her to plan a party worthy of marking such a milestone. My brother Boyd turned 50 last year. We celebrated his big day by dining on lobster, steamed clams, corn on the cob, and strawberry shortcake in his yard on a gorgeous July evening while listening to the music of his youth.

Cherie has been quite nonchalant about turning 50. When asked about a party she has been shrugging her shoulders and making a "hmph" noise, as if to say "ahhh, no biggie...". Last night my brother-in-law Mike called to share with us the first hint of a celebration. We are to be ready to go at 6:15 on Saturday night, at which time a limo will be picking us up. From our house the limo will proceed to the houses of our other family members, gathering us together and taking us to an undisclosed location. All we know is that dress is casual, and we only need to bring money for cocktails. Hmmmm.....I can't wait for Saturday!

High fashion

2005-08-29T09:04:00.000-04:00

I have a dirty little secret. For someone who is stressed out by clutter I have certain closets in my house that should send me screaming into the streets. Fortunately in my case clutter isn't quite so stressful if it can be hidden behind a closed door. Having said that, my bedroom closet has been in serious need of decluttering for some time now. I keep thinking I'll do it on a rainy day, but then it rains and I find more pressing things to do, like giving the cat a manicure, or teaching the dog how to flip a treat off it's nose and catch it in mid-air. Pretty much any task is preferable to cleaning out closets.

The other day while Bella was sleeping and Kylie and Phillip were watching TV downstairs I seized the moment. Great, I thought, I can take a few minutes and tackle my closet! Of course you know what happened. No sooner was I up to my eyeballs in shoes that no longer fit, (I'm tired of stuffing my now size 8 feet into my pre-childbearing size 7 shoes) and clothes that I haven't worn in years, when Kylie came in to see what I was doing. She was thrilled to see the pile of clothes and shoes on the floor and within minutes was deep into fashion show mode. I continued with my task, trying to ignore her as she pulled things out of the different piles I was making (keep this...throw this away...donate this...). Phillip, never being one to miss out on anything, quickly noticed Kylie's disappearance from the downstairs and joined her in hunting for treasure in the growing mountains of apparel.

By this time all I really wanted was to finish cleaning my closet, get rid of the stuff that wasn't going back in, and put the rest of the things back in some semblance of order. I was trying not to pay much attention to Kylie and Phillip, mainly because I was too busy grinding my teeth together and muttering to myself under my breath so I didn't snap at them to leave me alone - I tend to get rather goal-oriented when I get involved in a task like this. I wanted to finish and I knew all they were doing was making more work for me by messing up my piles. When I finally looked up from sorting through the rubble I had pulled from my closet this is what I saw...

Their beautiful grins and infectious giggles pierced my heart like an arrow, causing a lump to form in my throat and tears to spring to my eyes. Suddenly I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself for being upset with them. Someday much sooner than I would like I will have plenty of quiet time to clean my closets. There will be no laughing little blonde girl to stumble around in my high heels, no mischievous little blue eyed boy to pull my old "mommy jeans" up over his body. They will be busy with their friends, or doing homework, or just gone - to school, to a part-time job, to college, to their own lives. It happens in the blink of an eye. I should know that as well as anyone, I have seen it with my nephews, both of whom are leaving for college this week, and with my nieces. For a moment in time they are little and they are ours, but that moment is precious and fleeting.

As I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped the tears from my eyes I reached for the camera. For the next few minutes I took pictures as Kylie and Phillip put on a fashion show that would have brought the mavens of haute-couture to their knees. I'm going to frame at least one of the pictures and display it prominently in our home, as a reminder to myself that closets don't matter - little people do.

The idiosyncrasies of me

2005-08-23T08:53:00.000-04:00

I'm it, I'm it!!! I have been tagged by my friend Mopsy to share some of my idiosyncrasies...feel free to laugh at and/or with me!

When I'm driving, the thermostat in the van has to be set on an even number. I seldom notice what it is set on when my dear hubby is driving, (unless he's freezing me out, which come to think of it happens quite frequently), but I always have it set on an even number.
When Rob is traveling I will leave the TV in the bedroom on all night. I hate waking up alone in a dark, quiet room. I much prefer waking up at 2:30 a.m. to the witty banter of Sam and Diane from Cheers, or Jack and Janet from Three's Company (thank goodness for TV Land and Nick at Night!!).
The toilet paper must roll off the top of the roll, not the bottom. I cannot stand toilet paper that rolls from the underside of the roll, and I have been known to change it when I find it that way in other people's houses (how rude of me!). My Mom now puts it on "upside down" just to irritate me, then laughs at me when I change it. (This also applies to paper towels.)
Wrinkled clothes drive me nuts. I iron pretty much everything. Rob teases that I would iron our underwear if I could get away with it. What chance did I have, growing up with a mother that ironed my dad's handkerchiefs ("But Mom, he's going to blow his nose on that!")?
Clutter stresses me out. The only thing on my kitchen counters is the microwave. The coffee maker, toaster, sugar and flour canisters, all those things live in the closet and sit on the counter only when they are in use. I went to one of Kylie's friends houses one day and the kitchen counters were covered with things, as was the top of the refrigerator - I almost hyperventilated.
The toilet seat and lid both must be closed (fortunately Rob agrees with this one). I hate going into the bathroom and looking into the toilet, I don't care how clean it is. We've had builders at our house for the last two months, and when we're not home they use the bathroom. I don't mind at all, except they leave the lid (and sometimes the seat) up. Wouldn't you think they would leave it the way they found it?

Okay there's more, but I've probably already shared too much! I would gladly tag someone else for this, but I only have a few blogging friends and they're already playing.

Gloomy Me

2005-08-22T12:39:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago when my boss was on vacation I brought Kylie to work with me for the day. My sister's office is directly across the street from mine, so after spending some time with me Kylie went over to visit her aunt. Following that we all went to lunch, which was preceded by a little shopping (we work within walking distance of what is arguably one of the best shopping areas in the state). My sister wanted to buy something for Ky, so we went to a neat little toy store. It was no big surprise that we ended up in the stuffed animal section, where we found this guy:

His name is "Galoompagalots Glus", but I suggested he be called "Gloomy Gus" for short. I convinced my sister that he was the perfect addition to her office and that she just had to have him. She left the store with Gloomy Gus in tow.

Today I was a little down when I came in to work. Robbie and I took last week off and it was tough to get back into the swing of things this morning. As much as I appreciate the fact that I have a wonderful job and I only have to be here two and a half days a week, it is still hard to leave the kids (even if it is with my parents who spoil them rotten the whole time I'm gone). I was having a tough time finding a smile until the elevator door opened and I saw this sitting in my chair:

His name is Galoompagalots Podge (Gloomy Podge), and he made me smile. My sister is awesome.

Through a mother's eyes

2005-08-18T21:58:00.000-04:00

It's amazing how being a mother changes your perspective. Yesterday we took our children, along with one of Kylie's friends, to a local amusement park. I have been to this park countless times as a child, teen, young adult, and even as a mother, but yesterday is the first day I really experienced it through "mother's eyes".

The first ride we went on was the "Sea Dragon". This is a large ship that swings like a pendulum, carrying you high up into the air then dropping you back down. The girls wanted to sit in the very back seat, so I sat in the middle with a little six year old on either side. My first thought when the safety bar lowered across our laps and my hands gripped the top of it was "hmmmm, this feels disgustingly sticky, I don't even want to know how many germs are using this rubber covered bar as a breeding ground", of course, this thought was quickly followed by "hmmmm, this bar really doesn't feel like it's locked in the down position, I hope it doesn't release mid-ride and send us all plunging to our deaths". Unfortunately that thought was taking place as the ride was making its first swing skyward. It was that thought that prompted me to move my hands from the bar and place them over each of the girls' hands, as if that alone could hold them in the ride in the event of a catastrophic event (much like my mother used to throw her arm across my chest when we would be riding in our family's old station wagon and she would stop fast - yes Mom, that would keep me from flying through the windshield in an accident). Thankfully the bar was locked, the ride was brief, and despite Kylie's insistence that she was going to throw up if they didn't stop the ride we all survived with no bodily fluids being expelled. (And the finger prints I left in each girls' hand had pretty much disappeared by the end of the day!)

Not to be deterred, we moved on to the big roller coaster. The girls insisted they wanted to sit in the front seat, and since there was only room for the two of them I sat in the seat behind them. The seat belt and "grip" bar in the roller coaster were also sticky and no doubt "germtastically" nasty. Any second thoughts I may have had over the girls choice of seats was confirmed when I heard a woman a few seats behind us say to her companion "look at how brave those little girls are, sitting right in the front seat!". No sooner did the words leave her mouth than the ride started. It was 1 minute and 40 seconds of stomach lurching, brain bouncing terror at speeds averaging 62 mph and numerous drops, the largest of which was 82 feet. My eyes were closed the entire time, except for every few seconds when I would pry them open to make sure there were still two little blond heads bobbing around in front of me. I resisted the urge to hold on to the pony tails in the front seat instead of the metal bar, but it was tempting.

After that ride Kylie decided she wasn't quite as brave as she had first thought. This would have been fine with me, I was finding that my enjoyment of thrill rides was not nearly as great as it used to be. Unfortunately this meant that Ky's friend Madi, who is a bit of a daredevil (and therefore a perfect match for Ky, or so we thought), had nobody to accompany her on the rides. Since we obviously couldn't let Madi go on the rides alone, and since dear hubby, having recently been diagnosed with arthritis in his knee is off the hook somewhat these days for things that place a lot of stress on said knee (for example, bending to get in and out of amusement park rides), I knew who Madi's co-rider would have to be.

It's surprising what thoughts run wild through your head as you are buckled, strapped, or otherwise restrained inside an amusement park ride. On "The Flying Trapeze" I wondered just exactly how (and how often) one checks rides for metal fatigue, how sturdy the chains holding the swing on which I was sailing high above the park at a dizzying speed were, should that bolt above my head really be that rusty, and if the shoes flew off the feet of the riders in front of me and smacked me in the head could that possibly kill me? On "Thunderbolt" I wondered why there was the need for a sign in the operator's booth that said "BE SURE RIDE COMES TO A COMPLETE STOP BEFORE PRESSING THE BACK BUTTON", and I wanted to point out to the young girl in the booth that we had really only come to a rolling stop as her finger reached for the button. Unfortunately before the words could form in my mouth we were zooming around backwards. I think it was at this point I found myself hoping that if I was indeed killed in some freak amusement park accident and headlined the local 6:00 news that my family would at least retain the very best attorney available and run the owners of said amusement park into the ground. Oh yes, I also spent a lot of time praying, which seemed appropriate since so many of the rides took me high up into the air and presumably closer to heaven.

Looking back on my experience yesterday I wondered when it all changed. When did the fun-filled amusement park of my youth become the bacteria filled petri dish complete with creaking, treacherous, "should it really be making that sound" attractions? It only took a minute for me to find the answer. It all changed at 2:59 am on Tuesday, October 13th, 1998 - the moment Kylie was born. Before we had children I worried about something happening to the people I loved, or how they would move on with their lives if something happened to me, but that was nothing compared to the anxiety that accompanies motherhood. Now I know why my mother always had that look on her face when we went to the amusement park when I was a child. It was a look of apprehension, mild disgust, slight fear, and fervent hope that in spite of everything her child would enjoy every minute. I suspect that's the look that was on my face yesterday, as I experienced the park through a mother's eyes.

Mommy guilt

2005-08-12T14:37:00.000-04:00

My sweet Bella, who is without a doubt the easiest and happiest baby I have ever seen, has recently decided that her preferred method of napping is on a blanket on the floor. This was discovered quite by accident, as this is how she ended up napping when I took her to work with me this past Tuesday. Since then she has had no interest in falling asleep while nursing or being held, she likes to be on the floor. She will lay there for a little while looking around, then she will roll onto her side, pop her chubby little thumb in her mouth, grab the blanket with her other hand and fall asleep. She will easily sleep this way for 1.5 - 2 hours, completely unaffected by ringing phones, screaming siblings, barking dogs, slamming doors, and the various construction sounds (table saw, nail gun, hammering) taking place outside the open window. This picture is from a few minutes ago - clearly she gets comfortable!

So, I should be feeling pretty good about my sweet girl's ability (and willingness) to put herself to sleep with no assistance from me, no fussing, etc...right? Wrong. Any joy I might feel is being largely overshadowed by another not so nice feeling - Mommy guilt. I feel like a terrible mother letting my four month old baby fall asleep on the floor alone. She's fine with it, she started it! When I put her on the floor in my boss' office on Tuesday I thought she would lay there and "play" for a bit then fuss to be picked up. Nope, she fell asleep and liked it. I know I shouldn't feel bad about this, she's comfy, cozy, secure, all good things. But for some reason that Mommy guilt is just eating at me. Maybe it's not so much guilt as feeling that at the tender age of four months she is already becoming independent. **Sigh**...clearly I'm not a well person... ;)

Great expectations

2005-08-09T10:16:00.000-04:00

When I was pregnant with Kylie I imagined how wonderful life would be with an infant. It was with great anticipation that I awaited the birth of our first child. I could see myself rocking her to sleep in the rocking chair that Robbie had bought for me before we even knew I was pregnant. I pictured lazy afternoons strolling the neighborhood with her cooing contentedly in her stroller, cozy evenings snuggled up on the couch with her snoozing on my chest, late night feedings with her nursing for a bit then drifting back into her sweet newborn dreamland. Boy was I in for a surprise.

It quickly became apparent that while I had been dreaming for nine months about the idyllic bliss a newborn would bring, Kylie had been plotting to overthrow the regime that would be her parents. From the start she made it clear that she was the boss. There would be no snuggling on the couch. Snuggling was fine, as long as the snuggler was moving. This little snugglee demanded constant motion to be happy, and lest you think the motion was only necessary until she fell asleep just try to sit down while holding her and watch the happy sleeping baby morph instantly into the unhappy screaming baby (trying to lay her down was also a cardinal sin). As for strolling that was fine too, as long as she was being held, don't think for one second that she was going to sit in some stinkin' stroller. Don't even get me started on "drifting" into dreamland. If she fell asleep nursing she would sleep only as long as I left her on the Boppy pillow and didn't attempt to move. In order to get her to fall asleep I had to dance with her, and dance, and dance, and dance... At 3:00 in the morning she and I would be dancing around the TV room to the sounds of Garth Brooks on the stereo as I prayed for her to sleep.

My mother-in-law insisted that she was a colicky baby and that was her problem. I knew better though, even in those early days as a new mother somehow I knew that Kylie wasn't colicky. She didn't have a "problem", she was just, well, Kylie. Even as an infant my firstborn had very definite ideas about how things should be and how the world around her should function. As she approaches her seventh birthday nothing has changed. She is determined, tenacious, persistent, and wonderful. Despite my exhaustion in the early months when she demanded constant dancing and bouncing from me (for some reason in spite of his best efforts dear hubby couldn't meet her exacting standards) I refused to admit that motherhood or my sweet baby were anything less than perfect (and I would gladly unleash my wrath upon anyone who dared to suggest otherwise). Yes, she was challenging, but as far as I was concerned she was the sweetest baby in the whole world because she was mine.

My motivation behind writing this blog entry is that I now have the baby I dreamt of so many years ago. I brought Bella to work with me today. My boss is on vacation, so after nursing and changing her I placed her on a blanket on his floor. From my desk outside his office I could hear her cooing and every few minutes I would peek in the door to see her looking around and checking things out. Within ten minutes of placing her on the blanket she popped her chubby little thumb in her mouth, rolled onto her side and fell asleep. She is what I expected when I got Kylie. And yet somehow, if Bella, or even Phillip, who was also a very mellow baby, had been born first I wouldn't have appreciated them nearly as much as I do, nor would I be as good a mother. While I spent my pregnancy with Kylie anticipating teaching my baby so many things, she taught me so much more. From Kylie I have learned, among other things, patience, grace under pressure, and that love isn't always easy. She continues to teach me, and even though she wasn't the baby of my dreams I wouldn't change a thing about her, then or now.

Multi-tasking

2005-08-04T08:36:00.000-04:00

Two weeks ago the kids and I went to the dentist. In hindsight I will admit I was perhaps a little ambitious when I made our appointments back in January, given that I made them for Kylie, Phillip, and me all back to back. As the day of our appointment approached I was a little apprehensive about how we would all fare in the dentist's office for what would probably be an hour and a half with a three month old baby.

It started out well. I volunteered to go first so I would be free to tend to Bella while the kids got their teeth cleaned. I no sooner got in the seat, laid back, and opened my mouth, when Bella started fussing. It was obvious that she was not going to be happy sitting quietly in her carseat while my teeth were being tended to. I got her out of her seat and laid back in the chair to let the hygienist do her work. The whole time she cleaned my teeth I was bouncing Bella on my tummy and/or laying her back against my knees. Sensing my total helplessness, as soon as the hygienist got to work Kylie and Phillip, like two little vultures hovering around fresh road-kill, took up positions on either side of me and started with a barrage of questions.

Kylie: "Mom who's going next. You said I could go next but
Phillip says he is, who's going next Mom, Mommmmm!"
Me: "Uuuuuu fan do dex" (the best I could muster with my mouth full of
dental instruments and two hands)
Phillip: "Momma, there's no place for me to sit, I want to sit, where
can I sit? Momma, answer me!"
Me: "Uuuuuu fan fit ad de boddum uf my hair."

You get the idea. The whole time my teeth were being cleaned and I was bouncing Bella (which, by the way, makes for an amazing bicep workout) Kylie and Phillip insisted on asking me questions. Which animal should they choose (Our dentist has little rubber animals that the kids get after their cleaning. He had them when I was their age and I can't believe they still make them. I suspect he bought several million of them in the early 70's and he's still trying to get rid of them.); how much longer would I be; what color toothbrush should they pick; how much longer would I be; they were hungry/tired/had to go to the bathroom; how much longer would I be...you get the idea. Pretty much all I could do was laugh, which I did. Becky, our hygienist, said at one point, "I wish I had a camera, I would love a picture of this!".

After my cleaning and inspection by the dentist (no cavities - yay!!) I went to see the receptionist to get the insurance forms so I could complete them while Kylie and Phillip were having their teeth cleaned. She looked at me holding Bella and giving her a bottle and said "your hands are full, you can't possibly fill these out now". I gave her my best "obviously you're not a mom" smile and, puffing up my chest, said "I can leap tall buildings in a single bound, feed hungry babies, quiet angry toddlers, referee sibling squabbles with a mouthful of dental instruments and complete your stinkin' insurance forms all at the same time - I am a Mother!" Okay, I didn't say it exactly like that, but I did assure her that completing the forms while giving a bottle to Bella was entirely possible.

As I returned to the room where Kylie and Phillip were I ran into our family dentist. He was laughing and said to me "Becky just said she couldn't believe how calm that mother was getting her teeth cleaned while bouncing an infant and talking to her two other children." He continued, "I just laughed and told her "That's Edie Mae, I've known her whole family since before she was born, she's been coming here since before she had teeth"". I love living in the town in which I was raised!

All in all it turned out pretty well. Bella fell asleep and I managed to complete three separate insurance forms while holding a sleeping infant, nobody had any cavities, Kylie left with a pink hippo and a pink toothbrush, Phillip left with a blue lion and a yellow toothbrush, and an hour and a half after we arrived I left with my sanity - oh, and a purple toothbrush!

The good ol' days...

2005-07-29T11:01:00.000-04:00

A few things from my childhood that my children will probably never experience:

Dropping a roll of film off at the drugstore and anxiously waiting for almost two weeks to get the pictures back so you could see if any of them turned out good.
Walking to the nearest little store (for us it was Paul's Superette) with a quarter and being able to buy licorice sticks, Bazooka bubble gum, hot balls, and Mary Janes (I think at the time they were $.03 a piece). (Of course, Paul knew all of us kids (and our families before we were born) so maybe he gave us a little extra!)
Saturday morning cartoons. Other than that the only thing on for kids was Sesame Street, The Electric Company, Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, and Zoom.
A television that had no remote and only received the local ABC, CBS, NBC and PBS affiliates.
Having to stay in one general area when talking on the phone because the phone had a cord.
A phone that actually "rings".
Not knowing who was on the phone until you answered it.
Life without answering machines and home voice mail.
Riding in a car with no air conditioner.
St. Joseph's Baby Aspirin - I never had anything else as a child!
Having to use a payphone if you were away from home and needed to make a call.
A world without AIDS, domestic terrorism, cyberstalking, identity theft - I could go on but I'm depressing myself.

I'm glad I was a kid back then.

Simple pleasures, part two

2005-07-25T12:37:00.000-04:00

On the afternoon of the day a couple of weeks ago when we went strawberry picking Kylie decided she wanted to go blueberry picking. Our backyard used to be filled with wild blueberries which grew on little plants close to the ground. Unfortunately they all fell victim to my husband's weed wacker. He decided that the backyard would look nicer "cleaned up", that is to say, devoid of any natural growth other than grassy type stuff, so he wacked the blueberry plants. While there are still blueberries on our property they are farther away from the house and harder to find. That particular day Robbie took the kids for a bike ride. They went over to the neighborhood adjacent to ours and Kylie rode out a dirt path that goes to a huge field. It was out there that she found, in her words, "a ton of blueberries".

For the next week she begged us to take her back to the trail to pick blueberries. Finally on Saturday evening after dinner I agreed. Armed with a walkie talkie to keep in touch with Robbie who was staying home to water, bug spray, and two buckets, we set out with Kylie and Phillip on their bikes and Bella in her stroller. It only took us about five minutes to get to the trail. Kylie rode ahead of us while we parked Phillip's bike at the edge of the woods, training wheels don't work very well on a rough dirt trail. We bumped and stumbled our way out the long, dark, trail to the end where it opened up to a huge green field. Kylie was standing by her bike, motioning with great excitement at the ground around her "look Mom, look, a ton of blueberries!!". It was instantly apparent to me that Kylie's definition of "a ton" and mine were vastly different. Still, the picking was pretty good and if we all pitched in I figured we should be able to get the two cups needed for muffins.

Within a couple of minutes it was obvious that we would need the bug spray that I had brought, so I pulled it out and sprayed us all. Since Bella is too little to be sprayed I covered the cloth diaper I had brought with spray and put it on top of the stroller in hopes it would keep the bugs away. We had been picking for about five minutes when Kylie said "gee Mom, don't your knees hurt from bending down like that? Mine do." Phillip was walking around saying "there sure are a lot of blueblerries here Mom, there sure are" (no, that's not a typo, he really calls them "blueblerries"!). My mantra quickly became "less talkie, more pickie", as I deposited handful after handful of berries into each of their buckets (which were not filling at a very fast rate). I probably could have picked faster, but the kamikaze deer flies were apparently attracted by the remnants of the hairspray I had applied that morning and I had to keep stopping to wave my hands frantically around my head to dispel them. Finally in an act of sheer desperation I sprayed bug spray on my hands and ran them through my hair - if you know me at all you know I had to be desperate to do that! It worked though, the little pests stopped dive bombing my head and I was able to concentrate more on picking.

After about twenty-five minutes Bella was starting to get fussy and I had picked my fill of blueberries. I suggested we walk just a little further out into the field to see if we could pick a few more berries before heading home. Prior to doing that I had to bounce Bella for a few minutes to get her to sleep. Once she was comfortably slumbering in her stroller we moved on. Unfortunately Kylie decided it would be a good idea to hang her bucket from the handlebar of her bike, which she managed to drop when she was trying to get on it. There were twenty five minutes worth of blueberries scattered all over the dusty, sandy, trail. Poor Kylie was devastated, but fortunately we were able to salvage most of the blueberries. We did go a little deeper into the field and pick a little longer, which probably made up for the blueberries that were lost in the sand.

The whole time we were picking blueberries Kylie and Phillip kept wrapping themselves around my legs, thanking me for taking them to the blueberry field, and proclaiming me "the best Mommy in the whole world". That was sweeter than any blueberry we picked that evening. We ended up picking two cups of blueberries, just enough to make one giant batch of blueberry muffins. The muffins were yummy but were gone in a few days, the joy that my children (and because of them, I) experienced doing something as simple as picking blueberries (or "blueblerries", depending on the child!) will last much longer than that.

(Stay tuned for "Simple pleasures, part three - adventures in apple picking" no doubt to be published in a blog near you sometime in September...)

Waving

2005-07-21T08:40:00.000-04:00

My family has many rituals. Among them, calling to sing "happy birthday" to the birthday person on their special day (which is usually amusing since most of us can't carry a tune in a bucket!), gathering on Christmas Eve afternoon at my parent's house to open one present each, doing a shot at family parties as a toast to whomever isn't present (and if everyone is there we can usually find another excuse, dearly departed relatives work well since my Mom's family was a fun-loving, partying bunch), and waving. It doesn't matter if your trip will take you across town or across the country, whenever you leave the house of someone in my family, somebody always stands in the door or at the window and waves.

Growing up I thought that every family waved when someone left. As I got older I became increasingly aware that it was not the norm for people to do that. Most of my friends were shocked when we would leave my house and my parents would be in the window waving. "Geez", they would say, "do they think you're not coming back?". In a way I think that's how this particular ritual began. My Mom said that in her family someone always waved good-bye, and her Mom said it was because you never know when someone leaves if they will be coming back, so it's nice to share a parting wave as they go.

The waving ritual that for me began in my parent's house now lives on in our home. Whenever somebody leaves Kylie and Phillip race for either the door or window to wave. It doesn't matter if the person departing is a family member, friend, construction worker, or UPS driver, they all get a wave. From time to time people who don't know us that well will depart without glancing at the house to see the two little blonde children waving frantically and blowing kisses. They don't know what they're missing.

This morning as I left my parent's house after dropping off the kids I drove slowly past the front door with my arm out the window waving. My little waving committee did not disappoint, they were gathered in the front door of the house, with Kylie and Phillip in front and my Mom in back holding Bella. All of them were waving and blowing kisses with radiant smiling faces, it was such a beautiful sight it made my heart ache.

Ouch!

2005-07-19T11:23:00.000-04:00

At the tender age of three months it has become imperative to Bella that she not miss a thing while tending to the most tedious but necessary of tasks - nursing. With that in mind she will now, without warning, clamp what can only be described as jaws of steel onto my breast then whip her head around to see what's happening on the other side of the room, attempting to take my nipple with her. When I let out a surprised wail of pain she releases the nipple and grins up at me with toothless, wide-eyed innocence (or is that amusement?). I'm thinking of having little blinders and earplugs made for her...

Vi and Letty

2005-07-19T08:39:00.000-04:00

Last fall my mother, sister, and I went to a perennial swap at my brother and sister-in-law's house. It was a hot Sunday afternoon and that was about the last thing I felt like doing. Robbie had just left that morning on a week-long business trip, the next day was Monday so it was back to work, back to school for Ky, back to our busy lives but with just me at home to do everything. The thought of going to a perennial swap and bringing home yet another thing that needed to be cared for was not even remotely appealing. Like there was even a chance that I would get to plant whatever I brought home before it died! But, being the good little sister that I am I dug up some pieces of my perennials to contribute, made my platter of peanut butter cups, loaded the kids into the van and went on my merry way.

It was early in my pregnancy with Bella, and since we hadn't told anyone yet I politely accepted the Sangria that Gail, my sister-in-law, offered. After a few tiny sips I was able to sit the cup down discreetly on the table and abandon it there. Despite my reluctance to go, the time passed quickly and it was a nice afternoon. The kids had fun jumping on the trampoline with their cousins and eating all the good food that Floyd and Gail had prepared. I had a nice time hanging out and talking with my family and Gail's friends. As the gathering started to wind down Gail decided it was time for people to pick what they wanted to take home for perennials. I hung back, determined to leave empty handed. While I was happy to contribute a plant, I really had no desire to take one home. As far as I could tell it would just be another thing on my "to-do" list, which was the last thing I needed that week.

As the swap was winding down Gail was surveying who got what, and said "Hey Eed, you didn't get anything, here, take this" (note: "Eed" rhymes with weed and is what most of my family calls me) and attempted to hand me what looked like some half dead weed in desperate need of tender loving care. I politely declined, citing my already long enough "to-do" list and traveling husband as the reason I had chosen to leave empty handed. Gail, however, was determined that nobody would leave empty handed. She finally insisted that I at least take an african violet as it was already potted and wouldn't require much attention at all. Since it meant so much to her I took the plant, figuring it was little so it wouldn't take up much room in the trash, which, given my history with african violets, is where it would inevitably end up.

On the way home my wonderful Mom insisted that I also take the african violet that had been pressed upon her, citing her penchant for killing the poor unsuspecting houseplants as well. I couldn't stand the thought of watching these innocent plants wither and die at home, so I placed each of them in a Winnie-the-Pooh mug and took them to work (at least that way I would only have to witness their suffering three times a week). Once we got to my office I placed them on the windowsill and enjoyed the beautiful purple flowers that had opened soon after I got them. Each week I would water them, looking carefully for signs of their impending doom. All through the winter they sat on my windowsill, even on the days when it was below zero outside and the windows had ice on the inside.

While the plants didn't die, neither did they thrive. They appeared to be just surviving, in some sort of african violet limbo, their leaves getting bigger and less green by the month. Finally about a month ago I decided they looked sickly enough that it was time to end their suffering. I removed them from my windowsill, and as I started to take them out of the Winnie-the-Pooh mugs that had been their homes I was amazed. There, in the center of each plant were healthy looking new green leaves. Even more amazing, hidden in the midst of the leaves were little buds that held the promise of producing more beautiful purple flowers. In an effort to let the plants direct all their energy to the promising new growth I pinched off the big yellowed leaves around the outside and placed them back in window.

Now my windowsill is the proud home of Vi and Letty and their gorgeous blooms. They each boast at least a dozen brilliant purple flowers, most of which are as big around as quarters. The darned plants are beautiful, and I'm hooked. Despite my best intentions I did come away from the swap with something else to care for, something else to care about. Now that I have sustained the plants and watched them bloom again I want them to live, to continue blooming, to keep being another thing on my "to-do" list.

Happy birthday, dear hubby

2005-07-13T19:33:00.000-04:00

Today is my dear hubby's birthday. It's hard to believe that the sweet faced 16 year old boy I fell in love with is turning 34. It seems like just yesterday that my heart would skip a beat at the very sight of him across the kitchen in the restaurant where we both worked. It's probably a good sign that it still skips a beat when he walks in the house at the end of the day. He is my best friend, the person with whom I would most like to just hang out. The sound of his voice on the other end of the phone when he calls from work just to say hi brings a smile to my face. While he likes to thump his chest and pretend that he's a tough guy, he's really a softie with a heart of gold. I'm lucky to have him for my husband, and my children are lucky to have him for their father.

Don't get me wrong. It's not always hearts and flowers. There are times when I'm screaming at him on the inside, but I seldom let the screams escape my lips. For all the times he irritates, annoys, and otherwise pisses me off beyond belief, there are one hundred more times that he brings me flowers or candles "just because", vacuums the house or does the laundry, fills my van with gas so I don't have to, cooks dinner, and just plain makes me laugh when I need it most. He is the love of my life.

For his birthday this year there was nothing that he wanted. I wracked my brain trying to come up with some gift to get him, but I came up empty. We had his party this past weekend, so tonight is just a homemade cake shared with the kids. I was going to buy him another card, but decided to write this instead. Happy birthday Robbie, I love you, and I hope this coming year is filled with love, laughter, and lots of good times.

Simple pleasures

2005-07-13T08:10:00.000-04:00

About this time every year the roads around our house are all marked with signs with a giant strawberry, the words "u pick", and an arrow. In the eight strawberry seasons we've lived here we have never, in spite of our good intentions, gone strawberry picking. This year Kylie asked if we could pick strawberries. I gave her the classic non-commital "we'll see", while trying to wrap my brain around strawberry picking with a six year old, three year old, and three month old. I didn't figure Robbie would be interested in accompanying us, and I wasn't sure I was brave enough to venture into the strawberry fields alone.

On Sunday we were returning home from a visit to my sister's house where we met her new dog. Upon seeing one of the strawberry signs Rob said "if I could take just Kylie I would go pick some strawberries, but I'm sure I couldn't get out without Phillip and I don't know how he would do". Being the eternal optimist and blessed (or is that cursed?) with a "can-do" attitude, I replied that we should just go right then, all of us. After all, there were two of us, Bella would stay sleeping in her car seat (with the little canopy pulled over her to shield her from the sun), and how long could it really take? He looked at me with a mix of skepticism and amusement as he headed for the strawberry fields.

Kylie and Phillip were both thrilled when we pulled into the parking lot of the strawberry farm. Kylie's excitement was somewhat tempered as she exited the car and inhaled "ewwww, what's that smell?" she asked. Her Dad informed her that it was "poo" otherwise known as manure, ahhhh, the sweet smells of life on a farm! Since they had been open for picking for about a week the lady suggested we head towards the back of the fields and assured us we would find plenty of berries there. We grabbed our containers and dutifully marched down the dusty aisle to the back of the field, where little red berries could be seen peeking out from under big green leaves.

After about ten minutes scooched down in the summer sun Kylie informed us she was hot and her knees hurt from bending to pick the berries. Hubby and I were telling Phillip for the fiftieth time to stop walking over the rows and stepping on the berries (I only had to tell him once that he couldn't sit on them!), and Bella was starting to wake up. Robbie had filled one of the six quart containers we had purchased, mine was about two-thirds full, and Kylie's had six berries in it. Phillip had long since abandoned his container, and instead would pick a berry, run to Rob or me and say "is this one good?", and put it in our container (that accounts for all the unripe and overripe berries). Despite the fact that I had seen plenty of faces smeared with strawberry juice as we trekked through the rows, I told Kylie and Phillip they had to wait until we got the berries home and washed to try them. I suspect that my aversion to them eating things fresh from the dirt and potentially still bearing traces of the pesticide du jour can be attrituted to my "quirkyness", but I'll blame it on my Mother.

Given the less than efficient picking skills of our two little helpers Robbie said he was glad that I had decided against staying in the van with Bella as I had originally planned. He would have been out there awhile trying to fill six containers by himself. Finally, after about thirty minutes, (the last ten of which consisted of me picking for a few minutes, then swinging Bella in her seat as she had woken up and was not exactly thrilled to find herself sitting in the middle of a strawberry field), we had our six quarts of strawberries.

We traipsed back towards the little shack to pay for our haul, triumphant in having gathered such wonderful fruit. Kylie and Phillip, both sporting fingers stained with berry juice, thanked us for the rest of the day for taking them strawberry picking. The berries, once properly washed, were proclaimed to be the best strawberries ever. Next year when the strawberry signs go up I know we'll be heading for the strawberry fields again, to take part in one of life's simple pleasures.

Dinner talk

2005-07-09T12:41:00.000-04:00

Hot dogs - $3.69
Milk - $3.39
Cantaloupe - $1.50
Cheetos - $3.29
Hearing your 3 year old ask his father (with total innocence and great concern): "Daddy, did Kylie not want more Cheetos because she's pissed off?" - Priceless

Party time

2005-07-09T11:10:00.000-04:00

Bella and I were the first ones up this morning. Everyone else was recovering from the party we had last night which didn't break up until almost 11:00. We had the pleasure of hosting thirteen members of my family as we celebrated the birthdays of my dear husband (34th) and brother (51st). The day and night before the party were full of activity as we cleaned the house (a "company" clean versus the normal "family" clean) and prepared the food - buffalo chicken bites, scallops wrapped in bacon, homemade salsa & guacamole, spinach & artichoke dip, and fresh fruit. When you add that to the devilled eggs, nachos, beef bulgogi, and mini hot dogs in sauce that other family members contributed I think we can rest assured that nobody left here hungry. Oh, I almost forgot the most important food - the birthday cakes! We usually order all the birthday cakes for the family from the same guy who made my wedding cake thirteen years ago (that was actually for our renewal of vows ceremony, we had already been married for one and a half years - another post for another day!), but I wanted to do something different this time. I made two brownie bottomed cheesecakes, and for those family members who don't like cheesecake (incomprehensible to me, but I know for 0ne my dear Kylie doesn't) I made a whoopie pie cake. As it turns out most everyone was so fascinated by the whoopie pie cake that even those who had cheesecake wanted a little slice of that to accompany it.

I absolutely love family parties. It helps that we have such a great family. We all live within about ten minutes of each other and there is no better time to be had then when we all gather together. Our house was loud last night, filled with conversation and laughter, the giggling shrieks of children (mine) as their older cousins chased and tickled them (and pleas of "tickle me again, tickle me again!!" as soon as they stopped), Bella's coos as she realized with delight that she had a larger audience to play to, our house was filled with the sounds of love. The neat thing about our family is we love each other because we're family, but we truly like each other too. Even the "in-laws" that we've picked up along the way fit in nicely. None of them came from families like ours so for each of them there was somewhat of an adjustment period. Now if someone were to walk into one of our parties I'm not sure they could tell the in-laws from the rest of us, we blend together that well.

Some of my best memories from childhood are family parties. My Mom was the youngest of nine children, so there was no shortage of aunts, uncles, and cousins at our parties. My earliest memory from childhood is being at a party in a playpen and my Uncle Joe climbing in with me. I also remember parties held at the restaurant that my Uncle Joe ran for many years where my brothers and my cousins would actually throw me back and forth across the kitchen to each other (I loved every minute of it!) - ahhhh, the good old days! The parties of my youth were like the parties we have now, filled with good natured teasing, laughing, story-telling, and lots of love. I hope that someday my children will look back on our parties and remember them fondly as well

A quirky Mom

2005-07-08T10:11:00.000-04:00

My husband called me the dreaded "a" word the other night - "anal". He didn't say it as an indictment, just a passing comment. As much as I hate to admit it, he's probably right. There are certain things that I'm rather, "quirky" about (that sounds so much nicer than anal). For example, I know which color top came with which sippy cup, and it just seems to me that they are a pair. The cup that came with the pink lid (that would be the blue cup with the bumble bees on it) should always have the pink lid on it. That cup does not belong with a blue lid, a purple lid, or a yellow lid, it belongs with a pink lid. I'm sure you can imagine the knot that forms in my stomach when dear hubby gets the ice water ready for the sweet kiddos to take to bed and puts the pink top on the purple cup that came with a purple top. Perhaps in deference to "quirky" moms like me who notice (and are bothered by) such things, the sippy cup manufacturers seem to be putting matching lids on cups lately. Don't even get me started on Tupperware, yes it does matter which top goes on which bowl.

The incident that led to my husbands lovely name for me involved a onesie. Shortly after Phillip was born a friend of ours gave us a set of Winnie-the-Pooh onesies with the days of the week on them. For someone who is, ahem, quirky, things like that send a shiver up the spine. I knew that I would never be able to just grab a onesie and put on him, I would have to make sure it was the correct day. It wouldn't do for him to wear a Friday shirt on say, Tuesday. Nevermind that Phillip was only three months old at the time and could have cared less, I would have been bothered by it all day.

Fast forward a few years to our sweet Bella. It was hot one night last week so I decided to put Bella in a onesie to sleep. It was late and I was tired, so I grabbed a onesie off the shelf of the changing table and put it on her. Of course, it was a "Sunday" shirt, and it was only "Tuesday" night. With great restraint I managed to fight the demons inside of me that were insisting I change the onesie. After all I reasoned, the other kids were in bed, it was just me, hubby, and Bella, who would care? Within ten minutes of putting the onesie on Bella my sweet husband looked at it and said to me with a little grin, "as anal as you are about things I can't believe you don't have the right day on her". That did it. I scoured the changing table shelf, the dryer, the basket of clothes to be put away, the basket of clothes yet to be folded, and finally, finally, I found Tuesday. As I removed Sunday from our little girl and replaced it with Tuesday I was struck by another dilemma. In a few hours it would be Wednesday, so maybe I should be putting Wednesday on her so when she woke up in the morning it would be right? Briefly I considered searching for Wednesday, but instead smacked the little quirky voices in my head back into the shadows, and vowed to do the same to Robbie as well if he dared to suggest such a thing.

The pink balloon

2005-07-05T12:36:00.000-04:00

Yesterday we went to a Fourth of July parade. We go to this particular parade every year because my Dad is in it. He is a Shriner, and he drives one of those little yellow Jeeps that buzzes around in circles zipping dangerously close to parade goers toes. There's something about seeing my 79 year old father zooming around in a little vehicle propelled by what amounts to a powerful lawnmower engine (with a jeweled fez on his head, no less) that makes my heart smile.

Much like attending the parade has become a tradition for us, so has buying balloons at the parade for the kids. I watched yesterday as Rob handled the all important balloon buying transaction just a few minutes after we arrived. Kylie and Phillip went with their Dad to pick out which color they wanted, and I stayed with Bella and my Mom. I watched with amusement as I saw my wonderful husband dutifully request a red balloon for Phillip, a pink balloon for Kylie, and another pink balloon for Bella, who usually gets stiffed in situations like this since at the tender age of 2.5 months old she really doesn't care much about balloons. Just as I thought to myself "there, each of my babies has a balloon", one of the pink balloons slipped from Robbie's grasp and floated up into the brilliant blue sky. My chest tightened and my eyes filled with tears as I watched the balloon drift up towards the fluffy white clouds. At that moment it hit me, each of my babies truly did have a balloon, even the one I lost a year ago this week.

I was only five weeks pregnant when I miscarried. Aside from my friends on-line, my husband, and my best friend, nobody knows it ever occurred. Everything happened so fast, ttc for less than a month, a positive pregnancy test, then a mere thirty hours later the beginning of the end. For one short day I knew I was holding another precious baby inside me. It's amazing that you can love someone you only knew for one day, someone you never had the chance to meet or hold in this life.

Through watery eyes I looked at Bella, who arrived one month after the baby that I lost would have been due, and at Kylie and Phillip, both filled with anticipation at seeing Poppa and the rest of the parade. Watching the pink balloon ascend skyward yesterday morning I was filled with love for the baby that I have yet to meet, and for the three that I have.

Fireworks

2005-07-04T20:55:00.000-04:00

Fireworks, aside from the displays put on by towns and cities, are illegal in my state. They are, however, legal and easily obtainable just over the border in a neighboring state. Last night we were treated to what was probably one of the best (illegal) fireworks displays around.

My sister-in-law's family owns a camp on a small lake about 45 minutes from where we live. Last year my brother and some members of my sister-in-law's family crossed the border to the neighboring state and bought some fireworks. They invited us to see their display and it was pretty impressive for a private (and illegal) show. Because they purchased them early they were able to take advantage of a two-for-one deal and ended up getting quite a bang for their buck (okay, bad pun but I couldn't resist!). Not only was their display great, but some of the neighboring camps had displays as well, so we enjoyed almost an hour of brilliant flashes and bangs. That night my whole family offered to contribute to the fireworks fund for this year.

Once all the money had been collected there was over $700 in the fireworks fund. My brother and his brother-in-law crossed the border to purchase the illegal goodies. They said the young man at the fireworks store was more than happy to take them around and point out which fireworks would put on the best show. With the two-for-one deal and the freebies that the fireworks place throws in they left there with about $1600 worth of rocket power.

We all arrived at the camp last night around 8:00. There was a fire on the beach where the kids were roasting marshmallows and making s'mores, sparklers, and Kylie's favorite, glow in the dark necklaces and bracelets. At about 9:15 everyone gathered on the little beach area in front of the camp to ooh and aah over the beautiful show in the sky. The fireworks were amazing. There were reds, greens, purples, and golds, starbursts, swirls, flashes, the works. Once again other camps in the area put on shows as well, so we were treated to quite a variety of displays. When the last of the fireworks had left the dock of the camp we were at, the guy a few camps down let loose with his display. Rumor had it that he had $3,000 worth of fireworks this year, and his diplay was impressive to say the least.

The show finally ended around 10:30 and we all piled into the van for the ride home. Since my parents had ridden with us my Mom and I sat in the back with Kylie. On the ride home through winding, dark country roads Rob and my Dad chatted, Phillip and Bella slept, and Kylie and I kept my Mom entertained by singing along with the country tunes on the radio (we really rock on Brooks & Dunn's "Play Something Country"!). It was a nice evening, and, I suspect, the beginning of another family tradition.

A perfect day

2005-07-02T22:37:00.000-04:00

My Mom, the kids, and I slathered our pasty bodies with sunscreen this morning and headed to the beach for the first time this year. The duck itch (or duck scratch, as Phillip called it) is gone. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and there was just enough of a breeze to keep us comfortable. It was a perfect day.

Today was special not only because it was our first visit to the beach this year, but also because it was Bella's introduction to the beach. By all indications she loved it. I received a small beach cabana at the Welcome Bella party my family had in May and it is just right. When we first got to the beach I sat Bella in the cabana in her carseat. She sat there and looked all around for awhile, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. After a bit she got tired of that and decided she wanted to eat. She nursed on her Boppy pillow with me sitting in my beach chair, a light blanket draped over her to shield her tender skin from the sun. Once she finished I returned her to the cabana, this time laying her on a towel and propping her up a little with the Boppy pillow. She smiled and cooed at us for awhile, then started to fidget and fuss as her little eyes got heavy. As luck would have it the clouds gathered at that time and I was able to take her out of the cabana and dance with her a bit. It wasn't long before she was sound asleep. I gently placed her back in the cabana where she proceeded to sleep peacefully for an hour or so.

While Bella slept and my Mom enjoyed the sun, Kylie, Phillip and I went out in the water. One good thing about the water in Maine, it's usually too cold for sharks (and most people). Today was no exception, but since I've never been to the beach without going in the water (and under the water), I took the plunge. When she wasn't getting plowed over by them, Kylie had a blast jumping the waves. Phillip was a little more timid, but as long as he was securely perched on my hip he didn't mind the waves too bad. We stayed in the water until my feet were completely numb, then headed back to the shore. Kylie and Phillip played in the sand, while I sat and talked with my Mom.

We only spent a couple of hours on the beach. We hope to go back tomorrow, so we didn't want to take a chance on overdoing it today. Tonight we all have a nice tinge of pink to us. Nobody burned, but each of us has a definite rosy glow (except for Bella). Both Kylie and Phillip have thanked me countless times for taking them to the beach today, and they're already planning tomorrow's trip. Bella was so worn out from the sea air that she fell asleep on the playroom floor while I was in the shower. I think she already has the makings of a beach bum, it's in her genes.

There's something about the beach that rejuvenates me. Maybe it's the simplicity of it. No television, no radio, no computer, just the roar of the ocean, the cry of the seagulls, and the people I love. There is nothing like sitting and feeling the kiss of the sun on your face, especially after enduring a winter that dropped more than one hundred inches of snow. With the sun warming my body and the sand beneath my feet I have no to-do list, no worries. I don't think about next week or next month, I just hope that tomorrow will be another warm, sunny day, a beach day, a perfect day.

Go figure

2005-06-28T15:51:00.000-04:00

So much for going to the beach tomorrow. Our local beach has tested positive for high levels of fecal bacteria, apparently caused by a large number of ducks nesting near the beach. While local officials are quick to assure us that the bacteria is not fatal to humans, it can cause a condition known as "duck itch" (seriously, that's what they call it) which must be treated with medication. Since going to the beach just to spend the day yelling at the kids to "stay out of the water" doesn't appeal to me I guess we'll just stay away. I guess it could be worse, I could be paying $225 a night to stay in a motel in the area so I could lounge on the beach. Damned ducks.

The trashman

2005-06-28T08:34:00.000-04:00

Our family said good-bye to a friend this past Friday. Alan, or as the kids call him "the trashman", was indeed, our trashman. He works for the waste management company that collects the trash in our town and has been our trashman for the last few years. This year his company lost the bid for our town, and this past Friday was his last day on our route.

The first summer we lived in our house I was pregnant with our first child. One hot, humid Friday I was pulling some weeds out of the garden along our driveway when the trash truck pulled up. The driver got out and asked me if I minded if he used our hose to fill his water bottle. I told him he was welcome to do so. He proceeded to fill the bottle, thanked me, got back on his truck and drove away. As he drove off I thought about what a hot, smelly, and thankless job that must be. Before he returned from the cul-de-sac to pass our house again I ran in the house and grabbed a cold Coke out of the fridge. As the the trash truck rumbled back up the street I stood at the end of our driveway and flagged him down with a can of Coke. He hopped off his truck with a look of genuine surprise, thanked me, took the Coke and drove away. Thus began a "tradition" in our household. At that time my husband was home every other Friday, so on the days he was home he would take something out for the trashman to drink. Pretty much every Friday since then if we've been home, the trashman has had a cold beverage delivered.

It didn't take long for the trashman to get friendly with us. He appreciated the little refreshment we provided and he would stop and talk for a minute. On his return from the cul-de-sac he would toot the horn and wave as he passed our house. One day my parents were there and were surprised at how friendly our trashman was. I told them how we had befriended him, and it wasn't long before my Dad was doing the same thing on Wednesdays, the day the trashman hit my parent's house. Over time we learned our trashman's name was Brian. Each week we would chat for a minute, it's amazing how much you can learn about someone's life in just a few minutes a week. Brian was a nice guy. After the birth of our son Phillip I took a drink out to him one week to find that he had a gift for us. He had bought (and wrapped) a couple of packs of baby wipes and some socks for our new arrival, along with some M&M's for Kylie. A couple of years ago Brian left to take a different route. He introduced us to the new driver when he was training him, and told him to take good care of us (he did the same at my Dad's house).

My children think it's perfectly normal to watch for the trash truck and run down the driveway with a cold drink for the driver. When Kylie started school in the fall she made me promise to take a drink down to the trashman on Friday afternoons since she wouldn't be there to do it. Now that Phillip is no longer scared of the big green truck (he used to hide in the house and peek out at it but he wouldn't approach it), he carries the drink down the driveway. A few weeks ago, on Kylie's first Friday out of school, she and Phillip were actually fighting about who was carrying the drink down to Alan. I was able to resolve their battle - Phillip carried the bottle of water, and Kylie took him a pack of chocolate chip cookies. This past Friday in addition to the drink and the cookies Alan was presented with a card that Kylie made for him, complete with a picture of him and his trash truck, and the words "We will miss you Alan. Love Kylie, Phillip, and Bella". Rob was home from work that afternoon so the whole family walked down to bid farewell to Alan and wish him well. We waited for the big truck to thunder up the road from the cul-de-sac and gave Alan one last wave before walking back up our driveway. As we returned to the house Kylie asked "Mom, are we gonna give the next trashman water and cookies too?", at which time Phillip started jumping up and down yelling "I wanna carry the water, I wanna carry the water!". The tradition carries on...

Siblings

2005-06-27T13:12:00.000-04:00

When I was pregnant with Bella people frequently asked me how Kylie and Phillip felt about having a baby in the family. Aside from a little hesitation initially (on Kylie's behalf), they both seemed to welcome the idea of having another sibling to love. Now that Bella is two and a half months old I can say that they have both truly welcomed her with open arms. I think their warm reception has something to do with the fact that even at their young ages they understand that love is infinite. They both realize that our loving Bella doesn't take away from the love that we have for them. I believe they also realize that their lives are enriched by having another person to love, and who loves them.

Phillip dotes on his baby sister. In his mind she is "our baby" or "my baby" and he insists on kissing and hugging her several times a day. He is particularly fascinated by her "little hands", which he frequently comments are "so cute". There is no doubt that he will be the loving, protective big brother that every little sister deserves. Rob moved the seats in the van around over the weekend, and when Phillip got in this morning he discovered that he was sitting right next to Bella instead of having a little aisle between them. He was so excited! "Mommy", he asked, "can I talk to Bella in the van?". All the way to my parent's house (10 minutes) he kept up a running dialogue with Bella, stopping just a few times to let me know she was still awake - hmmmm, wonder why?

Kylie has gladly (and without being asked) assumed the role of little mother. When we're trying to get ready to go somewhere Kylie is happy to sing to Bella, resulting in one of two things - Bella smiling at her until her little cheeks are about to pop, or Bella going to sleep. Either reaction thrills her big sister, who can often be heard saying either "Momma, look at her smiling at me!", or "Bella went to sleep for me again.". If Bella gets fussy while we're on the road Kylie will peek over the seat and sing to her, which usually settles her right down. Bella already watches Kylie with wide eyes, as if to say "I want to be just like you someday!".

The biggest sign that Bella has been embraced by her siblings is the fact that they have both indicated the desire to have another baby in the family. Phillip asked me soon after Bella was born if we could "get another new baby someday", and Kylie has mentioned it as well. Bella is a lucky little girl to have Kylie and Phillip for a big sister and big brother. I know as she grows there will be days when they bicker and don't get along, but at the end of the day they will all still love each other. I also know there will come a day when they realize that one of the greatest gifts their Dad and I ever gave them is each other.

For love of jeans

2005-06-23T14:29:00.000-04:00

When I was not quite three months pregnant with Bella my jeans started to become uncomfortable. I wasn't ready to slip into maternity pants yet, and we hadn't told anyone I was even pregnant, so I went to Marshall's and bought a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans in a size 8. I knew they were a winner that night when, at a family birthday party, my then 15 year old niece told me she liked them. My husband on the other hand thought I was crazy. My regular pants are sizes 4 and 6, so he said it was silly to buy a bigger size to wear for a month or two when I would never use them again. It turns out I loved those jeans, and with the help of one of my daughter's ponytail holders I wore them through my sixth month of pregnancy.

After Bella's birth I wore my Tommy jeans home from the hospital. During those first few weeks they were the only pants I had that fit, and I loved them more than ever. By week three I was once again fitting into my pre-pregnancy pants (and my Tommy jeans were getting looser), but somehow those pre-pregnancy jeans were just not as flattering as my Tommy jeans. The Tommy jeans were stylish and, dare I say it, sexy. They sat low on my hips and had long legs that flared slightly at the bottom, they made me feel good. My other jeans were, well, just jeans. They weren't particularly flattering, and they sure didn't make me feel like my Tommy jeans did. So, my old jeans were left in a heap on the bottom of my closet while I continued to wear my Tommy jeans. That is, of course, until last week when we went to BJ's to stock up on toilet paper, Kleenex, diapers, and all the other wonderful things that can be purchased in cases large enough to last several months. That is the day I discovered that my Tommy jeans, which had been getting looser by the week, were just plain too big. After bending down for the hundredth time to stuff something under the cart (with Bella in the sling, of course) and standing back up only to realize I was dangerously close to mooning the entire store, I decided it was time to retire my beloved Tommy jeans.

The next morning I headed to Marshall's with Bella, Kylie, and my Mom. The first rack of jeans I came upon had no Tommy's, but I did find a pair of Polo jeans marked "28x34" which looked like they were similarly styled. I tried them on (although I had no idea what size they truly were since they weren't traditionally marked) and decided they would do. We browsed some more and I found another rack of jeans, this one holding Tommy jeans! I frantically flipped through the size 6's until I found them...jeans just like the ones I loved which were now too big. I tried them on and they fit perfectly, I was in heaven. I left the store with two new pairs of jeans and a smile on my face (still hitching up my old Tommy jeans which I had worn shopping one last time).

My size 8 Tommy jeans have now been washed and returned to my closet to wait for (I hope!) my next pregnancy. As for the old jeans on the closet floor they still have a lot of good wear left in them...for someone else.

Kylie steps up

2005-06-20T12:00:00.000-04:00

I am the mother of a first grader. There was no ceremony or celebration for the parents, just a "step-up" day for the children where they got to visit their new teacher and meet their classmates for the upcoming school year. It's probably just as well. As someone who cried at the Kindergarten spring sing and Kylie's dance recital, I'm sure a Kindy graduation would have pushed me right over the edge. My little girl is growing up.

I know this progression from Kindergarten to first grade is but one small milestone in her young life, but I also know how quickly the other milestones will come. As the youngest of four children I am blessed with nephews and nieces who have shown me how fast children grow. In the past two years I have watched both of my nephews graduate from high school. It seems like just yesterday they were little squirts playing little league and saying "blech" at the mere mention of girls. Now Christopher is entering his junior year at Maine Maritime Academy and spending his summer working on a ship running between Tampa and Houston (and no doubt desperately missing Heidi, his girlfriend of two years), and Ross is anxiously awaiting the end of summer so he can head off to his freshman year at Springfield. As for the girls, the Barbies have been retired and boys no longer have "cooties". Ashley has just hit the "sweet sixteen" mark (and she is!) and received as a gift from her parents her first car. Watching her is like peeking through the looking glass at what Kylie will look like in ten years. Seeing them both dance in the recital this year it was more obvious than ever that Kylie is truly a mini version of Ashley, much like Ashley was a mini version of me. Kayla is entering eighth grade, which means that in a little less than a year there will be another graduation to cry through, as Kayla leaves her junior high days behind.

Having observed and participated in the on-going journey from childhood to adulthood with Christopher, Ross, Ashley, and Kayla, I know that in the blink of an eye my children will be grown. That's why the tears flowed when I watched Ross march down the aisle to "Pomp and Circumstance", and when I watched Ashley dance on the stage for the twelfth year in a row. My eyes were seeing Ross and Ashley, but my heart was seeing Kylie, Phillip, and even Bella. It will be their turn before I know it, and long before I'm ready.

A three year old's mind...

2005-06-16T14:28:00.000-04:00

I just received a call at work from my Mom, who watches my children. She said "I have a little boy here who wants to talk to you". Phillip then gets on the phone and we have the following conversation:

"Hi Momma"
"Hi Sweetie, how are you?"
"Good. Momma, 'member when Foster and Comet were puppies?"
"Yes Honey, I remember."
"When was dat?"
"Well, Foster was a puppy when you were a baby, and Comet was a puppy about a year ago."
"Oh, okay. Well I was wonderin', when 'dey gonna be puppies
agin?"
"Well Sweetie, puppies are kind of like babies, they grow up. So
Foster and Comet have grown up, they won't be puppies again."
"Oh, okay. See you later Momma, I wuv you." (Followed by kissing sounds as he handed the phone back to my Mom)

Glad I was able to clear that up for him!

Baby clothes

2005-06-15T18:12:00.000-04:00

A few months ago I was going through the boxes of baby clothes that my son and daughter had long since outgrown. At the time I was pregnant with number three, and since we didn't know whether we would be blessed with a boy or a girl, I was pulling out sleepers, onesies, and other things that could be used either way. I remember holding up the tiny outfits and marveling that my now 6.5 year old daughter and 3.5 year old son once wore such little garments. It didn't seem possible that either of them was ever that small, but they were, and I have the pictures to prove it. With great anticipation of our new ones arrival I washed and folded each item (okay, I even ironed some) and couldn't wait to see it on our new baby. Now here I sit, a mere 9 weeks after our sweet baby girl's arrival, facing the prospect of boxing some of those tiny outfits up again. Given that Bella was 22 inches long at birth it should come as no surprise that her 0-3 month clothes are already snug (okay, they've been snug for a couple of weeks, I've just been in denial). Still, there's something sad about already folding up part of her wardrobe and returning it to the boxes stored over our TV room. Call me crazy, but I'll shed a tear as I lovingly fold each little article of clothing and return it to storage. My husband will once again want to suggest that maybe we don't need to keep all of the clothes, but seeing my weepy state will keep quiet. He knows what my response would be: "we might be able to use them for number four", and deep down he knows that God willing, we will.

Here I go again...

2005-06-15T17:43:00.000-04:00

Over the years I have spent a lot of money buying journals. At the moment floating around our house there are at least three journals that have been started with good intentions, yet they each only contain a few entries. My problem with keeping a journal is that it's just not user friendly. In order to write in my journal I need to have a pen, a place to sit, and most elusive, time to do it. A journal also has no backspace button or delete key, both things that I find quite necessary when sharing my thoughts, both the deep and fluffy ones. Hence, my attempt at blogging. We have two computers in our house which are pretty easy to find. I also have a computer at work, and most weeks enough free time there to blog away to my heart's delight. So here I go...embarking on the great world of blogging.