the shed list

this morning i wrote a list titled "things that are weighing me down: this week's shed list". it was ambitious with unfulfilled tasks having gathered mass for the past year or two. i encouraged myself that in seven days i might feel oh so much lighter.

lighter despite the pan majority of m&m peanut butter chip oatmeal bars i've eaten in the past four days.

i have perfected the ability to put off and ignore anything that puts a knot in my stomach by focusing all my attentions on tasks like making packer scrapbook paper for the photo book i meant to have done in time for Christmas and won't because photoshop and i are not done tweaking OR arranging Christmas decor and then moving things back around before moving them once again and then throwing my hands up and complaining that i'd like to just throw everything back to the basement unsure that anything works anywhere.

or eating m&m peanut butter chip oatmeal bars.

writing out the list helped me breathe more fully. i would get this. saturday and i'd feel a marked difference in myself.

and then i realized it was already thursday.

the snow made its first fall of the season.

caleb and i spent the quiet afternoon opening my lionel train ornaments, or as he so carefully pronounces "ore-ma-nn-ents". reading the boxes. talking about the massive o-gauge track my grandfather set up every season.

and then someone delivered flowers. a stunning square vase with red roses, pine and holly. three little red glossy balls. a touch of snowflake.

my initial thought escaped my mouth and i told caleb i couldn't figure out what the heck - i haven't been that nice a person these days. who the wha?

the card led with a joke and ended with an old friend's initials. in the card she said she had considered baking me a pick-me-up, but decided flowers were better for the waistline.

the big hefty i'd been ignoring since thanksgiving escaped as a jumbo mylar balloon from under me. of which no one in my house has made mention. that didn't make my week's shed list because i simply can't.

dad died today.

it was remembered. and i didn't make any more bars.

i did have a coke.

put the lime in the coconut

you know when you start to write down a lyric and suddenly question whether the words you've strung together for years upon decades is how the song really goes? if you're one of those who just realised jeremy spoke in class today when you've been telling everyone he was smoking grass?

yeah, well.

put dem bot together...den you'll feel better.

i do not like coconut. but i was thinking the other day how that tune was on heavy rotation in my head after mom hit the train.

i am also so very not a fan of 'the wizard of oz' or its soundtrack. but when Israel Kamakawiwo'ole is somewhere over the rainbow, that tune is my absolute favorite. right next to 'stand by me'. which was played at our wedding. and also in the movie of the same name centered around boys in search of a dead body. and while goose did not die by locomotive, they did play iz's oz as he sat on the beach and i weeped as cancer finally took him from 'er'. and i stopped watching.

we played 'son of a preacher man' at dad's funeral. i wonder what dad would have thought. of that and the shots of he and mini-skirted mom leaned back on the car, kissing, that accompanied it.

i wonder what will be played at mine. and if anyone would think to play any of my top three choices laid out above. i do so hope if carl's alive that when they place me in the ground or throw me into the air, that he hums the little espn diddly. and then for vern or matthew to somehow play the 'lost' bomb.

nearly all of which would be so fitting should we die en route to hawaii.

you know when you sit down intent on recording a specific thought and you totally tangent yourself?

life is an adventure

i spent six afternoon hours in a resort house twice the size of my own while vern golfed with his peers on dupont's dime. the views were fresh and clean. i was trumped by ornery vertical blinds and a riddle of steps. so, too, was owen. he napped. he batted the coiled door stop. i got a sunkist that now only reminds me of the three-hour gestational glucose test from the cooler. i read 'the glass castle'.

in college i would daydream in the shower about the shape my memoirs might take. how i might recognize the proper spot to stick a bookmark in it by way of a final period. being yet swept by the greatest of my family's trials and knowing there would be no happy resolution in the future, it was a challenge that perplexed and amused me. i gave my open-ended memoirs scented with pantene a title: 'blueberry'.

my brother and i often chat about how censored will be the stories we pass down. yet when we talk privately about those legacies we want to set free from our future, i always marvel in how one sibling's accounting of an event fills the gaps for the other's. a dark memory becomes opalescent in light. the left side of a frame is polished giving new harmony to the right. it ends with us. we have a pact. and we discuss how in ending it we can yet share with our children the honest totality and depth in color and sound of that which we've declared to be so. so. ended.

i would never compare ourselves to the walls'. in charm or tragedy. even so, it feels familiar, and especially so in this that the author said later in an interview:

I’m very close to my brother. He loves the book and was very supportive every step of the way. I showed him parts as I finished them because he has a steel trap memory and I wanted to make sure I remembered things correctly. It’s interesting, because we remembered the same events, but had different takes on them. For example, I think of the cheetah as being a gorgeous, powerful beast with rippling muscles. Brian said, “As I remember, that was as a sort mangy creature.” I ran that by Mom and she said, “It was both, but it wasn’t inside a cage. It was just walking around the zoo.” People remember the same things differently, and if Brian or my sisters had written the book, it would be entirely different.

when at 1 am we returned to our resort home after kabobs, cokes and a few rounds of 500 at the dupont house that evening, i stayed up two more hours to finish the piece. and i considered how jeannette's memoirs were bookmarked by the death of her dad.

thrilla nite

the former miss mj2 asked what our favorites of michael jackson's were. funny how it's hard to pin songs down when they are so absorbed into a moment. i really just don't know the answer to that.

my very first boyfriend was paul w_ts_n. it seems his grandfather had the meat locker in town. our favorite song was "let's get physical". for my birthday he once gave me a three-charmed heart necklace in a heart-shaped tin jewel box with a puppy dog on the porcelain lid. i have it still. we told our mothers on a sunny summer morning that we would make babies for them. our sole request as compensation was a life-time supply of m&m's and... something four-year-old's equally prize. i want to say bubble gum, but no one is around to proof me that fact. when asked how paul and i would have these babies, we told our mothers what we knew about the birds and bees from spying on their daytime stories: we would roll around on the bed and smell each other's necks. paul moved away before that favorite tale of my mother's would become embarrassing.

my second boyfriend was marty p_pp_t. it was a short-lived romance. a fling. i broke up with him when i saw what his bedroom looked like. there was nothing fun to play with, no decent toy or game to pass our time. he cried. i traced a heart on my backseat window to him as we left his house in the drizzled night rain. it was very dramatic. i imagine i was still spying too many soaps.

my third boyfriend was kevin h_lb_n. older now, i considered kevin to be my first true love. i re-named my lucky win cabbage patch after him. we met at reunion - guthrie - the family church camp i went to that year with my grandparents. his grandparents and mine were good friends, and the h_lb_ns had brought their granddaughter and another grandson as well. all four of us the same ages. jennifer and i sharing a first name. jennifer and kevin the same last. i new my married name would have a nice ring to it, and moreover, i could say it out loud whenever i wanted without being reckless. reckless = teased for bridal day-dreaming. it's not that i didn't get into trouble.

i was sitting next to kevin at campfire. everyone gathers on a steep hill around the nightly bonfire. suddenly my wheelchair brakes were pulled so hard i was certain something had given and i was about to wheel right into the flames in the midst of "i've got love like an ocean". a split-second later and the jerk back, i reconsidered my descent thinking i would not roll but take flight. grandma was a stern woman and i feared her more than any other being on earth. i would never intentionally disobey her. hand to heart, i had completely forgotten my promise to swap nap time for an early bedtime. to this day, that moment is in the top ten of all-time most frightening experiences. i took my naps after that in exchange for campfires and the trips we'd make to the canteen for now-and-laters on the walk back to our cabins.

kevin and i exchanged what we thought were love letters. he sent me pictures from school talent shows and his father's second-wedding with him all dressed up as ring bearer. we tagged along whenever our grandfathers came to preach at the other's church, sometimes with his cousins, sometimes not. my cousin and i tape-recorded "chariots of fire" off the radio and i whispered at the end "i love you, kevin" which is barely audible above the giggling.

by the sixth grade we seemed to have a mutual realization of how corny we had been and this mutual realization brought on a sort of mutual embarrassment and serious awkwardness whenever our families gathered together. when we found ourselves together again at a church convention our junior year i seriously got butterflies. he was so tall. when i first met vern i chuckled to myself at how he looked like i imagined kevin did all grown up. kevin doesn't. a few months ago we became friends again on facebook. he and his wife have three boys and is a fire fighter in the same town he was raised. his grandparents have both passed. he looks so old with one of those goat-less mustache goatee things.

i asked if he could still moonwalk. i could about hear his choked laughter. every reunion has a variety show and that summer we met and became such fast friends, kevin did a michael jackson routine complete with the red jacket, hat, socks and high-water pants. i remember another group singing 'elvira'. they were fun, but kevin was amazing. it was as close as i've ever been to dating a celebrity and while many other big moments are tied to jackson hits, the one that stands out most is kevin performing 'thriller'. i often do not consider mj without a thought of kh. and then feeling kind of giddy reminiscing about the alluring mixed scent of campfire smoke, avon's skin-so-soft, and willy wonka candy.

water-proof

i read an article in a parenting mag the other night that suggested i ask for a water-proof cast if one of the kids breaks a limb this summer.

i about fell off the toilet seat. i wasn't using it. i was pretending to be for some solitude.

when my grandmother finally disclosed to grandpa the huge lump she had on her breast, they traveled as far as california in search of doctors' advice and treatment. she had waited much too long. they lived in rooms 416 and 418 of the red lion in downtown omaha as she battled cancer. as an infant, i slept in one of the open dresser drawers. at two weeks i took my first swim in the hotel pool. my family celebrated Christmas there. twice.

finally my grandfather bought a house. it came with a housekeeper and a pool. he thought each would help my grandmother recover. or at least feel more at home before she passed. we call it the fieldcrest house. it was magnificent. grandma died on my father's birthday twelve days before i turned two. she never did move into the house.

my grandfather and college-aged uncle did. the house had floors and chandeliers and framed mirrors spanning the width and length of an entire hall and carved entry doors - all flown-in from italy and france. the wet bar in the living room had a gold faucet that resembled a swan. it was built and decorated by the original owners as a piece of art. the two bachelors put a pool table in what had been the dining room. they picked the living room furniture up at the office store, getting whatever my uncle had fallen asleep in as grandpa looked at drafting tables for his bedroom. the two burgundy wing back leather chairs and matching couch. i lived in those chairs during the winter months curled up watching tv and eating ice cream.

i lived in the pool during the summer months. i would dive off the spring board and touch the drain. i would play on the buoyed rope dividing the deep from the shallow ends. there were two floats of silky squishy white with built-in pillows. my tough bladder meant i never needed potty breaks. i never came in to eat. mattie, the housekeeper, would serve me pb&j and chocolate milk sitting on either the steps or a float. i know what chlorine-logged bread tastes like. i never came in to nap. if the sun got the best of me, i would sandwich myself between the two floats, using the top as a blanket. it was light and cool and would mold to me. it was so luxurious.

mom taught me how to dive properly and all the swim strokes. my uncle and i raced and flopped from the diving board. dad would sometimes even play with me, but my best swim date was grandpa. we spit water at each other. watched fireworks shimmer reflections on the fourth. defy lightening in the storms - or at least my grandfather would. i still had a mother who would pull rank when it rained on us though she could never convince my grandfather of anything. as i write this, though, i note it was the only time he would let her pull rank on me in his presence. indeed, lightening + mom was the only thing that could get me out of the water.

the summer before the second grade i was scheduled to have another round of knee surgeries. my brother came down with the chicken pox. then so did i. the surgeries were postponed, and i spent a week itching with grandpa and mattie. i forgot once while napping to pull up a float or get more sunscreen. i was so badly burned we had to reschedule for the second time.

third time was the charm, and the surgeries happened. and when they were over, i spent the rest of the summer watching everyone splash happy from the kitchen patio doors. my first time in a wheelchair, up to my hips in hot, heavy casts. oh did my face burn. it was the most painful part of any my surgeries. soothed only slightly by the fact that grandpa remained dry-docked with me. i remember that night of the big party for my uncle and lots of other kids diving and splashing and floating around, grandpa sitting at the kitchen table with me, watching alfred hitchcock and after telling owl stories.

water-proof casts. what a marvel of modern invention. crazy the things that crop up while sitting on the toilet not-peeing during a mommy break.

i don't even know what to say

our ob's nurse was from parkersburg. her husband was a football coach there. her cousin played at the time for the chiefs. we loved our ob appointments. she left just before we were pregnant with maddy to join wartburg. the college i graduated from in '98. it's fun to see her in alum stuff. we thought of her when the tornado whipped through last year. we watched her on tv, and were so proud of what she had to say regarding a community's heart and grief. some things are beyond man's control. and then come days like today. and i question the evils that are directly a result of our lack of control.

big prayers to dawn, a-p, and the family of coach thomas.

not so itsy bitsy

i thought i would get me a new suit for our numerous waterpark and sprinkler-run adventures this summer. now that summer has indeed arrived with its two bff's: mug and storm.

in march, i had high hopes of resurrecting my favorite black number. the last time i wore it vern had to help get it off. by that i mean he had to hold my suit bunched around my waist with both hands while i gripped the bed with mine and we both tugged. he remembers it fondly. i cringe.

i'm not back to black yet. i could almost pull out the maternity suits were it not that they are designed to give you a little breathing room just where i'd prefer they suck me back together. i bought a cheap blue suit after our tug of war. i could wear it up until my 7th month of pregnancy. it looks like it. i'll swim in jeans and a t-shirt-covered-nursing bra before i wear that sorry thing again.

so.

i was willing to pay a little for this wonder of wonders i found on-line. a miracle of sewn lycra that would boost, suck, shape, trim, tighten and take a good 10 pounds off. i squealed with joy. it was cute. i was skipping around the room. and then i read the fine print:

Suntan lotion absorbed by the suit and not washed out can damage the fabric. Please always be careful to keep your Miraclesuit® free from lotions.

i wear 50 sunblock and reapply every hour. and i still burn.

Whirlpools and spas have a high concentration of chemicals to sanitize the water. Public pools often exceed normal chlorine levels for health reasons. Regular use of these facilities may cause the fabric of your suit to breakdown more quickly than what is considered to be normal use. We suggest wearing an older Miraclesuit® in the hot tub, and saving your new Miraclesuit® for the beach or pool.

in my befuddlement of how miracles are not suited for freckled iowa girls like me, this post from antique mommy came to mind.

what i thought as i caught up on blogs

specifically my friend's regarding their memorial day:

she wrote about how growing up her family attended our hometown's service although they did not have any family buried there.

i thought about how we used to visit our family plot with my great-aunts and uncles. it was always fun as they'd share stories about my great-granddad, grandmother, my dad's kid brother. once four- or five-year-old carl had to go really bad, and lucky for him uncle bob and aunt betty had commuted to the cemetery in their camper. by all reports it was the coolest thing ever, peeing in a camper.

i thought about how i had the best of intentions to get our troop to mayberry's service where every year vern's dad is involved. i've never seen his dad perform memorial day service duties. i will regret losing him before i and the kids do. thinking on this, and how he was nearly 81, i was resolved sunday night on going. i failed to mention my resolve to vern. monday morning came and i forgot all about the memorial service in the leaked diapers and nursing and breakfast and kitchen remodeling and "really, i'd just like to start a day clean for a change" until i was rinsing my hair of conditioner. someone rang the bell at the very moment i left the bathroom, disgusted at my shotty resolve, and i hollered to caleb not to let anyone in the house as i, my disgust, and my towel dashed for cover in the bedroom. "dad's out back cutting lumber! tell them! do not open that door!" in response came the chime of the front door opening, and yelped a little louder. poor caleb. on the other end of his near-streaking mother was his near-yellow-sighted grandmother. caleb chose wisely. vern's mom laughed later that she entered the service right behind the flag, marching in just on time. and with dry pants thanks to her grandson.

i thought about how we did not.

she wrote about how taps were played at their church service sunday morning.

i thought about how my grandmother refused a 21-one gun salute or taps at my grandfather's funeral. she has not been able to handle listening to either since a family death after world war II. i thought about how i'll never relate them to my grandfather. my navy boy grandfather who wore a purple hawaiian shirt in his casket. who enlisted when he saw a battleship on the cover of life magazine and was married in his navy uniform while on leave. and then served on that same ship, giving me the magazine his mother had tucked away the last time we visited him. who choked up every time he told the story of meeting a man, a lifetime later while he and my grandmother taught english in japan, who had been on the beach he stormed oh so long ago. he and that japanese veteran had embraced and cried together.

my friend wrote about how she began to thinking about her cousin's deep emotion when taps was played earlier this year at their grandfather's funeral. she wrote about how hard she cried, and how she avoided hearing taps all the next day. she wrote of her renewed appreciation for our servicemen, including those in her family.

i thought in agreement the sentiment of gratitude. and then how i have not cried at the deaths of any my great-aunts or uncles or even my grandfathers. i thought about how almost annoyed i get when anyone belabors in grief their elderly grandparent's passing.

her college roommate by then had commented: "I wish I could have been there to bawl with you."

i had not thought that.

with more than a little shame, i wondered why i've turned so hard. whether one day vern's dad's death will crack my shell.

we will not be missing mayberry's memorial service next year. i'm crossing my fingers vern's dad will not be either.

waffleheads

caleb assisted in this week's meal planning, and we have now reached the big seven day finale: waffleheads for breakfast. when the child suggests a new dish, giggles. when the parent, wide-eyed fear.

last night my older siblings-in-law convinced me to try grilled asparagus they moments before nabbed from the ditch, sprayed with pam, sprinkled with spices, and nestled between the burgers. it was good. until i got to the very end. then it tasted like grass. still. i ate it. and it did not taste anything like i remembered from when mom plucked and served it up for meals when i was 10.

caleb just explained how one makes waffleheads. it involves waffles and lots of chocolate and raspberry syrups. i'm sure peanut butter on the side. for whatever reason, i'm cringing just a little. for whatever reason = because i'm old. old enough to have actually eaten asparagus.

itsy bitsy teeny weeny

while neither yellow nor polka-dotted, we still got maddy a little thing of a bikini today at old navy. it was the only one i liked. the bottoms were boy short-ish. the top was just a couple triangles and some string. the girl's not even two. i questioned where my head was when vern looked over and said it was perfect. then i questioned how either of us could pass as responsible parents.

i had a two-piece when i was a toddler. it was more like a short tankini that mom sewed herself. read: toddler-appropriate. my midriff was covered from then until the 9th grade when i fell in love at penney's. in. love. the bottoms were blue high-cut with a white gathered waist band. the top was a green bandeau with a strap that could be removed and become an all out strapless bikini. that was not what alarmed my aunt when i overheard her with mom.

my new bathing suit was not held together by stitch and optional strap alone: at each hip and centered on my bust were hook and eye clasps. three per set. at any given moment i was just three clasps away from girls gone wild or mooning folks. that seemed a little extreme to everyone except my mother who i then overheard reply "it's jen. and i want her to feel like a girl, too".

i did feel pretty girlie in it. under the t-shirt i wore because i was all too aware that my bust could not keep the clasps taught enough to stay permanently affixed. never mind when trying to dunk my kid brother. i had a one-piece that i wore outside of family outings. in fact, i was so uncomfortable with my knees that i actually wore my one-piece speedo with jeans jet-skiing in high school to cover them. jeans. as if no one would find that odd. a double below-knee amputee teen girl out in the middle of a lake in full-length levi's. jet-skiing. plus i never considered how much heavier that would make me seem when my crush then lifted me back onto the boat. if that sheds some light to all that was laden in what mom meant by "it's jen".

i think about that when mothers, myself included, judge other mothers. when i consider how far i'll step out of approved bounds for my kids, fully aware i do not have my mother's backbone. whenever i go swimsuit shopping for maddy, equally mindful i did not inherit her seamstress skill either.

we returned the suit for its lack of strap adjustments. vern thought it was cute. i thought it looked funny. her pot belly sticking out under her non-existent chest. i say non-existent; caleb exclaimed in utter-surprise, "maddy! you have nurse things!"

vacation bible school

caleb was grandmothered in at vacation bible school two years ago. vern's mother helping with crafts just one more year so she could justify bringing him there. we do not attend their church, and vm was itching for a reason to show off her beloved.

every day the boy would come home and report "nothing" and "i do not know". sunday we went to watch him not sing on the very front step in the sanctuary. he didn't sing, he didn't move. caleb has always been a nice average for his age. meaning he looked teeny tiny not singing, not moving, with a class a full year to two older. at 6'3" each, vern and his brother, jay, are recognized for being tall-ish. something about caleb's introduction into their childhood congregation as the shortest kid up front was amusing. better still, their teacher carried caleb from activity to activity on his shoulders. tyler is tall. then just finishing his sophomore year of high school, he graduated this year at 6'8". caleb would report "nothing" and "i do not know" and his grandmother would giggle at how tyler would have to duck down with caleb not to crack the child's head when coming downstairs. i never did get a good handle on what went on that year.

the following, when caleb was actually of age, he could explain a bit of the day's activities and always half their bible lesson. "Jesus met a blind man." "and then what happened?" "i don't know." "Jesus died." "and then what happened?" "i do not know." neither he nor his grandmother could report who his teacher was just "not tyler". he still refused to sing. stating his class was terrible at singing and so he refused to participate and sound bad, too. the big kids sang so much better. maybe he would sing if he ever sang with the big kids. stuck yet with the bitty bad singers, he stood completely still on the front step. if you don't sing, you can't do the actions that go with them either.

this year he fell in love with vbs despite a rocky beginning. for the entire week leading up, he would let it be known vbs was not his bag. he did not want to go. he didn't even fake it for grandma, not even for her cookies. brushing his teeth monday morning, caleb stepped back and told me "i am afraid of heights." well. ok. "so i don't want to ride on that guy's shoulders." ah. so. "and i did not like it even back then when i was a little baby kid either." point taken. i reminded him he was a big kid now. he could walk. i told him grandma would still probably laugh about it and mention it three times in one sitting of conversation like she does every time vbs is mentioned. because that's how grandmas are when they latch on to a moment you were especially cute.

we missed his big sing-a-long sunday. we were lucky to have a hint of how improved his class sings this year when the kids that could, did, at mayberry's neighbor's days variety show saturday night. caleb and three girls rocked the little opera theater. it'll sound biased, but i'd say it was the best performance of the night. or at least a close tie to the man who sang about an angel flying close too the ground completely drunk. i do mean completely and drunk. not only that, but caleb rode the church float in the parade beforehand. towards the front so that when his float was through the course tyler carried him back to where we were catching candy along the route. i make note of this only for how hard vern and i laughed that tyler had his hands cupped in front of him providing a seat where caleb sat. as low as the boy could get to the ground and still not have to work his feet. if only his grandparents had been there to see him, they would have beamed.

they were home. folding bulletins after an entire afternoon fighting technology in the church basement and an hour long phone call with vern's older brother explaining just how copy machines work. we spoke with both parties just after. each sounded thoroughly spent. vm conned jay into playing organ for their church when he was a lad. she brought him to a wwf match. he's been commuting from 2 hours to 45 minutes every other week since to play. and do bulletins because if he didn't serve as church secretary his mother would. and after saturday, it's evident how that would work out. jay would be doing them no matter.

which he sort of chuckled about the next morning when all of us missed the big missouri-synod lutheran vbs church finale and pot luck where caleb would have belted it out with his entire well-sung class. we met instead where jay actually worships with his wife every other sunday and saturday nights for their son's baptism. jay's family is one wwf match and a copy machine away from being entirely catholic. i was raised rlds. then i went to a liberal (read: not mo-synod) lutheran school, i married their lapsed son in an elca (read: not-at-all mo-synod) church, and now sometimes attend a non-denominational outfit an hour south. or as vern's parents and extended mo-synod cousins assume "not at all".

indeed. caleb is his grandmother's new hope. not really because she fears for his spiritual growth quite like the cousins do. i'm waiting for her to suggest organ lessons.

mapquest

up until these last 23 months i have been able to get around this earth all on my own detachable two legs. of course the children do not remember this. they live in the now where vern totes my butt all over creation lifting me into and out of the tahoe, up and down stairs, through narrow bathroom doorways and around cramped hotel rooms. he pushes, he drives, he gets all the luggage.

today my cousin called to say she and her four year old were talking about heaven. keira asking about what would happen to her body. my cousin telling her that in heaven we would get new, perfect bodies with no owies. they talked about her uncle rick and how his body was now in the ground, and up in heaven he would have a new one. with legs. i don't know what i think dad has up there. but what my niece said in reply is the giggle of the week:

"when uncle (vern) takes jen up to heaven, i think he might need a map."

because in this theory i might be perfect once i get there, but i'll still need vern to carry me up. i do not know what part i love more - that, or the bit about needing a map so he does not get lost en route.

mommy guilt

i still cannot make it through the entire video tribute to madeline alice spohr. the pictures i can handle. combined with video of her and music, no. maddie. a name so very close to our #2 choice, so close in age to our actual abigail olivia holt.

for all my family has endured, the loss of a child is something i cannot imagine. and yet i seem surrounded by folks - in the blogosphere and my own widening circle - who have. who are.

our reality is a physical one. no matter how faithful we are in the spiritual. i only recognize my children by their look and feel and sound. there was a sense about mom that was lost in her accident. and how did we know? we saw it in her altered look and felt it in her altered touch. altered or no. i cannot imagine the feel of my children's bodies, the sight of their faces put to dust.

and yet woefully ignored were they today.

i suppose that is my prayer of thankfulness. that i have been afforded another day to be one of those moms. who took a full minute to realize maddy was saying "i'm stuck" not "look/duck/truck/sock", as i was trying to get her to move along so i could pick up mr. neglected too. she couldn't be on her way as her pant leg was caught on the the edge of my wheelchair.

such extreme grief i cannot fathom. it makes all of whatever i write about here to the children pale in significance. i want that on the record. at all times, even when i'm being a petty dope or mean mom, i remember how lucky we are.

lucky we are and yet still incredibly sad for families like maddie's. hugging the child God lent you to raise does not erase the pain you feel for parents unable to hug theirs.

the tonight show

i never intended to post leno's gatorade joke the other night. extreme tire caused me to hit publish rather than save, and i let it be. really i was just writing it down to remember and share with vern when he returned from the shower. thankfully i did not include all the jaywalking questions i and my 4-year degree never seem to know either. for that, too, i shall blame extreme tire. when vern asked 10 minutes later what on earth i did not know, i couldn't recall what i could not answer. so it is plausible excuse, no?

i watched carson's last show from a hotel room in des moines. state track. i can hardly conjure up a thing about it, but then i can't remember much of that particular meet either. was that the year meg introduced me to subway? when it rained? when i snapped the shot of bianca not-smiling in the group photo with her chicken drum? when jorgy pointed out all the scum floating in the bottom of pool hot tubs? no extreme tire factoring in here. age. if not for pictures all of high school would in my memory be compressed to one year.

i watched leno's last show as we cleaned for company's arrival. i don't know how much i'll remember in 17 years. of the show or my brother and his wife's visit. this was the sunny weekend that we took blimpie's to the lake. without vern because all the farmers were working hard before it rained. that carl gave owen his first: bites of anything, ice cream ala cone and cool whip ala spray glob in hand; swim just in time before caleb's 3-6m trunks were too teeny. laps and splashes in the pool, including a dunk of the 'they're trim, not leak-proof' swim diaper in the hotel's hot tub. details bright and shiny now will undoubtedly be blended in with the rest.


i may only vaguely recall the end of this tonight show era, how jay reminded everyone it was just a tv show. how he said he contemplated the media questions about what he felt his legacy would be and spoke of the unions created within the tonight show crew. then pulled back the curtain to show the mass of children born to them within their tenure. 69? 68? see. already the facts slipping, but not jay's emotion or the little one running around in front.

i may have cried. slightly. extreme tire, age and hormones.


if only brett could have handed the ball over so admirably - this thought my original intended tie-in from the gatorade joke. having said that, i realize jay will be back in the fall. and had nbc not worked with him, he may well have pulled a brett letterman and gone purple and gold. but at least he didn't fake retire just to switch sides, and can take his whole team with him. ha. there's the difference.

tonight we watched conan. like we normally watch any late-night show which is to say with 1/2 an ear or eye. i nudged vern awake to catch pearl jam. i have yet to understand why he loves that band. i tried to tune out my 1/2 ear and dunked my sorrow, confirming this morning i had indeed somehow deleted caleb in his 4-year-old-mmmmmint-chip-cold-stone-cake-surprise-party-glow et al, in all the happy birthday shots at iheartfaces. what extreme timing.

i did not cry. having already exhausted many an anguished tear - hoping they might be on the lost memory card, but fearing (correctly) they were not - for the past 5 months, 17 days. my only consolation is the guarantee that none of my hard-flash shots would have been any more iheartface saturday-worthy than the rest of our hard-flash birthday shots.


i don't know that i've ever seen a picture of grandpa blowing out the fire created when my aunt lit all his hard-earned candles atop the barn-themed cake. i keep thinking there is one as i remember the scene so vividly. age has yet to delete it. no singular moment stands up and waves within my brain, but there is a warm glow from where all those nights watching carson with grandpa have blurred together. i hope the same holds true for caleb's memory of his mmmmmmint chip cake and john deere tall candles. and how much his family loved and celebrated him each and every birthday.

i'm so fearful of tire, age or a big bad blow to the head taking away our moments that i try to archive it all on film. our legacy. the moments. not the quality pictures of. those are only as back-up. so when i hand the ball over it will be fully inflated. because blurred warm glows in one's memory can be jostled into something wholly different with big blows to the head. because now all i have to prove a moment actually existed is the picture mom took.


before pictures there was this thing called paper and pen. i tend to forget that in my mad dash of digital snap happy. that sometimes pictures do not speak a thousand words. sometimes a short note from your mom about your surprise birthday when you were four says more. that jay's point was not the mass of kids all in one shot, but that when each child asked how his or her parents met, they would reply "at the tonight show with jay..."

g-force

vern likes gatorade. on special occasions he shares with the kids. like today as it is the only thing besides water to drink. water with a shot of something colored? fine. pure water? that's only accepted at bedtime apparently. we are two days into our juice and milk drought so i offered their father's oasis. these pore children surviving on the liquid of their grapes and peaches alone. vern's flavor of the week? 'rain'.

i notice they are on to the juicy juice 'harvest surprise'. the fruit-flavored v8 for kids. maddy will stand over me from 2 feet below as i open the fridge and silently demand with her pointer finger for the cherry rather than the fruit punch masked tomato and carrot.

but sugar water flavored to taste like...unfiltered water? they don't even bat an eye before sampling it. "what flavor is green?" "rain." "oh, i love the taste of rain!"

the economy's so bad

brett favre considered coming out of retirement just for the free gatorade.

out of the blue, i've developed a crush on leno.

go tell it on the mountain

one night hanging out at the ranch upstairs in grandma and grandpa's bedroom turned the east room turned mine, i heard my soon-to-be aunt head up to their room formerly the south room formerly my uncles' bedroom. where i imagined still to be the streak under the light switch from their nightly tossing of dirty clothes attempting to hook and pull it down to the off setting from their once was twin beds. i was nine or ten and in love with my dad's remaining younger brother. i had yet to really connect with my soon-to-be aunt.

i knew she didn't go to church. i decided guiding her to her Christianity would be an in-road. recently returning from church camp where carman's 'the champion' was a theme song, i played my audio cassette copy on the little boombox i'd brought with me. every few seconds turning it up a little louder. and then repeating the 6 minute long piece that was mostly spoken word about Jesus boxing the devil with an 80's opera-etic rock vibe again. i've no idea what i thought was going to happen, but i sat alert for some-something. and when some-something didn't, i would re-figure the thickness of our old wood doors and up would go the volume until i played an entire round at max. (which would have been heard downstairs had my grandfather not kept three tv's on at once, and all at their own unsafe-for-your-grandkids'-hearing level.) i imagined my soon-to-be aunt sitting on the bed with the Word of God floating around her. that she was either breathing it in to be transformed into a loving will-be-aunt who would bake cookies with me and take me shopping or was scowling at the air blowing it away.

after whatever time a nine or ten year old imagines to be a lot, with no-nothing from her room, i went downstairs leaving my soon-to-be aunt with her thoughts. certain whatever the outcome, i had done something good. i had just learned at church camp we were all called to spread the Good News. and Good News is what i, my little boombox and carman had spread through the air. loudly.

i clearly recall my grandfather greeting me "you want to dish up some ice cream for us? penny already went to bed with a bad headache, not feeling well."

and that's the only time i've ever gone up to the mountain top to proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord. sparked by want for personal gain. "and they'll know we are Christians by our love" is more my tune. not that defines me, but to which i aspire. and no doubt - for personal gain. i really suck whenever i try to take the wheel.

then. i saw this on the news and for the first time ever felt the missionary-bug, which for me, is saying an awful lot:

http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/story?id=7613395&page=1

i cried. seeing children brutalized by a man wearing a picture of Jesus. the desire to scoop those children up and introduce them to Love was huge.

by chance that very night i ran across a blog about american idol with good news that "One of my college friends told me her mom and Kris' mom are friends and that he had told his mom before he got to the final that he needed one more week there because he had been witnessing to Adam and felt like he needed just a little more time with him." say what?

and over 100 comments under that i scanned through further praising kris for being a contestant we could all admire and what good work the Lord was doing through him and no wonder he won as he had God's Word on his side and... huh?

i don't watch american idol. i couldn't tell by the post or comments if adam is a declared atheist or what for everyone to be so united in their praise for his fellow contestant witnessing to him. i know he wears eye-liner thanks to my yahoo and the today show, but that's about it. also thanks to my yahoo and the first fifteen seconds of the view, i'm guessing the 'or what' is adam may be gay.

children in the congo accused of being witches and tortured in the name of Jesus. an american idol shoulda-been-winner gay. yeah. while there are some parallels i feel compelled to draw, i'll not. i am gonna stand on my mountain-high soap box that all mothers have over their own though and say: kids,

a) if you're like your uncle and feel a call to share your faith with someone you think is lost, keep that exchange sacred. sacred is not the blogosphere twittering away in prayer, praise and back-handed judgement because you opened your mouth and gossiped about your 'good works'. mothers will gossip regardless, esp if you win whatever form of american idol is around, but know in yourself to keep that type of thing between you, your friend and God. it's your friend's business to share and no one else's.

b) any faith, religion, can be perverted and abused and used as a weapon of discrimination, hatred, negligence or manipulation. when you think you know what a muslim, hindu or jew thinks, really consider your sources and dig a little deeper. keep in mind how some children have been introduced to Christianity. with hot wax and an image of Jesus on the offender's robe.

c) don't just go blaring your boombox around.

today begins our first summer vacation

the three and four/five year old classes merged for one pre-k-spacular spring concert/graduation 'with treats after' this morning.

some refer to our little mayberry town as a bedroom community. with the closest target a full hour away, i do not know how big they consider the house. seems our sleepy little village of 500 is more liken to an old pop-up camper out in the backyard. there's nothing wrong with camping, but mayberry-style there are few modern amenities. access to running water. toilet paper.

the kids performed at the community hall which is one big room with stage up and one big room with kitchen down. the 6 steps down sport a lift. it's old, taped together, the door is rumored to lock shut when you want off, and caleb hit a button while i was boarding. we nearly escaped catastrophe at goob's reception. so not child-proof. the full flight up has a dual entrance. from the north and south are two cases of steps meeting at a little square landing that make for a grand circle run up and down and around for the little kids. quite parent-proof. not as much joy for a wheelchair. funny how the easy 6 steps down have a lift, and yet up... testimony to mayberry's values: food above show.

vern carried me up to the see the kids sing about peanut butter and jelly and the senior pre-k class graduate with gown and paper cap. i also got my share of cake since we each - grandma, vern, myself and caleb - all got a dessert for maddy. vern. his back is our biggest blessing. i really should have thanked it by forcing grandma to eat maddy's overage.

it was a fantastic end to the year. caleb has learned what things are girl things, instructed us that he does not need to count past eleven - the number of kids in his class, renamed locomotives 'choo-choos', found his singing voice, and rhymes. it was exactly as we had hoped for his first year of social training. maybe a little less on the girl things, though - that has foiled any attempt at watching 'the little mermaid'.

i was so excited for the pre-school's open house last august. seems i even put on some make-up. the chance to meet other moms. to go in and help out at halloween and Christmas parties. to catch glimpses of caleb's life outside us - the budding social networks, snacks, projects, kid-isms. a little sad at how time was passing, excited to see around the corner of toddlerdom, and encouraged that with caleb's growing up would too be my in to the what and who and where around here. vern's from mayberry. his parents, siblings, siblings' spouses, siblings' spouses' parents, siblings' spouses' siblings... cousins. anyone not related went to school with someone who is. i'm not from here. that means everyone knows me, thinks i know them and introductions are rare.

when we moved here eight years ago i ran into the post office and locked the keys inside the running tahoe. in the rain. word of this got to my in-laws before noon that day. a year later and some mayberrians would still greet me at the postmaster's door "do you have your keys?" and chuckle along. me never knowing if it was the old school superintendent or farmer who ran the ground to the north of the farm before moving into town or... i believe that's why our postmaster bob took pity on me even though our senders never remember to correctly address mail to our po box. my great-aunts, on-line businesses and the federal government have a thing for using our street address instead - breaking postmaster bob's cardinal law of which he never fails to stamp or give hand-written reminders.

so for my great pre-k-spectations. we pull into the drive and see the pre-school, a large addition to the back of the director's house, is two stories with a split-level entrance. stairs up to go in, stairs down to his class. sets of families pouring in and out. no lift. just the sight set my eyes on fire. me and my bladder were way-pregnant and not up to vern carrying me in for the meet-and-greets. i sat outside. there would be no perks for caleb's mom. no networking. no special party days. no crafts, treats or kid-isms. life outside us for caleb would be void any interaction with his newly anointed s(tuck)ahm.

vern bussed maddy and caleb up and in. i pushed myself back to the passenger side of the tahoe, thanked my luck for vern having parked at the edge of the commotion and faced the bean field hoping my luck would hold and no one would notice me. crying. the more i tried to not, i did. i should have expected it. this is mayberry. the k-12 building is an old two-story relic herself and i have to go around the building just to get into the gymnasium. we're lucky to have a pre-school, much less expect it be up to some public code. still. i was completely caught off-guard.

that was hard.

in march the director decided to go back to nursing after ten years with the pre-k crowd. her fellow teacher will be carrying on the pre-school, "insert name 2", next fall. i've only met her once before - at goob's reception last week when i returned her wave thinking she merely relation or classmate of until caleb cried out "cindy!" and she came over, bent down to smile at owen and told me. in the house they are actively converting into the pre-school, she informed her husband the first order of business was to install a ramp.

i am over the moon. no more newsletters home thanking the parents who helped at x/y/z that did not include me. a few more days like today. when the only other mom i recognized came over with playdate offers finally putting me with caleb with vern's parents who brought him to and fro each day. confessing she felt lost with all these parents who knew each other from when they were in pre-school together, and her not being from around here. "we started brandon a couple weeks late. did they have an open house? i feel like i missed so much not meeting the other parents there! we never got to a good start." handily, her son and mine are good mates. her husband is vern's classmate and town electrician who rewired our house, also the cousin of our dear friend. so. i know a lot more about her than she might suspect. before i sound too towny, i might add she and hers were the only ones i knew. later vern spoke at length with his brother about all the characters present that went well over my head or observance...but that's where i go off on another tangent beyond my excitement for more days like today without requiring vern or his back as (pause for a breath) i was eating maddy's third portion of cake, caleb suddenly turned to me and said, "you know the best part of today! you won't ask me what i did when we get home! because you are here!"

otherwise known as a school year of: "what was for snack today?" "bunnies." "you ate bunnies, huh?" "yup." "and what were the bunnies made of?" "bunny stuff."

our friends turn older

today is my brother's birthday.

yesterday belonged to a bridesmaid and groomsman who have stuck it out with us separately since junior high and jointly through the eleven years vern and i have been together. nevermind the trials of the 8th grade, high school, or college. in just the past year or so being our friend has meant pulling our tahoe out of a ditch during a white-out blizzard. on a nearly shut-in gravel road. at 1-something am.

answering a cell one afternoon greeted with a muddle of high-pitched sobbing because salon girl cut caleb's bangs, and thus, all the boy's trade-mark charm and adding insult to horror his side-burns are cut to a long point and he doesn't even look like himself and please tell this man here he did a very bad thing having salon girl castrate caleb's mojo and it won't grow back - It Won't Grow Back In A Week - for my brother's wedding and Forever Caleb Will Look Like An Elf and i'm 36 weeks into a surprise pregnant and cannot walk or dance or even stand for family pictures and will forever look huge and wheelchaired and our dad is dead and you just don't chose willy-nilly at a time like this to cut off caleb's hair and you have to tell him because he Does Not Get It and thinks i am overreacting. probably getting this call for immediate crisis-intervention in the middle of target or lunch or? and undoubtedly with some words of support for the big bad him, gently expressing that now probably was not the time to have tried a new lord of the rings hair style for the boy.

those kinds of friends our children refer to as aunt and uncle, and not because we throw those terms around lightly. two of them shared a birth date yesterday.

their cards are yet here on the desk. along with my brother's.

we rock.

sweepers

vern's mom watched caleb here at the house while i worked mornings. in 4 or 5 hours she never failed to sweep, fold clothes, replace the toilet paper roll (even if it had another good day of use left), wash pans and load the dishwasher. it nearly drove me nutty because at the time i hated having anyone pick up after us. i used to stockpile unfolded clothes in our room and counted my one blessing: she feared our front-loader. i would plead with vern to make sure all our pans were clean before i lost all sense and stock-piled those behind our closed bedroom door as well. vern found it amusing. me. not his mother. he rather appreciated his mom taking over his household chore. when the dishwasher handle broke and required a special pull to open it vm could not get, i let out a sigh of relief. we have yet to get it fixed.

i stopped working when maddy was born. then one day last year we had to rush caleb to the er and his mom kept watch over her. in our haste to get out the door, absent from its keeping place, his mom still managed to inquire the whereabouts of our broom. "don't worry about it, mom. just enjoy playing with maddy." i giggled to myself. we were gone all of 45 minutes. clothes were sorted, dishes were drying in the rack and she was yet a fluster until vern went out to the garage where he'd left the broom. he then looked on helplessly as she swept our home. "really, mom, this is unneseccary." i found it amusing. him. and his mother.

so one can imagine my delight when yesterday vm dropped caleb off from pre-k. she opened his door and he came barreling out and up the steps. she did not close the door and follow with his back pack. she came around the car with a broom in hand. the outdoor broom from her garage. vern had mowed the night before. he never sweeps the clippings. she often comments on it. apparently yesterday after picking up caleb, she had reached her own breaking point. caleb raced for our broom and he and his grandmother happily cleared our entire walk.

i'm going to invite her over next week. i'll get the dishwasher door open, direct her to our stockpile of baskets in the bedroom and then play with my kids. and after that, i might even just let the older two go back to the farm with her for pb&j and chocolate milk while i...

the kids adore their grandparents, and i really love my mother-in-law.

graduates

our nephew threw his cap over the weekend.

the class of 1959 marched into ceremonies as the band played "crazy train".

all three children sat peacefully still.

goob celebrated at his open house complimenting the potato bar not with cake, but root beer floats. oh, wait. floats and cake for the lucky ones who stayed late to enjoy the eating of the serving ware table's edible decoration.

he told us where he intends to head the next time he graduates, a will-be graphic design guru: green bay to work for the packers. dude. working in our favor, goob has the same drive as his older brother who said at 18 he was going to be a funeral home director and is. all we need is for the third boy to become a skilled car mechanic and we'll be set for life. and death.

looking at the parents standing to receive roses from their graduates i realized i look more like the parent than child. parents just keep looking younger to me. the high school graduates, now tweens. i understand why when i graduated all my great-aunts and uncles kept commenting on how i was when i was five. indeed. i'm sure through their eyes that's how old i yet looked. as will caleb - only with his charming boy-ness looking up at me replaced with apathetic teen-ness looking down.

when i graduated from high school, mom gave me luggage. i told her not to waste money on the whole set because i could not begin to carry the monster-sized piece. she quite naturally responded as the set was being rung up that she knew i couldn't, but a husband most likely could. when i had a husband, that suitcase would no longer appear so grand in scale. the ease in how she said that, in passing and with certainty of the future like when i remind joel to pack burp cloths, awed me quiet.

mom's big undertaking was in going through all of her meticulously catalogued negatives to reprint any pictures i wanted from our family albums. mom took shots with her 35 mm like most normal people do with digital cameras now. a lot. her album pages held six a side, and lined the entire back wall of our basement. and every shot has the date, subject, roll and negative # on the back. it took weeks to go through it all, fill out all the reprint sleeves, re-file. that gift is the first 400+ of our family album collection.

"all the places you will go" by dr. seuss, one demand: graduate from college, and one strong encouragement: do not skip your honeymoon.

three years later i carried that green soft-sided behemoth with the matching hanging bag, toiletry bag, two carry-ons and a coat all by myself through mnpls airport when my connecting flight from mexico to home was missed. my knees crumbled a year's worth in that hour, but i did it. and now that i can't even carry myself, vern lugs that suitcase filled with clothes, diapers and security blankets about everywhere we go - even for the simple over-nighter.

looking through her albums now, i am so happy for things like scanners and photoshop to get the shots my 18 yr old self did not find the value in.

this is where my mind wanders during every graduation season. mom.

newsworthy

this morning it is not the fda going after cheerios. now caleb thinks they are bad for us and positions we may as well allow him to eat cinnamon toast crunch every morning. with a side of apple jacks.

i suppose it could be worse, and he could be discussing with me whether miss california should lose her title.

i've had my head in the sand all week. intentionally. with spite. such are the petty day-to-day goings-ons. otherwise known as marriage which God gifts us to further refine ourselves. my flaws boil to the surface and then - well. they get a proper sanding down after i've cooled as i pull my head out again.

the family of a dear friend was involved in a boat explosion in tampa. our neighbor's scary dog finally did break his chain. he mauled the neighbor a yard over while we five were playing in our backyard, separated from where the dog was kept by a few mere feet.

for weeks i prayed every night God simply grant me an extension. just a little more time to do a little bit better. we got pregnant. i always thought that was kind of funny. not really the extension i meant.

i feel like i'm wasting this relatively easy span of time with sand in my eyes. but. i'm also very thankful we have this (relatively easy span of time) to work on the deeper crap no one has energy for once newsworthy happens.

the cheesiest

jeremy williams and i had an on-going challenge to see who could eat the most macaroni-n-cheese. i remember this as vividly as i do swallowing lima beans whole and that cinnamon did not make warm squash taste better. mom babysat. proper nutrition was saved for supper.

even so.

this never occured to me until just today. i about dropped the spoon i was using to divy up mac-n-cheese for the kids: how many kraft boxes did she mix up to aid in our weekly throw-downs? it's been a savored childhood memory. 8 bowls. one summer day i ate jeremy under the table with 8 bowls, and until an hour ago i had never questioned my record's integrity though jeremy did appeal the last bowl should not qualify as a full portion. i countered that i had beaten him with the 7 th to finish up what was left in the pan. not only could i eat more, i was faster.

where my mom was in all of this, i have no recollection. but at 9 or 10 we were certainly not feeding ourselves. and if not for this battle of the mac with jeremy williams i would not believe my mother to ever have let us eat so much of anything in one sitting. she had to have been staging the repeat helpings for us with 2 or 3 bites to a round. had to.

being a mom now. it casts light onto the shadows surrounding some of my fondest memories. i see a new side of who my mom was back then. i like that part. we'll see when maddy hits her tweens and illuminated is what mom must have been doing when i was one. i don't go overboard for mother's day. but in 10 years? the brain cells might be so bright with understanding that i'll be sending my mother a truck load of roses.

pretty toes

i read the first of suggestions from my old college roommate, snow flower and the secret fan, in three sittings last friday. wholly neglecting supper, bath, story, bed and all-heck-broken-loose times. i vaguely recalled later hugs and kisses good-night. it'd been a really long time since i sat down with a book. we had an affair.

it struck me how i was reading a tale about women whose futures were predicted almost entirely on the beauty of their feet. their feet after being bound and broken and reformed into 3" long 'golden lillies'. and when i say women, i really mean little girls. i realized i squint when i am horrified, and it's really hard to read while squinting.

i was born with feet. not raw golden lily material by any stretch of the imagination. as a child i used to imagine where they were. so odd the idea that a part of your being could be lopped off, bagged up and - incinerated like garbage. i finally expressed concern that my feet were just lounging around a landfill to my mother, and she clued me in. this eased my mind that they were not among mounds of disposable diapers nor would i one day bump into them floating in a big gallon jug along with the old basemented canning jars. i was 6 months old when they were removed and the process of reconstructing my knees began.

dad told me had i been born any earlier, and i'd have spent my life in an institution. earlier still, and society would have had my infant skull crushed against a rock. and in this day of ultrasounds, aborted.

i went to mexico my junior year of college. visiting the pyramids, my professor quietly told me had i been born in that ancient society, i'd have been considered a god. that still makes me smile a little, though i know i would have caved under the pressure. i mean a god. having my food brought to me while living in temple luxury is a nice idea, but i'm sure i would also have been expected to have grand thoughts. and possibly speak in public. i would surely have been found out eventually. or murdered by the Christian invaders. or on a really bad day, both.

after squinting and squirming for a good half hour, i had to laugh again. i can only imagine a matchmaker's reaction at seeing my toes. having a crushed skull might have been more out of bewilderment than brutality. and i have to let go of the idea wandering in the background that vern is a little off for finding what's left after my surgeries and amputations to be beautiful in its own right. i'd never considered a pretty foot or lower limb to be such a subjective thing. or at least extend so far beyond the preference of polish color and heel height. i so owe my husband a cookie. or at least one night off to sit and read si's 'brett favre' while i tackle the kids.

what she said

the last 12 lines of this. i had a little light bulb moment. i needed one. bookmarked in this way because sometimes i forget to keep charging that socket's battery and allow what lightens to dim.

fleeting

i caught a glimpse of us in the spinning doors of the hospital headed to the pediatric clinic today, in for owen's 6 month well-baby appointment. just after passing a care provider pushing a sweet elderly woman. widened soft and smiling eyes as we had come into view. "oh, she has her hands full." "looks like dad does, too!"

'you've/he's got your/his hands full' is the #1 line said to vern. yes. we've been keeping a poll it happens that often. there's a joke going round that he should get a t-shirt that on the back reads, "yes! i do!" so i was happy to get a little credit during this public outing.

and then i saw us. owen and maddy seated in my lap, both sitting straight and proper and 13 months apart, but only a few inches and mere 6 pounds difference in size. maddy with her baby doll brody nestled at her side. vern pushing all 4 of us. caleb at pre-k, but usually walking to vern's side holding either his dad's hand or mine.

i'm going to miss this when the kids get older. being able to carry them. have people make note of the children, and my status as a mother, before really taking note of my missing lower limbs or oddly structured hands.

people's faces are so much softer when there's a baby in your lap. they look you in the eye. somehow having a kid or two (three) in tow has been the great equalizer. i'm not so different. i have kids.

i like this.

of course. it also quickly hit me that the she with hands full to whom they were referring was not me, but maddy.

and indeed maddy is busy tending to everyone - with her quiet insistence that the ped also check brody's heart and tummy. having already checked his blood pressure and eyes and ears during our time in the exam room herself. brody weighs a whopping 4 pounds. a water baby, we can't wait to see how much he weighs at 9 months with a full-fill.

i love this. and i know it is shooting by So Very Fast. we need to take a picture of our reflection before the kids outgrow us.

foggy mom statements

as caleb is chasing his sister with a foam cone "boom-boom-boom": "no shooting people! unless you're shooting them with love!"

?

i don't even know what that means, but he now has her cornered behind a chair booming "i just killed you with love!"

easters past pt 2

i find it crazy how something that has stirred in me for as many years could seem so wimbly when put to paper. screen. maybe over time i'll have better words to express how hollow easter has felt when i look back on it. maybe now that i've written with the words i have on hand now the feeling will pour out and allow for something new to enter.

either way, i've been racking my brain to think what on earth we did do as kids. i know we had baskets. we went to church. we had ham or kentucky fried chicken with grandpa. or whatever family we were able to visit/be visited upon that year from the hartfords. there are sweet pictures of us as itty-bitty mites with our loot. in our sunday best. not too many of the ham or kfc buckets, but still...


also in this brain rack i am trying to find the name for the whole 'plastic grids you cut to shape and stitch with yarn and needle into awesome 70's-80's art'. the varied household decor - kleenex box covers, toaster covers, ornaments, mobiles...


in our easter tub is packed the two baskets mom made in this medium for carl and me one year. the baskets formed of bunny faces with two opposing cottontails sporting extra long ears that met - united with pretty little yarn bows - forming the basket's handles. white bunnies with pink features, pink bows. i amuse myself with images of carl opening such a girlie easter basket past blast this year.


they serve as reminder for how much mom did. how easily kids forget. i can't help but wonder how ours will recall their easters past. if the fun we have now will only firm up into tradition that they will replicate with their families one day or. or life will happen to cloud out their early years like they did mine.

and so. bunny notes. just in case life happens. and then we lose all our pictures to fire, flood and a dropped external hard drive.

easters past

i list my last easter with mom as being spent in omaha. i think she meant it as some relaxing getaway, but it felt more like we were in hiding. and maybe we were. just the 3 of us. in omaha, at a hotel. with a pool that usually meant high-times, but that year carl was yet on crutches and not about to get wet. i was too old as a high school senior to find much joy in swimming by myself. with strange guys around. who might see me. i really can't think what we were doing there. if the stress i recall was because it was meant to be a good time and wasn't or ? - if we were hiding out and it's never easy to relax when you're running away. it's only as a side that i remember it was even easter. mom was so tired, frazzled, on-edge. she ran a red light through a major intersection.

my last easter with dad was my junior year in college. at a hotel in omaha. he had rooms there for our family of 4 plus aunt mary. grandpa horne had died the september before. we were there for the hotel's big easter sunday buffet. i remember saturday night watching... that movie with the action hero and shoot-out with the alligator tank. joking around with carl in his hotel robe. showing pictures to mom and mary of some college activities. habitat over spring break maybe?

dad wanted so badly for us to all just relax and enjoy one another's company. we all did try. trying can be tiring. and then came sunday morning and dad was making stern phone calls because his credit card was maxed out, and they had no way to pay for the rooms. carl and i went down to the big buffet by ourselves. surrounded by strange, smiling happy families. when we came back up to the room, dad was still at the little desk, on the phone. rubbing his forehead. that's how i left him, down to the parking lot and back to school.

those two seasons are fresh every year in my mind. my poor parents. all through toddlerdom and elementary and baskets and candy and... and all the kid remembers are the two weekends you wish she didn't.