Hmmmm

I'm embarrassed to say I'm still fuming a little.  Not too embarrassed to write another post on the topic though.  What can I say?  Cyber venting is somewhat cathartic for me.

In my defense, a large portion of the fact that I'm still fuming a little is that I sat through a good ten to fifteen minutes on the phone of a mom of one of the chosen few giving me her take on the situation.  Which she felt was necessary because Chris has very publicly stated our disdain for how things have gone down and, I think, because she's feeling a little guilty.  On Saturday morning, when this was still a hot, fresh, steaming pile of bull dung (stinks the most when it's fresh), she expressed a wish to give her perspective.  I kind of shut her down, expressed that it wasn't necessary, that I know how things go in the big mean world.  We kind of left it at that.  Then, on Sunday, there was a super awkward moment between this mom, Chris, and one of the cherry picker dads.  Too long to go into, but take my word for it:  awkward.

I then came home to an email once again expressing her desire to share her perspective, some info we might not know, and stating how valued our friendship is.  I replied, told her we apologized for any action we'd taken that had left her feeling put in the middle as well as my shortness and reluctance to discuss it on Saturday and welcomed her to call anytime.

All of which led to her phone call yesterday morning.  In case you're wondering why we saw this mom over the weekend, it's because her kid and J are on the same basketball team and we had a tournament.  And, we know them well, largely because the boys have been on the same baseball team for the past two seasons.  We have spent a whole lotta hours with these folks.  And we like them, and we do value their friendship.  (And thus would've valued a little forthrightness about this situation, since they've been sitting among the Cooperstown chosen few since September and felt a need to keep it secret, despite the hours and hours we've spent together on the sidelines since then.  But I digress... we're all doing the best we can here).

Still, I really had no desire to sit and listen to a monologue on why this whole stinking pile of dung doesn't really stink as much it seems.  Insert lots of details here about how this isn't associated with Edina Baseball and how these dads did a lot of leg work to get all this put together and had no malicious intent to leave anyone out.  Their motives were pure.  Blah, blah, blah.

I turned 39 last week.  Depending on where you sit, that could be viewed as old, or young, or middle aged.  From where I sit, it's the oldest I've ever been, I have the most life experience I've ever had, and I'm further into adulthood than I've ever been before.  And, as a whole, I love adulthood.  My twenties were far better than my teens, my thirties have blown my twenties out of the water, and I fully expect the same trend for my forties.  Growing up has, on the whole, been good to me.

Here's where I struggle with being adult.  I really, really, REALLY did not want to take that phone call.  My particular logic chip in my particular brain tells me I had no obligation to do it.  The only purpose in me listening was so she could feel better about the situation. If I were to have taken my best interest to heart, I wouldn't have.  Because, let's face it, it's just drawing this whole nonsensical situation out for me.  Keeping that dung pile steaming and fresh for an extra day or two if you will.

And yet...

Not taking that phone call really wouldn't have been very adult of me.  And neither would saying all the things that were going through my mind during said phone call.  So, I put on my big girl panties and simply said, 'yes, umm hmm, ok, I see.'

And yet...

I'm still resisting the urge to reply to her.  To get everything off my chest like she got to do.  To dispute all her asinine details about why the dung doesn't really stink as much as I think it does.

And yet...

I get how pointless that would be.  I get that views on ethics and decent human behavior vary greatly based on where you sit and what you see; and that we all have to make our own decisions about how we're going to act, what we can live with and what we can't.  And, while I'd like to hole up and simply tell folks who don't see things my way to talk to the hand and leave me be, that ultimately hurts no one more than myself.  I guess, if it gets down to it, I can see how belief that nothing outside of the rules has happened here exists.  I get that this other mother has relationship with the two dads who put this whole shootin' match together, and perhaps that relationship makes it harder to see what to me is so clearly culpability.

So, my takeaways for today.

Integrity is in the eye of the beholder.

Sometimes I have to respect the eye of the beholder even if doing so puts my guts into knots.

It's ok to be adult and to take the high road and take that damn phone call, even though it feels terribly and horribly unjust.

And finally:


Believe it or not, I'm actually feeling better.

Cake Eater Problems

I’m going to spare you the details, but last week was a little on the long and emotionally and mentally taxing side for me.  All you really need to know is that come Friday at 5pm, my little family headed out to dinner and I was very ready to just sit at a restaurant and be served while the four of us would sit and utilize our mobile devices to play games and catch up on social media and ignore one another enjoy meaningful conversation about the highs and lows of our week.  

And, it went that way for a time.  Then Jerod asked me if I’d received the email about a baseball team trip to Cooperstown to play in a tournament this summer.  Well, no, as a matter of fact I hadn’t.  Jerod then proceeds to freak out a little bit because there’s a meeting pertaining to Cooperstown THAT VERY NIGHT.  I immediately begin scanning my phone to see if I’ve missed an email.  Husband then assumes there must’ve been a glitch with Jerod’s baseball registration, causing him to be left out.  I text a couple of baseball mommas and find out two different dads are putting together teams, which have essentially been cherry picked by these two dads; and the whole thing has no official affiliation with the hometown baseball association.  Jerod was not one of the cherry picked kiddos.  At this point, food is arriving at the table and tears are welling up in his eyes.  

Well hell.  There goes my relaxing dinner.  

I like sports.  Scratch that.  I freakin’ love sports.  When I’m not at my kids’ games, I’m typically at home watching sports on the tee vee.  I also love watching my kids play sports and be parts of things (teams) bigger than themselves.  Holy hot hannah, though, I am rapidly running out of patience for the associations and parents involved with organizing kid sports.  

Both dads forming these Cooperstown teams sit on the board of the Edina Baseball Association.  And all of the kids they’re picking have come through Edina Baseball Association.  Yet these teams are said to have no affiliation with EBA.  So, you can sit on the association board and pick players from the association.  Edina must be proud of these cake eaters.  Having their cake (sitting on the board and carrying the responsibilities that come with it) and eating it too (plucking kids from the association for a team that isn’t part of the association).  

Way to keep it classy, fellas.  I feel like they should at least be required to pay for my damn dinner.

A Post I Have No Business Writing

I'm leaving for El Salvador in four days.  I need to pack.  I have no less than three very large loads of laundry waiting to be folded, and the dryer will be buzzing at me very soon.  I have volunteer obligations that need tending to.  I guess maybe 'volunteer obligations' is somewhat of an oxymoron.  Volunteer tasks might be a better way to put it, but we'll get back to that a little later.  At any rate, the PTO checkbook needs to be reconciled and I'm supposed to be contacting an attorney on behalf of my church regarding a conservation easement on the church's property.  I digress.  I have no intention of ever residing in Kansas again.  These are just a few of the reasons I have no business writing a post on my feelings about mid-term elections in Kansas.  But, here I am.

Until this election, I really hadn't followed a Kansas gubernatorial race since I'd been away.  Not that I didn't care about my home state, but it was a busy time.  I had some stuff going on:  entering the real world, moving, learning how to be married, having babies, etc.  And, I knew Kansas, though the overwhelming electorate held political views very different from my own, would be OK.  Although I still feel busy (albeit in completely different ways), Kansas politics has sucked me in of late.  Like many things that suck me in at this phase of my life, I attribute this to social media.  And, in particular, the facebook page of Game on For Kansas Schools, and their efforts on behalf of students in Kansas.

They brought to my consciousness the state of education in Kansas and it wasn't pretty.  Being that I had no real intention of ever residing in the sunflower state again, it would be logical for me not to care.  BUT...

I'm proud to be a product of public education in Kansas.  The knowledge and values that education instilled in me are why I have the 'volunteer obligations' mentioned above.  In Kansas schools I learned about being a contributing member of society, about looking out for one another, about helping out where we can for the greater good.  I don't love going to PTO meetings or serving on church committees; but growing up and being educated in Kansas, I learned that citizenship and service are vital to creating the kind of world I want to live in.  I'm proud to be the granddaughter of Kansas educators.  I'm proud to hold a degree from the University of Kansas (I'm also proud to hold a degree from Southwestern College, but it's a private institution, so that's a whole different ball of wax).  And to me, the current state of education in the state of Kansas feels like a complete kick in the face of all those things.  And, most importantly, as far as I'm concerned, it feels like a kick in the face to the scads of fantastic teachers who helped to shape me into what I am today.

When Chris and I moved to Minnesota in 2000, we intended to spend three to five years here and then try to get back to Kansas.  Life got in the way of our plans, and we're still here 14 years later.  Our lives our such right now that we could live anywhere on the planet, so long as there's reliable internet access.  We could move to Kansas.  We'd be closer to most of our family.  Our taxes would be lower (we're white and fairly well to do-- Sam would take very good care of us).  We could sell our 1950's dated rambler and buy a brand stinking  new, maintenance free mansion with the proceeds.   On paper it'd be a sweet deal.  In reality, it'd be hell.

Take comfort in my to do list.  If not for it, I would sit here and bellyache all day.  Alas, the laundry calls.

Prison Talk, Part 2-- Thank God for Teachers

I never brought this up with teachers, for the reasons I've already described.  There's no good time.  It's uncomfortable.  Two years ago, when boy child was in fourth grade, my husband and I attended his parent-teacher conference.  Husband and I and teacher (who knew nothing of the situation) discussed and agreed that boy child had been a little out of sorts.  We pretty much left it at that.  The next day (yes, the VERY next day) the teacher (an absolute saint) called to tell me that boy child had burst into tears during the class' 'tell everyone what you're doing for Thanksgiving break' exercise; as he stated, "We're going to jail to visit my uncle and I don't want to talk about it."  So, yeah, we apparently should've given the teacher a head's up to the situation.  In my defense, I didn't have a manual.

After the call, and a meltdown on my part, I sent his teacher the following email:

Mrs. D,

I feel like giving you a little more information on the situation might be helpful.  

C's brother has been in federal prison in Michigan for just under three years, for charges relating to internet pornography(I apparently am not quite ready to come right out and say it, but if you look closely, you can read it through the black.  I'm all about the mind games).  Obviously, we had no idea; and when the feds came knocking on his door (right before Jerod was about to start kindergarten), we were shocked, saddened, mad, etc., etc.  My immediate concern, obviously, was whether or not my kids had been violated.  Upon completion of the investigation, we were assured that they were not.

Because our kids were so young, we initially just told them that their uncle was going to be gone for a long time.  As time has progressed, they've obviously learned more and more.  Clearly they know he's in prison, but the only reason why we've given them is 'he got into some stuff that wasn't his, he got in trouble, and he's being punished.'  The nature of his offense has turned a bad situation into a really bad situation... as we haven't felt able to tell them why M's in trouble.  

When he initially went away, we did not intend to take the kids to visit.  They pushed us about wanting to see him, though, and we ultimately decided to take them to see him.  They've been twice now.  It is extremely hard on all of us, but J takes it especially hard.  I have admittedly been in a little denial about our upcoming unconventional holiday plans.  As ridiculous as it sounds, it really didn't dawn on me that this could be what's causing his melancholy moods.  

I understand that this is a lot to take in, and for that I apologize.  As I mentioned on the phone, it's really tricky to know when to bring it up.  It ultimately is not secret information.  Our closest friends all know, but we have not readily shared it with people at Countryside (J didn't start there until 2nd grade, I'm not super social, and I'm still getting to know folks).  I also understand how bizarre it must be to read that we're actually taking our kids to visit.  It is something we struggled mightily with, but ultimately decided it was a way to teach our kids about unconditional love and forgiveness.  

If we can answer any more questions or be of further assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.  We are taking steps to find someone for J to see, because he's clearly not feeling like he can talk to us about it.  

Thank you again for your call and your compassion.  We appreciate it more than we can ever tell you.

To which she replied:  

Anne,

Thank you for sharing.  What you have shared with me will not go beyond me, but it may help me be able to help J in some way in the classroom.  He truly is an amazing kid (as I’m sure you know!) and if you can think of anything I can do for him please let me know.  I can only imagine the struggles that you must deal with related to this as a brother (in-law), and as a parent.  We do have a school psychologist who is a resource for kids to go and talk with here.  I could see if he could possibly talk with Jerod if you think that might help him.  Please let me know and I will facilitate whatever I can to help out.

Have a great week and good luck with the holidays.

If you know me at all, you know my belief that teachers are the single most underpaid, underappreciated group of angels on earth.  Seriously.  You can't tell me this woman knew she'd be dealing with this kind of stuff, yet she dealt with all of us with such grace, professionalism, and compassion.  There really are not adequate words to say how thankful I am.  

The following year, in fifth grade, I was more proactive.  I forwarded the email above along with this message at the beginning of the year:

Mr. D,

As a sort of 'follow up' to the worksheet I filled out about J, I'm sending a copy of a note I sent to Mrs. D last year.  On the day before Thanksgiving break last year, her class was going around telling what they'd be doing for the holiday, and Jerod burst into tears and said we were going to visit his uncle in jail.  The note below fills in some of the gaps.  This whole cluster may or may not be something that comes up this year.  My intent in sending this is so that you won't be caught completely off guard should it come up.

I realize this is an odd thing to share via email.  Finding the right time to broach this subject with others is one the many, many difficult aspects of this unfortunate scenario.  Please do not hesitate to contact me with any questions or concerns.  You also most certainly have our permission to talk about this with Mrs. D or anyone else at Countryside you feel needs to know. 

And, completely unrelated... I thought I had bought the calculator, but apparently I haven't.  I will be in after school today to purchase one.

To which he replied:  

Thank you very much for the heads up.  I really appreciate it!

No worries about the calculator.  I have a meeting today right after school so Jerod can just show me the calculator tomorrow morning.

Thanks for all your support!!!

During this fall's conference (our first middle school conference!), I sat across the table from J's advisory teacher and gave her the low down.  I need to quit yapping and get to work, so I'm not going to spew all the details; but she was equally as incredible as the fourth and fifth grade teachers.  I don't claim to have all the answers to parenting, but I do know for a fact C and I could not do it alone.  I am so thankful for our village, including TEACHERS.

 

TEN

In the interest of not overwhelming this blog with talk of the pokey, I give you fire baby's 10th birthday slideshow.  She's a beast, but she's awesome.

Prison Talk

One might think the most challenging part of this chapter in life is talking about it, and that is true.  Sort of.  Actually, once you decide to talk about it, the discussion tends to not be too terribly difficult (though this could be because I've become somewhat desensitized to the situation).  What IS difficult, however, is knowing who to talk to about it, when to talk to them, how much to tell.

When it first became apparent that Uncle M was in trouble, our first instinct was to tell no one.  There are lots of reasons for this, but as I so often say, that's a post for another day.  Anyhoo, we initially chose to deal with the situation internally.  Bad idea.  Internalizing something you're feeling so viscerally leads to stress, anxiety, and an extremely foul mood.  I'm not saying it's not ok to be in a bad mood; but when you're perpetually in a bad mood for months on end, and people around you don't know why, relationships suffer.  I think, in looking back, I can say we didn't suffer any friendship casualties related to this; but many were strained for quite some time; which I attribute to us not sharing what we were dealing with.

Eventually, we did come to a point where we told people.  In fact,I hit a point where I really didn't care who the hell knew.  What was once a closely guarded secret, I will now discuss with anyone who wants to know more.  However, that doesn't mean everyone needs, or even wants to know.  The big issue I deal with is not wanting to talk about it, not because I'm hiding it, but because talking about it tends to make the person receiving such news pretty damn uncomfortable.  Imagine someone you know throwing it out in conversation that they have a loved one in prison.  How would you respond?  Even having been on this side of it, I don't know the answer to that.  And, when the hell do you bring up such a topic?  During joys and concerns time of your parenting support group?  Over dinner or drinks with friends?  At your kid's parent teacher conference?  There simply is no good time to throw that into a conversation.

Tune in next time for a report on how we finally did come to tell boy child's teacher of the situation.  It's a doozy.

Policy, Procedure, & Power

Last weekend, after probably two months of emailing back and forth to find a time that would work for both families (welcome to parenting and socializing in the modern era), we met up with family friends who we've known since J was a babe.  We would not be Minnesotans if the 'You going anywhere for MEA topic?' didn't come up, so of course it did.  This family knows of the situation and has heard some of our tales from previous visits to what we call 'La Casa Grande,' so we told them what we had in store.  Had they not had previous knowledge of the situation, we likely would have said, "We're going to Michigan to catch up with a college friend."  Which is true, because another absolutely fabulous perk of these trips is that we're always able to catch up with college friend Jen and her family.  Which brings up two topics that I'll leave now and hopefully blog about on another day.  Talking to people about this whole shebang, and how awesome it is to meet up with Jen and family on a regular basis.

Aaaaaanyhoo... the reason I brought up the friends we caught up with last weekend is because upon hearing our plans, she mentioned that they've started watching Orange is the New Black and asked if the visitation scenes portrayed on the show are realistic at all.  In a nutshell, yes they are.

Here's how it goes, on a good day, with no hitches:

• You check the website to see what visiting hours are.
• You arrive in the lobby and pick up a numbered visitor form to fill out.  It includes information such as the name (and of course number) of who you're there to see, your name and home address, make and model of the vehicle you're driving, home address, and any minors with you for whom you are responsible.
• A guard sitting in a glassed off cubicle of sorts calls out numbers (which correspond to the numbered forms).  Once your number is called, you enter the cubicle, sign in, remove your shoes, and go through a metal detector.  
• Upon passing the metal detector test, you enter a little anteroom of sorts.  Once a handful of other visitors have been processed, the guard comes in.  Then a huge door of bars (yes, prison bars) slides closed between the anteroom and the guard cubicle/lobby area.  Not to be overly dramatic, but it's an awful lot like this.  You really haven't lived until you've experienced this with your kids.  

• You enter the actual visiting area, check in with another guard at a desk, who tells you where to sit.
• You sit and wait for your inmate to come in.  Usually it's fairly quick.  Sometimes it's not.  We watched a family sit and wait for nearly an hour today.

Now I'll write about what can actually happen.  In some ways, it's the same.  Differences will be in a different colored text.

• You check the website to see what visiting hours are.  With any luck, the website will have been updated, but you never really know.  If you happen to arrive during a 'count,' or there's fog, or anything out of the ordinary has happened; all bets can be off.  We've historically been lucky in this regard, thankfully.  
• You arrive in the lobby and pick up a numbered visitor form to fill out.  It includes information such as the name (and of course number) of who you're there to see, your name and home address, make and model of the vehicle you're driving, home address, and any minors with you for whom you are responsible.  Should the country be in the midst of an ebola scare, you'll have to fill out a sheet of paper saying you haven't been in western Africa in the past 21 days; and if you have, you must certify you're not suffering from runny turds.  While waiting for your number to be called, you'll watch others be called in and then come out because they didn't meet some visitor standard or another.  There are no words to adequately convey the ridiculous sadness of watching this go down.  
• A guard sitting in a glassed off cubicle of sorts calls out numbers (which correspond to the numbered forms).  Once your number is called, you enter the cubicle, sign in, remove your shoes, and go through a metal detector.  If you don't meet all the criteria for the visitor dress code, you get sent out to change; and the guard tells you to fill out another form (a.k.a. move to the back of the line).  Yesterday, boy child was wearing sweat pants and girl child was wearing yoga pants.  DENIED.  Thankfully we had our suitcases in the car, so we went out to change.  Unfortunately, yoga pants was all I'd packed for girl child; because that's all she ever wears.  Thankfully, I had packed my black 'skinny jeans,' which can double as not skinny jeans on a nine year old (because believe you me, there wasn't any chance of skinny jeans getting past this week's guard.) Girl child has been in with yoga pants before, and boy child has been in with sweat pants before; but that nonsense wasn't going to fly with this week's guard.  And, in case you're wondering, these standards most certainly vary; depending on who the guard is, what kind of mood he/she is in, his/her general impressions of you, barometric pressure.  Seriously, it is totally random.  If after you've changed clothes and filled out your forms for a second time a new inmate should arrive with the local sheriff to report, previously mentioned guard will SPRINT out of his little glass area to meet the sheriff before he brings the inmate into the lobby, because inmate can't walk through the lobby while visitors are sitting there.  Inmate will go back into his cage in the back of the van and guard will tell all visitors that they have to leave the building.  Visitors will wait outside while inmate is escorted in, complete with cuffs and lots of chains.  You really haven't lived until you've experienced this with your kids.  
• Upon passing the metal detector test, you enter a little anteroom of sorts.  Once a handful of other visitors have been processed, the guard comes in.  Then a huge door of bars (yes, prison bars) slides closed between the anteroom and the guard cubicle/lobby area.  Not to be overly dramatic, but it's an awful lot like this.  You really haven't lived until you've experienced this with your kids.  

• You enter the actual visiting area, check in with another guard at a desk, who tells you where to sit.
• You sit and wait for your inmate to come in.  Usually it's fairly quick.  Sometimes it's not.  We watched a family sit and wait for nearly an hour today.

So... that's more than you ever wanted to know about the entry process for visiting an incarcerated family member.  Which also presents another future post topic:  how/when/why we decided that we would take our children to visit Uncle M in la casa grande.

The title of this post is the summary.  There are policies and procedures, and there is most definitely a power struggle going on.

Michigan, Day 2

Good things about our current MEA excursion

• Because we're in need of a new mattress at home, hotel beds often offer me a superior sleeping experience to that of my own bed.  Weird, huh?  The room darkening curtains don't hurt either. 
• I got to enjoy a sit down breakfast with both my kids.  That practically never happens in real life.  
• My kids are currently playing in the hotel pool, like two moderately tame and housebroken creatures who don't hate one another.  Also highly unusual in real life.

Less good things

• The waterpark, as well as the arcade, we usually enjoy while on these trips is closed for maintenance.  
• The corn maze that was to be a substitute for the water park doesn't open until 6pm this evening.  'Cause the 'M' in MEA doesn't stand for Michigan.  
• This is a working 'vacation' for my parenting partner in crime.  He's been on a call all morning and will remain online for at least another hour.  This is not exactly a complaint.  He works hard and the fruits of those labors afford us the privilege of being able to take this trip (and lots of others).  Which is impressive, if you factor in that I am not a wage earning member of society.  But still kind of a bummer.

Really poopy things

• In about an hour and a half, we'll all shower and start getting ready for the real reason we're here:  to visit Uncle M in prison.

How My Family Will Be Spending MEA

MEA is upon us.  For you non-Minnesotans, MEA is code for a weekend in October when each and every k-12 school in Minnesota has a four day weekend.  In theory, it's so educators can attend state meetings.  But I've never known any teachers who have attended meetings.  I'm not passing judgement.  I loves me some teachers and would never commit such a heinous act.  I'm just telling you I don't exactly know all the details of the MEA phenomenon.  I just know my kids don't have school today or tomorrow.

MEA plans for families here in our affluent, cake-eating corner of the state cover a wide range of activities.  Some families do absolutely nothing.  Some go to DisneyWorld.  My family?  This year we're going to Michigan to visit my brother-in-law, who currently resides in a federal prison.  

I don't know if anyone ever reads this blog.  I can't blame anyone for NOT reading it, as I'm just coming off nearly a two year hiatus from posting anything on it.  If you're one of the people in my life who didn't previously know I have an incarcerated brother-in-law, I apologize for this uncouth method of breaking the news.  But, unless you've walked this mile in my shoes, I trust you will not judge how I decide to (or not to) share such details of my life.

I'm not real sure why I'm deciding to blog about this at this point, other than the fact that it's always a good/bad/fun/painful/completely surreal experience; and I guess this year I just need an outlet.  Uncle M has been residing in Michigan since 2010.  His journey to leave home and self-report actually started on Palm Sunday of that year.  I won't go into the Biblical significance (or lack thereof... still figuring that one out) of the timing of the departure.

Today our family of four visited Uncle M for, I believe, the fourth time.  The past two years we've come over the Thanksgiving holiday (Chris and I actually celebrated 15 years of marriage last year on Thanksgiving day.  That will have to be a post unto itself!).  There's a WHOLE lotta back story to be told here, and I'm not going there this evening (though you should stay tuned if you really want to know the nitty gritty details).

For this evening, I'll just say this:  I just spent about two and a half hours in the visiting room of a federal prison.  Getting through security is also something that's going to need to be an entire post to itself, but just know it's generally a shitty process.  My kids have been relatively difficult to deal with all day (not that I blame them) and I'm sitting at a small pool in the Dundee, MI Holiday Inn while my kids scrub some energy in the pool.  I'm spent.  Check back later for more details in this sordid tale.  Or don't.  Despite the fact that I'm posting this on the WWW, this exercise is for me and me alone.  Whether or not anyone else reads it is completely irrelevant.

That sounds snotty.  I don't mean it too.  I'm just tired.  Hasta luego, blogger land.

Parenthood is So Damn Relentless

The name's Will.  Iron Will.

The title of today's post (the first one in nearly two years!) is my most liked Facebook post of last week.  And, perhaps one of my most liked posts of all-time.

Last week was, as they say, one of those weeks.  I frequently (and admittedly inappropriately) refer to Elise as 'the fire baby.'  More acceptable terms would be bullheaded, headstrong, intractable, mulish, obstinate, pertinacious, or strong willed.  And yes, if you're wondering, I totally have a thing for thesaurus.com.  I love the interweb!

Anyhoo.  She totally overachieved in her role as fire baby last week.  My parenting partner in crime has traveled a lot recently.  Thankfully, he was in town last week, because I'm not sure I would've survived on my own.  

Back in our Early Childhood Family Education (ECFE) days, they frequently talked about how kids (and surely adults too) have periods of equilibrium, where things roll along routinely and all is status quo; and disequilibrium, where all hell breaks loose.  It's safe to say we are in the midst of disequilibrium.  

Every. little. thing.  last week was a complete battle with this child.  Homework, eating dinner, getting ready for soccer, getting out of bed, taking a bath.  Relentless.  And, we're not off to a much better start this week.  She was a complete bear about getting out of bed.  She had homework to get done.  Time was ticking away.  Chris told her we weren't going to nudge her anymore.  If she didn't get out of bed and get ready, she would just face the consequences.  Knowing that she wouldn't be too terribly sad if she missed the bus and didn't make it to school, I had to alter this plan of attack.  I said to her, "Elise, at 8:55 you are going out to the bus stop.  I don't care if you're still in you pj's, I will take you out there and physically put you on the bus.  And you will be extremely embarrassed."  I immediately walked out.  I could hear her retorting in the background, but thanks to the background noise of the dishwasher and shower, I couldn't hear what she was saying.  Had I heard her, there's a 99.9% chance she would've set me off, so the universe (and the shower and dishwasher) was working in my favor.  Thank you, universe!

She made it to the bus.  She ate breakfast, brushed her teeth, and was dressed; but the homework was not done.  The plan was to finish it on the bus.  It will be interesting to see how that went for her.  I hope it didn't get done.  And I hope there will be a consequence at school.  

Call Me Crazy

Yet another "national discussion" about guns is under way here, and it's so anti-rational, so politically cowardly, so …unbearably stupid that you have to wonder how a nation that has enlightened the world in so many other ways could wallow in this kind of delusion.
-Neil Macdonald

Like everyone in America, I'm in the midst of last minute holiday preparations, and trying desperately to process last Friday's school shooting in Connecticut.  

In recent days, I've stated to many people that, despite the reprehensible amount of gun violence that has taken place in this country in recent years, I have never entertained the idea that my kids are not safe when they're at school.  I guess it's the fact that many of those lives so unjustly cut short were so close in age to my own children, but this particular incident has left me with a feeling of vulnerability which I am not used to.  I am facing the reality that my kids, in fact, are not safe at school.  It's a hard pill for this mom to swallow.  

The harder pill for me to swallow, though, is the notion I'm repeatedly hearing that nothing can or should be done.  
It's not a gun issue, it's a mental health issue.
It's not a gun problem, it's a people problem.
I have constitutional rights... including owning an assault weapon.

I fully submit that what happened on Friday is a whole big can of messed up, made of more ingredients than I could shake a stick at.  

But...

While I would concede that perhaps it is true that stronger gun control laws would not have prevented this tragedy, you cannot convince me that it would not at least be worth a try.  Are we as a country really content to just throw our hands in the air and give up?  I know the argument.  'Crazy people are going to get their hands on guns no matter what the law says.'  True.  Just like people are going to commit murder, drive drunk, and commit countless other heinous acts that are against the law.  I would submit that it's still a good idea to have laws against those things in place.  No, they won't prevent all crime, but the law says that we as a country are not ok with this.  

Call me crazy, but I think it's time for us to say we as a country are not ok with mass killings.  Call me crazy, but I think my kids, and all the other school age kids, movie goers, mall shoppers, and other unarmed members of society, are worth trying to protect.  I think they're worth passing a law for... even if it won't work.  At least it would say that we as a society are NOT OK WITH THIS.  I love this country, and I think we're better than this.  I am sad.  I am frustrated.  I am emotional and admittedly not completely rational right now.  But my irrationality's got nothing on current gun culture in this country right now.  I guess I am selfish, because I just don't see how the right to bear arms 'designed for war, firing ultra-destructive bullets that travel at 3000 feet per second, designed to destroy human life as efficiently as possible, causing maximum internal damage' trumps my kids' rights to a long healthy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  

Time for My Annual Post

Wow... you write a woe is me post, blink twice, and nearly a year has gone by.  I don't think I was meant to document my life.  

Despite my whining of nearly a year ago, we had a pretty crazy good year.  Yes, we are still way too dang busy, and signed up for way too many activities, and don't enjoy nearly enough time of just 'being' as a family.  But, I offer up the serenity prayer and accept the things I cannot change.    OK... that's a lie.  There ARE things I could change, but I am outnumbered by the other three fine folks I co-habitate with.  So, I will give thanks for happy, healthy, active, smart, beautiful kids.  It's my blog, I can brag if I want to.

Jerod spent last winter playing house league basketball (his first year playing organized hoops).  Spring and summer were all about baseball, and fall consisted of more baseball and house league soccer.  The kid eats, sleeps, and breathes sports.  In addition to all this participation, he is an avid fan; and a student of all sports (particularly football, even though he doesn't play--Thank you sweet Jesus!).  In the fall he tried out for 'travel basketball' and made the B team.  He is love, love, loving it; and I have to say he's pretty good (again, it's my blog, I can brag).  

Elise enjoys gymnastics, soccer, and is currently enjoying the ski racing team she is part of.  As has been the case for her entire life, she continues to be an INTENSE and SPIRITED personality.  She keeps us on our toes and we love her gusto (even if we are unable to keep up).  

Both kids continue, against their will, taking piano lessons.  They hate it, and, truth be told, so do I.  It's a continual time consuming power struggle, but it's the one activity we require.  I do feel it's done their exceptional little brains a lot of good.  I often question how long we can keep it up, but for now, we trudge forward.  

One of my favorite moments of the year came in September, when my super fabulous, yet somewhat bullheaded husband came to the conclusion that we needed a second set of wheels (YA THINK HONEY???).    We are the proud lessees of a super sassy little Mazda 3 hatchback, complete with, wait for it... SEAT WARMERS.  I waited 36 years for such a luxury, and it's all I thought it would be!  The end of constant logistics wrangling about how to get two kids to 17 different places with one car has been every bit as fabulous as I anticipated.  

One of my least favorite moments came about three weeks after we brought the shiny new car home, when I proceeded to catch the front passenger bumper on the side of the house while backing out of the garage.  It was a bad, bad day.  I will spare you most of the details.  It is all fixed now.  The world can continue to turn.  

And... the really big news of 2012... Chris' brainchild website PatentCore.com has really taken off.  It's been tough and time consuming; but ultimately pretty stinking cool.  He still practices patent law, but has significantly scaled back his practice and spends most of his time running the company.  I could provide many, many details; but ultimately all you need to know is this:  He really, really loves the work he's doing, and is actually making a living doing it.  

That is pretty much the run down of our year.  The only things I left out are hip surgery for Chris and a couple of marathons for me.  Of course, I'm leaving out much more than those items I'm sure, but you get the idea.  There have, of course, been challenges before us.  Ultimately, though, we are blessed.  We have family, friends, faith and love.  Not too shabby.  Happy Holidays to my 3.2 readers!!

Woe is Me

**This post is completely whiny.  If you don't want to hear it, don't read it.  And, I realize everything I'm whining about is self-inflicted, so please do not feel the need to point that out.  That being said, when it comes to planning family activities, I am but 1/4 of the vote.**


We are busy.  I know I've said that in previous posts, but I was just being a big ol' whiner then.  I know someday I'll look back at this post and think the same thing.  But, let me list our winter activities for you, by kid.
Elise:  ski racing team, piano, Girl Scouts, gymnastics
Jerod:  basketball, piano


I realize that may seem a little underwhelming at first glance, but this is what our weekly schedule looks like:

Monday:  Ski practice from 6-8p, Basketball practice for an hour, starting at either 6,7, or 8p depending on the week.
Tuesday:  Elise's piano lesson 5:15-6:15p, and, if it's the 2nd Tuesday of the month, Girl Scouts from 4:00-5:15p
Wednesday:  Ski practice form 6-8p
Thursday:  Jerod's piano lesson, scheduled for 4:15 (but with weekly texts from his teacher asking to change it... to 5, or 6, or  6:15, or 6:30, depending on the week), Basketball game at 6,7, or 8p... ya know, depending on the week, and gymnastics from 6-7p.


Other interesting facts about our lives/schedules include the following:

• Both kids also go to school.  Including bus time, this spans from 9:00a-4:15p, M-F
• If the above mentioned piano lessons are going to be worth even a small part of the cha-ching cha-ching ching we're dropping on them, both kids really need to be practicing on a daily basis.
• Chris has already started training for next summer's marathons, and he's doing it in true Chris fashion:  full-throttle.  He has an online coach who prescribes each week's mileage for him.  By this time on Sunday, he will have run 50 miles this week.  Next week's schedule calls for 54.  
• Not long after we moved into this house (7+ years ago), Chris decided he was done driving to work. Coinciding with that decision was the thought process that he no longer had need for his own set of wheels, so we are a one car family.  
• Chris has started a side business (patentcore.com) which, not surprisingly, takes a lot of time.  In addition to that, he is busier in his day job than he's been in the 11+ years of his career. Back in the day he was typically home by 5:00.  Reality has slapped us in the face.  He's now typically out of the home life equation until 6, unless I hound/guilt him into catching the early bus home. 
• This past fall I decided that I wanted to become a mentor with Bolder Options, thus committing myself to spending a couple of hours a week with a 13 year old girl who is 'at-risk.'  This part of my crazy schedule I really enjoy, minus the transportation challenges created by only having one car.

As is the case with pretty much any topic, I have lots of opinions on all this.  Since I've been more than a little trigger happy with the bullets lately, and since I can barely string together a coherent thought, I'll use them again here.

• We have become the hyper-scheduled, over-extended family that I really never wanted to be.
• My kids are being exposed to a wide array of experiences, hopefully developing a life-long appreciation for arts, sport, and an active lifestyle.  
• Something's got to go.  If not, this family needs a second car.
• As the stay-at-home mom in this convoluted equation, I'm wearing quite a few hats (lunch assembler, launderer, bookkeeper, piano practice facilitator, homework assistant, and shuttle service provider, occasional classroom volunteer, to name a few).  Trouble is, you see, I'm not doing any of them particularly well.  
• On Mondays and Wednesdays, and frequently Thursdays, kids are waking up anywhere between 7 and 8:30am, hitting the bus at 9am, coming home at 4:15p; and frequently needing to be out the door for the evening activity (which, let's face it, should usually be plural: activities) by 5:30.  On ski nights and 8p basketball nights, nobody's realistically getting to bed before 9:30.  Heck, last night was a 7p basketball night and the kids were still up well past that 9:30 mark.  
• I guess it's just due to the fact that I've always had piss-poor time management skills, but we are typically not getting to piano practice.
• On Tuesdays, where all we typically have is a 5:15-6:15 piano lesson, I feel like we're on vacation.

The good news, at least for the next few weeks, is that despite this weekday craziness, our weekends are pretty much free.  The bad news is that my attitude is in the toilet.  I'm tired of having to figure out transportation when our one car can't get us to two places at once (despite the fact that we have awesome friends and family who frequently help-- shout out to the Klukow family and Donna).  I'm tired of feeling like I dropped the ball when we don't get to piano practice in a day.  I'm tired of taking 10 minutes out of the already harried morning schedule to rush Chris (who is frequently running late due to the enormous amount of miles he's logging on most mornings) to the bus stop. I'm tired of having to pack lunches because the school lunches are complete crap.  I'm tired of putting meals on the table that my kids won't eat.  I'm tired of requests to change J's piano lesson.  I'm tired of being the person that's never supposed to be tired because she doesn't have a wage earning job.

In short, I guess I'm just tired.  Winter break is upon us, and we'll have a nice little break from many of these activities.  Hopefully the new year will recharge me.  Let's hope.

My Week

Highlights of my last week include, but are not limited to:

• A really, really awesome Halloween
• Assisting my kids' school nurse with vision screening of about a bazillion first and second graders  
• Multiple incidents of my nine year old son sharting in his pants while trying to get to the bathroom (not exactly a new issue, but one we haven't had to visit for a long time, though in my not-so-humble opinion not long enough) 
• A revelation from the nine year old that he doesn't want to poo at school for fear of the toilet overflowing, so he's simply been pinching his penny and holding it in
• Asking previously mentioned nine year old if he needed an enema (I dare say, if you haven't had the experience of having such a conversation with your child, your parenting journey is not complete... and I wish you an incomplete journey)
• A call from the school nurse (after school was out, but before the kids had arrived home on the bus) telling me, that, despite the fact that she'd received a call from Jerod's teacher saying he was headed to health office and looked sick and pale, she'd never seen him  (Don't worry if you're confused.  This one still confuses me.)
• A call less than a minute later from the bus barn saying that Jerod was feeling very, very bad on the bus, so the driver was re-routing the whole load of kiddos so that Jerod could be dropped off next
• The sinking feeling of putting 2+2 together and realizing that my kid DID indeed need the enema, but I had been too spineless to push the issue because, let's face it, who REALLY wants to administer such a procedure on her own offspring
• The even more sinking feeling of realizing that my spinelessness resulted in my kid becoming so backed up with poo in his rectum and intestine that he was having severe cramping and pain so intense that he could barely walk off the bus and needed to be carried into the house by his mom and would, eventually, vomit due to the extent of discomfort
• A trip to the ER 
• Jerod barfing all over the scale at he ER (then looking up at the nurse with his sweet, pale, sick face with tears welling up in his eyes and saying "I'm so sorry.")
• A different nurse, who, bless his heart, had a horribly over-simplified view of this issue and repeatedly insinuated that the reason we were facing this issue is that Jerod is a couch potato and plays too many video games.  
• An absolutely incredible P.A. who more than made up for the shortcomings of the stupid nurse.  Needless to say, this situation sucked on about a bazillion different levels.  However, it did lead me to that rare experience of seeing someone doing what she was no doubt born to do.  Her bedside manner was unparalleled to any I've ever seen... simply amazing.  
• An enema administered by the stupid nurse, and the subsequent elimination of what seemed to be two metric tons of poo; immediately after which, Jerod said, "I can walk, I can jump, I'm HUNGRY!"
• The pleasure of getting to call my kid's teacher for the 'I don't know what your policy is, but if J needs to go to the bathroom, then, for the love of all that's good and holy, let him go to the bathroom' conversation
• A reminder of how much it sucks to be in a hospital with a sick kid, how incredibly exhausting it is even when the issue is minor, and how unbelievably blessed I am to have kids who are generally healthy and happy
• A reminder of how fortunate my family is to have insurance and access to quality healthcare... ya know, for when I completely drop the ball as a mom and my kid needs to go to the ER for an enema

Since I'm blogging for the first time in ages, I'm going to go ahead and throw in some Halloween pics.  

Camp and Parenthood and Fun and Fears and All that Good Stuff

This lovely six year old girl is at camp this week.

I think I could likely write on this fact for hours. I will try to restrain myself. But not completely. And before reading this post, you might want to read this post.

As a family, this is our fourth year at the fabulous Camp Tanadoona. It's an awesome place, and our kids have loved the time they've spent at day camp there. However, this year when the catalog came in the mail, way back in the dead of winter when the ground had umpteen inches of snow on it and we were making the most of all nine of our degrees, Chris pointed out to all of us that there was a mini-resident camp for kids ages 6-10. Upon being asked, Elise responded without hesitation: I WANT TO GO. Not terribly surprising coming from her, especially when I think back to the fits she threw the year I was taking Jerod and she wasn't yet old enough to go (see the linked post above). Jerod's take on the situation was that he needed to see whether or not his buddies could go. He ultimately stayed home.

My response? Well, let's just say I was a little more on the fence. Six seems pretty young for this sort of thing; and when I was leaving her on Sunday, I was thinking six seemed REALLY young for this sort of thing. However, she was ready! She begrudgingly let us take the picture you see above, but all in all, she could not ditch us quickly enough.

I have talked before about the weirdness involved with leaving your kids at camp (again, see the linked post above). As a parent with kids at the ages and stages of mine, it is just beyond strange to have ZERO contact with them. My experience as a camp counselor does reassure me. I know kids love camp (what's not to love really), and I know the staff is well trained to deal with it if they don't. If there were a problem, I would be contacted. This is what I have to keep telling myself. No news is not only good news, it also likely means she's having the time of her life.

I know that opinions on whether a six year old should spend three nights at camp are likely all over the board. Ultimately I needed to be talked into it. I have a few thoughts for those of you who think I'm completely nuts.

1. You're right. I am 100% nuts. This is not up for discussion

2. No two kids are alike, and to make a blanket statement that no six year old should go to a camp like this would just be silly.

3. Parental fear is not a good reason to NOT let a kid do something.

(It's probably important that I mention here that I'm not writing this as a rant in response to someone who has judged me on this issue. I'm simply working through the oddness that is having only one child at home this week.)

I'm going to elaborate on number three a bit. I'm at a stage in life where I'm coming to the realization that I've probably let fear have just a little too much control over my life. Not that I'd change anything, and not that I'd really say that fear has ever debilitated me; but, in my life, I have trended toward doing what is safe and easy. I could go on and on, but that is a post for another day.

Thankfully, I have a fun loving adventurous husband who provides balance for my kiddos. I am thankful he brought up mini-resident camp and talked me into it, and here's why: I believe that there is some value in letting a kid take the plunge. Truth be told, Elise is too busy being her father's daughter to know anything about fear or doubt. I think that is completely awesome. She knew she could do it, and if I'd told her no, I'd have sent a message to her saying I didn't think she was capable. There's a big, bad world out there waiting to teach her all about fear and doubt; so I don't need to take on that task. My job is to say, "Yes you can!".

So, there you go. This is slightly deeper than my 'gee it's hot out there post.' My 2.2 readers must be completely dazed and confused right now.

Anyhoo... Elise is at camp. I hope she's having a heckuva time, but I can't wait to see her tomorrow!

Feelin' Hot Hot Hot

Oh my word... I am in the midst of my 11th summer in this great state. For 11 years, I've stated that Minnesotans don't know what heat is. I hereby retract that statement. Depending on your source, it's somewhere between 95 and 98 degrees right now, and the heat index is somewhere between 111 and 120 degrees.

It is simply criminal that a place that endured the winter we just went through should have to deal with this. Ugh.

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Yeah Right...

A blog post every day... who am I kidding?

It's been a busy few days. Previously mentioned camping trip was canceled, initially due to chance of rain. I think the rain may have stayed away from our intended destination (Lake Lillian, MN), but heat indexes were over 100 degrees. Ish.

On Friday Elise and her pal Emma were scheduled for soccer camp. Emma's brother was going to hang with Jerod and me. Long story short (rain!), we ended up at The Works. Love, love, love the fact that this place is a five minute drive from my house. Elise and Emma got a kick out of the mirror. After Emma and Porter went on their merry way, the rain continued. It rained, and rained, and rained, and rained. We made the perfect lazy day of it. We went out to lunch, then headed to the $2 movie to see 'Rio.' Since it was STILL raining in the evening, we had some family Wii time. Jerod put on a little costume (see below). Makes a momma proud.

An Attempt

I'm going to try to commit to a nearly daily blogpost for one month. This should be good, hee hee! I can tell you the fam's going camping this weekend. So I will drop the ball on Saturday and Sunday, if not before.

Anyhoo...


This week has been all about soccer for Miss Elise. Soccer camp is taking place each morning, and she played her last game of the summer house league season last night. I wish I were more of a fan, because this girl LOVES her soccer. Depending on who you ask, she scored somewhere betweet four and seven goals last night. She's like buttah... she'll be in a cluster of girls trying to get to the ball, and all of a sudden she'll squeeze out, dribbling the ball like a pro, and frequently put it in the goal. Yeah... I'm bragging. It's damn impressive if you ask me. And, I also think she's pretty cute.

Watermelon Salad on the Food Network

Watermelon Salad on the Food Network

Whipped this up yesterday. I have a new favorite summer food. Uh-maze-ing.

Summer 2011, Day 1

There seems to be some debate about what constitutes the first day of summer. We bumped into one of Jerod and Elise's buddies from church while at the grocery store today. When I asked him how his first day of summer was going, he informed me that his first day of summer had been on Saturday. I suppose he's correct, but for me, this is the first week day where I haven't had to pack a backpack or get anyone to the bus. Thus, today is the first day of summer.

We have been busy little bees lately. Soccer started before school ended. Throw that in with all the end of the year stuff for school and you get a pretty busy few weeks from mid-May until June 10th.

Here is a random selection of photos from our oh, so thrilling lives lately.

Jerod on his 9th birthday. He had a great school year, and is looking forward to starting baseball tomorrow.

This is what you will frequently find Elise doing these days. Thank God I don't care about clean walls and door jambs.

This lovely young lady is my niece. She graduated from Larned High School in May. Circumstances were such that I was the only Holt of Bernard Place that was able to make it. It was a nice get-away. Chris got a good taste of my daily life while I was gone :)