Kid Haikus

I remember when
motherhood was so easy.
I didn't know it.

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If I am having
such trouble with a preteen
all the teens are doomed.

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When D was little
she was such an easy girl.
Paybacks are a bitch.

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I have but one boy.
He is an enigma.
But I love him so.

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I am pretty sure
I have messed up it all.
I can only hope.

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Yet I would never
give up one minute of it
time with my children.

You Shouldn't Have to Say Goodbye

By the time this is published my cat will be dead. It's not easy to make the decision to end your pet's life. It sucks, and I hate that word, but it does.

She is/was almost 16 and 1/2 years old. For a pet, I know this is a fairly long life. She's been peeing and pooping outside of her litter box for almost a year now. She barfs up her food at least once a week. She yaks hairballs every other day.

I took her to the vet almost a year ago about the elimination outside the litter box. We tried the medication which caused her to have diarrhea. The vet told us to stop it. We bought a new box. We moved the box. We moved her food. We have done everything.

I am writing this in the present tense because she isn't gone yet. I made the appointment today (November 14) and I have cried on and off since.

It's silly, really. I know she's had a great, long life. SIXTEEN and 1/2 years! And for a cat I never wanted (I inherited her from a friend) she's grown on me a lot. I never was particularly fond of cats since I nearly had a cat claw in my eye as a kid. I thought they were stuck-up PITAs.

Chat was different from the start. She had fleas so we had to treat that. She looked pitiful in the bathtub of our college apartment. Then she had ear mites, then she needed to be spayed...then declawed. All of this fell to my roommate, who was her owner.

Then, about 6 months later, circumstances led to me taking Chat as my pet. (Chat means cat in French and is pronounced like "shah.")

Within a few months I had taught Chat to come when she was called, and to sit and then lay down for a treat.When I awoke, (if I was home) she'd be asleep on my chest. If I was not home during the evenings, she'd have pooped on my carpet.

So she's always expressed her distaste if she needed to do so.

At this point, she's ruined multiple carpets and medication hasn't been the answer. We have tried everything I can think of to help her change her bad behaviors but nothing has worked.

I already miss her, and by the time you read this, she will be gone.

Have YOU Ridden a Pachyderm?

My girls were brave enough to ride an elephant at the Renaissance Festival last weekend. I'm not sure how little D's legs even straddled that huge elephant! They both looked so small on top of such an awesome creature. I felt kind of badly for the elephants there too though. They had 2, and all they did all day was walk in a circle. Of course it is just for the weekend (Saturday and Sunday) and I don't know where they are for the remainder of the week, but I hope they are treated like kings or queens.

We Learn to Deal With Learning Disability

 K Man's official medical diagnosis is a "disorder of written expression" (which is also called dysgraphia) and ADD NOS (though I disagree with this assessment since it was made before his dysgraphia diagnosis.)  We obtained the diagnosis a little more than a year ago and floundered all last year about what to do with the information.

This year, the school is taking things more seriously. (It was an unusual year the last part of the school year last year and we wondered if some of the issues were related to family crises such as losing an uncle at a young age and a grandfather having a life-threatening illness.)

We've met and drafted a 504 plan. Thus far, the principal and the district psychologist do not think he qualifies for an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), mostly because his IQ scores during his testing were high. So, we know he is intelligent (which, if you know him, is quite obvious.) but his school testing is consistently below grade level in reading fluency (though not comprehension), writing and especially spelling. Spelling in particular is a nightmare. He has fewer words to study (an accommodation we put in place last year) but still spells only 1-3 words correctly on a given test. Occasionally, there is an anomaly and he'll get 12 correct even when he's only supposed to study 10. (This has only happened twice.)

Under his 504, he will be tested away from the majority of his class in small group settings or just him with a paraprofessional. He expressed great relief when he heard of this because he said "Oh good! Now I don't have to hear the kids sharpen their pencils." It should be noted that he's been known to sharpen his pencil several times during the day, but if he thinks this will help, so be it. He will have non-reading and non-spelling related tests read to him so we can test his knowledge in each subject without bringing his disability into the mix.

There are other accommodations as well.

After I asked some questions, he told me recently that it physically hurts him to write for any length of time. I can't imagine what that is like, especially when everyone is asking you to write all the time. He pointed to the area beneath and around and his thumb and said his wrist also causes him pain. For someone like me, who loves to write and loves the feel of a great pen or pencil on paper, this is disheartening to hear. He'll never love writing like I do.

He consistently reverses letters and numbers even now in 3rd grade. Bs and Ds are especially difficult still, as well as 2s and 5s. He's been taking his spelling tests on the computer for a while now. When he reads he skips words, skips entire lines, adds words and sometimes simply guesses on what he thinks the sentence will be. His fluency has improved since the end of July (when my bigs started school) but it is still below grade level.

I wish there were some magical solution to make his brain work like most everyone else's, but I suspect that he wouldn't be the unique kid that he is if that were the case. The challenge is to teach his differently-wired brain to learn the things he needs to succeed in life. Our journey is just beginning and I worry daily. I don't ever want to have a regret I didn't help him enough.

Kids Are so Lucky They're Cute

I love my children I love my children I love my children I love my children.

Some days I need to remind myself more than others.

I'd forgotten how challenging 4-year-olds can be. Perhaps M and K were not so challenging or maybe my memory is failing. I should read my own archives. Who am I kidding? Of course K was challenging. He was such an easygoing baby, but once he hit toddlerhood he's been going full-tilt. I bet he was an easy baby just because of all of his ear infections.

D is cute and she knows it. On vacation last week ("up North" as we say here) D was floating on a raft with my sister-in-law and I and sighed "I'm sooooo adorable." It's apparently really hard to be cute.

With three children asserting their independence and intent on annoying one another every second of every day it's hard to stop myself from bludgeoning myself to death. I've even asked them if they are TRYING to drive me insane. They say no, then go back to bickering. ::slams head on desk::

Sometimes I really think the parents who chose to have only one child are the smartest. They've done the parenting thing. No sibling battles. No attention seeking. Get one of my kids by themselves and they're perfect angels...well, most of the time.

But I know that I would never have been satisfied with one child. So I deal with the constant picking, teasing, back-talking. Someday I will miss this, or so I've been told. Then I see my father with the one or two siblings he still talks to and I see they still pick on one another. ::slams head on desk::

Is it just my kids or do everyone's kids open something and throw the trash on the floor where they stand? It doesn't matter if they're right in front of the trash can or (GASP!) 10 steps from it, they will drop the trash where they are. It's super fun to pick up. EVERY DAY. AT LEAST 30 TIMES A DAY.

I spent 3 hours yesterday afternoon trying to make my kids' rooms at the very least, navigable. My in-laws were due to arrive for a short visit and they usually take the 2 bigs' beds. The crap I find in my kids' rooms (especially K Man's) is astounding. Seriously, why does an almost-8-year-old need a sandwich bag full of sugar? ::shrugs::

So it's freaking Friday the thirteenth. After the last 12 months or so we've had, I'd like to call "Uncle" and hope Friday the 13th plays nice. ::air kisses to Friday 13::

Trying to Find My Rose-Colored Glasses

We take things for granted. We're healthy, for the most part. We have a nice home. We have clothing in excess. We have many luxuries: Ipad, Kindle Fires, fancy DSLRs, laptops, Roku, cable TV...so much more.

My kids need nothing more. They have everything they need, yet they still ask for more and more wants. They are supremely lucky, but, as kids are, they don't know how lucky they are. They have friends who have been adopted out of terrible conditions. Heck, they have a family member adopted out of less-than-ideal conditions. I tell them the stories, and they seem grateful for a moment, then the greed monster reappears.

I'm glad they don't know hardship, but I still want them to appreciate what they have; how lucky they are in this life.

These last several months have been hard on my husband, my kids, his family. It's not been easy on me either, but nothing like what my husband and his parents have endured. Craig's favorite aunt passed in September. His brother passed in February.

The end of May brought emergency surgery to save my father-in-law's life. The surgeons removed his colon and some of his small intestine. A second surgery the next day removed more small intestine.

A few days later I took D to the ER for an ear infection. (It was Sunday, the ER is the only option here on Sundays.)

A couple of days later I was at our family med office and getting a chest x-ray. I had the start of pneumonia.

Yet we're still lucky. My father-in-law, after a week of sedation, is starting to come around. He will have a colostomy bag for the remainder of his life. Ear drop antibiotics cleared up D's ear canal. Antibiotics and a lot of rest have me almost totally recovered from my bout of pneumonia.

Yesterday, my father-in-law walked in the halls of the hospital with the aid of a walker. I remember the pain of abdominal surgery and trying to get up to walk. He is doing well, even with setbacks.

While we were walking with my father-in-law, we saw a nest on the window sill with 2 baby robins. They were fuzzy and lively and adorable. Life, proven that it still exists.

I am thankful my kids can enjoy their grandparents still, though I had my kids much later than my parents did. I'd lost all of my grandparents by the age of 18, and they were all fairly young. I hope that my kids will not see more loss for many more years.

We miss my brother-in-law. We miss Craig's aunt.

We miss.

When You Get One Of THOSE Phone Calls

it pretty much stinks.

We were having a normal evening last Saturday. Both Craig and I were tired. He'd spent most of the day at a Cub Scout day camp with K Man and I spent several hours at the Bigs' school carnival with the girls (tiring in it's own right). Weariness leads to lazy suppers so I picked up chicken strips and fries for supper. The kids were pretty full of goodies from the carnival anyway (we brought some home for K) and Craig and I were just filling the void.

The phone rang at 6:13. I looked at the caller ID later. Funny, the 13. If there was a thirteen o'clock it would have rang then. I handed the phone over to my husband without answering it. It was his parents calling and I knew they'd want to talk to him anyway. Craig answered it and said "Dad... Dad..." over and over and I thought that his dad had butt-dialed us again like he did a couple of times last week.

Craig's brother died, alone, in his house, a few days before his son found him. It's awful in so many ways.

"They" call it an unattended death. I call it crappy.

My in-laws are devastated. The rest of us are shocked, numb, whatever it is we are I'm not sure.

Send us positive thoughts.

Traditions and the Benefits of Leaving the Lens Behind

When our children were born my husband and I carried on some traditions that our (mostly my) parents had started with us as children. We carve pumpkins and bake pumpkin seeds and we seek eggs left by the Easter Bunny.

We also started several of our own traditions over the years.

Every New Year's Eve we have appetizers, have a countdown at around 6 o'clock and spray one another with silly string and pop poppers. We drink "champagne" from fancy stemmed plastic glasses. We dance. We put the kids to bed and wake them up minutes before midnight so they can watch the ball drop with us on TV.

Our Christmas tradition includes an evening ride through the city to marvel at the variety and abundance of light displays. We laugh at some weak attempts but concede that at least they tried. We laugh at the exuberance of other displays but concede that at least they were passionate. The kids are always pajama-clad for the trip. Most years we pop popcorn and sip water from reusable bottles. (Not so this year...there was a time crunch.) Our circuit includes some known hot-spots that are usually fancy displays yearly. It also includes a house that happens to include Santa himself. He hands out candy canes and asks the kids what they want for Christmas. (This year he snubbed Craig and I for candy canes, but he usually gave us parents one as well.)

This year was so fun with D. We heard hardly a peep from her while we toured some of the regular neighborhoods. She was taking it all in with wide-eyed wonder. Craig drove the van onto Santa's street and pulled off to the side. D erupted with cheers as she spotted Santa across the street. I had brought our camera on the ride, anticipating a photo op with Santa, but when we exited the van I made the decision to leave the camera behind. We were the third family standing on the sidewalk in front of Santa's temporary home. The kids happened to know another family there so they were distracted as they waited. Suddenly, it was their turn to see him. He asked M, then K, then D what each wanted for Christmas. D was literally awe-struck. She had a wide, dimpled smile and a wondrous expression. I'm convinced if I had brought the camera out I would have been too focused on taking photos to have really taken in D's expression.

Just another reminder that I need to live life on the other side of the lens sometimes.

Searching For the Best Pumpkin

I'm Being Smothered

It's probably a little weird to write about this the day after I post a sentimental rant about my kids growing away from me too quickly, but such is my life.

I have a confession to make.

Some days I can't stand having people touching me. Including my husband. Including my kids. It doesn't mean I don't love them, that is most certainly NOT the case. It's just that some days my body has sensory overload. I want my body to be mine solely. I want to sit in a chair by myself.

When I was nursing babies the intrusion on personal space was different. My body released oxytocin or whatever the heck that chemical is that makes you feel all special and happy. Plus I was feeding my child, so that was good too.

It's not every day that I crave personal space. It's not even every other day. It builds over time and one day I just have to declare my lap a non-kid zone. Then the mom guilt come in a bit when each child looks at me like I've just slapped him or her because I expressed my need for space. Sometimes it is days before I can have kids piled in my lap again without a slight grimace.

Is this one of my major flaws? Is this something unique to moms who are more introverted? I don't know. I do know that in order for us all to be happy I need to, at least occasionally, have my space.

The Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

...if there have been any rumors, that is.

I've been on vacation with my extended family. Those of you who have been (excruciatingly) reading my blog for a while know what that means. There will be vacation recaps. You will be subjected to reliving my vacation with me. There will be photos, but not nearly enough to dissipate the pain of all the words and the classlessness. (Woo! Who knew that classlessness was really a word? I thought for sure I just coined something new.) The good news is that I will probably spread the pain out over several days. And you can ignore the posts, but I'm pretty sure they'll read a little like watching a train wreck. So you choose.

Honestly, it was a week at the lake with limited Internet access (which, if you know me, is kind of painful...but mostly it wasn't). Imagine how smart I felt when I got home and realized the reason the laptop wouldn't connect to the WiFi was because the WiFi switch had been somehow turned off. I don't think I turned it off, but I wish I had been smart enough to check that. Me not smart.

I had some access with my iPad, just enough to take the edge off...and that probably was a good thing. Internet was agonizingly slow as well, which took some of the charm of it away. When you have to wait 5 minutes to see a photo, the photo seems less interesting. I don't know how survived before high-speed.

But we're home now and trying to unpack and return to normal life. It will take a few days to adjust I suppose. The kids will be tired and cranky and resist limits that they have lacked for a week. It is worth it for the time we spend "up north" with family. They will retain these memories for a lifetime. I will too.

The Mother's Day That Could Have Been a Disaster

Sometimes the best thing about your day is that it wasn't worse. That's not to say I didn't have a nice Mother's Day. I did. My kids made me cards and wrote the sweetest things in them. My son wrote that I am "the besteet mom in the uonrvrs." For those who can't read first grade spelling that means "the bestest mom in the universe." He was so excited to give it to me he barged into the bedroom bright and early and stood by my bed while I read it bleary-eyed.

M wrote a P.S. that read "Mom rocks!" so I must have been an okay mom the morning she created that card!

After K plunged into my bed a second time I gave up on trying to sleep in and got out of bed. Craig made me his incredibly yummy homemade hash browns for breakfast while my three reasons I am a mother climbed in and out of my lap.

My parents came out to our house for lunch. Craig had smoked some hamburgers the day before then finished them on the grill today. I made macaroni salad. Craig made garlic toast. I bought a vegetable tray. It was nothing fancy, and in my eyes, perfect for Mother's Day. I had my kids, my husband and my parents with me.

The day could have been warmer and less-windy, but it seems every year that Mother's Day is a little on the cool side and this year it seems the weather is more cool than it has been nice. We ventured outside anyway. My kids are bouncing off the walls these days. You know it's been too long since warm weather when even your kids notice and comment on it.

The kids were taking turns on the tire swing and having a blast. D wanted M to push her on the swing in the style they were calling "Superman" which involved D on her belly in the middle of the swing. We all saw it coming but were powerless as it happened. A wild swing. M misjudging the force of her swing in regard to her sister's small size. D's head met the tree with a crack. M immediately crumpled in tears. I'm sure she thought she'd killed her sister.

D was hysterical. She had a large bump developing on her temple, under several scratches. She'd bit her lip or her tongue or both. A bit of blood pooled on my shirt as I cradled my youngest, even while patting my eldest child's leg and telling her it was an accident. I don't know what was worse, seeing little D hurt or seeing Miss M so visibly upset about the incident.

K Man was obliviously playing the whole time. Gotta love boys.

M cried longer than D, though D cried for a good while. M was devasted that her fun had hurt her little sister. I tried to joke with her and brought a smile back to her face. D got back on the tire swing.

She even let M push her again, though she admonished her: "Just no hurt my head on the tree."

Excellent advice.

Twenty-Nine...Again

Yesterday was my birthday. Generally, since I've had kids, my birthday is just another day to me. I'm not into having a big fuss made over me...and those restaurants that sing to you? Double yuck.

Yesterday my kids seemed to need to celebrate my birthday more than I did. I'd bought a cake at Trader Joe's on Saturday (that's how little I care about the big fuss) and planned to just order takeout to eat at home at supper time. My husband was chagrined when I emerged from slumber earlier than he expected. He hadn't gotten a birthday card yet. I shrugged. Doesn't matter to me. I know he loves me. But M was insistent. Daddy! Let's GO! She wanted to pick out a card for me.

Craig took the girls with him to the store. K Man wanted to stay home with me. I was up earlier than I wanted to be, but I'd had trouble going back to sleep, so I thought I'd try again. After tossing and turning for who know how long I woke up a little before noon. At that point, I felt like I was about 19, because I'm pretty sure that's about the last time I woke up at noon when I wasn't sick.

So my birthday time came and went while I most likely tossed and turned and wrecked the covers. I woke up with the sheet twisted around my legs in an amazing pretzel. My husband brought me breaded shrimp and pizza rolls...an unusual brunch in bed.

M brought me the card that she so carefully and thoughtfully chose. (And, I've heard she insisted on carrying through the store and all the way home.) It read: This is the candle that inspires the wish, that's the beginning of the DREAM that turns your life into the greatest adventure... (open) That's how MAGIC happens. That's what birthdays are for. Hope yours is wonderful. As if the sentiment wasn't good enough, the candles on the cupcake inside light up and there is a circle that says "blow here."

I blow.

The candles go out and the card plays happy birthday. D sings along. There is a real beauty in hearing a two-year-old (almost 3!) sing happy birfday to you.

It's a cool card. M is clearly proud of her choice and the card brings an easy smile to my face. My kids love me no matter how terribly I think I mess up at being a mom.

*********
So as I write this the news breaks in that Usama Bin Ladin has been killed. I'll be honest, I was watching Brothers and Sisters and I'd have liked to have seen the whole episode. Honestly, there wasn't that much left of it, why not wait until 10 for the break-in.

I'm a cranky broad. And I'm kidding, sort of. I lived in NYC for about 4 years as a child. I had my ears pierced in a shop in the basement of the Towers. NYC will always have a soft spot in my heart. The news of the attacks on 9/11, even before we knew they were attacks, devastated me. NYC isn't the same to me (or anyone else I suppose) without the iconic towers.

This is big news, and yet I'm cynical. Fanatics will continue to try to hurt the United States. Our troops are badass for this victory, but I worry about them. My dad was in the military, as were my grandfathers. I'm somewhat familiar with the sacrifice of military families. We were lucky. Or I was. I didn't experience many separations from my dad. I was too young when he went to Viet Nam and when he was on a ship for months t a time in Alaska, or wherever he was deployed.

My mom had it hard. I respect her deeply for raising young children for months at a time, along with running a household alone.

I'm sure it was equally hard for my dad. How to leave your wife and kids for months at a time? I couldn't imagine leaving my family that long. The travel and seeing new places is cool for a short time, but who wouldn't be homesick?

It seems unrealistic to expect that our troops will return home quickly now. I wish they would, but the trend seems to be to confront more.

*****
Happy birthday to me?

May Your Day Be Merry and Bright

What if Armageddon is Real?

I've had writer's block for weeks. Then I see this show (which I have to confess I've watched before) about the Mayan calendar predicting Armageddon on December 21, 2012. The (mostly) sane part of me thinks that the likelihood that this is true is slim to none but there is another part of me that wonders...

And what if it IS true?

What if we all have just slightly more than one year left?

What will I do differently? What will you?

I'm going to think about this and live how I want to live in (perhaps) the last year.

Two Trees One Cause

Just Another Day I Want to Remember

I've had a hard time finding time to blog lately. I'm working on Christmas gifts and other projects and time seems to slip through my fingers faster than sugar sand.

I really have no idea how it came to be Thanksgiving already. I swear the Bigs just had their birthdays and started the school year as third- and first-graders (and when did THAT happen that I have kids that big?) and suddenly I'm expected to choose something to bring to Thanksgiving dinner.

We gather at my Aunt and Uncle's house every year since my grandmother passed away back in 1992. We may have had a few years in there where we floundered, looking for a new tradition. We eventually settled on this one, that brings us together in spite of those we miss.

This year we were missing my dad and brother. My dad because of illness and my brother because of Black Friday and a retail job. It never seems right when the whole family isn't there. I remember one year we had to stay home because M had a contagious-to-other-kids illness and we didn't want to share the joy with her cousin. It was a strange-feeling Thanksgiving that year for sure.

The new normal is to gather at my Aunt and Uncle's house and it feels like Thanksgiving when we are there. We gather, bringing our various contributions to the feast, and expect nothing more than the company of family and a full belly.

Mmmm turkey...

This year I brought deviled eggs. Delicious but deadly or as Craig said, silent but deadly. Why are they so tasty? I only had one but...

My mom and sister-in-law made plates of food to take home for the absent men. They put them outside in bags to keep cool (one of the few perks of living in Minnesota...outside becomes a big refrigerator in the Winter). The kids went outside to play (I discovered later that my son was outside without a coat for much of the time he couldn't find his coat...naturally don't ask where it is) and at some point one of the kids let the dog out of the garage. It didn't take her long to find the "to-go" plates and she helped herself to my dad's portion of the Thanksgiving meal. (My mom made him another plate, but it lacked the green bean casserole since there was none left.)

Mmmmm feast...

Thanksgiving was just as it should be, time with family, eating, laughing, reminiscing.

Hope yours was as good.

An Ordinary Day For Most

It is snowing. (Maybe it was or maybe it wasn't, it doesn't really matter.) It is the tiny, dry pinging kind of snow that bites at your face if you brave the outdoors. It's the kind that doesn't take much strength to remove, but still makes you groan at the idea.

She's stayed inside as much as she can. There are chores that must be done regardless of the weather or her own mood. She rarely allows herself the luxury of a good cry. The few times it has happened have been in the late-night hours after her boy is tucked in bed and deep in slumber. She values strength. Strength of emotion, strength of character, strength of body.

There is a fire flickering softly. The boy toddles toward it occasionally, curious at the dance of orange and red. She calls after him, distracting him from harm. The fire is meant as much to take the chill from her heart as it is to warm the room.

The boy is determined to explore every inch of the room, touching things and stopping just for a moment to see if his mother is watching him. She notices only intermittently. He smiles when she admonishes him for touching the same forbidden object he's touched four times before she noticed. She sighs with exhaustion, not realizing he is testing her and looking for her attention.

She is distracted. She loves her boy beyond imagination and can only see his father when she looks at him. She wonders when her husband will be home again to help her teach this precocious boy. She is strong but not invincible. What does she know of little boys beyond her brothers? She finds some comfort knowing that she at least has brothers. Boys are still a bit mysterious. Motherhood is different than she pictured.

She keeps the tiny, shrunken letters in a pocket in her skirt. She doesn't know what else to do with them. They are optimistic, confident, breezy. They paint a picture very different from her world. She feels none of these. Her boy points to the one photo she keeps out. "Dada?" She merely nods at the daily inquiry. She knows she should probably do more but she can't.

The fire needs more wood. She has some dry in the house, but it will run out. She leaves the boy with a quick preemptive reprimand, bundles herself and goes to the shed to gather more firewood. She's thankful for the family who have stockpiled firewood on her behalf. She's strong, but she'd rather not split wood. On her way back from the shed she notices the lights of a car in the distance. It's not dark, but the snow has reduced visibility enough that the few out driving (and she wonders who is out driving in this?) turn on their headlights in the futile attempt to see more than a few feet ahead.

Head down, arms laden with wood, she trudges toward the house knowing her boy is probably getting into mischief, also knowing she can't waste time bundling him too and bringing him with her. Once inside, she finds him sitting on the bench just inside the door. "Hi Mama!" he smiles brightly.

He follows her progress to the fireplace and the stack of wood nearby. "Help you?" he asks in typical toddler fashion. She absently hands him a small log from the top of her stack. She's become a veteran at handling a stack and balancing just right. He beams with pride as he places it on the pile.

The knock on the door barely registers between the clatter of stacking the dry wood.

"Whas that?" the boy's eyes are huge.

Relieved of her wooden burden, she approaches the door. She's not expecting company. There is a twinge. She's not sure what the twinge means.

Opening the door, she's confused at the sight of the young man before her.

"I'm sorry Ma'am..." is all that she remembers hearing.

Gone. Gone. Gone. DEAD.

When she closes the door she collapses in tears, her boy frantically wiping them away.

**************
This is a romanticized, fictionalized version of my grandmother's day of learning that my grandfather (my dad's father) was killed in WWII. I dedicate this to my dad and to all the other veterans out there...and those we have lost.

Random Thoughts Waterpark Style

We took our kids to an indoor waterpark in a hotel in a city about an hour away from us. It was a carrot we dangled in front of the older two kids to motivate them to do well in school during the first quarter. Conferences in the books (report cards still on the way) we know that the kids tried hard, worked hard...did their best or nearly their best...and that is about all we can ask. Most days they did their homework without complaint. Their teachers both commented on how well-liked they are and how much they, as teachers, enjoy our children. I suppose they sort of have to say that to everyone, but they were very convincing if they don't really enjoy our kids.

So Tuesday afternoon (Craig took off work Tuesday and Wednesday) we loaded up the car and drove to the hotel. We arrived about 2:40 and asked for early check-in (regular time is 4 p.m.) and were granted early access to our room. We got in, got settled, got our swim suits on just in time for the water park to open at 3.

Early in the day I knew I was getting a cold. Through perhaps just positive thoughts I was mostly fine most of the time we were in the waterpark. I had to blow my nose occasionally but it was fine...for nearly 6 hours.

Yes, we swam and rode down water slides for almost 6 hours straight. AND...we were the only family there. So we had two lifeguards for our family of 5. I felt a little guilty but that's because I'm a mom and a Minnesotan. It's in the rule books. Check it out.

Ms D, clad in her life jacket insisted on being left to her own devices, especially while in the lazy river. "I simming Mama!"

We almost got K Man to go down the water slide, which has been a struggle for about 4 years now. (Thanks to his mom who took him down a slide when he was two and failed at the "keeping the kid from going under" requirement when you take a young kid down a water slide. Yeah. I suck.) It was close. He seemed excited to go, then got half-way up the stairs before a freak-out. I gave him a pep-talk and we got him all the way up the stairs. More pep-talk and he consented to sit in the tube. Then he got out and walked down the stairs. You might think I should have hopped in and made him sail down the slide. But I reassured my son I would NOT do that to him. Above everything, I want my children to trust me so I will NEVER do that sort of thing to them.

Miss M is already a fish. She has been since the day she started swimming lessons (and I suspect her little sister will follow her.) and I've asked her several times if she'd like to be a life guard. Her response is always "No. Because then you don't get to swim." It makes sense I suppose but if you have to have a job...

My husband is a much better swimmer than I. I wear my contacts in the pool because it freaks me out to not see well...especially when I'm watching kids. I don't like to get my face wet anyway so that cuts down on "splashing" fun. (This aversion to water in the face seems to hold true for all of my kids in varying degrees though.)

I can swim. Not well. I am mostly self-taught. I do a mean side-stroke. My daughter was impressed with my scissor kick. I can float on my back, I can do the back stroke, I can do anything that doesn't involve putting my eyes in the water.

It was a lot of fun. I enjoyed the lazy river, grabbing a kick board to help me float or just using my own buoyancy (which I have plenty!) it is fun to just ride the current in circles. D, M, Craig and I enjoyed the tube slide. M enjoyed the body slide.

Nearly 6 hours in the water. The only people in the park.

It was pretty fun.

Then we hit the hot tub one last time, headed to our room and popped some popcorn. (Boy Scout popcorn so even better than regular...order some from my son?) The kids were up very late for them...even Ms. D...she fought the good fight but passed out in a chair upright. The Bigs made it to 10 before they couldn't do it anymore. (NYE may be an almost full family affair this year?)

Pretty much my whole family was asleep while I coughed, blew my nose (so much that we ran out of scratchy tissues and I had to resort to scratchy toilet paper...my nose hates me) 4927 times then tried to sleep without having snot running into my mouth.

FUN!

Despite my personal health issues, I'm happy my kids had fun. That's what matters, right?

RIGHT?

Ten, Count them! Ten! Loooong Years!

I jest. Ten loooong years? Not so. Ten great years? Yes. Stress free? No. We are a normal couple. We find things irritating about one another. If we didn't find one another irritating I would think that was abnormal.

Especially after 10 years of marriage.

The thing about marriage for me (I can't speak for my husband and I never will assume to speak for him) is that we accept the things that irritate us about our spouse precisely because we agreed to get married. I didn't expect to marry someone perfect and I hope that my husband didn't have that expectation. I can guarantee that I will never measure up.

My husband has given me more than anyone not blood related to me ever will. His heart and willingness to help others is exactly what attracted me to him. I knew he would take care of me. He's not overly expressive, but shows his love through deeds. I've known that for years. When he offers to wax my mom's car I know that he cares about her just as much as he loves me.

My husband didn't want a third child. At first. But he learned how important it was to his wife to have a third child and we worked at it (ha ha) until she was conceived. He listened to me, heard my heart and we have our beautiful Ms. D to add to our already adorable kids.

My husband. My love. My life.

I want him to be as happy as he has made me and our kids. I want us to laugh. Smile. Giggle.

I want my husband to know that I love him more than ever. I want him to be as happy as he can be. I want him to smile every day. Laugh every day. Enjoy fatherhood and being a husband as much as I love and cherish being a mom and a wife.

We are so lucky. We are so loved.

I love you Craig. Thank you for 10 years of marriage and 13 years together.