Deep doo doo

So, I have this horrible confession to make... I have anger issues. I am trying so hard to work on my anger issues, but the harder I try the angrier I seem to get. Or at least, the more my anger suddenly errupts without any warning on others around me - usually my children.

I'm not really sure what to do next. Books - yes. Therapy - possibly. Friends - certainly. Apologize - most definitely.

Love in the mail

Being a homeschool family, we tend to take things as they come and roll with the punches with our schedule. The problem is, our schedule was so incredibly busy during the fall that it took me two months to catch up with my calendar. Baseball 3 nights a week, 2 games each Saturday, Cub Scouts at least one night a week, church Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights, field trips, and classes out of the home to boot. Whew!! Christmas finally came and I finally had a chance to breathe!

Christmas here was really nice. I put aside many things and spent time with the kids. I baked, and I love to bake. I made a gingerbread house all by myself! My own little thing one evening. Mom's craft time. Jim sort of made fun of me for it, but I really didn't care. Honestly, I love having my husband home. He took the Fridays after each holiday off and we had some great family time.

In order to make Christmas do-able for us, I decided not to push out Christmas cards unless the time just fell into my lap; of course, it didn't. I love receiving cards every year and catching up on everyone's news. I also really enjoy reciprocating, but I just couldn't make it happen this year. And I realized over a conversation with my father-in-law that it's not even the Christmas card part that I enjoy as much as the annual connection with people I love who are miles away.

So, I decided that I am changing my tradition!! I am going to send out Valentine's Day cards to everyone we love this year. And I refuse to allow myself to feel the least little bit like an underachiever for doing so!

This Word

I'm sick of this word: Maverick
-Especially when said with a nasally drawn out 'a' sound and seemingly prompted by the pull of a string in the doll's back. It was all I could do not to groan after a while. I don't want to be mean, but c'mon. It is a bit staged.

mav·er·ick /ˈmævərɪk, ˈmævrɪk/ [mav-er-ik, mav-rik] –noun
1. Southwestern U.S. an unbranded calf, cow, or steer, esp. an unbranded calf that is separated from its mother.
2. a lone dissenter, as an intellectual, an artist, or a politician, who takes an independent stand apart from his or her associates.
3. (initial capital letter) an electro-optically guided U.S. air-to-ground tactical missile for destroying tanks and other hardened targets at ranges up to 15 mi. (24 km).

Based on the definition, isn't it an oxymoron to propose that "we 2 mavericks" are going to help bring both parties together?

This is what I want:
dip·lo·mat /ˈdɪpləˌmæt/ [dip-luh-mat] –noun
1. a person appointed by a national government to conduct official negotiations and maintain political, economic, and social relations with another country or countries.
2. a person who is tactful and skillful in managing delicate situations, handling people, etc.

Angel Kisses

When Jay was very young, he started to get freckles. I love his freckles. They run across the bridge of his nose and looking at them fills me with summer nostalgia. Sea & Ski being applied to shoulders, salt water taffy, and rented rafts. I told him they came from angel kisses. I would tell him this after his baths or before bed and try to count them. The number of freckles always changed.

When Collin came along and started to sprout up, I said this to Jay one night and realized Collin didn't really get freckles. I hoped he didn't feel unloved by the angels. But Collin had curls! So, I told Collin he must get his curls from the angels when Jay gets his freckles - and everyone was (and still is) happy. This is a subject that came up regularly before bed and nap time. I was mainly hoping my kids would sleep soundly after being reminded that God loves them enough to send them angels to look after them: Matthew 18:10 - "See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven."

Tonight, from another room, I overheard Collin talking to a friend of the family. She had just met him and told him how she loved his curls. Collin piped up and said, "I know. The angels gave them to me," rather matter of factly, not vain in any way. When she commented something to the effect of how she wished she had curls like that and wondered why the angels hadn't given her any, his response was, "Well, you have to take a nap." Good point.

Thanks for the Memories - Family Vacations

Jim and I are negociating a family trip this fall through the deep south with the boys and baby. It will be our first "BIG family vacation". You know the kind we all did as kids. The Brady Bunch kind. The get in the car and drive for hours, eat PB&J and Pop Tarts in the backseat, stop in cheap motels, and drag the kids through cemeteries & the 22nd president's birth place kind of vacation. Woo hoo!

My BFF was saying she never did this as a kid and didn't see why I was so adamant about doing this with our kids. How can I expain this? I started to tell her about all the great memories Jim and I each have of our family vacations with our parents. As I am telling her, I realize that the funniest and best memories are actually connected to huge mishaps - some of which probably brought our parents to the brink of disaster.

There was the time we got stuck in the middle of a field on the way to view Custer's Last Stand. Leaving us surrounded by bison and prairie grass, my dad headed off on foot to find a ranger's station. It had to have been miles and miles away. He was gone for what seemed like forever. In the days of no cell phone, my mother collapsed in tears during the wait, wondering what was to become of us if the plan failed.

There was the time I got bucked off a pony - way off - while riding in the Colorado mountains after days and days of rain - at the age of 5. Can you envision the law suit that would have followed by today's standards?

There was the burping contest my brother and I held as we lay on our sleeping bags in the very back of the station wagon with no seat belts on and playing cards while Dad drove West. "I can burp to the mountains! - UURRRPP!" "Oh yeah?! Well, I can burp to the mountains and BACK!! GRRRAAAAAAWWWWP!!"

There was the time my mother got hopelessly lost here in Florida trying to find Lion Country Safari. Tired and cranky, we returned to the Vero Beach hotel having still failed to find it. I can't even begin to imagine the chaos this would cause if I had to do this with my kids!

There was the time we watched as a man had to get taken off a mountain by paramedics due to the high altitude. I don't remember which mountain, but I remember the man droping like a stone near or in the cable car.

This is such a great lesson for me now to take with me on our future "BIG family vacations". These are the same things my kids are going to remember: the unexpected break down that cost a gazillion dollars to fix, the strange hotel that smelled like wet dog fur, Mom crying because... well that's what Mom does, and burping to the mountains and back.

And Then She Cried...

I think I should have named my blog that. It seems I am making a great impact on my children with all the times I cry. Yesterday, Jay reminded me that when he finally triumphantly managed to pull his first tooth, which he had been working at for weeks and I was beginning to be afraid Jim or I would have to pull it for him, I cried.

That's sort of my signature in life. If I speak before a group about something that is important to me, I cry. If I watch a moment happen with my kids that I know will disapppear forever after that, I cry. If I see a friend in great personal pain, I cry for them. If I hear a great song, choir or high school band, I cry. I cry, I cry, I cry!

After I had Collin I developed postpartum depression. It was a difficult time for the whole family but eventually I asked to be placed on antidepressants, which really helped for about a year. As time went on I could sense that my body alone was regaining its normal balance. Still being on meds, I was beginning to feel almost no fluctuation in a mood at all. It became impossible to cry. That was the last straw. There is no real sense of "me" without a good cry now and again. So, I weaned myself of the meds and I was so much happier - and sadder sometimes, but in a good way.

It was just interesting hearing Jay retell the story of his tooth that way and then tell me, "Yeah, you cry a lot." As parents, I think we wonder what they are going to remember. I can tell now, this is probably going to become a running joke about mom; but I don't mind at all. At least they know how much I care, and I know they love me for that.

When It Rains, It Pours...

We did the Florida homeschool conference this weekend. It was a BIG adventure! The boys were with Grandma and Grandpa and we took Miss Priss with us - camping. We found this great little city park in Orlando and got a RV camp site for $15. Sure beats Mickey Mouse prices! The park seemed absolutely beautiful: on a lake, well-shaded, pool, fishing, children's farm. It was really incredible. It seemed like our weekend was going to be a breeze - that is, until we read the weather report the day we headed up: storms - lots of them, all the time. Our best bet 80% chance of rain - and as we were on the highway heading up the iPhone was saying 100%! Yikes.

Our friends who were camping with us abandoned us. They called us on our cell. Wimps! We weren't backing down. We told them this even after passing through a really horrible patch of the storm that wanted to pick the truck up and toss it. The noise of the rain on the windows was deafening. "No thanks. We'll be fine. No, don't try to find us a room, too."

We set up camp Thursday night and actually did not have to deal with rain at all that night. The park was everything we had been hoping it would be and the staff was friendly - bonus! The facilities were OK (Our state parks sort of spoil us: they are very clean and most of them have relatively new facilities. These had been well-used, but they were clean.) Katey acted as the friendly neighborhood alarm clock at about 6:30 - chatting away with the dawn.

We made it through our sessions Friday, went to dinner and got back to camp minutes before the light shower started. I had to use the bathroom, but I just said I'd wait for it to blow over. It didn't. It POURED!! It poured and poured and poured. Jim was so great. He carefully watched the tent and monitored any possible leaks. We had one, but we couldn't quite figure out if it was coming up from below or if it was being blown in sideways under the rain fly. After about 15 minutes of rain, I was fast asleep. I just love the sound of a good rain and it put me right out. Katey, too. Jim didn't sleep so well, but I woke up well-rested. I think that's the first time in our history that I was able to sleep better than him!! It had stopped raining by morning and I bumped into a few other homeschoolers in the bathroom. Some of them had already packed up to head out and home that night. We had paid for that night just so we could take our time breaking camp. We would come back that evening and pack up to go home.

It poured while we were at the conference - just thundered away! By the time we were done, it had once again stopped. We went back to camp, threw our soaking wet tent in a big, black bag and took off toward home. We'd have to put it up to dry out at home.

All in all, we had the best possible scenario. We didn't have to set up or break down in the rain. WOO HOO!! We didn't have any leaks that soaked our stuff or caused damage. WOO HOO!! I got a great night's sleep. WOO HOO!! We saved at least $100. WOO HOO!! We found a great park that is a must-do-over for our whole family someday. WOO HOO!! Jim feels tough and I feel outdoor mom-ish. WOO HOO!!

Here's a link to information on the park:
http://www.theotherorlando.com/contents/chapters/16/turkey.html

The boys on the air from the local radio station today, April 30th.

The Lion's Roar

We went camping this past weekend with the Cub Scouts, again. It was to be our last campout of the year. It was just our pack and we stayed at the KOA near Lion Country Safari. I have read about this campground as being one of the very best in Florida - because you can hear the lions roar. I thought it would be like seeing a falling star - how you have to have your eyes in just the right place at just the right time to see them. It's not like that at all. The lions started to roar between 4 and 5am on Saturday morning and they continued to roar periodically until about 8am. It was really something to listen to! I was quite taken with it. It was so odd sitting with the scouts, drinking my hot camp stove coffee and listening to lions roar nearby.

We visited the park and did the safari that day and ran our pinewood derby races that afternoon. That night, shortly before 10pm, the chimps went off on each other for a while. And Sunday morning, there were the lions again, heralding the new day.

This is definitely a must-do-over camping trip for me. Where else could one hear that kind of noise safely? I've heard the National Zoo can be noisy for its neighbors, but there's no campground.

Roger Dean Stadium

We went to a minor league game tonight with a group from the cub scouts. We watched the Jupiter Hammerheads (feed into the Marlins) vs. the Vero Beach Devil Rays (feed into Tampa). I have never really loved baseball. As a matter of fact, I despised the sound of it on TV as a child and even the games I attended in person couldn't hold my attention - but I only recall seeing games in Dolphin Stadium, which is definitely not built for baseball.

I've started to soften a bit toward the game, though, now that the kids are old enough to play; and tonight was a perfect night. The weather was incredible - overcast, dark gray, and possibly rainy to the south - which gave the grass that really intense, green look. The stadium is modern and yet intimate, and the boys, wearing their class A uniforms, scurried quickly into seats behind the dugout along the third baseline. We sat and ate Cracker Jacks and rooted for the home team and the kids that PR pulled from the stands to play the goofy games between innings.

The crack of the bat on the ball sounded so close it made the game exciting. And when a bat broke (and at least 3 bats did), the air just sizzled with the noise - the way lightning does. The boys looked cute sitting with their gloves on in anticipation of foul balls heading their way. Several balls popped up into the stands, pinging around on the aluminum bleachers before being snagged by a child racing to beat out the others nearby. Some flew right over us, past the structure and out onto the street in front of the stadium. (I was really glad we hadn't parked there!) The players could hear us cheer, and we knew that because we could hear what people had to say all the way over by the first baseline. It made me conscious of my words.

After the game, the boys boogied over to the side of the field by the dugout and waited patiently for the players to notice them, and I tagged along to keep a watchful eye. There were some other young moms with their small children with us, who turned out to be the players' wives and families coming down to greet them and kiss them. One of them had a baby only 23 days old. Soooooo cute! Can you imagine the adventure they're living? Waiting to get called up to the majors? Anyway, the boys were really pleased, the players were great and gave them several signatures.

It was all remarkably Norman Rockwell. The smaller venue makes all the difference in the world to me. No wonder this country loved baseball the way it did when my dad was growing up. He still loves baseball. And if all games were like this one, I would be completely hooked as well.

We Learned to Wave!

Katey learned to wave today. Ok, it's one of those mom and dad things in which it's really not all that perfect, but we're pretty sure she means it. She thrashes her whole arm up and down and smacks her legs with a vengeance. To my chagrin, it's usually at Dad - her superhero! It's awfully cute, though.

Missing a Concept Here

So, the 4-old goes into the men's room with his dad and stands before a urinal. He then proceeds to yell, "I need some privacy!!!"

Why Is It So Quiet?

So to continue on about the birthday thing... Jay wanted to have a few boys over for a Mars Mission get together. It's a Lego thing and I'm not exactly sure what he thought we'd do, but I made him a Lego brick cake and put one of his little green men on top. I tried to make it bright orange like the theme's colors, but it sadly came out sort of tropical coral looking. Oh well, Jay has a forgiving nature. He moved on without a thought after pointing out the cake looked "pink".

I bought the boys the little $4.99 Lego Minis for a party favor. We had a variety of Creator, Racer and City Minis to choose from. I love watching them decide which vehicle is "the one" for them. As if touching the box will deliver some kind of whispered paranormal message - "Pick Me!"

After everyone had left, I began to focus on getting my two boys and their friend washed and ready for bed. The three boys opened their Lego Minis and began to work as each one was banished one at a time into the bathroom for the inevitable (and sometimes questionable) bath.

It went perfectly! They were quiet, there was no complaining, and they washed quickly so that they could get back to finishing their vehicle. (Maybe most moms wouldn't appreciate "quickly" like I do - but my oldest is king of the 50 minute bath.)

I talked to one of the moms this morning about how her two boys enjoyed themselves. She began to relate to me that she had arisen that morning and assumed the boys were still sleeping - only to discover they were quietly working on their Lego vehicles. Where did I find these magical toys?

Legos. It's a special kind of boy magic.

The Well-Trained Hair

My oldest turns 7 on St. Paddy's Day. We had a group of his buddies over this weekend to hang out - and one of them was able to spend the night afterwards. They had a great time together playing with water in the backyard and throwing water balloons. I finally got smart this year and had the boys do most of the work by filling their own balloons. At least they can learn to appreciate the amount of time it takes to get that done before they go and smash them to smithereens on each other in about 30 seconds flat.
In saying that they did it themselves, I have to clarify. I had Miss Priss to feed and sent Jim out to help tie them and Debbie to help monitor. Jim had to leave and pick up the pizza so Debbie ended up out there alone for a while. Poor Debbie! What a trooper. She had come in to the party all slick-looking with her hair done perfectly and shining in the way that (annoyingly, for this gringa) only a Latina's hair can do. Ummm... I think being my friend was her hair's downfall yesterday. The spraying water, the breeze and 9 giddy boys unloosed the natural curls that had been chastised so carefully into place. By the time I was able to relieve her of balloon duty, it was history. Of course, she still looked beautiful, but that hair looked at us both mockingly - so thrilled to have been released from it's well-coiffed bondage. Sorry, Deb.

What to Wear

I had the most incredible date last night with my darling husband. He took me to dinner and then we went for ice cream by the beach. It was almost perfect, but Katey is still tagging along. That's ok, she's pretty easy to maintain, but I am so sick to death of having to dress in order to undress later for the baby. I love the joys of being a mom to an infant, but the dressing thing is seriously so old right now. It is practically impossible to find anything to wear and look remotely sexy while breastfeeding. It is what pregnancy was 10 years ago. I so badly wanted to put on a nice dress and some high heels, but everything is pants and tops, pants and tops, pants and tops - and the tops are just blah. Looking sexy and breastfeeding: I suppose if I were Brook Shields or J. Lo or Gwyneth Paltrow I would have the means of doing both. Right now, I can only try to look like my old self. I wonder if my husband misses me.

The Boys' New Milestone

Last night the boys hit an unusual milestone in life... they learned how to pick things up with their butt cheeks. You know, I am not quite sure how they figured out that they could pick things up between their cheeks, but Jim went in to follow up on dressing before bed and there they were - picking up things (balls mostly) with their derrieres and standing up and bending over so that the object would fall to the ground again as they shrieked with laughter. Growing up a girl, and living to be almost 42 now, it has never ONCE occurred to me to try to pick something up this way!
Jim chastised them for messing around and told them to "get dressed, and get in bed". He then emerged from the hallway red-faced and rubbing his chin, smiling. I think he did pretty good not to laugh out loud.
I'd just like to know exactly which items were being picked up so that I can either disinfect them or avoid them.

The Same Story

We had some friends over yesterday for lunch. It was necessarily a "pleasant" experience for all of us. Have you ever had a lunch like that? They both told the same story from different perspectives. It sounded like completely different stories; but because we know them, we know it's the same story. We also know that both stories are truthful. It's really interesting how perspective can change something so dramatically and how our feelings can shade our realities. I really believe that God puts people in our lives for a reason and that even painful moments (or years) can make us better people. Part of me thinks it's easy to retreat when we are hurt and try to regroup or give up entirely and quit. The other half thinks there is a deep need to push through until you reach a new place - to go full steam ahead carefully in order to reach a better destination. Not just for one person, but for both of them. We care for them both a great deal and we, from the outside, can see another perspective again. It's not hopeless. It's not futile. It's a very important journey! I feel a little sad because I don't know the end to the story. We haven't reached it yet.

I love him.

I love my husband. I think women are sometimes too reluctant to admit they love their husbands. Or maybe they feel it's faking it? I hear a lot people say bad things about their husbands. I hope I don't come across that way even when I am acknowledging he is not perfect.

My husband puts up with a lot from me. I am not very even-keeled. Thank goodness he is. He is centered, well-balanced, firmly seated and not arrogant about it. I love him for that. He always can tell when I am not centered and can step out just so to keep our family perfectly balanced.

I have some good qualities, too: I am social - not usually afraid to start a conversation. I like having small adventures and trying new things. I know how I feel almost all the time! I like to touch people to tell them I love them. And I am willing to say anything to someone that hurts someone I love.

I know that our personalities compliment each other, but he makes me look much better than I would ever look out on my own and I'm not sure I return the favor. So let me just put it here in black in white for us both to read - I love him.

Just Plain Busy

Some days are just like that. Scurry, scurry scurry. Run, run, run. Type, type, type. Drive, drive drive. That's how it's been for about 4 days now and I can't even clear my brain long enough between tasks to think. It starts to feel like a mental white-knuckle grip. If I stop to think too long, a ball that I'm juggling will fall. I'm hoping my mind catches up to my scurrying pace soon so that I can stop making mental lists in bed and then feeling forced to get up and write the lists down before they're forgotten. Some days (and nights) are just like that.

Super Ad Sunday

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. We don't watch the Super Bowl; we watch the commercials - so I have officically changed the name in our house.

My littlest son is playing flag football. Yesterday was his very first game and day of practice. The parents, especially the dads, are all gung ho about seeing their little 4 and 5 year old tigers hit the field. Most of the parents have their boys really psyched up for this. Well, we did have one mom there without a partner whose son seemed too terrified to even look at the field as he sat clinging to his mother's calves. Meanwhile, the opposing red team has these giant boys that line up and actually grimmace and growl at our young-looking team during the -what do they call it? - oh yeah, the snap.

So, I overheard a couple of dad's talking in that guy way that men do. "Blah, blah.. yeah, well over here it's impossible not to know the game well. All you have to do is grow up here and it's a given... yadda, yadda, mumble." The context was that the assistant coach is Bahamian and is struggling to learn the rules of the game so that he can actually assist the coach.

I was just walking by and I had to laugh. My son knows NOTHING about football. I think this guy would've been willing to accuse my husband and me of child abuse had he known that. We don't even know for sure that he would have identified a football correctly before that morning. And there he was... on the field... in his yellow shirt chewing on the yellow flags hanging from his belt. What else are they for?

The good news is that he actually did run with the ball the one time they handed it off to him. The bad news is it was in the wrong direction until he heard all the yelling. Of course, then there was the Bahamian coach's son. He was handed the ball, the red team started charging toward him, and he does the most obvious thing to him... his face morphs into a look of sheer terror, he hurls the ball AT the red team, and turns tail and hauls hiney!!

The Chicken

I went out with the girls last night. I love going out with the girls! We did Dunkin' Donuts for some coffee and a muffin - until about 11 pm. (Has anyone else noticed that the decaf can still keep you up until almost dawn - literally! I think it was 4 am when I finally fell asleep. )

Meanwhile, Jim called me while I was out. "I burnt the chicken." "Both of them?", was my response. I know, I know. What kind of question is that? The chickens had been both in one pot, so of course they were both burnt! Trying to be a smart wife, I had placed two chickens in the oven to roast for future quick meals at about 5:30 pm. The chickens had been cooking until 10 pm!!

Poor little chickens were quite well done when I checked in on them after arriving home, but believe it or not, they were actually salvagable. You gotta love stoneware! They had this dark golden crispy skin, but the meat was fine. My husband loves the stoneware even more than I do. Saved from the doghouse!

How Do I Get Them To Be Perfect?

I am trying to figure out 2 things:
1) How to get my kids to do my chores for me
and
2) How to get them to stop reasoning with me.

I don't really want them to do my chores for me. I have some that I won't even let my mother or my closest friend do - like fold my towels (Nobody touches my towels!). BUT it would be nice if they would do their OWN chores on their OWN and then keep adding NEW chores to their routine as they grow - and all, of course, without me having to cue, nag, yell, or step away sighing. My youngest is 5 months old tomorrow and I think she should be ready to start chores in another 4 months by my calculations. Plus, she's a girl! So, though I'm a modern woman who believes that even the boys need to learn how to cook and wash clothes eventually, I have EXTRA high hopes for Katey. The problem is that I really stink at doing chores myself, so how am I supposed to help them be perfect when they have to overcome me?

As for the "reasoning with me" thing - I know that I am supposed to be grooming them each into becoming discerning adults who don't automatically swallow the fluff that the media (and various other parties) might feed them (I think they are well on their way!). I would, however, like them to swallow everything I tell them until they reach the age of 18. Don't kids come with a switch?

Starting Something New

This is a bit scary for me, but perhaps it's only because it's 12:20 a.m. and I know better than to talk too much at this time of night. I'll keep this short and sweet. Welcome to my blog. I'm finally joining the world of public musings!

The way I figure it, this can either give someone a mindless diversion, keep friends and family informed, or serve as a kind of personal therapy in order to prevent bodily harm of my children (whom I actually quite adore most of the time, and prefer to keep around).