The last week of school always feels like a mom marathon. Picnics, field trips, award ceremonies.....I don't know how moms that work do it. It's exhausting, and without sacred nap I'm not sure this mom would have made it through. Then they come home. For 80 days, give or take a few, I get to do what my home school friends do for 365.
The first day is usually no problem. A lot of tv gets watched. Little eyes glaze over from the computer screen. Then they head outside to "water" my yard and garden and roll like little piggies in the mud.
The second day, we pull out a new activity or two. This year it was build-your-own dino kits. The girls will get to the "fancy nancy" jewelry later. Every now and then a kid asks "Where's Dad?" He's at work kid. Unless you work in a school, there is no summer vacation for grown ups. My freshly minted second grader declares "I want to be a teacher."
This summer break, day 2 brought a different kind of breaking. EARLY in the morning, I get this phone call from my husband. "Honey, I hit a curb and blew out two tires." All right. I'm on my way. I wake up our oldest and let him know he's in charge for a while. Never have I been more grateful to have a laid back, responsible teenager.
We talk on the phone while I'm getting myself together. Is there a used tire place nearby? Should we call the insurance? Should we have it towed back to where we bought the tires and hope we bought the hazard coverage? I'm kind of a wreck by the time I get up there.
I park the van. I cut across Sonic's parking lot, and I see his car. Then I look up, and just a little further to the side I see a sign that God has a sense of humor in his provision. "Goodyear."
Mr. Man is sitting in his car, playing on his phone. I tap on the window. "Uh honey. Didn't you see there's a Goodyear right there?"
"No." He's so cute when he blushes. We get the car set up and I drive him to work.
Sure I'll have to come back later with a couple of kids in tow to pick up the car, but the "crisis" was dealt with. Still, it's not the kind of break we have in mind when we think of summer.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Happy Birthday Monkey Boy!
For about half of his short life, Si Guy has been obsessed with monkeys. He loves watching them at the zoo. He loves climbing like one and eating bananas. He loves both his giant stuffed monkeys. He loves his Curious George library. Maybe, it's because like most monkeys, he's very playful and very curious.
This year, the mommy timer broke. With so much going on with the end of school, end of AWANA, getting ready for VBS...little Si guy's birthday slipped my mind until about Thursday, even with the daily reminders since his friend J's birthday party the Saturday before. So Friday, while big bro was at his dress rehearsal for his ballet recital, momma hit Big Lots looking for a present. The best I could do was a HUGE spider-man playground ball, with the spiderman saying on it. *about great ability and great responsibility*. He fished his present out of our closet Saturday morning and couldn't have been happier. I love young kids.
Later that morning, while he out planting tomatoes with Daddy, I was buying birthday donuts for breakfast and ordering a cake to have on Sunday when grandma came over. I also brought home a small cake so he could have some "on the day." He was excited about that too!
Needless to say, he was dumbfounded when grandma came over today with a present, "BUT my birthday was yesterday. Really? More?" and he had a Curious George cake to boot!
That kinda sums up Si pretty well. He takes every blessing, as just that, an unexpected piece of joy.
Friday, May 3, 2013
If time had a tail we could grab to slow it down..
Sure it's cliche, but honestly the last month has flown by.
So much happened in April that my head spins.
There was the most excellent road trip with my cousins, to attend my grandmother's memorial service.
It was refreshing in many ways to be child free for a few days. Yet we were all missing our kids by the time we came home, enough to listen to "Allergies" and "Seven ate Nine" and sing songs from Veggietales. C. Here's the Santa song, just for you.
Then there was the week of too much PTA. The pot of gold at the end of that rainbow is that my days as president are numbered.
But far and away, my favorite part of recent days was going with the kindies to the farm.
I had the privilege of seeing my darling five year old "milk" a cow (bucket w/ udders filled with water), catch 3 fish (including the one that got away!), and feed a baby goat. We visited with chickens and ate healthy snacks. We saw baby cows and a very, very, pregnant mom-to-be cow. We listened to a story at the bank. Then we were out of time. I assured him we could go back again and see the other half, but for that day we were out of time. Hence why I didn't record the amazing month of April well enough. I was too busy doing to be dwelling. I was out of time. I can't wait for summer's slower pace.
So much happened in April that my head spins.
There was the most excellent road trip with my cousins, to attend my grandmother's memorial service.
It was refreshing in many ways to be child free for a few days. Yet we were all missing our kids by the time we came home, enough to listen to "Allergies" and "Seven ate Nine" and sing songs from Veggietales. C. Here's the Santa song, just for you.
Then there was the week of too much PTA. The pot of gold at the end of that rainbow is that my days as president are numbered.
But far and away, my favorite part of recent days was going with the kindies to the farm.
I had the privilege of seeing my darling five year old "milk" a cow (bucket w/ udders filled with water), catch 3 fish (including the one that got away!), and feed a baby goat. We visited with chickens and ate healthy snacks. We saw baby cows and a very, very, pregnant mom-to-be cow. We listened to a story at the bank. Then we were out of time. I assured him we could go back again and see the other half, but for that day we were out of time. Hence why I didn't record the amazing month of April well enough. I was too busy doing to be dwelling. I was out of time. I can't wait for summer's slower pace.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Setting your post in the ground.
See that mailbox? That my friends, was an affirmation of faith last weekend. One I sorely needed.
Recently, we were going through a cycle of brokenness. Our small car needed new brakes. My grandmother died. As I was trying to make arrangements to carpool using my van, the check engine light came on. Right after I planted our spring bulbs my mailbox filled up with snow. My husband reminded my our grill was about to rust through. Our bed broke. That doesn't even touch the craziness with the kids schedules and wardrobes, getting our garden planned for this year, PTA changeover and VBS planning, or that my husband has returned to the office on a semi-regular basis after being home for over a year. I was ready to shut down.
Then last weekend, the first round of yard sales came around. I made my list.
1) Queen sized bed frame, with box spring if necessary
2) a couple of chairs so we could all sit at the dining room table together
3) Cheap to free old dresser to convert into a new raised bed.
Notice mailbox wasn't anywhere on there. Never, did I dream I'd find a mailbox at a yard sale. Since I didn't have an abundance of time, I only mapped out sales that advertised having a bed. That was our highest priority. Sure the memory foam mattress on the floor would work over the summer, but Mr. Man & I aren't getting any younger. We even use an airbed when tent camping these days.
At our first stop I didn't see the bed advertised. I almost didn't pull over...but we were there and I saw an abundance of books so I pulled over. Mr. Man just sighed and shook his head. I poked on over and found an illustrated edition of Pinnochio and a fabulous grilling cookbook. As I headed over to the table to pay, I saw a mailbox sitting there on the corner with a post it stuck to it. It read $20.
"Are you really selling this mailbox for $20?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yes, I bought it a while back and never bothered to put it in." the lady replied.
"I'd like to take it, but it would need a post."
"Oh, I have the post in the basement. I'll get it for you in a minute."
She came back, with the post still in the original packaging.
She showed me the bed frame she had. $250 is way, way, out of my league for a yard sale. (Especially when I can get headboards for $30 or so at a a furniture consignment shop.) I paid for my purchases, handed my son Pinocchio and we drive on.
Later that morning, we acquired this desk for Si for $10 at Goodwill.
Day one in thrift land was good indeed.
Day two, after church...I thought why not give the other Goodwills a try. Stop 1, the good one down South. There I scored two stacking chairs. The next Goodwill had a huge, solid wood entertainment center for 6.99 Tomato/pepper/herb bed complete....but no bed and no more time/money to look for one.
I came home, satisfied with what I had found. It looked like we'd be sleeping on the floor for a while. That's okay. It was early in the season.
I sat down at my computer, checked my email and then I looked on FaceBook. A friend had posted on my wall. "I saw your bed broke. We have a king sized your can have if you want it."
I looked up the value of my $20 mailbox. It and the post combined were worth $400.
God provides us with our needs, and provides them abundantly. We had looked at NFM in case we needed to buy a new bed this fall, and there were three we liked. THREE, out of the kajillion there.
These were our "requirements."
1) The headboard had to be mostly wood...a little metal trim was okay.
2)It had to have low posts, and not be "sleigh" style.
3) It had to be a "medium" wood tone.
4) It had to be rounded, to have some softness to it.
This is what we received.
This is what we received.
Isn't Gods provision amazing?
Monday, March 18, 2013
Where exactly does time go?
Tonight I took my almost-nine-year-old daughter bra shopping. Yes, bra shopping. I first noticed it a few weeks ago in dance that her chest wasn't board flat anymore. My mommy brain blamed the fit of the leotard. Then earlier this week she wore a v-necked shirt, and there was a vertical dent.
Nooooo! I thought to myself. She was supposed to be a late bloomer, like her dad. She has his lean build. Wasn't body fat supposed to play a role in this?
Newsflash mom. When YOU hit puberty affects when your daughter does a heck of a lot more than the testosterone factory that contributed to her creation. My period started when I was 10, in fourth grade. I had the body cleavage girls wish for at seventeen by the time I was twelve. My daughter will be nine in less than four months. Maybe getting training bras wasn't such a stretch. So shopping we went.
Stop one at the Legends, the VFW outlet. She tried on three styles. The first was too big! YAY!
The second one was too small. too small? How can that be? My daughter is tiny!
The third one was okay. We bought it and moved on to try and find better variety elsewhere, oh and a purple duck. The purple duck was very important. I didn't argue. I want all traces of little girl my daughter has to remain there a long, long, time.
Our next stop was Justice. Jackpot! and Minefield! All at once! They had exactly what she needed. She only had one concern.
"Mom, the pads are removable right?"
"Yes sweetie. We'll take them out as soon as we get home." (In my head I was going WHO in their right mind puts pads in a bra designed for an eight year old! It even says it's meant for ages 7-8 on the flippin label! Also, I want to smack whoever thought skinny jeans are appropriate for young girls. There is hope for the general public though, because those were on the clearance rack.)
Along with new "practice bras" as we call them...just so she can get used to wearing them and how they work, we picked up two dresses that were lovely age appropriate for her and her sister and a unicorn backpack zipper thingie, and a new jaguar with "glitter eyes" for her sister. She picked out the jaguar herself, "since princess P wanted to come with so bad it was only fair." Her sweetness does come through sometimes.
All the way home, she held her treasured purple duck in her hands and chattered at me about My Little Pony cartoons. Her body may be threatening to change a bit, but it looks like she'll have the innocent interests of a little girl for just a little bit longer yet.
Nooooo! I thought to myself. She was supposed to be a late bloomer, like her dad. She has his lean build. Wasn't body fat supposed to play a role in this?
Newsflash mom. When YOU hit puberty affects when your daughter does a heck of a lot more than the testosterone factory that contributed to her creation. My period started when I was 10, in fourth grade. I had the body cleavage girls wish for at seventeen by the time I was twelve. My daughter will be nine in less than four months. Maybe getting training bras wasn't such a stretch. So shopping we went.
Stop one at the Legends, the VFW outlet. She tried on three styles. The first was too big! YAY!
The second one was too small. too small? How can that be? My daughter is tiny!
The third one was okay. We bought it and moved on to try and find better variety elsewhere, oh and a purple duck. The purple duck was very important. I didn't argue. I want all traces of little girl my daughter has to remain there a long, long, time.
Our next stop was Justice. Jackpot! and Minefield! All at once! They had exactly what she needed. She only had one concern.
"Mom, the pads are removable right?"
"Yes sweetie. We'll take them out as soon as we get home." (In my head I was going WHO in their right mind puts pads in a bra designed for an eight year old! It even says it's meant for ages 7-8 on the flippin label! Also, I want to smack whoever thought skinny jeans are appropriate for young girls. There is hope for the general public though, because those were on the clearance rack.)
Along with new "practice bras" as we call them...just so she can get used to wearing them and how they work, we picked up two dresses that were lovely age appropriate for her and her sister and a unicorn backpack zipper thingie, and a new jaguar with "glitter eyes" for her sister. She picked out the jaguar herself, "since princess P wanted to come with so bad it was only fair." Her sweetness does come through sometimes.
All the way home, she held her treasured purple duck in her hands and chattered at me about My Little Pony cartoons. Her body may be threatening to change a bit, but it looks like she'll have the innocent interests of a little girl for just a little bit longer yet.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
The Chicago Grandma
My 93 year old grandmother died yesterday.
She was my long-distance grandma as a child.
She was a remarkable woman.
She spoke two languages, wrote a book, and traveled by car, boat, and plane.
She lived deeply, and loved deeply.
She loved books and word games. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn sits on my shelf. It came from hers.
She taught us how to play scrabble...and never let us win. Instead, she encouraged us to learn.
She valued her heritage, both her parents being first generation Americans from Sweden. When I was in college, she went to Sweden for a visit and had a fabulous time.
She loved good food. Pickled herring and lingonberry jam, swedish pancakes, swedish meatballs over mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs cooked with real butter, and pickles from ALDI. That's one thing she missed when she moved to Door County, was ALDI and their pickles..so she said the last time we visited her. I should have sent her a jar for Christmas. We like their pickles too.
She loved her Lord and her Lutheran church home. Her book was about it's history. Her life, demonstrating service at every opportunity.
She loved her family. She cherished every moment we had together, though they were few and far between.
I have a conglomeration of odd memories. I remember her complimenting my other grandma's tacos. I remember a rush of cleaning to get ready for her visit, for she appreciated a tidy home. I remember scrabble, and rummy 500 games that included our entire family. I remember lots of cooking, of cardoman coffee cake braids, and swedish meatballs simmering on the stove. Then there were our visits to her. I remember eating at a greek place, the Studio, & Hackneys in Chicago. I remember my first fascination with art and science in it's museums. I remember her house and the busy street it was on, and thinking the bushes in her back yard were olives. I remember being shown a town-home in another part of town and the lament of a fireplace left behind. I remember the beautiful things throughout her home. I remember a gift of a stone bird whistle from a shop, my most prized possession for years. I remember my uncle's boat, and the wonder of sleeping on the water. I still love being near water and trees.
I remember the muslin wedding dress prototype that didn't fit, and going to be fitted for my real one. I remember her on my wedding day. I remember taking a van up there to fetch a table and a couch when she was moving out of her house, admitting the yard was a bit much for her to maintain. I remember her sense of victory in getting our baby to eat a banana, who had always HATED bananas before. I remember our last visit with her, in her apartment with a few chosen and cherished things, watching her sit at a table and play scrabble with my oldest son, who hasn't eaten another banana since. She let him win. Maybe it was the magic of being a great-grandson.
I remember a chaotic meal with my uncle and aunt, strained conversation about children and bats. I remember her face beaming to have several of her chicks gathered in one place. That's where my memories of her freeze in place. We always meant to go back one more time. It wasn't long after that visit her health started to fade. Now she's joined Clarence, who I barely remember, in the grave.
I have a few pictures. I have my wedding dress she made for me, probably her last major sewing project, for even then she was almost 80. I have the imprints she's made in my personality and my tastes, and I have her blue eyes. Here's hoping as I grow older, I also have her sense of adventure and joy in life.
She was my long-distance grandma as a child.
She was a remarkable woman.
She spoke two languages, wrote a book, and traveled by car, boat, and plane.
She lived deeply, and loved deeply.
She loved books and word games. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn sits on my shelf. It came from hers.
She taught us how to play scrabble...and never let us win. Instead, she encouraged us to learn.
She valued her heritage, both her parents being first generation Americans from Sweden. When I was in college, she went to Sweden for a visit and had a fabulous time.
She loved good food. Pickled herring and lingonberry jam, swedish pancakes, swedish meatballs over mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs cooked with real butter, and pickles from ALDI. That's one thing she missed when she moved to Door County, was ALDI and their pickles..so she said the last time we visited her. I should have sent her a jar for Christmas. We like their pickles too.
She loved her Lord and her Lutheran church home. Her book was about it's history. Her life, demonstrating service at every opportunity.
She loved her family. She cherished every moment we had together, though they were few and far between.
I have a conglomeration of odd memories. I remember her complimenting my other grandma's tacos. I remember a rush of cleaning to get ready for her visit, for she appreciated a tidy home. I remember scrabble, and rummy 500 games that included our entire family. I remember lots of cooking, of cardoman coffee cake braids, and swedish meatballs simmering on the stove. Then there were our visits to her. I remember eating at a greek place, the Studio, & Hackneys in Chicago. I remember my first fascination with art and science in it's museums. I remember her house and the busy street it was on, and thinking the bushes in her back yard were olives. I remember being shown a town-home in another part of town and the lament of a fireplace left behind. I remember the beautiful things throughout her home. I remember a gift of a stone bird whistle from a shop, my most prized possession for years. I remember my uncle's boat, and the wonder of sleeping on the water. I still love being near water and trees.
I remember the muslin wedding dress prototype that didn't fit, and going to be fitted for my real one. I remember her on my wedding day. I remember taking a van up there to fetch a table and a couch when she was moving out of her house, admitting the yard was a bit much for her to maintain. I remember her sense of victory in getting our baby to eat a banana, who had always HATED bananas before. I remember our last visit with her, in her apartment with a few chosen and cherished things, watching her sit at a table and play scrabble with my oldest son, who hasn't eaten another banana since. She let him win. Maybe it was the magic of being a great-grandson.
I remember a chaotic meal with my uncle and aunt, strained conversation about children and bats. I remember her face beaming to have several of her chicks gathered in one place. That's where my memories of her freeze in place. We always meant to go back one more time. It wasn't long after that visit her health started to fade. Now she's joined Clarence, who I barely remember, in the grave.
I have a few pictures. I have my wedding dress she made for me, probably her last major sewing project, for even then she was almost 80. I have the imprints she's made in my personality and my tastes, and I have her blue eyes. Here's hoping as I grow older, I also have her sense of adventure and joy in life.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Unscheduled time does not mean unused time
After changeover at the clothing center yesterday, a friend & I dropped off some cast offs and went to lunch.
She asked me, "Are you sure you have time?"
I replied "Yes. I had changeover this morning and Ms. D has girl scouts tonight, so I left my afternoon unscheduled. I always try to plan to leave one day part "free", so if I have a morning and thing and an evening thing, the afternoon is open."
She just stared at me dumbfoundedly and said "I wish I had that luxury."
I feel like I didn't explain it well enough.
As a stay at home mom with six kids, it's easy to become overwhelmed by "schedules." There is church, PTA, sports, errands, doctors appointments, and various other things always demanding my time. As a more creative personality type, if I get too "rule-driven" or "schedule-driven" I just break down and get nothing done. So I build a block of "flex-time" into my day. It's not necessarily "free time." Merely time where I can choose, at that moment, what my priorities are. Yesterday, at that moment, I chose to get to know an acquaintance better and have lunch at Zarda barbecue. Today, at this moment, I am choosing to blog while supervising my kindie's homework. Another day, another moment, I may choose unload and load the dishwasher and start of load of laundry or sweep the dining room. Housework always has to be done, but it's much less of a drudge when it's a choice. There are enough "this has to be done NOW" moments in life, without imposing them on myself. As long as the house isn't a health hazard, the kids have clean clothes and are fed, and my husband is happy, everything is all right.
She asked me, "Are you sure you have time?"
I replied "Yes. I had changeover this morning and Ms. D has girl scouts tonight, so I left my afternoon unscheduled. I always try to plan to leave one day part "free", so if I have a morning and thing and an evening thing, the afternoon is open."
She just stared at me dumbfoundedly and said "I wish I had that luxury."
I feel like I didn't explain it well enough.
As a stay at home mom with six kids, it's easy to become overwhelmed by "schedules." There is church, PTA, sports, errands, doctors appointments, and various other things always demanding my time. As a more creative personality type, if I get too "rule-driven" or "schedule-driven" I just break down and get nothing done. So I build a block of "flex-time" into my day. It's not necessarily "free time." Merely time where I can choose, at that moment, what my priorities are. Yesterday, at that moment, I chose to get to know an acquaintance better and have lunch at Zarda barbecue. Today, at this moment, I am choosing to blog while supervising my kindie's homework. Another day, another moment, I may choose unload and load the dishwasher and start of load of laundry or sweep the dining room. Housework always has to be done, but it's much less of a drudge when it's a choice. There are enough "this has to be done NOW" moments in life, without imposing them on myself. As long as the house isn't a health hazard, the kids have clean clothes and are fed, and my husband is happy, everything is all right.
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