Yes, I'm Still Alive, Just Been Busy

Heeellllooo out there! I'm sorry I've been too busy to write. I was in Italy for a couple of weeks, and then with working and taking classes...Let's just say I've been getting the sleep of the righteous.
I do have a couple of thoughts on cab drivers in Rome. The lines in the road are just a suggestion, take then or leave them. Our cab drivers drove where ever they wanted even straddling the lines and driving into oncoming traffic. One driver jumped the curb and went over the sidewalk all to avoid traffic. When asked if the driver ever hit anyone he said, "Si, si, si, I kilta twoa." Yes, he meant he hit and killed two pedestrians. Another driver talked on her cell phone with one hand, held her cigarette with the other and gestured madly with both hands all while swerving through traffic. Just an added bonus to the excitement of foreign travel.

Fear Me, The Bowling Wizard

For my 40th birthday last night we went bowling. Much fun was had, many glasses of wine were drunk. The bowling pins had nothing to fear from me. Strangle to say, but having a couple of glasses of wine didn’t improve my game, who knew? I bowled a solid 35. I could say that it was because I was tipsy, but that would be a lie. I was bowling worse then usual but not that much worse. When I’m playing a good game, I can break 100, last night I broke 55—once. Even though I suck at knocking down the pins, I still had a blast. My bowling bliss far out weights my bowling skill.
It was great to see my friends too; I’m sure they enjoyed watching me and my mad skills on the lanes.
After all that drinking and pin smashing last night, this morning I felt a little nauseous and sluggish (a.k.a. hung over). What a way to celebrate the big 4-0, wine and bowling. I’m class all the way.

Where Are The Ark Kits?

I'm thinking of building an ark. It's been raining for the last couple of days or so; my drive way and yard are flooded and the kids are antsy from being indoors for so long. I wonder if Menard’s carries a kit to build your own ark. Maybe in the recreation area by the boating supplies or maybe by the swing sets.
"Excuse me sir, where are the ark kits? You know ark, as in Noah's ark."

I Didn't Win, Really?

Well, I didn't win the lottery last night, I'm shocked and dissapointed. I think the gas station must have sold me the wrong ticket. I felt so certain I was going to win. How could I be wrong about something like that? I could have so much fun with all that money, I can daydream for hours about winning the lottery. Maybe next time...

Poop Sac

How can I be mad at a giggling kid? I sent my kids to bed twenty minutes ago, but the three younger ones (ages 4,7 and 11) are all snuggled up in Tom’s bed and are laughing and chuckling. I walked by and heard a strange expression being thrown around— “poop sac”. I don’t know exactly what a poop sac is, and I’m sure the kids don’t know either but they think it’s hilarious
(I guess it is a funny expression) .
I had to go into Tom’s bedroom and actually say to them, “no more laughing or having any fun, it’s bed time now, stop saying poop sac. I mean it, stop laughing, Ok guys, that’s enough, stop tittering, that means laughing, stop it and go to bed, really it’s bed time, I mean it.” I walked out and found my hubby in the hallway also snickering at the kids utterance of poop sac. Now I know where they get it…

Lordy, Lordy Look Who's 40!

The big 4-0 is looming over my head this month. I pulled this essay from an older post and re-edited it, so if it sounds familiar, you’re right, it is a repeat. I've been thinking (obsessing might be a better word) about getting older, and I guess I have some thoughts to share. Please feel free to add your comments about the best and worst things about being older.
Good things about being 40:
This is the healthiest and best I have ever felt.
Being older and wiser.
I was an idiot at 20, and I'm glad things turned out well in spite of that.
Having a great hubby, who I've been with for 22 amazing fun filled years (love ya babe).
Having four healthy, smart, funny, and kind children who make me laugh every single day.
I'm in really good shape, and having to work at it makes me appreciate it even more.
I finally don’t give a shit what other people think.
My hair has started to lose its curl (I always wanted straighter hair anyway).
I appreciate all small kindnesses, and I'm grateful for everything I've been blessed with.
I eat what’s good for me, and have learnt to like veggies.
I'm a great cook, I wasn't always (the mac and cheese years still haunt my hubby).
I can afford to have life insurance (this ones helps me sleep at night).
Not being carded at the liquor store.
Enjoying how exercise makes me feel.
Finally getting alone time, and not feeling guilty about enjoying it.
Seeing how great my kids are turning out and being proud of them.
Finally having a new vehicle (I love my minivan).
Being older and wiser enough to see the bigger picture, in everything.
Being old enough to see patterns in mine and others lives (for good and bad).
Remembering how wild I once was, and not needing to do that again (I can’t believe I survived my youth).
Getting away with more odd behavior (I look forward to being the type of old lady who does weird things like getting hot pink hair extensions braided into my hair and wearing my undies on the outside of my clothes. “Never mind Grandma, just pretend that her underwear are under her clothes.” Oh yeah, I can’t wait to embarrass the kids. I’m so going to be the “when I get old, I’ll wear purple” kind of old lady).
I don’t have to keep up with the “Jones” and I know that I don’t need the latest gadgets.
I've gotten to be a really interesting person with a lot to give.
Knowing how lucky and blessed I truly am.
I finally don't give a shit what other people think (so great I had to repeat this one).
Bad things about being 40:
Saggy parts (I won’t give a sad specific list).
Parts that stop working (so far so good on this one).
Wrinkles (I earned most of them laughing and smiling).
Not being carded at the liquor store.
Hearing my favorite songs from high school on the oldies station.
The negative list is much shorter then the positive list. I have so much to be grateful for, and I’m smart enough to realize that.

Please Don't Let Them Come Home Early

My friend Gina went out of town camping and asked my son to feed and water her animals.
“No problem.” I answered for him. She has horses, bunnies and chickens. I’ll do it myself, I thought. I love her horses and enjoy being around them. I was supposed to feed and water them on Saturday. Well, I forgot about it until Saturday night when I was driving to my sister’s house.
My sister and I were going out to dinner and a movie, so I was nicely dressed and wearing linen head to toe and my fancy shoes. With not enough time to go home to change, I decided it was now or never. I have walking shoes in my van so the muddy farmyard wasn’t a problem for my shoes; the linen on the other hand was going to be a problem.
I looked down at my clean beautiful crisp cream linen pants and pink linen blouse and looked up and noticed their long winding tree lined driveway…I looked down at my spotless clothes and up again and noticed how their place is surrounded by trees…I looked down at my outfit and wondered exactly when they were planning on coming home… I looked down at my fancy suit and thought, the horses will need hay... The hay will be dusty and wet; the hay will get my clothes wet and dirty…I looked down at what I was wearing and looked up and noticed the privacy surrounding their place.
Guess what I did...Yep, I fed her animals in my undies. Thankfully, she didn’t come home early. I think if they had come home early, she would have died laughing at me, in my white walking shoes, and my underwear hoisting a hay bale and totting her garden hose.

Do We Need Sheep?

Our mower stopped working last month; Max has been tinkering with it but has been unable to get it running. We have over one acre to mow and with all the rain during the last three weeks, our lawn is beyond shaggy. The kids need pith helmets to venture out into the yard. I’ve lost my toddler to the waves of tall grass more then once. The top of the swing set is barely visible. Ok, I’m exaggerating a bit. It’s not that long, but I was beginning to think that maybe we need some sheep.
Something had to be done, so we broke down and brought the riding lawn mower in to get fixed. Last night we picked it up and I started the process of re-clearing the land. I can’t believe all the colossal toadstools and giant mushrooms I mowed. We’ve had so much rain and the lawn was so long that immense fungus was thriving in our towering grass. I expected to see tiny fairies sitting on the broad mushrooms, elves dancing in the fairy rings or buffalo grazing in the prairie that was my yard. I’m glad getting the mower fixed worked out for us; but I have to admit, the thought of getting sheep was strangely appealing.

All I Want is a Flipping Glass of Wine!

Last night I tried to open a bottle of wine. We have a cheap corkscrew and after I got the cork out of the bottle of wine and was attempting to remove the cork, the corkscrew broke with the cork still attached. No problem, I had another old cork (key word being old) laying around so I put that into the wine bottle. As I was putting the bottle into the fridge, I noticed I hadn’t actually poured a glass yet (I guess the broken corkscrew distracted me). As I pulled the old cork out of the neck of the bottle, it broke off— leaving half in my hand and half still sealing the bottle. Ah man, now what I thought to myself. I found a small flat head screwdriver and tried to work the broken cork out of the bottleneck. All I succeeded in accomplishing was to break off more of the cork. I was left with a still sealed bottle. All I wanted was a flipping glass of wine, was it really going to be this hard? In my frustration, I gave up removing the cork and settled on pushing it all the way down into the bottle of wine. That worked, I finally got my glass of wine— with chunks of cork floating in it. I’m now thinking that maybe a screw top bottle isn’t such a bad thing…

You Need To Be Specific

With kids (especially sons) you need to be specific and don’t assume anything. Asking, “Did you wash your hands?” Needs to be the more specific question of, “did you use soap and wash both hands?”
Hygiene is a tricky area with boys. It’s not until they smell like a monkey’s butt, or look like a hobo that they’ll finally take a shower. Potatoes start growing in their ears, their finger nails will get long and dirty. Their teeth will get green and brown. If you think you shouldn’t have to remind your son to cut his toenails or brush his teeth— think again. “Did you brush all your teeth?” And, “in the shower did you use soap and after your shower did you put on clean clothes and underwear?” Sound like stupid questions, until you have a son. I’ve personally seen my kid wearing the same dirty clothes after they took a shower.
“Did you clean your room?” needs to be a more detailed question like, “did you pick up your socks, video games and toys?” Followed by, “did you shove everything into the closet or under the bed?”
“Why are you two fighting?” Can be interrupted many ways to a kid, you need to ask, “Who hit who first, what started the argument?” or “why are you missing a tooth and why is there blood on the floor?”
With kids, “What are you doing?” is too vague. If you suspect something, you need to ask, “Where are you putting your dirty socks and why can’t I find any of them?” Or my personal favorite, “where is the other half of the crayon, is it up your nose?”
Kids need reminders. Like not eating the whole bag of candy. It should be obvious, unless you’re a kid. They need a reminder that eating ten pounds of chocolate will make them sick. They also need a reminder to brush their teeth and to change their underwear— daily.
Someday I’ll miss these little pep talks, until then I’ll remember not to assume anything and that the questions need to be specific.

School Chum Puppets

I have some free time on my hands and thought why not create puppets of my friends from junior high? Some people might say I have too much time on my hands. Nutty does run in my family. Besides, how much fun could puppets be? I can put on plays and re-enact old dramas; you know the usual stuff I do on my down time. I took an old class picture, made a copy, and will use my bitchin’ talents in crafts to turn them into puppets. It’s amazing what I can do with a hot glue gun, yarn, sequins, glitter, felt and Popsicle sticks. The plaid school uniforms will be tricky to replicate in felt, but with all the memories floating back, I’ve got the time to work on them while I’m in the waiting to see my therapist. The puppets will come in handy when I’m trying to re-enact important events from my youth.
Now all I need is the backdrop. I’m thinking church pews or an asphalt parking lot/playground. When I get my stage set up I’ll be sure to post pictures of the performances. I've missed my old friends so much, [cue Psycho music] it'll be like they've never left me...

Tips For A Memorable Job Interview

In these tough economic times people need all the help they can get. As a community service I’d like to help by giving some tips for nailing the all important job interview.
Prospective new employers love creative employees, so now is the time to break out the vinyl jumpsuits and faux leopard fur vests. Wow them with your fashion forward thinking. Another over looked area is hygiene. Clean hair, nails and teeth are boring, try green nail polish and artfully applied fake tattoos.
How you address the interviewer should depends on their gender, females love to be called “Toots” and males “Dude/Man.” Make sure you start the interview with your latest interpretive dance routine (I can’t be the only one out there who has more then one routine) with or without music.
There are areas in the interview process that allow you to let your personality shine through. Ask about the company’s harassment policies, and then wink at the interviewer. Other important questions are about the company’s dating protocol, drug testing, how long you have to work there before you qualify for un-employment, disability and vacation time for your annual trip to Baja to watch the shrew migration. You should always ask, “So, where are all the hot chicks/guys around here?” and “does casual Friday include nudity?”
With my tips I hope you are able to make a lasting impression. Good luck on your job quest.

It's Not A Midlife Crisis!?

I went to see Cirque Du Soleil Kooza. It was amazing; I was completely captivated by the performers. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. How do they make their bodies do those tricks? I now know what I want to be when I grow up [drum roll please]…I want to be an acrobat.
I know what you’re thinking, must be a midlife crisis thing. Well, it’s not; at least I don’t think it is. It’s good to try new things, right? Every year I try something new, just add this to the long list of other weird things I’ve tried or done in the last few years. There were Cello lessons, I joined several writing critique groups, a fencing class, painting and writing workshops, white water rafting trips, winter camping in Ely, the numerous committees I’ve joined and the grant application I'm working on for a local wrtiting group. Just add circus acrobat to the long list of things I’m curious about, [in my Oprah-like voice over] I believe it’s important to challenge oneself and to dream big.
There are a few obstacles to my ambitious acrobat dream. Being almost 40 is one of them. Maybe I should have started working on the gymnastics thing say, 35 years ago? I can do a fine somersault, and almost a headstand ( note to self: work on my interpretive dance routines also). Another problem is being 5’5”. My height is far from statuesque, but still a foot too tall. The acrobats were tiny and buff, me not so much.
Besides the obvious problems of my age and height, there is a bigger obstacle— I’m afraid of heights. This one could be a problem. Watching the performers walk a tight rope and jump from trapeze to trapeze midair left me breathless with sweaty palms and reminded me that I freeze when it comes to heights. Unlike my age and height, this obstacle is one I can do something about, maybe I’ll look into trapeze lessons. I’m sure I’ve seen something on them on TV, or read about them somewhere. I should look into this, conquering my fear would be good for me. Trapeze lessons sound (painful, insane, midlife crisis like) very enjoyable.

He's Not In Jail?

I feel twelve years old again. I just found old friends from elementary school on Facebook. I attended a small private Catholic school in St. Paul ( I know that does explain a lot about why I’m the way I am). The school is long gone, but the memories are burned in my brain forever.
I spent the last twenty minutes laughing and saying peoples names aloud. My kids keep asking, “Who’s that?” I can’t stop smiling and giggling. Wow, what a blast from the past. I keep going in deeper; one friend leads to another old friend. Where does it end? Will I be able to friend request everyone and what if I miss someone? The questions boggle my mind. Some of these people I thought I’d never find (I thought maybe they’d be in jail in an exotic foreign country, you know who you are) I’m running out of time to play online, I feel rushed, I know someone has been forgotten, sorry to anyone I’ve missed…

It's a rough job, but somebody had to do it

It’s been a rough week at the beach, but somebody had to do it. The kids had swimming lessons this week, so I was at the beach four hours a day, five days in a row. It was beautiful, warm and sunny. The perfect summer beach weather. After taking stock, I now have:
One empty bottle of sunscreen
Three inches of sand in my mini-van, sand in my hair and in various creases
Piles of laundry waiting for my attention
One weeks worth of take out container taking up space in my garbage can
A sunburned nose, shoulders, and back
A completely read book
A mellow and refreshed feeling
Kids that are better swimmers
A weeks worth of e-mail to check
A nice tan
New ideas for my blog

This is what I’ve learned this week:
My mini-van will hold 20 pounds of beach sand
Kids can eat $35.00 worth of snacks daily when playing at the beach
My kids are deaf to me calling them when it’s time to leave
Using regular diapers at the beach is a bad idea, they can hold a kids weight in lake water
Don’t say, “don’t make me come and get you.” Unless you are willing to go into the water and get them, the kids know a bluff when they hear one
I need a bigger bathing suit (mine must have shrunk since last year)
A toddler can take a power nap in the car and feel refreshed in ten minutes, a mom needs fourteen hours of sleep to feel that rested
Sunscreen burns and then blurs your vision when you get it into your eyes
A full “little swimmer diaper” will hold two cups of fluid while in a car seat, only to dump it’s contents on your sofa
You can take a crabby kid to the beach and you’ll magically get a happy kid, you take a crabby mom to the beach and you’ll magically have a hot, tired, and still crabby mom
It’s impossible to suck in your stomach while yelling at your kids
I will never again buy the kids ice cream to eat on the way home from the beach, the kids were sandy and sticky when we got home
The bottoms of your feet and your eye lids can get sunburned too
My four year old daughter already likes Life Guards (she convinced one young man to play catch with her)
Everyone knows you’re peeing in the lake if your eyes glaze over and you say, “ahh” (you’re not fooling anyone, we know why you are out there)
Kids splashing adults isn’t a good way to get them used to the cold lake water
You can get into trouble for dunking some else’s kids

Summertime Blues

I have the summertime blues. I feel sluggish and cannot seem to get my butt moving lately. It’s been too hot, then too cold. Now I’m too tired. When it’s nice out, I blame it on the beautiful weather. I’m feeling lethargic in my summertime funk. I’m too relaxed and drowsy to do much of anything. All I want to do is sit in the sun, relax and read (I’m loving the book “Loving Frank” and I don’t want to put it down). Maybe I’m not lazy, but simply solar powered and I need to recharge in the sun. As much as I love lounging with a good book, sitting around relaxing in the sun really isn’t an option for me. I’ve got too much to do to sit on my tail all day, I can’t be a lollygagger. Meals need to be made, e-mail checked, and the laundry is piling up. My blog is suffering, the weeds are taking over my garden and the vacuum is covered with a layer of dust.
Maybe all the busy summer activities the family has going on have made me feel sluggish and drained. I’m exhausted. Camping, birthday parties, library and museum trips, golf lessons, picnics, music lessons and trips to the playground. Keeping the kids busy has taken its toll, I’m worn out.
Next week the kids have swimming lessons, so I’ll be at the beach for three hours a day five days in a row. I’m not sure if this will cure me or make it worse. By the end of the week I’ll have finished reading my book, I’ll be tan and hopefully feel refreshed and ready to tackle the world again. I hope a week of sun and fun at the beach will cure my summertime blues, but I’m afraid it might make things worse. After all there “Ain’t no cure for the summertime blues.” I think there might be something to that.

My Happy Place Changed The Locks

When the kids get too rowdy and noisy I go to my happy place. It’s there that I find peace and quiet. Everyone’s happy place is different. In my happy place there is a large deep green freshly mowed lawn with large oak trees, cool breezes, a comfy hammock and a huge cold glass of iced tea. My happy place is quiet, just the birds singing. And no pests of any kind— mosquitoes, flies or noisy kids.
Lately it’s been difficult to tune the kids out. They are driving me crazy. Jumping off furniture, running around the table and yelling loud enough to rattle the windows. I just can’t seem to ignore them and go to my happy place. Why can’t I get there anymore? Where has my happy place gone, has my happy place changed the locks?

A Parents Small Sacrifices

When you’re a parent you make small sacrifices all the time. One example is new underwear. If you’re a parent with young kids, go take a look in your underwear drawer. Go on, I’ll wait…your undies are old with the elastic stretched and shot, aren’t they? I knew it, so are mine and every other parent I know.
Parents wait until they have no other option but to buy new skivies. Parents wait until the elastic is shot and sticking out, the underwires poking out, and the socks become ill-fitting quitters. There is always something higher on the priority list then new drawers, socks or bras.
I feel guilty if a pick up a pack of new Haines for myself. Do I really need new socks now? I can wait one more week. So my toe pokes out a small hole and the socks slip down around my ankles and into my shoes during the day. All I have to do is stop everything, bend over and pull them back up. Does it really bother me that much? So the underwires of my bra slide out in the washer, if I push them back in and use a little duck tape, or sew them back in every time the bra comes out of the washer, they stay put. That’s not a big deal, is it? One more week and I can buy a new bra, the wait won’t kill me. The kids really could use new socks before me. So my undies have no elastic left in the waist band and sag a little, my jeans will keep them in place just fine. I can wait one more week before I buy new ones. Next time underwear goes on sale THEN I’ll buy new ones. For the cost of a pack of socks I can buy a gallon of milk and a box a cereal, I can wait until next week. How many times do you say the same thing to yourself when standing in the front of the Haines display of Wal-mart or Target?
Not much in life feels as nice as new snug socks, a comfy bra and undies that stay where they are suppose to. Tossing all the old ones will feel good, maybe next week…

Energy Vampires

I spent two days last week as staff at a Cub Scout Daycamp. I spent ten hours a day surrounded by six to twelve year old boys who were incredibly excited and frenzied. The kids were very keyed up and ran from the activities to the games without pause. They only slowed down if food was available. They refueled and then were off and running again. I was busy from son up to son down.
Upi Dupi, I was so tired by the end of the second day; I could barely keep my eyes open. It only took me four days but I think I’m finally recovered.
There must be some correlation between the energy level of the kids and the fatigue felt by the grown ups. I’m sure I’m not the only one to notice this strange connection. How is this energy transference possible? Is there only so much energy available out there and the kids suck it all up or do they drain the vitality from the adults around them. I’m not sure how the little energy vampires do it, but they can really suck the life out of you.

Thanks For the Advice Dad

Dads give great advice, sometimes kids even listen. Here are some good ones from some great dads. Happy Fathers Day to all the dads out there!
Rule number one, “Protect your junk, son.” (draw your own conclusions on this one)
When I was young, my dad kept iodine in the medicine cabinet for first aid. We hated the stuff because it burned so badly. My dad always reassured us that no this wasn’t the kind that burned. It did burn, but we fell for that line every time. He always blew on the iodine to lesson the pain and kissed the boo-boos so we felt better.
My father-in-law told my hubby this one before we met. He married me anyway, so I’ll take this one as a compliment, “Kid, if you want to know what you’ll end up with, look at her mom.”
My dad told me this one, “Guys are simpler then you think.”
In addition, the second half, “Guys think about only three things, sex, food and sleep.”
This is from all the sports dads out there, “Walk it off son.”
Max’s wisdom when the kids complain about taking icky medicine, “If it tastes good, it isn’t working.”
My father-in-law told my hubby this one and it’s so true. “You can wear my shoes son, but you’ll never fill them.”
“Don’t wait for the idiot light to come on, take care of your vehicle.” (With my dad it isn’t a car, it’s a ve-hicle.)
Who hasn’t heard this one? “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
“Be polite to her parents and don’t bring her home late.” (This is the one no one seems to listen to or remember.)
I think this one is from an interview with Bruce Wills. He was talking about his daughters dating. “Kill the first boyfriend and hope word gets out.”
Max is planning to use this one when Tess brings home her first boyfriend. When the boy comes to our house to pick her up Max will be cleaning his guns. He’ll calmly ask the boy, “So what time are you thinking about bringing her home?” (With three older brothers, I can imagine a row of guys cleaning their guns. Poor girl will never get a second date.)

Toys In Ambush

Is there anything that hurts more then stepping on Legos, spiky toy dinosaurs or Barbie shoes? I cannot tell you how many times I throw the empty threat around of, “Pick up these toys or I’ll throw them out!”
The kids know I’m bluffing. The attempts at clean up are directly related to my tone and the volume of my voice. Me telling the kids to pick up, to them means just make a path, yelling means pick up most of the toys. If the neighbors can hear me yell, they had better pick everything up. If there’s shrieking involved (and I never shriek, I’m just too dignified and ladylike for that) even Max will stop what he’s doing and help the kids pick up the toys.
I’ve not just stepped on toys, but tripped over many toys. I’ve tripped over Sesame Street (the toy fold out village, not the show), shiny red convertible Barbie cars and colorful toy ray guns. I even fell down some stairs after tripping over a line of army guys and their tanks that were holding an imaginary enemy line. The medieval castles I tripped over one night as I rushed to close windows left me with a huge yellow and purple bruises that took weeks to heal.
My floors are an obstacle course of toys to negotiate. They seem to be waiting to ambush me when I’m carrying a full clothes basket, or when I’m talking on the phone. I imagine even after the kids grow up and move away, I will still find a rouge toy alien or lego, just waiting for the chance to take me down.

Cold Stone Creamery Is Heaven On Earth

Last night I visited Heaven, Cold Stone Creamery. It’s my Heaven because they take your favorite of ice cream and mash it up with your favorite candy. My favorite ice cream flavor is peanut butter and this wonderful place mixed it with fudge and peanut butter cups. After I decided on the flavor (which was the easy part, peanut butter and chocolate— yum), I had to decide which size cup of ice cream to order. Did I want the “it’s way too big and going to make me sick, but I’m going to eat it all anyway” size? Or maybe the “this might be too much, but it looks so good” size, or the “I’m on a diet, but going to cheat a little” size. Being a glutton, I went all out, ordered the biggest size, and ate it all, all five pounds of the “peanut butter insanity” concoction. This was last night, and I’m still full and still a little sick to my stomach. Would I eat another one, right now? Without a doubt. Yea, it was that good.

Home Barber Shop

Home haircuts seemed like such a great way to save money. There are six of us in the family, quarterly barber visits for the boys, and Max really adds up. I had a brilliant idea: what if I cut everyone’s hair. How hard could it be? I checked out a couple of “How to cut your family’s hair” books from the library and read up on how to give my family great haircuts. I had the best of intentions. Well, you’ve heard about the road to Hell being paved in good intentions. My poor family. I cut their hair. The books made it look so easy, I foolishly bought that promise.
The first time I cut Max’s hair I was shaking, I was so nervous. He kept reassuring me, “If you make a mistake, its ok, it will grow back. I’ll wear a hat for the next month if I have to.” He laughed and added, “just try it out on me first before you cut the kids hair.” Max’s haircut wasn’t as bad as I worried it would be, it turned out ok, except for the bald patches in his sideburns (which honestly, he couldn’t even see).
My youngest son Tom was the next guinea pig. I cut his hair too short and a patch of scalp showed behind his ear (which if anyone asked, I blamed on his little sister and her gum). The older two boy’s hair turned out ok, I was actually getting better. Then came my three-year-old daughter Tess. She had long beautiful wavy strawberry blond hair that only needed the bangs trimmed, so that trim went ok.
The next day Tess decided she liked playing barbershop and cutting hair— just like mommy. She cut her own hair off just below her ears. The long lovely curly locks— gone. I had to finish what she started and Tess got a short pixie cut. I learned you can only try to fix un-even bangs so many times before there just nothing left to trim. Tess had short un-even Madonna bangs to go with her short pixie haircut. I mourned the loss of her long hair, until I found an old picture of my grandma when she was a toddler. She had a short pixie cut also, and I realized my daughter looks like her great-grandma. I smiled and forgot all about the long hair Tess had cut off. Now I like the short hair on her and keep it trimmed.
I have to admit it was a rough start to my family barbershop, but I’ve gotten better. Practice has helped and I’m proud to say I now give a mean haircut.

Ode to DSL

We've been having problems with our telephone service, and therefore our Internet. We still have [gasp, shudder] dial up. I know, I want DSL, but we've been told it's not available in our area. So until then, I'll dream of DSL. I wrote this, my love poem to high speed Internet.

Oh high-speed Internet, how I long to travel at the speed of your light. No need to wait on a call. Gone will be the days of getting up to do something while I wait for a new page to download. Faster games will finally please the kids; files will open in a blink of an eye. Oh, why can’t you be available in my area? Why make me wait, you cruel she-devil. You taunt me with your wily, fast, reckless ways. And then deny me. I wither in the shadow of anticipation. And yet I’m denied— again. Satellite Internet seems a sad replacement for your reliable promise. I sit here, sad, dejected and waiting…

Raggady Ann's Hair

I broke curly girl hair rule # 2 last night ( rule #1 is never use a hairbrush on curly hair, you get frizzy hair.) I went to bed with wet hair. I woke up this morning with Raggedy Ann's hair. It took me ten minutes to get my fingers through the snarled nest of chunky-funky curls that stuck straight out from my head. After I un-snarled my hair, it looked even worse. Kinky curls and frizz--just the look I was going for. Even after I wetted my hair down, it still looked wild. Too wild for rural Minnesota and my mini van. If I was going for The Raggedy Ann doll look (or escaped mental patient look) I nailed it.

My Super Hero Defense Is...

Oscar, my ten year old is obsessed with super heroes. Who can beat who is a hot topic for debate around my house. Can Iron Man beat Super Man and who has the coolest villains? I don’t know the answers to these provocative questions, but my son does. He also likes to think about how he fits into the scheme of superheroes. I overheard Oscar telling a friend last night that his super talent is his farting power. The bad guy gets lost in a smelly green vapor cloud. I guess he strikes and runs away; it’s a clever defense to confuse the villain. I can’t help wondering if it would work in the real world.
Picture this scenario: your at work and the boss is upset and confronts you. Instead of standing there and taking it, you quietly pass some evil gas. Your boss gets dizzy, confused and ends the reprimand quickly. I think this might actually work. Nobody wants to stand there smelling someone else’s air biscuits. Farting as a defense, I think Oscar might be on to something…

Check Your Privacy & Modesty At The Door

Part of the joy of having toddlers running around the house is the total loss of modesty and privacy, for everyone. I cannot tell you how many times I am “busted in on” when I’m in the bathroom. Tess is four and has no qualms about throwing open a closed bathroom door. It doesn’t matter who is in the hall behind her or who is in the bathroom or what they’re doing. The whole family has gotten good about locking the bathroom door. If the door isn’t locked, you can hear the shout, “Hey, I’m in here! Get out and wait your turn!” Followed by Tess hollering, “I have ta go potty now!” Her little fists banging on the door can be surprisingly loud.
When you sign up to be a parent, nobody tells you that you have to check your privacy as well as your sanity at the door. Uninterrupted private bathroom time is a long forgotten privilege. I remember the days of long hot baths with fancy oils and reading in the tub. Now I’m lucky to have enough time to shave both legs on the same day. I have to take rushed showers with the door-cracked open (someone always has to go when I’m in the shower and that someone usually forgets the door open when she leaves.) My long hot baths with a good book evolve into a party. Tess senses my solitude and feels compelled to join in on my alone time. “Mommy, are those bubbles? It smells nice in here, like flowers. Why does is smell good? How did you make it smell so good? What are you doing? Is the water hot? Are you reading? What ya reading? Why are you frowning? What do you mean go play someplace? Where should I go to play? Why do you want me to go play in my room? It sure is hot in here, why is it so hot? I’ll open the door to cool it off. Hey guys, mommy is in the tub and it smells pretty in here. Come and smell it! But mommy, I don’t want to close the door; it’s too hot in here. Daddy will give me a cookie? Ok, I’ll go tell him you said I could hava cookie. Hey guys, we can have cookies!”
Never mind the long hot bath, alone time is over rated. Maybe later tonight after the kids are in bed I’ll have privacy and I can soak in the tub— alone. Until then I’ll walk around with one shaved leg and dream of the day when I can bathe when I want to, not when I have a spare moment.

What??

Why would anyone sew on little buttons? Tess' dolls and even her own dresses have these tiny little buttons. I have a hard enough time buttoning up her doll's dresses, but Max has even more problems. On Saturday Tess needed help with the buttons on a doll dress and I was busy making dinner. I overheard Max saying, "why are these buttons so tiny? My fingers are just too big, it's like trying to button them up with hot dogs."

Summer vacation already, are you sure?

Today is the day, the last day of school. The air smells of excited kids and anxious parents. What am I going to do with them home all summer? You are probably asking yourself that same question. I know I am. Are there enough summer activities for them to do to keep them from driving me crazy? There isn’t enough stuff to do under the sun to keep me sane over summer vacation. I think my sanity returns every year to “normal” around March, just in time for a couple of nice months of clarity before I loose it again to summer vacation.
The kids have summer activities planned: golf lessons, library visits, playground trips, swimming lessons, picnics, beach days, summer camp, hikes, music lessons, vacation Bible school, Scout meetings, and maybe a museum trip or two. My head swims with keeping everyone’s schedules straight. This doesn’t even include anything of Max’s or mine. Our summer calendar looks crazy busy. I know it looks like a lot of activities, but six days into summer vacation, I’m going to get hit with a whinny, “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.” Heaven forbid, they just go outside and play or read (“read, are you kidding, its summer vacation mom. Geeze!”)
Remember summer vacation when we were young? I think I spent most of the day outside playing, building forts, exploring and in the evenings the baths left dirt rings in the tub. I remember running barefoot everywhere. The souls of my feet getting thick and tough, and not being able to even find my shoes for church on Sunday. A trip to DQ was a treat and Saturday mornings were prime cartoon time. I’m getting wistful just thinking about the freedom of summer vacation. Maybe this summer won’t be too bad…

Kids Figure Out Some Things Just Too Young

Kids figure out some just things too young. They pick up on ulterior motives and fibs. This past weekend the kids were fighting in the house and driving me crazy. I sent them out into the balmy spring weather on a hunt to find a broken Robin’s egg. I told them the beautiful blue Robin’s egg was “somewhere out under the trees.” The house was peaceful, at least for a while. After a thirty-minute unsuccessful hunt, the kids trudged back in the house. Their previous argument was long forgotten as the kids discussed bird vs. dinosaur eggs. Tess, my four year old, walked away from the egg discussion and bluntly asked me, “was there really an egg, or were you just lying to get us to go outside?” Bingo, give that girl a prize. It sure didn’t take her long to figure out my sneaky motives.
It reminded me of the time that my oldest son Leif, also came to that same conclusion. He was six years old and desperate for a pet turtle. He asked several times a day, everyday for many weeks. A weaker parent might have given in, but not me— Super Mom. I always answered, “we’ll see.” I must have been saying this a lot because when his younger brother asked for a fish and I said, “we’ll see,” Leif turned to his little brother and said, “ ‘we’ll see’ really means no.” Kids figure out some things just too young.

The Zen of Lawn Mowing

I live in the country and (I don’t mean to brag, but) I have a huge yard. My husband Max used to be the official lawn mower. A few years ago, we had a patch of daisies grow free in the lawn. I loved the wild and pretty look of them and pointed them out to Max and asked him to mow around them. Max mowed around them one week and then the next week forgot. I was walking by the window and noticed he was headed straight for the daisies. I pounded on the window and shouted, “The daisies! Don’t mow the daisies! The daisies!” Max couldn’t hear me over the lawn mower, but the neighbors across the road heard me. I saw them look up from their gardening, point and smile. I’m sure I looked like a crazy woman, they were probably thinking, there goes that weird woman—again. I could either put a picket fence around the daisy patch (which would just be silly) or mow the yard myself. I choose the less ridiculous option and that was the start of my future as the new official lawn mower of the family. A strange thing happened; I discovered I love to mow. I know it might seem strange to some people, but I love the Zen of lawn mowing. It’s interrupted alone time and my form of meditation. Nobody asking for more juice or asking me to wipe his or her butt. I mow different designs into the grass; figure eights are my favorites. I think about life, make decisions and smile at the strange songs that are usually stuck in my head. Yesterday it was “Henry the Eighth.” Don’t be too quick to judge me; I’m happy and pretty much harmless.

Flower Sniffer

There’s just something about lilacs. They smell so good. I find myself running up to them and sticking my face into the flowers and breathing deeply. Out in public (who cares how crazy I look in the privacy of my own yard) I must look like a maniac. Running from lilac bush to lilac bush with a stupid grin on my face, smelling the flowers. Rose bushes do the same thing to me. They leave me powerless to walk by without smelling them and smiling. Forget a quick trip to Como’s Conservatory. I can spend hours in bliss with my face buried in the plants. They even have herbs and fruit tress to enjoy.
I’m in Heaven at greenhouses too, wandering up and down the isles. The sales people eye me suspiciously. They’ve seen my kind before. “Can I help you find something? You’ve been looking for over two hours.” They can recognize a flower sniffer when they see one.

Crank Up The Radio

I have a theory: you can tell the age of a parent by what songs the kids sing. I was a young adult during the 1990’s— when grunge rock ruled. My hubby, Max liked the harder rock. As teen, we both loved punk. These music choices are mirrored in what our kids love. For example, Tom, my six year old, sings songs from Nirvana. ‘Heart Shaped Box’ is his favorite. There is something adorable hearing a six-year-old singing, “Hey, wait, I gotta new complaint.”
Oscar, my ten year, old likes Black Sabbath. He loves anything from the Paranoid album, and cranks up the radio when ‘Iron Man’ comes on. When Leif was the same age, he also loved them and the first CD he bought with his own money was Black Sabbath’s Paranoid. I was so proud; Leif loved classic rock (and not rap.) I bragged to family members, “My boy just bought his first Black Sabbath CD. He knows good music when he hears it!” My Brother-in-law Chuck quickly brought me back down to Earth when he said, “Ahh, Black Sabbath, the first step to a 12 step program.”
Leif has moved on from classic rock to scary stuff. Slip Knot and other creepy bands are now his favorites. I can’t complain too much. I blasted some pretty interesting music when I was his age. Compared to Leather Nun and The Sex Pistols, Slip Knot is tame.

Ah, Track And Field Day

Today was a glorious track and field day. I live in a small town and “Field Day” is an annual right of spring. The school hangs up posters listing the past winners all the way back to the 1970’s. The kids compete in all the usual events and it’s a real community tradition. The school fields are pure chaos; kids run this way and that. Parents and grandparents bring coolers and picnic lunches and spend the whole day watching and visiting. Concessions stands sell lemonade and popcorn, and everyone who is anyone is there. The unbridled joy of kids running amok fills the air and everyone enjoys the excitement. Another tradition is for the kids to autograph each other’s shirts.
My family is no exception. I took Tess and we went and spent the day watching Oscar and Tom compete. It was a beautiful day, the sun was out and sunscreen applied. Towards the end of the day, Oscar took his purple Sharpie marker and drew a purple mustache on himself. I saw this and said, “Dude, that’s a permanent marker. It’s going to have to wear off.” Oscars response was to smile and draw on another. He now has two purple mustaches. Just in time for a family Baptism on Sunday. Life with kids is never boring.

Kids Say The Funniest Things

These are things my kids really have said. It's proof that have the funnies kids around.

For breakfast I asked which kind of cereal the kids wanted. “I want the cereal that turns my poop green.” Tess was talking about Trix, and yes it does turn your poop green.

My teen son, Leif has hair that is wild and curly. He's wearing it in the 'too long and in your eyes' look. Last week I was asking when we could get it trimmed. He pulled his bangs up into pony tail on the top of his head and said, "Maybe I should just wear a pony tail up here? What do you think, it's a smokin' hot look. " I took a picture, but I love him too much to embarrass him by posting it.

Tom was complaining about eating dinner. “I don’t like this,” he whined. Oscar, my ten year old, responded with, “Well, do you think John McCain doesn’t like not being president? Just eat it.” Oscar is such a savvy ten year old, I can see he has a bright future as a writer.

Um, Can I Get Those Back?

Years ago, when Oscar was eighteen months old, I caught him snooping in my jewelry box. He found an old glass beaded necklace that was my great grandmothers. The string was ratty and broke when he stretched it. For some unknown reason Oscar shoved the loose pink glass beads up his nose. I tried and tried, but I couldn't retrieve them. Off to urgent care we went. The doctor pulled out two beads from each nostril. The beads went into a small dish and the doctor was going to throw the dish away, beads and all.
“Um, can I get those back?” I asked the doctor. He turned and gave me a look that was priceless. “You really want them back?”
“They’re antique beads from an old necklace that was my great grandmothers. I’ll clean them up myself. Thanks for getting them out. And can you check his ears for beads too?”
Sure enough, more beads were found in his ears. My necklace was still short three more beads. I would clean up beads from his nose and ears, but I drew the line at looking in his diaper.

A Mothers Good Advice

In honor of Mothers Day, here is some good advice:
Be yourself; Those who mind— don’t matter and those who matter— don’t mind.
People treat you how you let them & treat people how you want to be treated.
Don’t be a pest.
Never pass up the opportunity to use the bathroom.
Make your own money, don't look for someone to support you.
Save your pennies (Max’s least favorite mom saying.)
Nobody has it all and everyone has problems.
When people show you who they really are, believe them (Ok, this one is from Oprah not my mom.)
You can’t have it all at the same time, it’s all about timing.
I was having terrible cramps and though it was my appendix. My mom told me to get on my hands and knee, put my butt up, head down and rock. I released some “pressure” and felt better. This works like a charm and is a great parlor trick too!
Live in the moment and like every day is your last.
Always carry chocolate (it helps for all sorts of emergencies.)
Don’t lend out what you can’t afford to lose.
Marry someone you like as well as love and make sure it’s someone who treats you with love and respect.
Return a borrowed car with a full tank of fuel.
Always say please and thank you. Manners do count.
Sometimes having balls can get you further then having brains (be bold and take chances.)
Don’t wear anything too small, too low cut or too short; leave something to the imagination.
Better to be silent and thought intelligent, then to speak and be proven an idiot.
What’s the worst they can say? Hearing no won‘t kill you.
Well-behaved women rarely make history (this one I learned from watching my own mom.)
The kids will only be small for a short time, the laundry can wait.
You can’t succeed if you never try. Dream big.
Always have a plan B.
Question authority (this one has gotten me in more trouble.)
Ask how you can help.
Think before you speak because you can’t un-ring a bell.
When in doubt, say nothing.
It’s ok to say “I don’t know” and “I’m sorry.”
And my personal favorite— don’t pick at it.

Self-Tanner Nightmare

It’s getting nice out—time for a nice healthy tan. I know that phrase is an oxymoron, but I like looking tan. To save my skin I use a sunless self-tanner every summer. I tried a new sunless self-tanner and the tube of cream claims to be streak free. Yeah, streak free my butt. That phrase is another oxymoron. I complained to my husband Max about the creams false claims. Max said, “streak-free? Well, did you streak? Then it worked.” I had to smile at the song that started playing in my head, “well that they call him the streak—whoo look at the bodgidy, fastest thing on two feet.” I laughed but still complained about the streaks. To cover them up, I put on more cream. I turned orange and now look like a streaky Ompa Loompa (the little orange people in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) and I have orange palms. To make it even worse the cream smells like vinegar.
My grandma had a similar thing happen to her. We had family pictures and she wanted to look tan, so she used a sunless tanner. This was back in the 1990’s. The creams were even worse back then; she also turned out streaky orange. I giggled then, now I have more sympathy. Maybe this is payback for laughing at my orange grandma.
I’m sure I’m not alone. There must be other orange-palmed tan people out there. We could start our own club. George Hamilton and Lindsey Lohan would be honored members. We could recognize each other by our orange palms that smell like pickles.

Not Cool

The year was 1998 and a new Star Wars movie was finally coming out. My husband and brother had tickets for the midnight show. My four year old son Leif, was a Star Wars fan and also wanted to go. He wasn't happy that he couldn't go, but his dad promised to bring him something "special" back from the movie. Max and my brother went to the midnight showing and brought back a cool collector Star Wars cup for Leif. The next morning after breakfast, Max showed the cup to an excited toddler. He was expecting a cool toy, not a cup. Leif took the cup, looked at it, and then looked at his father and said, "what the hell is this?" He was severely disappointed. He handed the cup back to his dad and said, "not cool."

Everything Just Stopped

My son was five when he played his first soccer game. The parents (me included) lined the field and cheered on our young kids. Watching a group of five year olds play soccer is unbelievable. They really don’t understand the rules of the game yet. The kids just love to kick the ball. There is pure chaos on the field, kids running this way and that. The ball might be kicked into the goal, but it’s more likely to be kicked into the parents on the sidelines. One memorable spring day a frog was discovered on the field. The game came to a complete halt, as all the five year olds on both teams had to examine and touch the frog. After the frog hopped off, the game picked back up where it had left off. It’s beautiful how kids live in the moment, they don’t care about the score or that the clock is running. They want to stop and examine anything and everything that look interesting. There is always that one kid who’s too busy picking flowers for his mom or watching a butterfly to pass the ball. If only we all can be a little more like that, purely in the moment. I can’t remember the score of that memorable spring game, but I’ll never forget the wonders of a frog on the field and how everything just stopped.

His Pride Took A Hit

Years ago when Max had long hair, he used to pull it back with a cool skull and cross bones “doo-rag.” Under this cool-ness was a secret. He had to use one of my barrettes to hold back his hair. At his job was a new employee, she was young and very pretty. One day at work, he noticed her staring at him, she motioned for Max to come over. Thinking to himself 'I still got it,' he sauntered over. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “your barrette is showing.” Crash and burn baby. His pride took a hit that day. That's OK Hun, I think you still 'have it.'

I Made A Great First Impression

When I met my future step mother-in-law for the first time, I tried hard to make a good first impression. We met her and my father-in-law at her cabin up north. It was a beautiful fall day. We spent the night at the cabin and the next morning we were sitting on the deck enjoying the sunrise and continuing to get to know each other. Max and I have a private joke about cold weather being not nippy but nipply. So this thought was in my head. We were discussing the chilly morning and I was trying to say, “I like it nippy out,” but that’s not what came out. What actually came out my mouth was, “I like a little nipple.” That was a conversation stopper. Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me with their months hanging open. I blushed, stammered and tried to explain what I meant, which was worse then just pretending it didn’t happen. Trying to make a good first impression—oh, I made an impression alright.

The Library Cops Had Me...

I was down in the Cities and visited a beautiful opulent brand new library. I walked around gawking at the ceilings, artwork and wide-open spaces. I picked out some new reading material and then came time to check out. I stood in line and when my turn came, I presented my local library card. It should be good enough, or so I thought. The librarian was wearing her glasses on a gold chain around her neck. She must have been around seventy-five with blue hair in a tight bun. She examined my card as if I had just handed her something inferior and dirty. “This isn’t a Hennepin County Library card.” she informed me. “I know, it’s an East Central Regional Library card. It’s from my local library. You should be able to use it. I’ve used it before in Anoka County.” I confidently answered. “We’ll need to see some ID,” she stated. The family next to me didn’t even have their cards. That librarian just looked them up on the computer— all with no ID, but not me. I guess I look too shifty. You can’t trust a middle-aged soccer mom. They are wild and have nothing to lose. I handed her my driver’s license. She put on her glasses, looked at my library card, my ID, the computer screen, and then back at me. The librarian scowled and said, “It looks like you had a Minneapolis library card and lived on Grand.” She peered at me over the edge of her glasses and made it sound sinister. The clear disapproval in her voice made me nervous. “I moved ten years ago. I now live in a different County.” My confidence was wavering and I was starting to sweat. “I’ll be right back.” She took my ID and library card and disappeared around back. I stood there feeling guilty. What was the hold up, I wondered. Four or five minutes passed and she finally came back. The librarian narrowed her eyes and scrutinized me. “It appears you have a $12.00 library fine.”
“Ok, I’ll pay the fine. Can I check out these books or not?” I was doubting my decision to check out any books and starting to feel like a criminal. “I’ll be right back.” And off she went again with my cards.I was getting more worried about this mysterious “Library Cop.” Maybe I should just drop everything and make a break for it. Screw my driver’s license and local library card. When you live on the lamb, you don’t need things like that from your old life. I could start over again, maybe somewhere warmer. I could also envision the film footage of me on the TV show “Cops”
The theme “Bad boys, bad boys, what ya gonna do.” Started running in my head. Just image me running and being tackled by an 85-pound blue haired old lady with her glasses on a chain.
After another five minutes, she came back and jarred me out of my daydream. She took my money, and gave me back my cards. “You are now in our system, here’s you book, it’s due back in three weeks. Have a nice night.”
“Uh, thank you.” I stammered and breathed a sigh of relief. I was free from the library cops. I looked back over my shoulder as I left in time to see her hassling the next guy in line. He was starting to sweat and squirm.

Spring Is Really Here!!

Spring is finally here. I can tell it's official because the soccer goals are up in the soccer fields. This is the one true and sure sign of spring. That and my kids want to wear shorts to school. Never mind that it's only 35 degrees in the morning when the bus comes. I got my garden started, lettuce, spinach and peas planted. The heavy winter clothes are put away, the summer shorts and tops are out. Look out world, I'm ready for the warmer weather. I'm sure I'm asking for a blizzard. So if it snows, you can and should blame me.

Getting Too Personal

When one of my boys was a toddler, we were out shopping at Target. I noticed him tugging at the front of his pants. "Do you have to go potty?" I quietly asked. "No." He said. We continued on shopping until he started tugged again and I asked, "Do you have to go potty?" "No!" Was his answer and he was starting to sound annoyed. When he did it again, I pulled him over to me and asked, "Are you sure you don't have to go potty?" He shouted, "No, I don't have to go potty! Geeze, can't a man have an itch?!"

Ready Set Go!

My potty training tricks are a bit unorthodox. I'll be the first one to admit it. When it came time to potty train my daughter, Tess I had to think outside the box. Tess always said she didn't have to go, and then had an accident. So I came up with "pee races" so she would at least try to go. This trick worked like magic. The only draw back is it's been two years and she still wants to have pee races with me once in awhile. She's only four so it's still cute, I can't help wondering if it's not going to be so cute at fourteen. The other day I made the mistake of winning the latest race. Tess cried for over ten minutes. Oscar had a friend over and he came up to me and asked, "Why is Tess crying? Is she saying you won the pee race?" I sheepishly answered, "Yeah, we have pee races. I used the race idea to potty train her and she still likes to race, kinda weird, huh?" And God bless this sweet ten year old, he said, "That's OK, I used to have pee races with my umm....(I could tell he was trying to think of a name) um, my dad." He was trying to make me feel better;which only made me feel more like a goober. I have more odd parenting tips, I'll share more of them someday...

A Guy's Gotta Keep Busy

On Friday my daughter Tess got to go and see her daddy at work. Max's a truck driver, and he drives semi's and straight trucks (a straight truck is smaller then a semi but way bigger then a pick up.) We met Max at a gas station and she got to ride back to the shop in his straight truck. I handed off a supply of "busy work" for Tess, crayons, coloring book and a Barbie doll and her car seat. Up she climbed into the cab of the huge truck and settled happily into her car seat. You couldn't see Tess over the hood of the truck--but you could see the crayons, coloring book and Barbie on the trucks huge dash. I told Max he looked very cute with the crayons and Barbie on the dash, he answered without skipping a beat, "A guys gotta keep busy."

Was That The Tire?

Years ago when Max & I were younger, we had a string of POS cars (piece of s**t) One in particular stands out. It was 1986, the car was a brown Satellite from the late 60'S. Max had just bought the muscle car and proudly brought it to work to show off. After our shift was over at the movie theatre, we took it out to run errands for our boss, Mr. Johnson. We had to go to a different movie theatre and pick up some more drink cups. We were circling the parking lot, Max driving, our good friend Dave rode shot-gun, and I was wedged in between them. The car made a funny noise and started lurching. We looked up in time to see the front left tire rolling across the parking lot away from us. And it kept on rolling. Max jumped out of the car, held his hands up to his head, covered his ears and started screaming, "shoot, shoot, shoot!!" Only it wasn't 'shoot' he was screaming. Dave and I just looked at each other, too speechless to say anything. Max was so mad; should we try to comfort him, or just stay out of his way? We climbed out of the car and stood around looking at each other. Max ran across the parking lot and retrieved the run-away tire. The lug nuts were all missing. It's a good thing we were driving slowly in a parking lot, and not on the freeway. Max was stomping around and swearing at the top of his lungs. We stood around and watched him have a hum-dinger of a teen tantrum. Dave leaned over and whispered to me, "I feel like such a girl, I can't help him." Sometimes it's better to stay out of the way. Not a bad motto to live by. That car caused Max many problems, or learning opportunities--depending on how you look at it ( I like to be a glass half full kinda girl.) We've learned a lot of lessons from all the crappy cars we've owned. My favorite is that a roach clip makes a fine wire clamp in a pinch.

Stuck In Karoke Hell

On Saturday I helped out at a school circus. There were many booths of activities, and I floated from booth to booth helping out. At one point I was at a booth with the Mayor, helping fill up and pass out helium balloons. At the booth next door was a karaoke machine. Thirty minutes of hearing kids sing off key at a deafen level was a slice of karaoke hell I hope never to have to endure again. The Mayor, God bless her, kept on smiling and shaking hands. Was it just me who had the nervous eye twitch going? It must have been, because now I kinda feel like a dink complaining about kids having fun. How dare they have noisy fun, can't they play quietly like civilized human beings? This behavior is out of character for me. I'm the one with kids yelling and screaming in the background when I'm on the phone. People always ask me, "Should I let you go? It sounds like I got you at a bad time." "Naw, they're just playing. Talk louder so I can hear you over the din." Is the answer I usually give. I can go to my "happy place" when the noise level gets too much. I call mine "The Edge" and I post notations from there (ta-da, that's where I get the title of my blog, clever huh?) I think everyone has a happy place to go when things get too crazy. Sometimes I just stop in for a visit, sometimes I'm there longer. If you're ever talking to me and I just zone out, don't take it personal, I'm just stopping by my happy place for a visit.

I Can Tell By Your Stare That You've Never Seen This Kind Of Beauty Before...

I can tell by your stare, that you've never seen this kind of beauty before. I get that look often when I'm out with my four year old daughter. It just might be the fact that I let her dress herself. We can be seen at Target , Tess in a leotard and tu-tu, fairy dress, or some other wild get-up. Yesterday it was pink striped tights and a purple striped shirt under a green flowered sundress. Topped off with a blue sun hat. There were snickers heard, and ignored. We also got polite smiles. I'll post the picture of the fairy dress and bike helmet, it's one of my favorites. When it comes to fashion, I can't talk. I've got pictures of me wearing a floor length multi colored striped dress when I was young. I guess fashion sense runs in the family too.

Just One Of The Guys

My four year old daughter Tess wants to be just like her older brothers. There are a few technical problems with that, the biggest one so far has been that they can easily pee outside. I think it's a guy thing; just off the school bus the boys will step behind a tree and pee. The first time Tess tried to copy them, she stood up to go--and peed into her boots. I have since showed her how girls go outside. Now she's proud to be able to step behind the trees and "pee just like the big boys." She even has been able to go (without getting her pants wet) when we were out on our last hike. I stopped when I noticed she wasn't next to me and turned and saw her squatting in the ditch. Now that is a true country girl. Next step, wanting to write her name in the snow...

Going For A Hike With The 3 Stooges

Now that spring is finally here, I've started taking the kids with me and the dog on some short hikes. Down a short way from my house is a minimum maintenance road that goes back into the woods and through a wetland--just perfect for a short nature hike. Everyone loved the hike. Our dog Bertha leap into the water and swam after a beaver (luckily it got away.) Tom and Tess shouted and ran looking at this and that. Oscar decided that maybe this was cool after all. Much fun was had by everyone. The kids were so noisy that they scared away any and all wildlife. Two deer leap behind Tom and Bertha, but they were so busy poking animal scat to notice (just what every boy and his dog love--poking animal poo.) Oscar found a beaver skull and proudly carried it home on his walking stick. Then came time to head home, and that's when the real fun began...Tess instantly became too tired to walk and whined to be carried. Tom and Oscar started fighting over who got to carry the stick with the beaver skull on it. And Bertha, God bless her, decided she wasn't ready to go. She loves to run, and run, and run...and so she did. I had to chase her off the path, into the woods, and down a trail all at top speed. Oh the fun she had with me in hot pursuit and the kids pulling up the rear. All of us yelling, "Bertha, come back!" I finally caught up with her in someones yard. I was not happy. Got the leash back on her, and carried Tess (who was forty pounds of tired crabby kid) and walked the rest of the way home. As soon as we got home, everyone perked up and asked when we could do it again. So I'll take the three Stooges with me again and this time my pocket will be stuffed with tasty dog treats.

Max-isms 1

My darling husband, Max is a hoot. His sense of humor is strange and twisted, just the way I like it. I started writing down some of his sayings. I'll post some every once in awhile. He really has said these:
"You don't get a round mouth from eating square sandwiches" I'm still not sure what this one means, but it's still funny.
I want a French Bulldog someday, and a small dog is just wrong in Max's view. When I showed him a picture of the small dog he said, "I can't walk a little dog, you might as well cut my balls off and walk them around too. It's social castration, plain and simple."
When we told my mom I was pregnant with Leif, she shot us a dirty look. Me getting pregnant right out of college wasn't part of the "plan." Max's answer was, "Sorry, I tripped." She was speechless. What can you say to that one?
When snacking on cheese puffed corn Max said, "I love these. They leave my fingers orange, my poop green and taste like nothing."
When someone does something stupid Max will say, "There's nothing wrong, but something isn't right."
And my favorite. When I complain I'm tired, or have a headache or backache, Max says, "I have a shot for that. You can take it one of 3 ways [wink, wink]" Hard not to laugh at a come on like that.

Lady Bug, Lady Bug Fly Away

The Ladybugs are back. My windows swarm with the small spotted red and black bugs. I used to think of them as good luck, until I moved up to the country. I used to blow them away and make a wish--now I vacuum them up, grumbling under my breath. They get everywhere and smell bad. My son, Tom used to eat them. No, I'm not joking. He's pluck them off the windows and hide them in his chubby toddler hands behind his back. "What are you hiding?" I'd ask trying to see what he was up to. He'd pop them into his mouth, show me his empty hands, swallow and show me an empty mouth that smelled like ladybugs. Luckily he has finally grown out of that strange quirk. When I see those pretty bugs, I smile and remember the smell of them on his breath and that guilty smirk.

Mini-Lion Tamer

I have a great dog story to share, well I actually have many. But I'll pick just one for today. We had a huge German Shepherd named Ceberus. He was really wild, but oh so smart. If he had thumbs we would have been in trouble--that's how smart he was. Ceberus used to sleep on the floor by the foot of my bed. Leif, who was 3 years old at the time, used to use the dog as a step stool to climb up into our bed. Early one morning Leif stepped on Ceberus as usual to climb up into our bed. I woke to a noise like I had never heard before, nor heard since. Leif was standing on the dogs testicles. The poor dog was yodeling and moaning. Before I could lean over and lift Leif up onto the bed and off the dog, Ceberus picked the toddler up, gently, by the head and set him back down. The image of my young sons head in the 130 lbs dogs mouth is something I still haven't forgotten. My toddler, the lion tamer. Both dog and boy were shaken up and sore, but OK. Leif still has the small scars on either side of his head from the dogs huge teeth.

A Strange Thing Happened On The Way To The Play

Last Saturday Max & I had a date night. We went to a local play, but started out the night at a local bistro that has gluten free food. The bistro was having a grand opening, complete with a free wine tasting and live music. At the bistro I saw a guy that kinda looked like my dad, only taller and with more hair. I casually pointed him out to Max, "Look at that guy over there, doesn't he look like my dad?" Max's answer gave me the giggles, "You mean the guy that looks like Stalin?" I did a double take, I guess he did look more like Stalin, actually more like Saddam Hussein then my dad. My dad looks nothing like Hussein, so how I could have thought he did was too wacky even for me. Enough wine for me, thanks. I'm seeing infamous dictators everywhere.

I Just Love Redheads

Oscar's friend Jacob has a younger sister, Eva. You might remember Eva from an older blog story (she kissed Oscar's younger brother, Tom.) Oscar (my 10 year old redheaded son) was over at Jacobs's last weekend. While they were sitting around the table eating dinner, Eva, who's 9 years old, says, "There's something about redheads that I can't resist, I just love them." She was looking right at Oscar when she said this, Oscar pretended that he wasn't listening and denys knowing anything about it. Jacob and Eva's dad told me this story and we had a good chuckle over it. This is the same girl who kissed Tom a couple of months ago at gymnastics. Is she trying to start a battle? No, I think maybe she's covering her bets, if Oscar isn't interested in her yet, what better way to get him to notice her then to kiss his brother. Maybe get him jealous, both boys don't seem bothered or even notice the attention. Besides Eva is too young for Tom, he likes the older ladies.

She Was A Strange Child

As a small child I liked to sleep on the sunny warm sidewalk in front of our house in St. Paul. I had a favorite square of concrete to nap on. It was perfect, just the right number of pebbles and air pocket holes and it sat at the perfect tipped angle. Why I chose to nap outside on the sidewalk is a mystery to me now, but at the time--it was pure heaven. Maybe it was the sleeping in the sunshine and the cool breeze across my face that I loved, I guess I still love that, only now it's a hammock and not the hard ground. I'm sure the neighbors thought my family was strange already and this just confirmed it. Those same perfectly tipped sidewalk squares later on were also great jumps for our big wheels and bikes. I still get a rush of sweet nostalgia when I walk over cracked and tipped old sidewalks.

The Maxi-pad Warriors

When I was seven years old and my little brother was three years old we got into a bag of my mom's pads and tampons. We suited up as warriors. We stuck the pads on to our arms and legs and used them as sturdy shields. We used sticks as swords, taking turns smacking the pad/arm shields. The un-used tampons applicators were great blow guns. Great fun was had--until a nosey neighbor spotted us playing and called our mom. I can only imagine that conversation, "Excuse me, but your children are running around the neighborhood wearing maxi pads on their arms and legs." We were called into the house, and my mom explained to me what those arm shields were really for. That was the end of the Maxi-pad Warriors. Neither my mom nor little brother remember this story, but I do, and maybe you'll think about me as the Maxi-pad Warrior the next time you pass that particular aisle of the store.

I Smell Worms

I smell worms and so does every bird in Northern Minnesota. Every bird in the tri-county area is in my yard. When I walked out my front door this morning the din of chirping birds was deafening. OK, I'm exaggerating a little, but it was noisy. I live in a very rural area, no car or air traffic, no barking dogs (only our dogs lovely bark, but we do hear wolves and coyotes sometimes) nothing but nature to hear. It was a perfect calm spring morning, complete with a yard and drive way full of hungry robins. I almost feel sorry for the worms, "let's go up to the surface to enjoy the warm spring rain." Suckers, the robins are just waiting for an easy meal. Like worms to the slaughter.

Rain, Rain Go Away

It's still raining, it's too windy and my driveway smells like worms. On the upside, the snow is almost gone, there still is a little snow under the boats in my backyard (yes, I have several boats in my yard--Noah didn't have much in the way of boats compared to me) The seed catalogues are still coming, and I still have spring fever. We did go to Como zoo and Conservatory last Sunday, that helped a little. I think I'll let the kids splash in the puddles in the drive way. Mud always makes everyone feel better.

Bye-Bye Bread & Beer

Gluetin free is the way to be! I'm trying to embrace this phrase. I found out that I have a gluetin intolerance. I can't have any wheat or barley, so it's good bye regular bread and beer. I hear that there is gluetin free beer. I've had the gluetin free bread, and if it's anything like the bread, no thank you. The bread is just wrong, too dense, wrong texture, wrong taste. Cooking has been easier then I thought it was going to be, I just have to read all the labels to make sure there isn't any hidden gluetin. I got a tasty cookie recipe from Sarah that just rocks. It's just the bread and beer that I'm going to miss. I have a stash of chocolate hidden in my kitchen, for those day when I just need some chocolate. So far my Hershey's bars are safe (gluetin free!) and now that I'm wheat free, I have an excuse to selfishly horde candy. "Sorry kids, that's my special chocolate. You wouldn't like it anyway, it's gluetin free." They've tasted enough of the special bread to know how it tastes, so they believe all gluetin free food is icky. This will work for now, until in a chocolate frenzy and in desperation they try some of the candy. Then I'll be busted, the jig will be up and I'll have to share. Until then, I'll enjoy the kids leaving my chocolate stash alone.

Peek-A-Boo

I went shopping at Cub this past weekend. Matt stayed home with the kids so I had time to browse and take my time. Sometime during the shopping trip I had to use the little girls room. I wasn't alone in the restroom, in the stall next to me was a mom and her young son. The toddler was a curious little fellow. He peeked under the stall at me, and said, "peek-a-boo I see you. Mommy, the lady is going potty too, now she's waving, now she's smiling, now she's laughing. Hi lady!" His mom tried to get him to stop, but she had no luck. I can see my kids doing the same thing, so I just smiled and waved at him. For some reason, the mom waited until I left before she came out of the stall, can't imagine why?

What's Broken?

Our kitten, Bigfoot has an appointment today to get fixed. We really don't need a mature tomcat in the house. When discussing the impending surgery, I told the kids that Bigfoot was "getting fixed." Oscar's question was "What's he getting fixed?" Max with a straight face replayed, "any urges, and all hope." Well, I guess someone has issues.
This morning I couldn't find the cat carrier, so I had to get the kitten into a pillow case. Getting a wiggling reluctant kitten, with claws, into a pillow case was difficult, tying the pillow case closed was even more difficult. Sometime during the car ride to the vet, Bigfoot clawed a hole in the pillow case and climbed out. He crept around the inside of the van, howling the whole ride into town. In the parking lot of the vet's office, I had to shove him back into the torn pillow case and carry him inside. He's probably still howling. Will Bigfoot will ever come to me again? I know I wouldn't go to someone who shoved me into a pillow case, took me for a ride and then left me at the doctor. Do you think there's a Hallmark card for that? "Sorry you had to get fixed, just be glad you didn't get nixed."

I'm Not Bossy, I Just Know What You Should Be Doing!

My two youngest kids were playing in the front room today. Jack ran to get a toy from his bedroom, and I guess Ella thought he was taking too long. She impatiently shouted to him, "I'm waiting old man!" He's six, not what I'd consider an old man. Where does my four year old daughter get that bossy attitude, I wonder? I think I might have a clue. She comes from a long line of ball breakers. I mean this in the nicest way possible. The females in our families (the women in Matt's family are bold too) are a far cry from timid. We often can't not say what's on our minds, or tell you what you should do. Some are just more blunt then others. The joke in my family is, "I'm not bossy, I just know what you should be doing!" I think I get that from being the oldest kid in the family. They say oldest children never lose the urge to boss people around. I think I'm still kinda bossy, and I do know what you should be doing...

The Piggy That Got None

Last night my four year old daughter, Tess had a nightmare. Her big brother, Tom, was a toe trapped in her dad's boot. Were you able to follow that? I needed some clarification. Tom was one of Max's toes. She was upset, Tom couldn't breath. I asked her some silly questions, "which toe was Tom, the piggy that went to market or the piggy that got none?" "Could he see and talk too?" "What would he have said,'get me outta here!'" "Was it stinky?" I got her to laugh and forget the scary dream. But I can't seem to shake the thought of one of my kids as a toe with eyes, kinda creepy.

Q-Tips Everwhere

I can tell that spring is just around the corner. How can I tell? Our kitten, Bigfoot, is an even bigger spaz. He started stealing Q-tips, fresh from the box and not so fresh from the garbage. Ick. He walks around, proud as can be, carrying them in his mouth like the winning trophy. His hijinx's are amusing, and more than a little messy. I now have Q-tips, minus the ends, everywhere. I don't know what he's doing with the fluffy white ends...I'm sure I'll find them when I clean out the litter box. Silly kitten.

Plastic Had To Come Off The Windows...

It's official, our kitten is a boger. We have (had) plastic on our windows (they're drafty) and our kitten, when chasing a ladybug, somehow managed to get stuck between the plastic and the window. I did what any normal pet owner would do, I ran for my camera. By the time I turned on the camera, he had found the tear, freed himself and climbed back out. Too bad, it would have been a funny picture. Maybe next year...

What The Heck??!!

I visited a funny blog, "Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder"and subscribed to it. When I last checked the life weirder blog, my picture was included as a follower. The picture was of my butt in a wet suit. What the heck? Why is my butt the focus of the picture and not my face? I admit it is a nice shot of my rump, but...I'm not sure everyone else wants to see that as my blog picture. I think I need to have a new picture as my blog picture. So say goodbye to the shot of me in a wet suit before a polar bear plunge. As soon as I have a great hair day...

Spring Fever

I feel all out of sorts, grumpy and sluggish. The official diagnoses:spring fever. The cause:those damn seed catalogues. I must get at least 2 seed catalogues every day. Looking at all those colorful flowers and yummy veggies makes me long for warm and sunny summer days. This time of year sucks. It's too cold for spring, the holidays are over, the snow is almost gone, and the ground still frozen and brown. I love winter, but...I want spring, and I want it now!

When I Was A Cobbler..

My little boy Tom still has a cute slight lisp. He's been known to say, "When I was a cobbler we went to the zoo." I just smile, and think to myself, "sweety, you've never been a dessert, or a shoe maker." It'll be a sad day when he loses that little boy lisp completely. He's just growing up too quickly.

Give Up Bread?

I might just have to (gulp) give up bread. I'm doing a two week gluten free diet to check if I have a wheat intolerance. It's only been three days, I miss regular bread already-real bad. I have to admit that I do feel better. I made a couple of batches of gluten free blueberry muffins and corn muffins this weekend, they're not too bad. What really sucks is that I have six boxes of Girl Scout cookies, that I can't eat. I can go off the diet in two weeks, to check if gluten will make me sick again, and oh boy, those cookies better still be there. I'm dreaming of them, oh they'll taste so good...

My Head Hurts...

It's been a rough week. I have a killer cold. I'm not sure which is worse. Feeling like my head is going to pop from the pressure, or feeling spacey and stupid from the cold medicine (yes, I know, how can I tell it's the cold medicine, and not just feeling normal.) My ears crackle when I eat or yawn. And the stuff that I'm coughing up...ick. Whine, whine, whine. I'm sure my lovely children passed this wonder on to me, little darlings. It seems like by the time the colds make it to me, they have mutated into evil super virus' that leave me way sicker then the kids. It's just not fair. Whine, whine, whine.

The Thing You Need To Know About Me...

I did a writing prompt for a class, I like the way it turned out...
The thing you need to know about me is that I come from crazy and creative people. I mean odd and loony, but in a good way. Like the time my dad asked my mom for ½ a glass of water, and my mom cut a plastic glass in half. Or the story about the time my mom and grandma both stopped in the street giggling and looked up at nothing– they got six strangers that day to look up at nothing too. My family has always been a little off, and we’re proud of our oddness.
My kids have continued on being funny in their own creative ways. My son, Tom is funny when he’s angry. It is hard not to laugh when you hear a 5-year-old calling his 13-year-old brother a "butt sneeze!" I have to hand it to him; it is a great creative description of a fart. When Oscar was 4 years old, he decided he wanted to be called Godzilla. He would only answer to that, and nothing else. Just imagine the looks I got at Wal-Mart yelling, “Godzilla, don’t touch that!”
To say that my 4-year-old daughter Tess is a zany is an understatement. With three older brothers her sense of humor is already twisted. Last week she was dressed in her usual attire, a pink leotard and sparkling red tap shoes. She stood with her feet apart and held a toy block behind her back. After much grunting, she dropped the block. It looked like she pooped a green toy block. Her older brothers clapped and laughed. Her dad, Max, smiled and turned to me and said, "That's your daughter alright. She must get that from your side, my family doesn't think poop is funny." He’s right, it is from my side and I’ll take all the credit.

Tag's New Vocabulary

The kids were playing tag in the house( it was too cold and windy outside) and I noticed an interesting thing. The rules have stayed the same, but the jargon has changed. Time out isn't called time out anymore. A time out is now called a "pause." The kids were running around yelling, "pause" and then "unpause." I guess the video game age has gotten into every crack of modern life. Gone are the days of playing outside from dawn to dusk, covered head to toe in mosquito bites and itchy from the layers of dirt and sweat. My kids do play outside, but not with the same gusto that I did. We don't have a kid made fort or a secret hide out. They do still chase frogs and lightening bugs and climb trees. They don't seem to get as dirty as I did as a kid (maybe my hygiene was just poorer) I remember leaving dirt rings in the tub. I still had dirt in my neck creases until 6th grade. Here is a picture of Tom, the monkey boy. He loves to climb trees, it's the climbing down that is tricky. Yes, he did get kinda stuck. This is the same tree Oscar climbed, and Leif. I guess Tess is next...

What Really Happened to the Big Bad Wolf...

My brother sent me this, I'm still giggling...
Little Red Riding Hood is skipping thru the forest road when she sees the big bad wolf crouched down behind a log. 'My, what big eyes you have, Mr. Wolf.' The wolf jumps up and runs away.Further down the road Little Red Riding Hood sees the wolf again and this time he is crouched behind a bush. 'My what big ears you have, Mr. Wolf.' Again the wolf jumps up and runs away. About 1/4 mile down the road Little Red Riding Hood sees the wolf again and this time he is crouched down behind a rock. 'My what big teeth you have Mr. Wolf.' With that the wolf jumps up and screams, 'Will you knock it off, I'm trying to poop!'

2 Foot Blue Flame

Let me just start this one with the rule that you should never, I mean never, syphon gas with your mouth. Yes, Max was reminded about that rule this week. He needed to drain the gas from a vehicle, but the hose he was using just wasn't working...I knew there was a problem when he came running (Matt never runs) into the house and went straight to the kitchen sink. The last time he ran straight to the sink, he had almost lost the tip to his finger to the tractor, so I knew something was up. He had his mouth and beard under the running water, and I was relieved that I didn't see any blood, but boy, could I smell gas. I knew exactly what had happened. "You tried to syphon gas with your mouth, didn't you?" "Yep, this is going to show up in your Blog, isn't it?" After we both stopped laughing, he said it was OK to tell the world about his tasty error. The smell of gas followed him, even after a shower, and brushing his teeth. I think he ingested some gas, and the next day, he was worried if he farted he'd shoot a 2 foot flame, and ruin a good pair of jeans. I'm happy to announce, his jeans are intact, no flames, but I did go out and buy a gas syphon hose-with a bulb that works.

Those Chickens Are Spying On Me...

We moved up to the country and I felt compelled to get some “farm animals.” Chickens seemed the easiest, so I ordered 25 chicks from a catalogue and they arrived in the mail 2 weeks later. They were an assortment of layers, and guaranteed to be 90% hens. We already had three roosters from a farmer that Max worked with. The fact that someone would give us roosters should have been my first clue. However, I was so gung ho, and totally clueless.
As soon as the chicks were old enough, we planned to let the chickens be free-range birds. They would help eat the wood ticks that were plaguing us. It was great fun owning chickens; I loved watching them strut across the yard. We had some fancy fluffy brown hens that had huge puffy pantaloons of feather and scrawny legs. Watching them truck across the yard always made me laugh, and those fresh eggs…Nothing is a good as fresh eggs. We were getting two dozen eggs a week, the perfect number for our family. Some of the eggs were so large, you’d have thought we had Condors laying for us. How this little hen could lay an egg almost as big as herself, was, and still is, a mystery to me. You’d think that laying something as big as that would hurt. Maybe they weren’t clucking, but repeating the mantra of: “breath, just relax…” Poor little hens.
The chickens were funny too. We have a front and back deck that run along the length of the house. The roosters loved to crow right into the open windows. They would jump up onto the deck railing and walk until they were by the window then turn and crow right into the house. It’s a myth that roosters only crow at sunrise, they really crow all day. I didn’t mind, I still love the sound of a rooster crowing. The hens developed the creepy habit of looking into the windows and spying on us. It was un-nerving to open the curtain in the morning and be face to face with a chicken. What they were looking at became a running joke. They watched me cook chicken for dinner, and scramble eggs for breakfast. They loved to watch us, watch TV.
As the chickens grew, it became obvious that we had a problem– too many roosters. They fought over the hens, tried to mount each other and never left the poor hens alone. They were really pests. As much as we liked the fresh eggs and hearing the roosters crow, we noticed a couple of other problem too…we had chicken poop everywhere. On the deck railings, on the deck chairs, everywhere in the yard, and even on the kids slide. Those stinky birds went poo everywhere. We also no longer had peepers. Peepers are small fogs that sing at night. I loved to fall asleep to the sounds of the frogs; I guess the chickens found them tasty.
Another problem was the dumb birds didn’t all return to the hen house at night. After losing three hens, we started to round them up nightly. Each and every night we would round up the stragglers that didn’t make it back to the hen house. You would be surprised to know that chickens can run very fast when chased. And boy did we ever have to chase them. We must have looked like fools, I’m just glad we don’t have any close neighbors. We had a big old black Great Dane dog at the time, and even he would get up and come to watch the show.

Got A Tiger By The Tail...

Several years ago, Leif “found” two small, starved kittens in the ditch on his way home from a friend’s house. The two were dumped, a common but unfortunate occurrence in the country. Some idiot’s cat or dog has too many babies, so they decide to “free them in the beautiful countryside.” These poor animals usually starve, or become food for bigger animals (coyotes, wolves, owls, eagles, etc) Well, with my son’s big brown eyes looking at me, and him sweetly asking, “Can I feed them?“ How could I say no. Once you feed a cat, well, you own that cat. We agreed he could feed them, but they had to stay outdoor cats, and at six weeks, we would get them fixed. Leif would help pay for the vet bills. He named them Mama Bear, and Grey Ghost. And those two kittens quickly became six cats. Who knew that a kitten could get “knocked up” so young? Mama Bear had four kittens at six weeks old. I think that Mama Bear might have already “been in trouble” when Leif found her. It was huge surprise to see a kitten with kittens. We handled the kittens when they were young, hoping that they would be social, like the mother cat. Then Mama Bear then moved the kittens to a safer location, and they grew. At five weeks, the plan was to catch the young, and get the whole lot fixed at once. The two older cats were social so they came when food was poured, the kittens (there were now only two still living) were not as easy. Those tiny balls of fur were wild and mean. I sat outside by the food dish, planning on how I would catch them and set them into the cat carrier, and then off to the vet we would all go. I must have sat by the food for over 30 minutes before one of them finally crept up to the dish. I swooped in and caught the small fluff ball by the tail. The feral kitten started getting all Tanzamian devil on me. Snarling, spitting and trying to get at me, not get away. I had not scared it, but made it angry. Revenge, not escape was what it wanted. Here I was standing, holding on to it by the tail…now what? I had a moment of doubt. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If I set it back down, I was sure it would really get ugly. It had already scratched and bitten me ( I had visions of some nasty but exotic disease that these bites would lead to, maybe I’d have to get my arm amputated, and all because I was trying to be a responsible pet owner.) I could not possibly get it into the cat carrier without being mauled even more and no vet deserved to get a vicious kitten launching out and into his face in the examining room. I had the tiger by the tail. I just stood there, holding this tiny kitten by the tail, as it swung around and tried it’s best to kill me. I thought about flinging it, but that just seemed too mean (funny image, but mean) If I set it down, would it run to safety or come after me? I was thinking it would come after me (yes, I was kind of scared of an 8oz ball of terror) Maybe I could set it down on the other side of the deck railing and run like hell for the back door. That was what I decided to do. Can you just picture that, an adult running from a small fluffy kitten? Sounds funny now, but man, was that thing mean.
What ever became of Killer you ask? I dropped him and ran yelling for the back door. I did re-catch him one day (yes, I know that I didn’t learn my lesson) and when he was safely in the cat carrier and howling, and my mauled hands and arms were bandaged up, I called the vet to let them know I was on my way. The vets office informed me that no, surgery day was next Wed, I was too late, and could I try again next week?

Dancing Queen

My little dancing queen, Tess loves to play dress up. Last night she was wearing a green and pink fairy dress, toy high heels, a tiara, and was holding a magic wand-quiet the image. I was luckily enough to see her checking herself out in a mirror. She twirled, danced, and even kissed herself in the mirror. She sings vibrato when she plays so she was singing to herself, "so beautiful, so beautiful." I just sat there and watched her twirl. It was a magic moment, that I didn't want to disturb.

Snuggle up and...

This morning my daughter Tess (who's 4 years old) climbed into bed and snuggled up. I got to sleep in, so it was around 8am. Her ice cold feet and giggles woke me up. What was so funny? Not me, or my morning breath. She was giggling because she came into my room, climbed under the sheets and snuggled up-all to fart on me-then she got up and left. What a way to wake up your mother.

The Body In The Field

Here's a short youth fiction story that I've been thinking about lately. It happens in a small town in MN. I'm already thinking (kinda obsessing) about the characters, and what they are like and what happens to them because of this murder.
“The Body in the Field” Chapter 1

“Well, what do you think?” Kaitlyn asked as she admired her long tan legs and wiggled her pink toes in the hot sand.
“I like the peach polish you wore last week; it showed off your tan better. Can we get going now? I‘m hot and I want to be home before my Soap starts.” Sophie answered.
“Yeah, we’ll go soon. Are you coming to look at…?” Kaitlyn looked around to be sure none of the other people at the beach could hear them, “the body with Jake and me tonight?”
Sophie was instantly sick to her stomach at the mention of the dead body everyone was talking about, and sick at the idea of being in a car with Jake. He made her nervous and she couldn't put her finger on why. She tried to think of a quick lie to get out of going.
“I can’t. I have to babysit for my neighbor tonight.”
Kaitlyn was upset and it showed. “I think you’re just scared, big baby. Jake said I shouldn't tell you about it, that you’re not cool enough. Maybe he was right. Don’t you want to see a real dead body? I bet it’s really gross.”
“How did Jake find out about it anyway? You don’t think he had something to do with how it got there, do you?” Sophie couldn't shake the feeling that Kaitlyn’s boyfriend was dangerous. He was a senior, two years older then them and already had a wild reputation.
“Get real! Jake’s the hottest guy in school. He’s not a killer or anything. You’re just jealous that I’m dating him and you don‘t have a boyfriend at all.”
That wasn’t it, Sophie wasn’t sure about Jake. She didn’t trust him. She definitely didn’t want to see him or the dead body he wanted to show her friend Kaitlyn. Maybe she should she just go and see it, it probably wasn’t even real. Kaitlyn was always playing tricks on her. What if it was real, should she tell her mom? Her mom already didn’t like Kaitlyn, and this would be the last straw. It had been a wild summer hanging around her new friend. They’d gotten in some trouble and her mom had to pick her up at the sheriff department once already. Sophie didn’t want to be grounded away from Kaitlyn or Kaitlyn’s car. She’d have to ride the bus to school her senior year, what a loser that would make her. If it was real, maybe she would call the cops and tell them about the body in the field behind Jake’s house. But they might think she had something to do with it, besides she didn’t want to spend the last day of summer in the Sheriffs office, her mom would killer her. Maybe she should just go and see the body before she freaked out, it probably was a trick.
“Hello, Earth to Sophie. Daydream much? Well, do you think you can get out of babysitting? Or maybe we could go before? Should I pick you up at five? I promise to have you home by seven.”
Sophie relented, “Well, OK. I guess I could go before if it won‘t take too long.” Kaitlyn was so excited that she knocked over her pop; it spilled it all over Sophie’s new MP3 player. The spilled pop was an omen, a sign of things to come.

Don't Ask Chuck Norris For A Three-Hole-Punch

With the title of this entry, you might be asking, what on Earth am I talking about? Funny you should ask...I heard a really funny line this weekend. A group of adult Cub & Boy Scout leaders were sitting around talking about Chuck Norris (yes, that's what we do) at a convention. My friend Mark threw out this line: "If you work in an office with Chuck Norris, don't ask for a three-hole-punch." I was thinking three-hole-punch, as in three ring binder, yeah, that's not that funny. I looked over at Max, and he was snickering, and laughing so hard he wasn't breathing. Well, Max's humor is wonderfully dark, and if he thought it was very funny, there was something I just wasn't getting. About ten minutes later, I finally got it. Punch you in three holes...Ah, well, that is a very different joke then. Much funnier. I had to look up more Chuck Norris jokes, there are web sites full of them, I might add. In honor of my quick wit, here are some more: "Chuck Norris doesn't get laid, laid gets Chuck." "Chuck Norris ordered steak in a restaurant, the steak did what it was told." "Aliens do exist, they just know better than to visit a planet that Chuck is on." "July 4th is Independence day, and the day Chuck Norris was born. Coincidence, I think not." I could go on, but I won't..look them up yourself. Happy un- official Chuck Norris day.