Mama's Alphabet Soup

Sandwiched

2012-02-11T14:09:00.001-08:00

The other night at Alex's vocal concert I readied my iPhone to video a performance of my daughter. Looking for a way to entertain himself, my son offered himself up to the task. I rejected the idea. After all, he is just a kid. But ahoy, he was quick to repudiate.

"Mom, really? I think I know more about your iPhone than you do. It's my generation."

Touché. I handed over the device. And as we Gen Xers say, he did a nice job of "taping" it.

It's no easy task to admit when your kids begin to outsmart you in certain areas of your life. I used to feel somewhat tech savvy. (I am blogging from my smart phone on the blogger app.) But put me in front of the TV with a remote in attempt to retrieve a Netflix movie or to DVR an event, I will tell you it's a sure way to see my kids actually annoyed by me. As if I'm a toddler! Although...a baby might have a better handle on these new-fangled remotes.

I know I'm not a complete Luddite. I tweet. Facebook. Blog. But I when I can't figure something techy out? I turn to my kids. My mother told me of a writer's observation between Christmases of now and those of past:

-"Daddy? Can you put this together for me?"

-"Son? How do I operate this?"

Gheesh. When I was young, my parents did a great job of making me realize how much I didn't know. (They still do.) Now my kids are doing it. Guess I'm kinda sandwiched between a bunch of smarty pants.

However. There is one thing that I've got on them. Grammar. I can still catch my offspring using a wrong verb tense or an inapplicable word choice. And I think they really appreciate my English lectures. I can tell by their blank expression. And how quickly they change the subject.

Gotta go. Handcramping on this tiny keyboard.

Book Reviews?

2012-02-07T19:42:00.000-08:00

Feel like reading any books? Here's a few book reviews on Read.Write.Share.

Little Bee by Chris Cleave

Left to Tell by Immaculee by Illibagiza

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

Anyone else have suggestions??? Apparently it's Charles Dickens 200th Anniversary. Maybe it's time to break out a few classics? Good reading.

Our Dance in the Southwest

2012-02-01T19:32:00.000-08:00

My husband delighted me at Christmas time by giving me a trip! He had cleverly packaged a box like a bread maker. For obvious reasons, I had mentally prepared myself to love it, dough and all. As it turned out my joyful reaction (as the box was a decoy and I was led on a treasure hunt throughout the house to find a travel itinerary to San Diego) was quite sincere. And now we are home already. But the Christmas gift was divine, quite living up to expectations. And as my hubby will tell you...I always have high expectations. Highlights/reflections:

Add caption

San Diego weather certainly is an instigator for spring fever. It's almost cruel, really, for us Midwesterners. Although, I was a bit disturbed to find out that the temps soared in Iowa while we are gone. Perhaps I'm not so benevolent after all...I wanted our family to tell us how utterly frigid it was.
The charming Gaslamp District, where we rendezvoused, was not want of art museums, shops, and eateries. My hubby sure knows what I love. Of course, it was sort of a Catch-22, because "eatery" was the only spot that appealed to Doug. Luckily, our marriage understand the meaning of compromise. And four days tested our limits of compromise. ("I'd like to visit one more museum Doug"..."Ugh. How about some Ghiradelli chocolate instead?")
What kind of parents go to Sea World sans kids? We do. Oh, the whales and sea creatures we saw! And yet we admit it. We felt...orphaned buzzing about, pointing out wonders to each other, not our offspring. Every time we'd see a shark, the same comment slipped from our mouth. "That would certainly scare the shit out of Cole." We'd smile and chuckle. "It sure would."
And, yes we did it. We upgraded to a convertible. I remember when I was young, seeing old people in convertibles and thinking, "What's the use?" Yeah, well, we're those old people now. And I'm not really sure what's the use. Except to tell our kids about it. And that we can afford to RENT one. Maybe when we retire we'll be able to afford to own one. Maybe.
The best meal? Jim Croce's Jazz Restaurant! Even with the nice beggar who I stopped by while we dined al fresco. (I still think we should've given him the rest of our calamari.) The first place we stopped was a bar called Funky Garcia's. It had fish tacos! And San Diego has the best fish tacos right? Right! Well, they were funky alright. Actually, Doug had delicious shrimp tacos there. Mine were just real fishy. But the beer was awesome. And our waitress was sweet. The best part of the Gaslamp eateries? Eating outside without competing with bugs. Only, the nice beggars might want to have a bite of your dish.

My hubby and I both agreed that beyond the luxurious hotel bed mattress the best part of this trip was remembering how much we love and miss our kids. Everywhere we went was an experience we wanted to share with them. And we will. Until they're bored to tears. And want to send us away again.

The Neat Gene

2012-01-21T20:34:00.000-08:00

I believe medical facts indicate if both parents have allergies, their children will have a 70% chance of having allergies as well. I ponder this statistic every time I venture into the basement which has been designated as our kids' living space. And wonder if the disastrous area should be, in fact, condemned.

So, instead of blowing a gasket over our kids' penchant for piles and inability to see curdled milk, I give them the benefit of this genetics theory. "Fastidious" would not be a descriptor of neither me nor my hubby. (Who has time to be tidy when there are so many things to do? And now so many episodes of The Big Bang Theory to watch?) But our kids do take slovenly to an entirely new level. I'm not sure what to make of it. Oh yeah, that's right. They are...kids.

typical part of messy room

I thought perhaps when my tots grew older the messes would dwindle. Less poop. Less spilled milk. As it turns out, the messes just become more potent. Bigger. Stickier. Smellier. Often more destruction depending on the particular project.

However. I wouldn't admit this to either of the kids, but they do seem pretty happy when they are in their clutter-filled world. So maybe I should let them keep making those messes. I hope they don't read this post.

They can sure clean up a dessert dish though...

Faith

2012-01-14T12:33:00.000-08:00

Clouds. Snow. Sun. I've felt a chill and then been touched by warmth today. With certain devastating events occurring in our community, there's never been a better time to pray for our neighbors. And hug our family and friends. Perhaps we need to make this a practice more often. It shouldn't take a tragedy to reflect on the preciousness of life. But too often, it does.

So, I wish you all peace this weekend. And leave you with a book review: Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza (a survivor from the Rwandan Civil War). It's not only an incredible and true story–it's a story of infinite faith. A story of inspiration for anyone facing despair.

The Year of Happy

2012-01-07T12:20:00.000-08:00

Despite the new year and the fabulous January weather in Iowa, it seems I've been surrounded by a wave of negative vibes lately. I just don't get it. Take yesterday. A friend of mine told me she was tired of coming to work every day and saying good morning to coworkers who only acknowledged her with glum expressions. So, she was going to quit offering her chipper address. Sad. Very sad. So, you know what I've decided to do? Make a point to give EVERYONE a joyful salutation. No matter how many times they choose to ignore me. Because I've been blown off quite a bit in my life time too. (Not all of us are morning people...or afternoon people...or evening people...) But I think we gotta keep making an effort to tell people they matter to us–no matter what their disposition.

Too many people love to play the victim. Myself included. Here's a very trite example. When is Doug EVER going to hang that NYC picture he gave me for Christmas TWO years ago? Darn him. Well, the other day a voice entered my head and said, "Do it yourself." (It was literally my husband's voice.) But he was right. When I dug into the project and lifted the two pound picture with its easy hanger, it actually was quite simple. And you know something else? I felt accomplished! Now, I'm thinking of other home projects I can do. Like an IKEA bookshelf to span the basement. Too ambitious? It is the new year.

I'm reading a book right now about the 1994 Rwanda civil war when the atrocious genocides took place. It certainly makes every complaint I hear seem trivial. And while it makes me feel a great sadness for all the travesties that occur (and have occurred) in the world, I feel a great happiness for my life.

For 2012, my resolutions take a semblance to marketing ploys:

Say hello...like a Dodge Neon.
Just do it...like some tennis shoes.
Don't worry, be happy...like Bobby McFerrin. Now you can sing that song in your head all day.

Happy Batgirl

You're welcome.

Cole loving the world.

Christmas Miracle, Part Two

2012-01-01T11:56:00.001-08:00

For those of you following this blog, last time I boasted of a Christmas miracle. Remember the kitty on the church steps? Well. Here's the rest of the story.

"Skye" seemed a bit off since his homecoming. Had he forgotten how much he loved the shenanigans of our crazy terrier? How I cradled him like a baby? He certainly was more exuberant. Not the lazy pile of hair who would only glance at a mouse if it was within reach. And of course there was the eye. Either the cat was in a knarly fight, had LASIK surgery, or maybe, just maybe, he wasn't Skye.

So we took him to the doctor to have him checked, much to my hubby's dismay. But he had been on his own for four months. What else could we do?

The vet's findings:

In addition to being three pounds lighter, Skye reversed his age and gender. He's a she and only approximately one year of age.

Sometimes you see what you want to see. I really missed Skye when he went missing. And when we "found" him on Christmas morning, I was ecstatic. So, maybe it wasn't a miracle. But I have no doubt it was a gift.

Meet Bernadette. Our newest addition.

Cole and Bernie the Cat

Mothers, Daughters, and Christmas Miracles

2011-12-26T06:48:00.000-08:00

While it seems that my daughter and I tend to differ on a number of things (including a tendency to question maternal figures in our lives), the other day we agreed on something. And it struck it me! Often our opinions collide. We're not so different. She and I.

I decided to keep a list on the convergence of our thoughts.

Tantrums over fancy smart phones=dumb.
Twitter supersedes Facebook in terms of ease of use and an overall coolness factor.
Saturday Night Live is hilarious and worth sitting at home for. I hope she always agrees with me on this. For the rest of her life.
We eat too much hamburger. (Even the word turns in my tummy.)The boys in our house will disagree and might even make an argument out of this point.
Dialogue is what makes literature memorable. "It a truth universally acknowledged..."
The return of Beavis and Butthead is...AWESOME. Uhh...Uhhh.
The Lion King might possibly be the best animated film ever.

And now for the miracle. After four months of losing our beloved cat, guess who we found on the front steps of St. Joseph's Church before Mass? It was none other than Skye! With a bit of wear and tear no doubt. But unmistakably our cat. Two people in our family seemed...indifferent about the glorious find. But two of us (my daughter and I) knew we had witnessed a Christmas miracle. Awww. Just look at him.

Things that are Awesome

2011-12-18T15:26:00.000-08:00

I came across an amusing blog that posted "Things that are Awful." But in the spirit of the holiday, I'm determined to keep a sugar and spice angle. So, instead of thinking about things that are awful, I started to think about things that are awesome.

My kids showing their love? Awesome.

kids, or anyone for that matter, who don't have cell phones
iPhones (I recognize the paradox in the list)
kids who send their own money to charity...with no coaxing
high school vocal concerts–I say that in complete sincerity,
The Wall Street Journal's 2011 review in books...So many books. So little time.
Matt Damon, obviously
bazillions of little girls dressed up in taffeta, tulle, and striped leggings (I admit it! I'm jealous!)
underdogs and upsets (What are those pesky Broncos considered these days?)
Tom Brady (Ha! Disclaimer: this list is based on aesthetic appeal only. However, as I write the Pats lead...)
stinky, lazy dogs who once roamed the ditches and now rule a home
reruns of the big bang theory to waste two hours of our time three nights a week
blue twinkle lights to remind us of the phenomena of electricity and how happy a blinking light makes us feel
The Waitresses Christmas Wrapping (As far as Christmas tunes goes, it's a great blend of quirky, joyful, and snap.)
laughing at Saturday Night Live with my hubby and dreaming of going back to NYC soon so we can almost puke in a cab ride
lists
my son's thrice, daily check of gifts under the Christmas tree

That's it for now. Lot's of awesome stuff. How many awesome things do you spy this week before Christmas?

A Gift

2011-12-15T20:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday during a staff meeting I happened to be the recipient of a lovely floral bouquet–a nice holiday surprise from my considerate staff. While the gift was beautiful, truly I was mostly struck by the act. Because frankly, I've not been feeling the season lately. Lots of work. Lots of grind. I've had a bit of snarkiness about me. No, not very Jesus-like.

Then I got the flowers. And it hit me. Perhaps I needed about one hundred doses of gratitude. Obviously, I get to work with some pretty awesome people.

I feel sorry for victims–true victims. But shame on me or anyone who plays a victim by complaining about dumb stuff. Like being too busy. Sheesh.

In the words of Charles Dickens, I’m going to try to do a better job of doing the following in 2012:

“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”

That feels so much better than...complaining. Happy Holidays.

Joy from the First Snowfall

2011-12-03T08:56:00.000-08:00

We Iowans have all been bragging about the magnificent autumn around here. Yeah, yeah. But while few will succumb to the admission, there's something magical about the first real snow of the season. Right? Right! My daughter and I took pleasure standing on our deck to stare at the infinite flakes as they bombarded our countenances.

And then guess what happened? After we came in, my daughter began to clean up the kitchen. Without me asking her. That's true joy.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Cleaning up," she replied.

"Why?" I asked.

She mumbled something about vacuuming. I'm still a little unclear on her sudden ambition. Whether it be the season, a sudden repulsion to filth, or even a little guilt working on her, it doesn't matter. I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe, just maybe there's a little magic in those snowflakes. If so, I'd say keep 'em coming.

When Kids Tweet Stuff

2011-11-26T16:31:00.000-08:00

A bitter wind blows today.

Today my daughter tweeted: "My family is stupid. #Mad." She knows I follow her, so apparently she was sending a message. A hurtful message. On Alex's behalf, we barged into her room at the early hour of 8:00 am (ahem) to inform her that we were all going to the city for a holiday shopping trip. (We scoundrels.) Anyway, once I noticed the tweet, it was a fairly quiet ride.

A couple of weeks ago the New Yorker published a cartoon with a parent attempting to control his two boys fighting. The caption, "Now listen. I'm only going to say this a million times." That resonated. I showed it to the kids. They had no reaction. Not funny to them, I guess.

I hope my kids are kind to others. I hope they understand charity. Because if there is one recurring theme in our household, I'd say it's "disrespect."

The love for my children fills me with joy and terrifies me at the same time. But I wonder, does my love for them make me a competent mother? Much of the time, I'm awed by them. Then, stuff happens. And I think to myself, "Do I know these people at all?" Or, "What are they thinking?"

So maybe the holiday season isn't starting off so spectacular, but the optimist in me thinks it will get better. Good Housekeeping had ten prayers in December's issue. My favorite? Give Me Perseverance. Here's the first line:

People are illogical, unreasonable and self-centered. Love them anyway.

Certainly, that is the creed of parenthood.

Give Food

2011-11-22T18:16:00.000-08:00

“They had to go without food...because they ran out of food stamps.” This after-school story, about one of my daughter's friends, caught my attention. A friend went without food? Here? In Shelby County?

I think a lot about global causes. Africa. India. Those poor children abroad. I don’t want to diminish those veritable causes. But apparently there are plenty of needs not being met right next door. I feel a bit ashamed that I’ve easily taken for granted the meals I’ve never gone without. We actually have hungry people in this bountiful community of ours.

Rattled about my lack of knowledge, I emailed Dena Matthews, the Shelby County Outreach Coordinator, who obliged me with some pertinent facts. Did you know since July, the food pantry has helped 160 households and served 446 individual family members? And hunger has failed to discriminate across generations. It strikes children, single parents, single adults who’ve lost jobs, the elderly, the disabled, and even those who are working but struggle to make ends meet because of low wages.

Dena mentioned that specific needs of the pantry change because of the various donations received through the Food Bank for the Heartland. Currently, our pantry needs toilet paper, shampoo, boxed potatoes/boxed meals, breakfast items, tuna, and soups. Stop. Toilet paper. Have I ever had to worry about purchasing something so basic? The answer is no. And I wish I could report that I’ve always been mindfully grateful. Obviously, this isn’t a comprehensive list of needs. A call or visit to Shelby County Outreach Center can provide you more information.

According to the US Census Bureau, 9.1% of our Shelby County lives below the poverty level. That’s over 1,000 people in a fairly confined radius. And our local food pantry has no income guidelines to qualify. They only need to live in Shelby County. Households can receive up to four pantries per year.

When I was young, I remember complaining to my mother about supper. “We’re having hamburgers…again!” Her response? “I know plenty of families living on less than macaroni and cheese. Eat up.” At the time, I didn’t believe her. But she wasn’t being over-dramatic, as I had assumed. And, as I found out much later, she was speaking from experience. She knew what it was like to skip a few meals, since she grew up below the poverty level.

I have never been hungry. Truly, the fact that anyone has to be hungry is an injustice. I am more than blessed. Now it’s my turn to share these blessings with neighbors in the community. I hope you all consider the same during this holiday season...and perhaps beyond.

How do you Rank?

2011-11-14T19:17:00.000-08:00

The ten-year-old boy in our house is incessantly surveying household members. No, not typically over matters like “who do you think is likely to lead the Republican polls this week?” But on issues concerning our preferences over artistic matters. Of sorts. And the boy won’t rest until he’s satisfied that we’ve provided him a well-thought response. “Yes, Cole! I like Harry Potter 1 better than Harry Potter 4. Yes, I mean the book. Oh, the movie? I guess I’d have to say Harry Potter 3. Or 7. The second part. Yes, the movie, not the book. But I loved the book too. It was my third favorite. What’s my second favorite? Uhhh. Harry Potter 6? I think?

We have a lot of ranking going on in our house. “What’s your favorite___” Cole can’t seem to ever remember that my favorite movie of all time is You’ve Got Mail. (Or perhaps he chooses to repress the idea. And yes, I have a bookstore fetish.) So, whenever the favorite movie question pops up, and I give him my steadfast response, he plows ahead with, “What’s your second favorite?” or “What’s your favorite action movie?” And so on. Of course, I’m not the only lucky recipient of these quizzes. My hubby and daughter also get to play. And once as we were all growing a tad weary of the interrogations, and wondering where does this crazy ranking system originate from, my hubby quietly mentioned, “Oh, I know where he gets it.”

Flashback to that magical night Doug and I met. Apparently, I impressed my future spouse with my elaborate ranking system of bands and MTV videos. Oh yes! As a matter of fact, I still have somewhat of a ranking system. Perhaps I’m not quite so...fanatical about it. But it’s still there in the recesses of my mind. Van Halen has dropped quite a few pegs. Replaced by none other than...Coldplay. U2 has remained stalwart since like 1985–yes, that long! Oh, I could go on. But my point? Certain minds like to rank. And others....prefer to think in a cloud. (Although, I’m quite anxious to get my gadgets lined up for that wave of computing. I would rate that very highly.)

Cole and his 2nd favorite Marvel character, Spidey. (Deadpool is #1.)

So, what's your favorite...thing these days? Got more than one thing? Rank it!

The Moon!

2011-11-10T18:31:00.000-08:00

How old do you have to be before the moon is no longer wondrous? Has anyone looked outside tonight?

Last summer our family took in a Twins/ Red Sox game. Boy-oh-boy! It was an exciting game. Lots of action. Big Poppy hit a homerun. Thome was on the verge of his 600th home run. And the Twins ended up beating the indomitable (at that time) Red Sox. But the sight that bedazzled me? The moon that traipsed across the skyline. I still think about it.

No, the photo does not do it justice.

Okay. Maybe I'm not the most profound baseball fan in the world. Maybe that's why the moon so easily distracted me. But I think most everyone would agree that the ambience of an MLB game is fairly... enchanting. So...wonder how old you have to be when $10 beer and obnoxious fans will lose their charm?

Never, I hope. I've been starting to feel a little old. But then tonight, I looked at the moon. And I remembered last summer's ball game. I think there's a little life in me yet.

The Lost Holiday

2011-11-06T18:59:00.000-08:00

Wolverine defeats Vader on Beggar's Nite

Now that Halloween (see pics of my kids plz) is behind us, stores are really gearing up for the next big one. Thanksgiving! Ha! Just kidding. Poor turkey-day. No hoopla. No respect. Let's just get to the PRESENTS. We're such an ungrateful nation at times...

It seems once we reach a certain age, a few us will boast Thanksgiving as our favorite holiday–those who don't have to prepare a turkey or host guests anyway. What's not to love? A

Madhatter on Ghoul's Day.

day off to indulge! A day when gluttony is not only acceptable, but championed! A holiday when NO ONE can be upset about the gifts they did or did not receive. It's merely a day to be thankful. Speaking of thanks...

Oprah surveyed a few of her writers on gifts they had received in the past. (Noticed how I brushed through the holiday of thanks myself...on to Christmas!) It got me to thinking, what gifts was I most thankful for? Oh gosh...Let me preface: only child. Received many, many great gifts as a child. One gift that really stands out for me was a race car track. Yep. A race car track. Now, I was my Mommy's girl. We shopped. We read Little House on the Prairie together–every single book in the series. And despite the Bionic Woman Barbie, the pink fur coat, and the fancy Frye boots, the race car track gave me and my dad a reason to to hang out a bit. (I was never any good at helping him rebuild his motorcycles. My hands would get...dirty.) So, yes. The race car set. It was an interesting diversion from my normal tea party-like schedule.

So there you have it. A commentary on the lost holiday of November. But wait. What about Veterans's Day? Now there's an important holiday that way too many of us don't take the time to consider, other than to maybe shop. But maybe 11-11-11 should be more than a bunch of ones that line up together this year. Wait for another insightful post on that one.

And a happy birthday to my lovely mother. Another important November event!

The Dog is in the House

2011-10-27T19:37:00.000-07:00

It's now been over a year since a scruffy, stinky terrier, living a vagrant life, cautiously accompanied us home one day.

How does a dog, who’s not supposed to be in the house, come to have a luxury bed, smack dab in the living room? How does a dog–who still smells like a bad fart–get away with putting his dirty paws on the breakfast table? (As we all giggle and dote on his cleverness.) And why in the world would we put up with a dog who barks throughout Glee when that unforgivable train passes through. Because Percy's indomitable spirit is as contagious as a cold.

What kind of animal can weave themselves into a family’s life so delicately and yet so forcefully at the same time? Certainly not a fish! No, not a cow. Ooh, a lizard you say? I do waver on cats. If they could only smile. Methinks, without a doubt, a dog. Our entire family can be sad. We can be spitting mad. But it takes one small act from our pet. Like a lick in the face from his big wet tongue. And we are all saved from rage or gloom. (No, we don't like to consider where that tongue has been.)

Percy. He's still the smelliest of them all. But there's no dog that can dance like the Perce. Oh Pup. What would we do without you? Probably vacuum less. But life wouldn't be near as fun.

Percy, sitting on his butt and dancing.

A Note from the Teacher

2011-10-15T14:58:00.000-07:00

I love getting emails like this -

Hi,

I hope everything is going well. Yesterday, Cole had a really good day. He was very creative. While the students were working on their Fire Prevention Posters, I was letting them listen to music. Cole asked to listen to TickTock by Kesha(spelling?). I told him we couldn’t play that at school and he goes it’s okay I can sing it. He started free-styling for the class. It was one of those moments that you would be proud of your son. J

Thanks,

Ann

Yes, Cole's teacher is fresh out of college. And her creative spirit is delightful. (I'm just trying to imagine ANY of my grade school teachers allowing us to get up and moonwalk or breakdance.) Anyway, someone told me that my last blog post was tilted toward the negative. So, I thought I'd do an about face and focus on the positive aspects of the up and coming generation. I love love LOVE how imagination and entrepreneurialism seems to dominate the attitudes of our youth. It could take us to infinite heights someday. No one should have to clean toilets by hand. Someone will have revolutionized laundry (again.) And most importantly, no one in the world will be starving. Let's hope. In the meantime. I'll listen to my son hip hop. (Even though his sister might cringe.)

Can you find the sister?

Bad Parent

2011-10-08T19:52:00.000-07:00

This week I decided that I will definitely never win the mother of the year award. Never. As a matter of fact, if I were to grade myself in a number of areas, here's how it would go:

Assignment of Chores: C-
Comments: I often start off Gung Ho on some sort of chore routine, thinking that the kids will zoom off on their own laundry folding schedule without my direction. But their sense of responsibilities continue to be under-developed. They never smell an overflowing sink of dirty dishes or see the dog needing fed WITHOUT A BRASH AND OVERT LIST. And sometimes that doesn't even work. Poor dog. No wonder Percy has to beg all the time.

Ability to Say No: D
Comments: No, I don't let them play with matches or anything like that. But all of the sudden I've noticed an overwhelming sense of entitlement in the Kramer children. When I was a kid, going to McDonald's was a huge treat. Nowadays, it's an expectation. (In our household, Applebee's has become the new McDonald's.) Last weekend, I let my children talk me into taking them to the city for a "fun" little shopping trip. Fun? What was I thinking? It took me approximately thirty seconds to regret the idea. Spending money on clothes for my kids that I don't like feels like stuffing money down the garbage disposal. You see? The problem. My money. My inability to say no.

Nutrition: C+
Comments: I wish we ate less frozen pizza, less red meat, less Oreos, less frozen waffles. I wish we ate more asparagus, more watermelon - more real food in general. I do. I really, really do wish that.

Homework: A
Comments: My allegiance to academics prevail here. Only when the kids pull one over on me with the "I don't have a test tomorrow" bit, do I fail in this area...much to my chagrin.

Hygienic Instruction: B-
Comments: How long are those toenails? Are you really using shampoo? No! That's the body wash! You can't wear socks two days in a row...three days you say? You have no clean socks in your drawer? Really?

Oh sure, they're cute. It's part of my problem.

My kids are happy and there's something to say about that. But I also want ensure that I'm raising functional, contributing citizens of society. So my parenting style...could it be described as lazy? Maybe even lacking of courage? I don't spend much time with them by the time I get home from work. So, every moment I have with them is used in the name of efficiency. I have no aspirations of being a tiger mom. Love, obviously, is the non-negotiable. But perhaps I need to, at the very least, show some fang to my cubs. Parents out there? What do you think? What advice do you have to make these kids show a bit of responsibility...clean rooms, music practiced, shoes put away, etc.

A Room of Whose Own?

2011-10-01T17:25:00.000-07:00

When we built our house nine years ago, we chose a floor plan that was fluid and adaptable, so that we could easily make functional changes as our children grew up. No. That's not quite right. We chose a floor plan that we could afford. In the process, we ended up with a house that could "grow with us." Today, as I was walking through the chambers, collecting laundry and Nerf bullets, I realized that many of our rooms must shed the descriptor of "traditional."

If you choose to visit the Kramer residence, you might find behind the plain vanilla exterior, an unconventional living space inside. Oh no - not of the George and Judy Jetson mold (I wish!), but a home of a seeming increasing lack of logic. One room might boast a tread mill, a Nerf gun arsenal and a picture of New York City. Apparently this space is dedicated for basic training and mission planning. Another room fuses elements of an office, a tropical bedroom and a leg massager to give you that Apple Store in a spa feel. (I'll admit, the ambience isn't quite there yet.) The laundry room - my most interesting place - now boldly houses a refrigerator and a gigantic safe. (You'll never find the safe. It's in a fairly hard-to reach closet.) We most recently rid ourselves of that extra toilet in favor of the fridge. Talk about a fluid floor plan. Don't think the wash room is lacking of decor! Doug just asked me, "Why do we have a cafe latte picture in our laundry room anyway?"

The most disturbing area in the house, hands down, is the great room in the basement. I doubt my writing skills can possibly describe the level of disorganization. It's not even chic. It's just cheeky. I had Alex go downstairs and start yelling things she saw. Here's what she came up with:

Christmas trees. Antique dresser. A book shelf with overflowing children's books (time to donate). Broken easel (time to toss). Alphabet cards - strung across the wall (I think they got it now). Floral couch (UGLY). Baby blankets (ahhh, will keep forever and ever). TV the size of a small car. Workout videos (an exercise room!) Guitars. Piano. (a music room!) Laptop setting on a card table. (a Facebook room!) Jedi toys. Jedi toys. Jedi toys. Okay, it's really just a room to duel with light sabers. George Lucas wins again.

When it comes right down to it, I love our messy, eclectic and wonderfully simple house...because we Kramer's have certainly made it our own.

One of our more traditional rooms-notice light saber?

My dream room- currently sold at the IKEA store.

Cupcakes, a Park and Time Well-Spent

2011-09-25T15:45:00.000-07:00

I have a chronic malady. It's seems I have a complete inability to live in the present moment. I'm quite aware of the problem. I try very, very hard not to over-plan every detail of the future with intricate lists. (And decidedly, I'm succeeding at letting a few areas of my life go. Dusty house. Tombstone pizzas to the rescue.) But just as I've always assumed my eyes were forged on the future, life makes me blink and think twice about the past.

Alex and the dessert at Jones Brothers Cafe

This weekend I insisted that our family activity consist of something interactive. No movies for the Kramer cinema-junkies. No siree. Perhaps we take in a friendly game of Laser Tag. Or brush up on some hitting in the batting cages at Rockbrook Village. Whatever. At least we wouldn't be watching...we'd be mixing it up by DOING.

Yeah. Well, that baseball movie came out this weekend. You know the one. Moneyball with Brad Pitt? So. It's a rare occasion that the hubby is so ardent about a film. But it's about baseball.

I found a compromise. The Aksarben Village sponsors a Farmers Market - right next to a theatre. So, perhaps we could take in the Farmers Market, then the movie. Well, the idea was a lovely one. Until we arrived at the event by approximately one hour too late. Sigh. So we were down to just another weekend at the cinema, right?

Wrong. Before the movie, I became incredibly enlightened. Thus, my realization of my inability to live in the present moment began to dawn...

At the Jones Brother Cafe, I watched an adorable baby/toddler (age completely unknown?) make an interminable mess of a cupcake and himself. It was obviously hilarious for the onlookers. The amazing part? His parents were laughing as well. Roll back thirteen years. Not me as a parent...I would NOT have enjoyed that moment. And why? I would've been thinking about getting the stains off Alex's adorable outfit. Silly. Stupid. Unimportant. That baby we saw yesterday? He has cool parents. Maybe I should get a nose ring and a tattoo.
Cole has grown up. We went out to the lovely park (where the Farmers Market had been set up) to soak in the sun and watch the baby of the family climb around in the play area. Not an option. A ten-year old scares little kids away. (Did you know that?) We still let him run like a lune a across the wide lawn of grass. And yes, we timed him. Good scores too. We told him that, anyway.
There were assorted dogs, puke on the sidewalk, kids on bikes (with helmets!) and parents trying to fly a kite in a breezeless sky. And I wondered why we didn't do this with our kids more. What did we do with our kids when they were young? Watch Spongebob?

Hope you enjoy-my Hydrangeas

Did you catch it? I'm either completely concerned with making plans for the future or immersed in what I didn't do in the past?

You see, I had a wonderful day yesterday- and I almost forgot to notice it.

My Daughter is Sick and Other Stuff

2011-09-15T19:06:00.000-07:00

In the past week, I've heard of two cases of children with cancer. Both of the kids were approximately Cole's age. The word, "cancer", is ugly enough, but when it's mixed in the same sentence as "child"...unfathomable. The thought makes your stomach plummet. Your heart palpitates as you grieve for the family. And guilt takes over as you're terrorized by the possibility of cancer invading your own babies. You say a million little prayers as fast as you can. And no matter how deep your faith, you still wonder why.

Today I received a call that my Alex was sick. So, of course, I'm super paranoid. Should I take her to the ER? Boy, her fever didn't break very easily. And when it finally did, I was ready to dance a jig. My jigs aren't pretty, but I would've been willing to YouTube it.

I also played frisbee with Cole tonight. When was the last time I played with my son???? It's been way too long. And I'm a bit ashamed. (No wonder no one has been calling to nominate me for Mother of the Year.) Yesterday, when he told me he had to write about a really happy memory and his response was, "When I saw Harry Potter 7.2", I thought to myself, "enough of the movies already!" Our family needs to do some stuff. And once Alex is well, that's what we will do. Do stuff! Not sit around and watch. We're going to do stuff and LIVE.

And pray - never stop praying.

On another bright note - I was driving to work the other day and saw a canary yellow VW beetle. It made me smile. What would this world be like without bright yellow cars? BORING! And to think that my mother hates yellow cars. Mom - let's learn to let go of the hate and love all. After all, doesn't it take all kinds to make the world go round? I think you taught me that.

And for any of you who want to read some recent book reviews here are some links to my other (not-quite-so-popular) blog:

Sister by Rosamund Lupton

Bossy Pants by Tina Fey

Good day!

Ode to Laborers

2011-09-02T22:24:00.000-07:00

So, I'm getting ready to head to bed on this late hour on Friday night, and I catch sight of my laptop. Some centrifugal force is forcing me to blog. It's not my fault. My fingers just keep typing despite my exhaustion...and I just have a few things to say.

Do you ever see your life as a television series? Perhaps I watched too much TV as a kid. It seems I'm always categorizing my weeks into themes. This week: WORK! Alex started her first "real" job as a dietary aide at the nursing home. So, of course her Dad and I have been hoping she'd make us proud by whipping up the best pudding at Little Flower Haven's kitchen. The verdict is still out. Anyway, this new job of hers has got me thinking about purpose, working, career and that whole bit. Would you agree that there's a cyclical nature for the affection of how one feels about their job?

Excitement-Disillusionment-Reward-Boredom
(Repeat in any order.)

As a teenager, it's most important to learn how to work. That's our objective for Alex anyway. And she's really lucky to have been able to land such a great job in our little town of Earling. But as an adult, it's so easy to forget that we have choices. Here's a list of choices we have about our careers:

The type of job we want
The pay we want
The amount of time we want off
The people we want to work with
How much TV we can watch during our shift
If we want to work at all

Okay, maybe we can't choose all that. But we can choose this: our attitude about work. Having Alex start work this week made me reevaluate myself. And sometimes my outlook isn't all that rosy; and for no particular reason. Newsflash!We can all have a positive impact on the people around us every day - no matter if we count beans or pitch hog poop. It's simply our choice.

Percy, after a hard day of guarding the grounds.
So, here's to a happy Labor Day - and a great four day work week after that!

Happy Anniversary, Sniper Babe-

2011-08-28T16:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked 17 years of wedded bliss for me and my sweetheart. This day is always overshadowed by web-slinging, nerf gun fights and light saber duels since it also happens to be our son's birthday. And that's okay! Our children were part of the package...right? Right!

So, last night Doug asked me if I was upset that he didn't get me a gift. For one thing, I was way too tired to even consider the question. And another, I was little perturbed that he'd think I was that bitchy. We spent ten days in Florida this year. We just got back from a quick and frightfully expensive trip to Minneapolis. Last weekend we traipsed to the Flat Iron restaurant in Omaha where we feasted on lobster, ribeye AND ordered TWO appetizers simply because we didn't understand how the menu worked. (Please let's put the credit card away for awhile.) But the climax? The climax occurred this Friday when we got to see Cowboys and Aliens. It doesn't get much better than that....except for perhaps a Nerf gun battle. (I hear artillery fire at this very moment.)

You see, we have the perfect marriage. Because when it comes down to it, we laugh a heckuva lot. It's the secret of our success. And the fact that I'm such a great cook. I'm sure my hubby would agree.

Mr and Mrs Doug Kramer

Mr and Mrs. Mark Kramer

As I finish this blog, I came across a photo of Doug's parents on their wedding day. Mark (rest in peace) and Mary Ann didn't need to shower each other with material gifts and a lot of hoopla. But they knew how to be happy with each other's company. That's all that really matters. That's all I need. My spouse, my kids, my dog, and a few smiles.

PS For you faithful followers, you might have noticed the absence of me stating "my cat." Skye has been missing for one week now. My optimism is beginning to wane...But I'm still holding out hope for the little beggar to show up at the back door. He's been as good as any cat could be.

The Color of Summer

2011-08-22T19:05:00.000-07:00

While my husband boldly marches into autumn (championing our children off to school and eager to race his combine through the fields), it seems I'm desperately clutching to summer as its last days slip away too quickly. My coping strategy? Yellow. And orange. I've had this incredible yearning to paint like a …painting guy.

Alex’s bathroom now has yellow and orange shapes in her room of reflection (aka, her bathroom). And those terrifying roosters that I fell in love with merely six years ago? The ones that covered the soffit in the kitchen? GONE! Now the cocks have been steadfastly covered by the color known as “stained glass sun.” It's yellow. Sure, it’s a bit monotonous now, but wait til I get the courage to crack a nail in the wall and add some art. Or something that looks like art for the low, low price of $5 or less. Just don't let me buy anything with a rooster.

Alex's Powder Room

Now, I’m not terribly superstitious, (Wait! Yes I am! ), guess what came popping out of one of my seemingly barren flower pots this past week? Orange and yellow flowers. Sorry, can't tell you the genus or species. But they were real pretty.

And speaking of yellow and orange...Look at my kids' hair! No wonder I love those colors...(You have to look for the strip of orange in Alex's hair.)

Blogging has been a bit on hiatus. Been watching old 30 Rock episodes with the hopes of enhancing my writing skills. I hope to come back strong in a few weeks…I've actually been writing episodes in my mind. When I was young, I wrote to the Love Boat with hopes of getting on the show. I didn't make it, but received an awfully nice response. So now I've been considering sending an episode idea to Tina Fey at 30 Rock. Wonder where that will get me.

School Pics

2011-08-18T16:43:00.000-07:00

Second school day of the year, and guess what I forgot to do, again. Yep. Take a pic of my darlings before they're off to class. And my eldest even started high school this year. Pathetic. (I forgot last year too.) The matronly pride burns when I see all those Mom postings on Facebook with their smiling young-uns with backpacks. I truly want to slap myself because Alex and Cole have new shirts from Old Navy too. Well, you good mothers can bask all you want with your adorable photos. Because take a look at this! Now who's jealous...

Alex and Cole with a celebrity-BLUE! See how happy he makes Al?

The Demise of a Shopper

2011-08-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

Apparently, sometime in the past ten years I lost my passion for shopping. I know, devastating. But I realized something today, at the biggest mall in America, standing in the middle of Forever 21 while some band sung oh-so-profound-yet-undecipherable lyrics. Shopping's not my thing anymore. And I imagine the words that must come to my hubby's mind when he's forced to delight his senses at Bath and Body are,"This really sucks." (Insert F word if you're a realist.)

I long for those Gymboree days with Raffi singing in the backround his while my mom and I oohed and ahhed over the daisy-print dress for Alex or a lime green sweater vest for Cole. Now we go into shops dripping with sex, and between the daisy duke shorts, disco shirts and stripper-studded ankle boots, I just can't get excited anymore. Once in awhile I'll point out a floral dress I don't completely oppose. That usually gets me a barf signal from my teenage rebel.

What about my stores you ask? The "mom" stores. Sigh. You can only package a banker in so many ways after 14 years. I walk into some of my favorite stores-who I can only hope haven't sold their souls to sweatshops in China or India,btw... But I eye the racks. "have this." "have that" "oh! My button-down shirt comes in purple (eggplant) this season? Fabulous! I only have light purple (violet), red (crimson), white(white), off white (butter), orange (melon),etc. I really do get the feeling that designers say, "It's for the working mom! She won't care...just add some cheap looking bling or a tacky print. It will make her think of her youth!" Really? Oh sure. Like watching Mrs. Roper on Three's Company.

Now, these are obviously the ramblings of a terribly ungrateful wench who has more than enough to wear. So let me end with something a bit more positive. There was one particular purchase that made me feel abundantly good. Have you ever heard of TOMS?

I read about the company and the shoes in Oprah, of course. For every pair of shoes purchased, they make a pair for a kid in need. Yes, some kids in the world don't have shoes to wear. Can you even fathom?

Anyway, the marketing for toms is mainly word of mouth (Oprah probably tipped the scale a bit), but here is my small contribution as well: TOMS. So maybe shopping isn't all bad. I just needed a cause.

TOMS

Kids of Summer!

2011-08-07T13:53:00.000-07:00

You know your kids are awesome when he or she:

-still wants to do makeovers, at the age of 14...even though she will make you look like a scary wicked witch.
-calls you with tears in his voice, because you're not home yet and it's thundering, while his Dad is in the shower so as not to appear...less than a man.
-negotiates higher fees for a lost tooth with a gold filling.
-needs Transformer folders for school, and she's not a little boy. And is entering high school.
-makes a fort half the size of the basement, using every available blanket, and insists we keep it up until his birthday. He has a plan. And an imagination bigger than this universe.
-has more faith in everyone than anyone I've ever seen. Just when you think YOU are supposed to be the teacher, she does something or says something that makes you realize what a remarkable ~~child~~ lady she is becoming.

Gotta go. It's time to grab these awesome kids and enjoy the day outside. They love it when I pull them outside. I think they love it anyway. They don't actually say they love it. They actually groan a bit. But within minutes, they are laughing. Mark my words. They will be laughing.

Goodness, they are cute!

Abundance!

2011-08-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

So it's been hot right? Too hot to pull weeds...And perhaps I've been reading so much CS Lewis that I'm seeing my life in metaphors. So I came up with these maxims:

My pretty Phlox

My damn tomato plant

#1:"If you look past the weeds, you can find much beauty by just noticing the flowers." I know. Profound. Anyway - see my phlox? There is actually quite a mess of weeds underneath. Can't see it, can you?

#2: "If you plant a cherry tomato plant for the pure joy of it, there's nothing clever about controlling a mutant vegetable." Feed him Seymour. Okay, there's no metaphor in that, but seriously! I have a crazy, ugly vine going wild in a flower bed. And I'm the only person who will eat a tomato in the family. What was I thinking? Who knows.

Ah - but it's all in good fun. In six months these beds will be covered with the white, cold and fluffy stuff. Bet I won't be cursing the tomato plant then.

Kids on Vacation!

2011-07-27T17:08:00.000-07:00

When Mom propositioned to sweep my kids away to Branson for a week, I have to admit that I wasn't too thrilled with the idea. I mean, I like having my kids around. Sure, they're messy. They dominate the conversation. They're incredibly expensive. They eat lots. But, gosh, I love 'em. But what could I say? No? They have jobs to tend to?

So, after a teary goodbye Saturday night, our kids took off with my parents. And, it's actually been kind of... AWESOME! Now, I do miss them. Really I do. Can't wait to see them tomorrow when they return. But the last few days with my hubby have been really sort of fun. I remembered why I married him and he remembered why he married me. For some reason, I've been much less bitchy and he's hasn't been nearly a...well, he's been very nice.

What's going on? We have great kids! It's so strange to feel this way... And answer me this:

My kids have a list of chores every single day, so logic will tell you that when they are home, my house should be sparkling clean for the summer. This week it should be a disaster since they are gone! But no. It is quite the opposite. Truly, an enigma. Or not.

Kids on vacation with my parents - this was in Hawaii.

But the house is much too quiet. And it's starting to get boring around here. We need them back. After all, absence does make the heart grow fonder. As a matter of fact, I can't locate my husband right now. Honey? Oh, Honey? Where are you?

Electronics Free Week? OMG!

2011-07-17T10:11:00.000-07:00

See these lovely, voluminous elephant ears? The beauties reside outside our front entrance, eager to greet our scant visitors. Sorry to wallow in my conceit, but every year I attempt to grow these most awesome of plants and fail miserably. And at the beginning of this summer season, it had appeared I was en route to do the same. The plant was gangly. Almost dead. I was heartbroken.

Isn't that what we always do when something doesn't work out? Just keeping doing the same thing? Waiting for a better result? Then, we bitch.

But I did something different. I changed the location. I starting talking to the lovely greenery with each nightly watering. And voila. Finally, results that exceeded my expectations!

Doug and I have been quite annoyed with our children's seeming addiction to all things electronic. WAIT! Aren't we the parents? Don't we have the right of rescission? Yes. Yes, we do.

So, next week will be declared E-Free week! No computer, DS, phone, TV (very limited anyway) or WII. And it will be hotter than Hades outside! What will these kids do???? I'm sure the first order of business will be to....mope. I've always bragged on their creative minds. Let's just see them prove me right.

Thoughts on Tinkling

2011-07-06T19:42:00.000-07:00

Upon exiting the grocery store this evening, I rushed my family to the car with the pained knowledge that a twenty minute drive would be endured before my bladder could experience a euphoric sense of freedom.

"Why don't you just use the bathroom in the grocery store, Mom?" Alex asked in her intelligent sort of way.

Good question, my astute daughter. However, if you must know, the grocery store (any grocery store, really) is my least favorite place to pee.

Other locales that don't make my favorite place to powder my nose?

Any sporting event (baseball games to be specific). The younger the team, the worse the facility. And if toddlers with dirty t-shirts are playing around the area, just forget it. What is that liquid you slosh through in your flip-flops to get to the dark, abysmal latrines anyway? Sewer backup or it is, you know, that dirty kid's pee? It can't possibly be water from the faucet that had absolutely no pressure whatsoever.
Target. Love the store. But the restrooms are a haven for the poopers. It must have something to do with the time of day shoppers make it to the store. Right after they've just finished their riblet basket at Applebee's? I'm just guessing. Maybe next time I'll ask the girl in the next stall what she ate for lunch.
My son's bathroom. Enough said.
My mother-in-law's bathroom. But not for the same reasons as not wanting to go in my son's toilet. Obviously, her toilet is as clean as a whistle. I honestly can't explain why I don't like going in there. Maybe it's because I feel inferior since there are absolutely no rings in her toilet. None. Nada. And I guess I don't want her to think that I ever pee.

Now, when I need to use the loo, I prefer to be in the sanctity of my own sweet bathroom, the one attached to our bedroom. But there are other honorable mentions:

Johnny's Italian Restaurant. Ah, the ladies' room takes me back to the 1940's, despite being born in '69. Yes, a true powder room indeed.
My mom's bathroom. Still love to look at all her cosmetics and jewelry. I try not leave a mess. Really, Mom.
The stalls at work. Because I've developed this tea-drinking habit, the restroom at work has become quite a place of comfort for me...especially in the morning. While I used to feel guilty about my visits, it's really something I can't help. Besides it gives me a little exercise and like my husband says, "Who cares? At least you're getting paid for it."

Well, enough about this. I need to go. I mean, I need to GO!

Power of a Picture

2011-07-02T08:43:00.000-07:00

So I'm doing my morning stretches (something close to yoga), and I notice a tree frog on our window! Of course it delights me, so I grab the camera to snap a shot. But it is a clever hopper, and it foots away quickly. However, as I glance out the window, the sunrise catches my attention. So, of course, I realize the frog led me here for a reason. (Very soon this blog post will begin to sound like the children's tale "If you give a pig a pancake...")

And as I scroll through the pics to find the photos to add to this blog, I find myself overwhelmed by the happy events on this little device we know as the Kodak. Gourmet cupcakes of my daughter's making. King Cole the 8th on a typical imaginative day. Another (perhaps the same) tree frog playing elusive games on our deck. Percy, the dog, to the nth degree. Flowers (even though I was a bit perturbed with my daughter's use of camera without approval, the artistry is impressive.)

The other day, my work week took a morale boost when my friend Janet sent an email of a pic of Cole as a baby. The power of a photo. I knew he was cute...Wait! I have completed gotten off track and hardly have enough room for the original sunrise photo. Oh, well. You've all seen a sunrise, right? If not, see blog header. And if you give a pig a pancake...

The Meaning of Love

2011-06-25T12:56:00.000-07:00

I decided to enter the following essay into Real Simple's "When did you first understand the meaning of love?" contest. Read it to kids this morning and guess what? They both cried. :)

On June 6, 1997, I decided to live.

Before a helicopter whisked me away to an Intensive Care Unit in the city, I held my newborn girl for merely minutes. Oh, those cheeks. So kissable. And as I fell deeply, deeply in love with that little butterball of a soul, they took her from my arms and assured me she’d be well-cared for. To be separated from our firstborn child so quickly after her birth was not in our carefully-constructed plans.

I had just survived an amniotic embolism, which is a fairly precarious situation. During labor, I recalled one horrific contraction. Not that any are fun, as any mother who has gone through delivery knows. But there was this one particular shot of pain that took my breath away, literally. My doctor abruptly stopped the labor to perform an emergency C-section. The baby was born and all appeared to be well. But things were not well. The bleeding didn’t stop. It was realized that the unforgivable contraction was the embolism. And when I didn’t stop bleeding, a condition called DIC, or disseminated intravascular coagulation, occurred. (While the technical term sounds intimidating enough, I found on the Internet that an alternate interpretation of the acronym is “Death is Coming.”) Anyway, I was in pretty bad shape.

My doctor had the state troopers deliver blood which he siphoned by way into my jugular. Nurses were standing me on my head. My husband was told to call my parents in – not to share in the joy of the new grandbaby, but to, perhaps, say goodbye to their only daughter…just in case. Chaos prevailed in that recovery room, but my thoughts? I want to hold my baby. I want to hold my baby. When I overheard that I was soon to be life-flighted, my heart broke.

I know love. I grew up in an adoring household and was the center of my parent’s world as an only child. And I when I met my husband? It was all over. I fell head over heels in love as if I was the star in a Meg Ryan romantic comedy. But this love I felt for the stranger that had erupted from my womb was overwhelmingly different. For the first time, I didn’t think about what this person was going to do for me. It felt so, so...unselfish. But how could I love her, if I was going to be swept away to the city? The only thing I could do, for now, was not die.

As I lay in the ICU at Clarkson Hospital in Omaha, Nebraksa, my husband sweetly brought in a videotape. “I think you’ll like this.” Friends of ours had videotaped Alexandria Grace while she was rocked, fed and loved by others in the OB ward of our little town - all while I inched my way back to non-critical status. I watched that tape over and over again, with tears rolling down my face. “Will my baby know me when we finally meet?” I thought to myself. I had to get better. And fast. In three days, I was moved out of the ICU into the maternity ward, with a wonderful surprise in tow.

My doctor had arranged to have our daughter waiting for me in the room. And as long as my own mother would stay with me, Alex could stay as well. What a gift! My recovery accelerated at Mach speed as I held and stared at the precious bundle that I had already pledged to protect and love with all my might. One week later, my husband and I buckled our baby in the car seat and headed home.

When I became pregnant with my second child three years later, one thought consumed me. “How am I gonna love this child as much as my first?” After the wonderful, uneventful birth of our son Cole Douglas, a moment of clarity hit. You can never give enough love. The more you love, the more you love. One kid. Two kids. Ten kids. Sure, like every other family, we have anxious moments, ego flare-ups and a few tantrums. But mostly, we see through those trivial things. Because at the end of the night and at the start of each day, we have lots and lots of love for each other.

While every birthday is special in our household, Alex’s resonates with me. On June 6, I made the decision to live. And thank goodness. I would have never learned how much one’s love can grow.

Alex, me and Cole - after a peaceful delivery 10 years ago.

My Poor Cole

2011-06-20T19:52:00.000-07:00

It's a rare occasion when our spirited Cole has a rough day. But when that nasty wind blows through town, what do you expect?

Tonight, Cole had an upchucking event at batting practice before his ball game. The poor kid, we think, was trying to tough it out since we found evidence of a similar occurrence in the bathroom sink. And now this weather thing with the wall clouds and the CWS fans running to the Qwest Center has him all upset. He'd prefer vomiting SIX times to letting the storm gods determine our fate. Way to take one for the team, Kid.

Cole- completely relaxed after dinner

Like every other un-sadistic Mom on the planet, I hate it when my children are sick - or worried. But at least I can be there to put the wash cloth on their forehead. I do serve a purpose beyond washing socks. Seriously though, they provide me much happiness...especially in the form of comic relief. Today was not a particularly fun Monday. But one memory of the weekend kept me giggling to myself. After finishing a nice family dinner at the Victoria Station, we all resumed our positions in the vehicle for the way home when Cole astutely announced,

"I just had the best fart of my life!"

Alex added "I bet - it was at least ten seconds long."

If that doesn't make you happy, well, what do you laugh about?

Everyday Miracles

2011-06-17T16:49:00.000-07:00

Have you heard of that book Heaven is for Real? About the little boy who makes amazing remarks about his visit to see Jesus while on the operating table? Or have you read Chicken Soup for the Soul's Book of Miracles? 101 spine-tingling stories about people in desperate situations, suddenly saved by a divine twist of fate? I read both of those books, back-to-back. It was sort of like drinking a Jamba Juice super-spiritual smoothie fortified with a faith booster. Hallelujah!

I was having a conversation with another full-time, working mother the other day about the challenge of living mindfully. Being fully engaged can be more difficult than bribing your grubby 9-year boy to take a shower. Or convincing your teenage daughter that you really are the coolest mom ever. Have you ever driven all the way to work and not remember one one detail about the drive? You could've ran over seven squirrels and not noticed...But who could blame you? You're trying to remember if the baseball game starts at 5:30 or 6:00 tonight and would it be possible to get the kids in for a hair trim tomorrow. No, that won't work. Kids have piano lessons. And Father's Day is this weekend...and my Lord, have my roots really grown out that much already?

So, as I was thinking about those books I read, along with the bowl of cherries I've gotten to swim through my entire life while taking the less mindful path, something occurred to me. Maybe I have had near-death experiences! Maybe a truck has almost crushed me! Maybe a viper has nearly engorged its pointy fangs near my jugular before a white crystalline light swooped from heaven and threw the reptile across the woods before I could understand my dangerous predicament. I just happen to lack Jedi awareness, so I couldn't write about it and send my story to the Chicken Soup people.

Me and My Miracles

I think the moral of this tedious blog is that perhaps we all need to be aware of the everyday miracles that occur all the time. Not the type you read about in books. Like the cardinal that perches on the tree. Or, the wildflowers that appear on your terrace every spring. Or, the hug from your son on a perfectly sour day. Or, your daughter's willingness to accompany you to a movie without her friends. Or, your husband's compliment about your beauty right after you washed your makeup off. (Sure, maybe he needs his eyes checked, but don't let him do it.) Or, the dog's kiss to the cat who barely tolerates the canine. Or, the lunch I get to have with my healthy parents almost every day...still at the age of 41.

Miracles are everywhere. How many do you see right now? I bet you can find some if you look around.

My Girl

2011-06-06T07:23:00.000-07:00

Fourteen years ago today I went into the hospital to have a baby girl. My doctor said that I almost didn't make it. No disrespect, Dr. Markham, but I know deep in my heart that I was nowhere near death. I had way too much to live for.

Alexandria Grace Kramer.

My brown-eyed Bam-Bam.

She could drag a coffee table across the living room by the time she was two.

Her credo to life came not merely from her parents, but from maxims memorized out of The Lion King. "Because being brave doesn't mean you go looking for trouble right, Mom?" "It doesn't matter! It's in the past!" They might have not flowed in the course of the conversation, but if the tone veered toward serious, Alex took it upon herself to insert sage advice using one these quotes. Of course, maybe I shouldn't have let her watch the movie five times in a row while trying to paint the cupboards one rainy afternoon.

My darling girl simply took on a style all her own by the tender age of three. Enough said. I won't get into the clothing wars because I want this to be a nice blog about my daughter. Let's just say I love her sense of style. Most of the time.

Alex came out of my womb talking like she owned the place. She still talks like she owns the place. Well, that's what you get when you have a smart girl. I like that a lot. Especially when she studies.

I love when she plays guitar. I love when she plays piano. I love when she writes a paper. I love when she tells me something poignant. But you know what I love the most about Alex?

She is kind. She is kind to the elderly. She is kind to poor people. She is kind to pets. She is kind to strangers. She is usually kind to her brother.

It is this kindness that makes her, with those deep brown eyes, the most beautiful girl in the world.

Alex at 1 year- when I could dress her.

No More Tears?

2011-05-29T07:13:00.000-07:00

My typical maudlin pose had gone on sabbatical.

"Seriously? You didn't cry at Alex's 8th grade graduation?" my friend asked me.

I was a bit baffled by the experience of not crying a watershed of tears myself. I mean, my eldest enters high school next year. And I'm the girl who cries over dead opossums on the side of the road...literally. So, what was with this new, dispassionate me? Has my Germanic-stoic of a husband rubbed off more than I had realized? At first I wondered. But then I analyzed the situation. There was simply too much to worry about during the graduation ceremony for me to cry. My concerns:

Would Alex be recognized for her academic excellence?
Could she perform her guitar for the choir without any major discord?
Lastly, would she be able to walk across the stage in those heels?

As it turned out, my prayers were answered. I'm extremely proud to report that she marched across that stage without falling on her face. And she was quite lovely.

Last night our family sat around the campfire and listened to Alex play her guitar. My heart swelled. Tears assembled on the rims of my eyes. It was nice to feel my old sappy, self back again.

Alex and her Best Buds' Heels

Alex and her cousins, Mikayla and Mitch!

Just a Word!

2011-05-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

The other night my daughter and I were having a spirited dialogue after the results of American Idol were announced. As Alex was pleading her contempt with the public over Haley's dismissal, I was giggling over my sweet daughter's unusual sense of vigor. But then it got ugly.

"I don't give an F anymore, Mom."

No, she didn't actually say the f-word. But I stopped the conversation and said, "Cut it right now. I don't like that attitude. It's only a show."

Isn't she lovely?

Later, when I told my husband about our daughter's little outburst, he basically shrugged and said, "So? It's just a word."

Just a word! Well, we had a quite a conversation...about that word. But I don't want to talk about that conversation (because it was all about the f-word). I'd rather talk about the power of ALL words.

Words have the power to uplift, shame, enlighten, humble, rescue, demoralize, liberate or inspire. Whether we speak, write, read, text or even use sign language, don't words carry a colossal bit of sway in our every day lives? Heck, in our aspirations? And, most importantly, our relationships?

I suppose you all remember the game called "telephone" when the teacher whispers a message that must travel through the entire class. The last student must relate the message out loud, which is often muddled by the time words have passed through all the sets of tiny ears. Recently, I read an article in the New Yorker about a Tibetan Monk performing a similar exercise with thirty people using a Buddhist sutra. The results? While the words became completely lost, the sentiment remained. (Check out the article in the link above.)

Okay, so maybe words are just words...until affection takes hold. Then watch out. Powerful stuff begins to unfold. And just prove that point-

Peace to all of you and God bless! I truly hope you have a week like none other.

Field Trips and Lessons Learned

2011-05-14T12:11:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in my genetics, I was blessed with an ability to be completely be consumed by guilt. It can be about anything, but usually it involves my ability to be a good mom. Often the attention placed on my job (and that little terrorist called a Blackberry) is called into question. And, of course, this tears me up inside because I adore my family - infinitely beyond the financial spreadsheets at my place of employment.

But like most working mothers, I try to strike a balance. So after nearly six weeks of medical leave (and some MORE guilt about missing work), I took a day off to join Cole on his field trip to the Science Center in Des Moines. And it was fabulous. Almost.

The day really was delightful. I got paired with a fun mother. We enjoyed the IMAX showing of "Born to be Wild." The kids were awed by the liquid nitrogen and the fiery hydrogen balloon. Good science!

Then the end of the day came. The kids were allowed to visit, gulp, the gift shop.

Now, I've done some thinking lately. Nothing that Aristotle would find groundbreaking. But after sitting at home for six weeks, I've decided that we need to buy less stuff.

Especially after noticing that not all kids had money, I knew Cole wouldn't be making a purchase at the gift shop. And after showing me a dozen silly things he definitely did not need, I stood my ground. But it was actually difficult. I almost gave in, because he was not one bit happy with me. He was embarrassed. But I knew it would be one more toy that he wouldn't play with. One more thing to be tossed aside.

Last night, I showed him the devastation in Alabama. "See, Bud? This is where money needs to go. This is more important than wasting $10 on a stuffed animal that you would've lost already."

An Unusually Tired Cole

He wasn't listening. His eyes were focused on the TV. But I like to imagine that his subconscious was picking up on my message. Suddenly, I didn't feel any guilt whatsoever! And I had done exactly the OPPOSITE of what I normally do - I had not picked up a gift for my cute little guy. For once, I had done the right thing. And he didn't seem to love me any less.

Mom and Being Mom

2011-05-06T20:45:00.000-07:00

I baked cookies tonight. After seven weeks of my family having to live with what appeared to be an interminably impaired matriarch, I made cookies. They were pretty bad. Gluten-free and from a mix. But I baked.

Once upon a time, many years ago, I found myself unwrapping a "care package" in my college dorm room from my mother. The only thing I remember with great clarity about the contents are the crumbly, delicious chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. No baked treat ever, ever, ever tasted so delightful and scrumptious. That combination of oatmeal and choco-chips? Seemingly mundane, but brilliant all the same! Comfort food for sure. But was it really about the taste? I wonder. Probably a little. But I think most of all it was about how the cookies made me feel - loved by my dear mom. Those cookies could've been laced with ostrich beaks. And I would probably be bragging to my kids about how my mom used to make the best ostrich beak cookies ever. Well, maybe not.

When I was really young, my mom was a Mary Kay consultant. Some nights she'd have to be gone. Dreadful. I love my Dad with all my heart, but I could never convince him that MOM DOES NOT ADD TOMATO CHUNKS IN THE SPAGHETTI SAUCE! Without Mom at home, things were just... off-kilter. Who am I kidding? Mom was a very necessary ingredient to receiving a whole bunch of attention. She took care of us. It was heaven.

As I get back on my feet again, I (in my motherly role) will sincerely appreciate the opportunity for my hubby to tell me that I don't have to pour their milk, cut their meat or put any of their precious cargo away. Certainly, most of us mothers know why we're tired. Our insane, hard-wired system sends signals that we must ensure abundant provisions for our loved ones until we're absolutely certain that we've exhausted all of our resources. Because deep-down inside, it feels good.

On this mothers day weekend, bask in the memory of your mother, or simply being a mother. Cheers to you all.

The Royal Hitch is All Over

2011-05-01T16:41:00.000-07:00

While I seemed to be the only one in our household who cared about the festivities across the pond, I thought the Royal wedding (of what I could pick up from videos, photos and TLC's fashion journalism) was simply...lovely. But who doesn't love a fairy tale wedding? Well, plenty of boys/men, I guess.

My fascination with William and Kate stems back to 1981 when plenty of us Gen Xers watched the pretty Lady Di (with her never-ending train) marry Prince Chahles. (Of course, I did NOT wake up at 4:00 AM to see the nuptials. But we watched replays on the news and waited for articles to be published to relish in the details. No, we poor souls didn't have Internet back then. It was the worst of times. Or maybe it was the best of times...) Of course, that fairy tale went a bit awry, but is the fascination still there? Apparently!

So, what's this female obsession of weddings? Whether the locale is Westminster Abbey or the Westside Bar & Grill, a wedding is a wedding. And for me, it basically boils down to two things:

To see young love so pure and innocent...that glorious time before dishes and laundry get in the way. (And apparently that just might happen to Will and Kate since they are choosing to do their own chores. Crazy. I wonder if this option is reversible once kids come along?)
The dress. Mostly, it's about the dress. To see how pretty it looks. Kate's was quite beautiful - not too ornate. And sophisticated - seemed very fitting for her style. I actually really liked the bridesmaid dress as well. Just a tad sexier. Anyway, WAY BEFORE I became a bride, I dreamed of what my dress might be. And after I was married, I almost immediately began dreaming of what my daughter's would be....and this was before I KNEW I would give birth to my beloved Alex. Of course, maybe I'm just a nutcase. But I don't think I'm in the minority here.

So, with all of the hubbub of the royal wedding, we took my wedding dress out of the box. Funny, Alex didn't love the portrait collar - my favorite part. But she seemed much more enamored by my train...

And in twenty years, I told her it will be all hers!

Be Green on Earth Day!

2011-04-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

Most recently I finished reading Gorgeously Green by Sophie Uliano. And if my family thought I wasn't already obsessive, just watch me now! Now that I'm uber informed of the dangerous carcinogins in the plethora of household products we use... I'm like a crazed eco-woman, determined to rid our home of any toxins that might harm my precious loved ones. Oh sure, they look askance, utter sly remarks, and question whether this exuberance will last a week, a month, two months. But I've already purchased $100 worth of certified organic products to get us started, AND my compost pile is building up nicely now.

So eventually I will toss out all of the chemical-infiltrated products in our perimeter. But I won't shock my family's system or poison the earth all at once by dumping the current products down the drain. And I'm having some trouble convincing my beloved of the benefits of the mud-like shampoo and the "fresh" aroma of the shower gel. (Alex thought I smelled like the dog shampoo after a complete organic scrubbing...I think she's just being a poop.) Admittedly, it takes a little getting used to. But doesn't all change?

Our new shampoo!

Anyway, on this earth day, take a look at the products on your shelf and around your home. Are they really good for you? They might deem themselves "organic" or "natural," but unless it contains the organic seal, it doesn't count. There's an amazing website called Skin Deep which allows you to check up on your companies. It's quite enlightening. A bit disappointing as well. I was happy to report that one product I use from Nature's Origins scored relatively well. (I knew I liked those sales girls for some reason.)

Sustain the Earth...for our Posterity!

There is much we can do on this earth to make it a better place. I received Gorgeously Green as a gift and learned a lot about living a sustainable life which I hope to pass on to my kids...much to their chagrin. But the chagrin will dissipate when they begin to understand their own responsibility to care for ourselves and our planet. Anyway, think of a small change - whether it's throwing that aluminum can in the recycle bin or recycling your clothes. It all adds up in the end. And happy earth day to you and your family on this lovely day.

Dogs and Reading - Two Favorites!

2011-04-17T17:33:00.000-07:00

From my Read.Write.Share. Blog ----

Most recently, I alternated between tears and smiles as my dog peacefully slept at my feet while reading The Art of Racing in the Rain - a tale narrated by a dog. Enzo is the most clever of dogs - interpreting his surroundings infinitely well (including the English language) which leaves this novel completely rich with detail.

Of course, Enzo is handicapped by his inability to speak (tongue is much too long) and his lack of a thumb. So all he really has "is gestures." But as we all know, dogs perform amazing feats - to stir or sooth our emotions - using...gestures! Throughout this compelling story line - of a race car driver who must fight for custody of his daughter - Enzo never forgets his purpose.

All dog lovers will relish in this book. Race car enthusiasts will also be amused. And those who appreciate strong prose will think, "Smart dog."

This morning I sat on the floor, attempting to stretch my legs. My faithful dog, Percy, decided to join me. I thought to myself, "I wonder if he understands more than we even realize." So, I looked into his big brown eyes as he wagged his tail. Then I gently reminded him,

"Remember what I told you about not putting your paws on my tummy right now. That would be a no-no. Because it hurts pretty bad."

He wagged a bit more. Before reaching his little paw right over to my sore belly. So, he might not have Enzo's mind. But he does have gestures. And that's all he needs. That's all we need, Percy.

Our Percy...

Tell Me A Story!

2011-04-10T19:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight we ventured to Mom and Pop's for a roast beef dinner, compliments of my Uncle Curt. It was quite enlightening. Really.

I heard a story about my dad today that I've never heard before. (Gosh, it sort of sounds like I'm talking about him as if he's dead. No worries - he's not!) I tend to assume that I know everything about my parents. Apparently I don't.

Alex had gone go-carting at a birthday party yesterday. So Mom brought up how Dad had wall-to-wall trophies from all his go-cart racing days. My Dad? Really? I looked to my father who was nodding with what I think is his half-smile.

So then Dad told us how his father would engineer go-carts that couldn't lose: by tearing apart a six-horsepower single motor on the kitchen table, scrupulously cleaning each working part until the machine was more than merely a go-cart, and finally training his son how to wisely maneuver corners so no one could beat him in any class. Imagine the disbelief when 30-year old men were losing to a 14-year old chap. (Although, Dad admitted there was one guy he could never beat. Everyone has his nemesis.)

"So, were you scared when you raced?" Cole asked my dad.
"Every time," Dad answered without batting an eye.

But when Dad started talking about the "unsponsored" drag racing that occurred later in his teenage years, he didn't mention any fear. And once after coming home from being sorely defeated from a race on his 45 Harley (and assuming he had outsmarted his Dad by not letting him know of his extra-curricular racing activities), his father asked him, "Well, how'd you do?" You might be able to hide stuff from your children, but it's hard to pull one over a keen parent.

Mom and Dad in Oahu

Anyway, how often do we take the time to sit down and share stories? Hardly ever. When we're little, we beg our mommies and daddies to "Tell me a story!" Then we grow up and convince ourselves that we barely have time to flush the toilet. (Actually, Cole doesn't have time to do this now.) Well, I'm going to start asking for more stories. And not only from Mom and Dad - I bet my aunts and uncles have a few colorful yarns to spin. I'm all ears.

A Big Day

2011-04-02T13:30:00.000-07:00

Today was a big day for me.

I wore normal underwear! Seriously, I've been wearing my hubby's "Hanes" boxer-briefs since the surgery. So what if it happens to be the biggest pair of panties I own! Actually, the doctor said it was okay if I wore men's undies. Just as long as Doug didn't start wearing mine...
I ventured out to watch my son play (and lose) his first soccer game. While I only sat in the pickup the entire time, the change in scenery from my living room walls to the brown Iowa grass was breath-taking!

Well, that was about it. I'm pooped. It's been a fabulous day.

Cousins, Kitties and Long Lost Uncles

2011-03-27T10:12:00.000-07:00

April, Alicia, me and my band of kitties.

Say what you want about Facebook, but you wouldn't be smiling at these cutie patooties attempting to hold captive a litter of gangly kittens circa 1978...(I believe those cats were the Christmas gift that kept on giving.)

No, it's not just a forum to document one's journey to the powder room or grocery store, as the naysayers will be the first to point out. It's about connecting. And as I've been shut in my house for the past...seemingly several years now, it's nice to hear that Johnny went to the movies the other day. Good for him.

Actually, for anyone who is promoting a business, FB is invaluable. But that's a no brainer. I simply felt compelled to note that I haven't seen or talked to my Uncle Dwayne in a really long time. And as I lay recovering from surgery, he's been posting all these old photos to FB - totally brightening my spirits! Thanks Uncle DJ.

Before my Uncle Stewy passed, I was thankful that I was able to connect with him again. Via FB. I remember exactly when we connected. Thank God. When Mark Zuckerburg came up with the idea, I wonder if he envisioned any of these long, lost implications. Either way, who can deny the goodness?

Heck, my Dad's even on Facebook now. So I'm thinking whatever void that may exist in our father-daughter relationship, will be healed on the social network. Gotta go. Gonna check my FB page. See if Dad's got any messages for me. Or if there are any new photos...

Reading - for your Pleasure

2011-03-21T15:51:00.000-07:00

Preface - Half of blog was written "before surgery." Finished this blog today...sorry if the ending seems a little "rushed." :) I really did enjoy the book. Actually, I usually post these on my other blog. Sorry - too much pain meds?

When choosing a book to read, my selection usually boils down to

a long-standing bestseller,
an Oprah pick,
a Classic...so that I'm well-read - and of course living up to my "English degree" from the U of Iowa reputation (and becoming more masterful writer),
a spiritual or self-help - for obvious reasons,
a non-fiction/business to hone, hone, hone, hone...expand, expand, expand my knowledge of anything really, and/or
basically anything that's not wasteful of my time...

Then it occurred to me as I finished reading a book the other day, what's so wrong about wasting time? And does reading always have to be a learning experience? It seems I've forgotten the joy of reading for leisure. So, about this book? Chasing the Sun by Kaki Warner. And it was really good! Quite honestly, it probably wasn't something I would have picked up, but I won it on a blog contest. And I'm glad I did - BECAUSE:

I haven't read a Western since....??? And it was great fun. It was like watching Hopalong Cassidy with my dad as a little girl. And who couldn't love a story with a myriad of strong female characters, tangled love interests, witty dialogue and, of course, despicable villains? Oh yeah, there's a really nice fairy tale ending - my favorite...

The Passing of Uncle Stew

2011-03-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

Last week my uncle passed away at the way too young age of 67. I didn't have the opportunity to make it to Texas for his service, which made me a bit more sad. But I was able to share my grief with relatives as they gave me the honor of reading my short tribute at his service on Saturday. Here it is - to share with you all so you can understand the joy my Uncle Stew spread to the world:

The other day I was driving on College Boulevard and saw the house of my cousins’ childhood – also known as my Uncle Stew and Aunt Char’s house. It’s a charming house, and while my visits to the place were limited to occasions such as holidays and graduation parties, its aura brings a smile to my face. And now especially, I won’t be able to pass the residence without hearing my uncle’s unmistakable laugh.

The laugh. His smile. Uncle Stew. Who would’ve thought all that exuberance for life could be laid to rest one day?

-Only Stew could poke his head in front of a camera (on a wedding day photo shoot) and mention, “Pictures aren’t really much fun, unless you’re in them.” One of my favorite pics is of Doug, Stew and I cutting the cake on our special day.

-Only Stew could cry over a Love Boat episode. Well…only Stew would admit it anyway.

-Only Stew would admit to his pre-teen niece after coming home from rehab, “If I ever won the lottery, I’d say F-___ it. I’m getting drunk.”

-Only Stew could make a somewhat reserved teenager laugh - and even get her to come out of her shell for a bit…no matter how uncomfortable she might have felt. Undoubtedly, I wasn’t the only one.

I don’t have to tell anyone how much Stew’s gift of wit and charm will be missed. He was one of those people that instantly boosted your mood – the type of person you seek out, they type you put “first” on your party list. It was impossible to shy away from the magnetism, because it wasn’t just his “wild and craziness” that drew you in. It was also the way that he showed his true affection. I’m not sure too many uncles would try summer after summer, hours upon hours to coach and encourage “the girl voted most unlikely to ever water ski”. But he did. And eventually (by the time I was maybe a senior in high school), I was able to water ski for a good 30 seconds…We celebrated like I had just taken the gold medal.

A few years ago, I asked my mother a question. “Have you noticed any similarities between my Coley and Uncle Stew?”

At first, she was reluctant to agree. But the more we observed, no one could deny. There was an eerie resemblance. A zest for life. And inability to sit still. And the clincher: a love for their own jokes. When Mom brought this to Stew’s attention, he only replied, “Well, let’s just hope he grows out of it.”

Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t. Because whether Cole realizes it or not, he keeps the amazing spirit of my uncle within my heart. What a gift.

Uncle Stew...waiting to cut the cake.

Look Honey, Cole's Growing Up...Sorta

2011-03-02T19:37:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy week for Cole. Saturday, he started off the week by achieving a "Junior 1st" for the restoration of his 1952 Harley Hummer at the AMCA Antique Motorcycle Show & Swap Meet. Not too many nine-year olds can flash an Antique Motorcycle membership card... nor a fancy plaque like this one. "He" scored 99 points out of 100. (Wonder if Grandpa could've given it one more coat of polish?)

THEN, he started his mock trial program...Luckily he gets to play the part he wanted. Prosecutor, you ask? Defense Attorney? Judge? Unfortunately, no, no and no. Our jet-setting Cole desperately wanted to play the part of "Bailiff." And he was lucky enough to get it. Doug and I scratched our heads. Why would he want the arcane role of a crusty ole officer? Then he explained. "Mrs. Jones MIGHT let me carry a gun!" By the end of the week, he also had Mr. Bailiff converted into some sort of James Bond character....hmmm. I'm sure Mrs. Jones is handling my son much too delicately.

Judge Me By My Size, Do You?

And last, but certainly not least, Cole has finally joined the ranks of the Kramer four-eyes-club. And what sophistication it brought to his countenance! So, Harry Potter.

With all the happenings this week, it seems my baby boy is growing up too quickly. But he still has his issues when it comes to eating an ice cream cone - it still makes me feel like a...mommy.

Gelato...not just for the squeamish.

Earth to Alex

2011-02-21T13:46:00.000-08:00

Ways I connect with my 13 year old daughter:

Watch Glee. Despite a few scenes that make me blush (am I that old...or just that prudish?), the music completely bedazzles me.
Watch American Idol. Never will I tire of this show. I'm starting to think they could make Dan Rather a judge and I'd still like it.
Watch Food Network. What will we watch now that Worst Cooks in America is over? Doesn't matter! I simply relish in the opportunity for my very own offspring to educate me on food items such as "polenta" and "arugula."
Read Alex's book recommendations...such as "Five Flavors of Dumb." AHA -a break from the tube (a.k.a. flatscreen for any possible youth reading this). But I won't deny my disappointment that she's not holding up her end of the deal. "I'll read this if you read that!" She hasn't even pretended to pick up The Help...How could she not be interested in a book about the racial injustice of the 1960's? Oh, but she will as soon as she realizes that Emma Stone is playing the lead in the movie...

And if all else fails, I open on my laptop to converse with her on Facebook while she's...somewhere in the house. (She gets a real kick out of that.) Next time I'll post on her wall, "Hey Al. Have you started reading The Help yet??? Love ya!"

PS - she doesn't respond to my texts! Not sure what I'm doing wrong because she certainly seems to like texting. Could it be I don't speak text well enough?

The Magic of Disney

2011-02-12T17:38:00.000-08:00

We're coming down from a Disney high.

Seven days in Orlando - this time with a four day pass to Universal Studios to visit our beloved Wizarding World of Harry Potter. And while it didn't disappoint, we found ourselves wasting one-full day's pass to opt for you know who. Mickey Mouse. There really is magic in those walls of Disney. Eagle's lyrics kept drifting through my mind (especially as Doug couldn't seem to find the exits). "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave..."

I couldn't help but feel a bit sad about leaving. With kids the ages of 9 and 13, could this be my last hurrah at Magic Kingdom? Princesses. Fairy tales. Happy endings. We even coerced Doug to endure Tangled in 3D. It was quite delightful. Just ask Doug.

Today Alex and I watched two more Disney animated films. Then we thumbed through photos of our vacation - as if it had taken place years ago. Apparently, I need Disney to remind me that you're never too old to dream. On my last trip to Orlando, I started collected these figurines - Tinker Bell has a saying on her platform: "Let Your Dreams Blossom." I've had this sitting in my room for a few years now, but you know how you forget to look at the precious things you already have?

Actually, the sun didn't even shine in Orlando for the last few days. But it was shining in Iowa - just as we arrived home on Friday. So, I think that God was telling us that dreams can come true anywhere...as long as you believe.

Thoughts after first day of vaca:

2011-02-05T05:43:00.000-08:00

-Direct flights are sublime. Feeling slightly superior than those poor souls who must connect through Dallas.

-While I was slightly charmed that my hubby beat me at the addicting word scramble games while biding our time on the plane, I sort of wanted to thrash him on the head with the Kindle. C'mon! I'm supposed to be the brains. He's supposed to be the brawn.

-Will I ever ever ever ever ever grow sick of Mcdonalds? Me thinks... only if they discontinue their fries.

-Did you know that it's a faux pas to use the term "befriend" when considering such matters like Facebook. Apparently, I need to train my brain to think of friending as a verb. If I want to sound cool anyway.

-Our family travel habits have become uncannily blended. I eat a ton more meat, and Doug has already started planning our next trip (a definite role reversal). Alex has picked up Cole's tendency to "want stuff". And Cole has picked up Alex's penchant for...wanting stuff. Quite the role reversal there as well.

Off to our first full day of roller coasters, sugar highs, a few beers (hopefully), probably a headache and certainly loads of laughs.

TTFN (Tigger-ease for Ta Ta for now)

Breaking News!

2011-02-01T14:32:00.000-08:00

We take a break from our regularly-scheduled lives to bring you this storm:

Yes, this is the USA. Pretty cool, huh?

Assuming you are safe and warm, can you help be anything but awe-struck by the power of Mother Nature? I'm looking out my front window and am blinded by the dazzling whirl of white. Perhaps a little hibernation is good for the soul.

The kids think so anyway.

Lessons from the Tiger Mom

2011-01-26T17:54:00.000-08:00

My apologies to you sixteen loyal readers of this blog. Undoubtedly, I’ve been a bit remiss in writing. Between nursing headaches (weather fronts wreaking havoc in the cornbelt), not dusting the house, and resolving to be a diligent organizer of tax receipts in 2011; apparently, I’ve also been ruining my kids by coddling them. Anyone heard of Amy Chua, aka, The Tiger Mom? If you haven’t, you might want to join the discussion. It’s great fun. Check out these two disparate point of views if you're so inclined: Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior and In Defense of the Guilty, Ambivalent, Preoccupied Western Mom These are GREAT articles, so if you don't have time, save for later... (BTW, remind me to take lessons on book publicity from Amy C.)

The Chinese Mother. Pushing her kids to relentless practice of math and music to achieve excellence clearly beyond the American couch potato. But is it too much? (Statistics say suicide rates among the Chinese teens run highest.) But who can't help but be a bit envious of the over-achievers? They’re like, so smart. And good at stuff. Ms. Chua argues that perhaps Westerners spend too much time working with their kids on things like “sports.” Hmmm. I don't even fit the typical Westerner mold. As I read her article, I, of course, was wondering how my kids would fare in a Chinese household. But now I know they'd barely make it in a typical Western household either! They'd be like "Practice shooting baskets? Why?" As a matter of fact, a request to unload the dishwasher seems to be grounds for calling 911. I could just see it. "We have a possible child abuse case on our hands. The mom just ordered the Pots and Pan cycle." Gheesh.

The bottom line is - it's tough, no matter if you're a Tiger Mom, or a domesticated tabby cat. You want your kids to be their best, so you tend to push. The question of the hour - how hard? I, myself, have looked at my daughter in askance* for receiving a minus on an "A." Maybe it's just because I see her doing things like posting comments on Facebook...while working on a tough math assignment. Those are the times my Tiger comes out. But I must admit, more often than not, it's the kitten that comes out...because gosh, that's how I was raised.

I love how my friend Amy, mother to FIVE, explains her mothering skills to her eldest child when she complains of a particular injustice that doesn't seem to come down to the younger siblings. "Don't you see, Lexi? I'm not gonna screw up the younger kids." That's good stuff.

Here's a revelation: Parents aren't perfect. Whether you push your kid to be the best soccer player in the world, study spelling words with them until midnight for six months out of year, or you let them achieve the highest levels in Assassin's Creed, who cares? I truly believe, that the very best we can do, at any time, for any reason, is love your kids with all your heart. Period. I think Amy Chua would agree with that.

Happy kids. Tired dog.

*See my son Cole for this definition.

How many times in a day?

2011-01-18T18:06:00.000-08:00

We all remember the follies in the day - the things that went south. But how many times do we think about all of those little moments that we are delightfully amused? Having trouble thinking of some? Here are some examples:

Succumbing to the persistence of the 9-year old who wants to watch Marmaduke. Then giggling all the way through the movie...and a few days afterward. (Who can't laugh at a farting dog?)
An aha! moment in which you decide to either demolish or paint your kitchen orange.
A remark by your hubby. You're both reminiscing on those years of marriage when the babies were young - and how stressful they were! "What?" says hubby, with his sly smile. "I don't remember it being particularly stressful?" No, I don't suppose he does. But at least now, his remark sets me laughing...instead of crying.
A study in the WSJ informing me that adding more cheeseburgers is good for one's cognitive health! (Something about a B12 deficiency....yada yada yada...) I'm quite certain I've lacked in cheeseburgers my entire life! I knew it....I just knew it.
Recognition of a word like "supercilious." Don't know it? Think Mrs. Olsen in Little House in the Prairie. Wow, that dates me, doesn't it? Or Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada. Or Professor Snape in Harry Potter. Get the idea?
A Fleetwood Mac song.
Reading a poignant passage from a book or a newspaper that so clearly brings home a point, you are compelled to share with the world. Like this one from Roy Peter Clark in Writing Tools: "The best work calls the reader's attention to the world being described, not to the writer's flourishes. When we peer out a window onto the horizon, we don't notice the pane, yet the pane frames our vision just as the writer frames our view of the story." Brilliant. He also precautions - beware of the writer who dwells in hyperbole...unless he's using it to be funny. I'm starting to drone, aren't I?
Being told by your often sullen teenage daughter, "Mom, look! I'm happy!" (That's verbatim, and without her usual scathing sarcasm.)

Tonight on the way home from a stimulating tax appointment, we found ourselves amidst a snow shower. Besides the fact that it had not been predicted and it was getting a bit slick, I found myself mesmerized by the snowflakes and the tranquility of the snow-covered fields. Instead of being put-out by the weather, I felt strangely at peace, enjoying the sight before me.

That's when I started thinking about all these moments. In addition to the tranquility, a bit of gratitude transcended. Anyway, I highly recommend going outside, right now - becoming transfixed by the snow shower and making a list of all those moments that made you happy. Hope you don't melt!

Power of Prayer

2011-01-13T18:56:00.000-08:00

A new year. A fresh palette. A chance to sharpen the pencil or drudge up an old dream or two. The Kramer's rang in 2011 with great optimism -- we had actually celebrated until midnight by attending a party with each of our children blissfully kidnapped overnight.

But 13 days in and fate seems to be messing with my resolution to be happy. My vivacious and jocular uncle was diagnosed with lung cancer and is fighting for his life. Doug's aunt passed away this week. I can't bear to think about some of things happening on the national scene. And winter didn't pass us over after all. Oh - did I mention that my new swimsuit came in this week? Yeah, well. Imagine my jubilation after a glance in the mirror, sporting my new bathing bottoms. I wasn't jubile.

Okay, perhaps I need to set aside my Johnny Raincloud umbrella. However, I can't deny the sadness I feel about my uncle. But the truth is my uncle isn't a sad kind of guy. So I've prayed and prayed. And thought about all of the times he made me laugh - and there were plenty of them. Actually, just thinking about his laugh, makes me laugh.

He's the uncle that really didn't want to look at a photo album, unless he was in plenty of the pictures. He was the uncle who would come up with ridiculous comic routines with my dad...Once posing as a successful (or was it a not-so-successful?) high school football coach:

"Coach Jensen, do you think should allow your team to be smoking on the field?"

"Sure, Ron. We find it relaxes the players..."

My mother remembers these routines becoming tedious and somewhat of a bore. But I remember my cousins and I laughing hysterically at the comic genius' of our fathers. We must've been 8 or 9 at the time.

Apparently, Uncle Stew has started to feel a little better - surely everyone's reciprocating the positive vibes and energy he's had on everyone's life. And I'm going to keep remembering the fun memories and praying for the good to come.

Tomorrow Doug and I will attend his Aunt Mildred's funeral. Again, we need to remember the fun and pray for the good...maybe that should be my mantra in everything.

Hello 2011.

True Grit

2011-01-09T09:29:00.000-08:00

Rooster Cogburn's got nothing on the men in my house. Okay, perhaps that's a bit of an overstatement. What the heck. Rooster's merely a figment of author Charles Portis's imagination - and characterized by the late, great John Wayne...now brilliantly brought to life by Jeff Bridges. Either way, the topic of "grit" is an intriguing one. Is it innate? Or learned? We can talk nature or nurture all day long, but I can tell you one thing. If my kids were raised by me, solely, they still might not know how to cut their own meat.

The other night I talked the family into getting off our lazy winter butts. So we took a trip to the Wellness Center instead of watching TV. Once into a friendly game of basketball (girls against boys of course), Cole took a hard pass from his father - directly in the nose. It was a bleeder - a good one too. I was cupping my hands to keep it from going all over the gym floor. But do you think our little trooper cried? Not one tear. He's a little strange like that - a little proud of his wounds. (Last summer Cole couldn't wait to show me how he scraped the hell out of his leg after his first real "slide" in baseball.) When the kid cries, it usually doesn't involve physical pain. Now, this isn't something I would've taught him. Most certainly it comes from his full-blooded stoical German father. Remember the line, "There's no crying in baseball"? Well, in Doug's world, there's no crying. Period. (What a shock when he married the likes of someone like me - who cries almost as much as John Boehner. Almost.)

I think grit can be taught from different positions. My dad told me a story once about his own father taking him out to shoot a rabbit. My dad kept missing him. My grandfather was suspicious of his son's poor aim, so he kept at my dad to get the furry little animal. The point, of course, was "to make a man" out of him. But my young dad couldn't seem to find the rascally rabbit. When Doug takes Cole out to shoot their ever-growing collection of guns, they design all sorts of fancy targets - (Sunny Delight bottles, milk jugs, green bean cans, etc.). I'm happy to report that Cole is vehemently opposed to harming any living animal. No bird or cat has ever been injured.

If that isn't true grit, I don't know what is.

Dad

2010-12-31T15:09:00.000-08:00

Christmas. Father’s Day. Dad’s Birthday. All perplexing dilemmas. What do you give to the man who refers to gifts as “prizes”?

A daughter’s need to please her parents never fades. But pleasing my mother is usually quite simple. (Of course, she'd never tell me if she hated a gift anyway. She’s much too gracious.) But my dad? He’d let me know if the wrapping paper wasn't quite right. After all, forthrightness is character-building. Oh what the heck - it’s all in good fun.

Anyway, this year an idea struck me in the realm of gift-giving. But first - a bit o' history about dear old Dad. Besides the fact that he’s difficult to buy for (what father isn’t?), he also happens to be a motorcycle enthusiast. And I'm not talking about your proverbial motorcycle guy. Show up with a brand new Harley Fatboy and you’ll get a polite smile. (He is genuinely a nice guy.) But show up with a '46 Indian Chief…now you’re talking turkey. You'll become inducted into the small fraternity my dad considers friends. As a matter of fact, here’s the kind of stuff my Dad gets excited about –

Rusty gas tank

Rust. Not chrome.

So last summer when he bought this fancy “new” 1984 Harley FX, equipped with a radio (c'mon Dad!), I couldn’t help but give my old man some guff. (Seriously -this is the guy who drove across South Dakota on a '45 Indian Bobber only a few years ago...I probably don't have the year correct on that Indian or the model on that Harley - will certainly receive a call on that.) So, kicking the tires on his shiny new motorcycle just didn't fit the bill. I asked him several times, “Why didn’t you just buy a Honda, Dad?”

A Honda. An idea struck me….One day, a few weeks before Christmas:

"Hey Dad! I got your Christmas present. And it involves motorcycles.”

I could see the gleam in his eyes....then the day came. On eve of Christmas. As he unwrapped the gift...and noticed the label on the box.

“It IS from a motorcycle superstore. You weren’t kidding!” He almost smiled, his almost-smile.

Then as logo-recognition set in, the excitement waned. Noticeably. Time stood still.

“Oh, no. No. No.” Slowly, he took the t-shirt out of the box. The t-shirt -- that so audaciously displayed Honda's proud emblem.

Alex spoke up, “Oh Grandpa – that looks cool. I’ll wear it.”

“I’d never let my granddaughter wear that,” he spoke swiftly and sharply.

I sat back in my corner quietly and watched the scene play out. My prank had worked - and it had worked well, without suspicion. And with great laughter by all – except perhaps by the victim.

What will become of the Honda t-shirt? Only time will tell. It may come back haunt me. But most likely, I imagine, the t-shirt will be become shredded garage rags…

My Apple

2010-12-26T06:49:00.000-08:00

You know the old saying, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" Not so much in the case of my daughter. Quite frankly, as I've attempted to coax her back to my branch, she has cleverly hopscotched her way to the next orchard.

Ah- but it's been an intriguing observation...this hybrid apple we call Alex. She certainly isn't a girly-girl. When I entered her into the county baby contest (12 years ago), I had to choose a particular category for her to compete. For some reason, only known to God, I placed her into "Most Feminine." Undoubtedly, Alex was the cutest baby. But when they lined all the babies up, it was obvious that my girl would've kicked the shit out of the others. Delicate? Perhaps not. As a toddler, she could easily knock over heavy furniture and drag things that I could barely move. "Alex, could you help Mommy move the TV?" (I still call her my little Bam-Bam. Although, now her enthusiasm to lift things for me upon request has waned slightly.)

Anyway, the point of this blog isn't to brag about my daughter's brute strength. What I love about Alex is her ability to stew her creativity and act upon it. She can sit for HOURS and watch the Food Network or any mundane network...but then a few days later, voila. She's composed a song on her guitar, or she's written a fantastical story (with great dialogue). One day this month, she sat down and created Christmas decorations for the tree. For three hours, the girl sat at the dining room table cutting, gluing and assembling these pretty ornaments - with cornucopias, ribbons and nostalgic animated characters.

I read somewhere that unless we have the ability to create, our souls are not truly satisfied. And undoubtedly, the process of creation doesn't happen automatically - it takes time to brew. This is something I have to keep reminding myself, but my daughter is already the wiser. So next time I feel myself a bit annoyed by her practice of wasting time, perhaps I'll take a trip to her orchard. Maybe it'll be fun.

Alex and her Independent Soul

Blessed are We

2010-12-23T18:44:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 58:10 “Feed the hungry, and help those in trouble. Then your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon.”

I've been saving up a few of our "requests for donations" this holiday season, so we could decide as a family which charities we should place our funds. Of course, it was impossible to select just one... But ultimately, we gave a few dollars to the following organizations:

Meals from the Heartland - Amazingly enough, this organization exists practically in our backyard.
The Open Door Mission - Just the name evokes emotion, doesn't it?
Women for Women - Not sure how I came across this entity, but it promotes the economic stability of women in countries who need it most.

I hope you spend some time looking at their websites - it's nearly impossible not to be moved their stories. Certainly these entities appreciate the donations, but in the back of my mind, I'm wondering what can I do? Perhaps this will be a Stef Kramer Resolution for 2011? Money is good - actions are better.

Anyway, I do hope you take a peek after you've opened all your gifts - or watched your loved ones open all their gifts.

God Bless.

Be Like Cole

2010-12-22T19:08:00.000-08:00

I read a fabulous article in one of my periodicals on how people should take a few lessons from pets…one of the lessons being: celebrate everything – as a dog would. Those of you with a smiley Lab or a hop-pity Rat Terrier know exactly what I'm talking about. Going to the kitchen? GREAT! Opening the fridge? GREAT! Laying on the couch? GREAT!

Well, I decided today that I need to celebrate life a little more like our son, Cole. (Some of you are well-aware that he bears some eery resemblances to our canine friends.)

-Upon awakening for school at 6:30 AM, with puffy eyes, our boy is as happy as a wagging tail. "Good Morning!" he sings to everyone else who is barely speaking...And he's off to start the day in five minutes.

-Fresh off the bus, growling tummy, wet socks, and sporting a fat smile.

“How was your day, Cole?”

“GREAT!”

“What made it great?”

A shrug. He’s typically focused on devouring something like a bag of Cheetos.

But the darndest things make this kid happy:

Hot dogs - genuine excitement about getting hot dogs at lunch.
Some obscure reference about the fourth Spiderman sequel being made.
Becoming struck with the idea of dressing up as Harry Potter on Halloween (on the Eve of Christmas Eve).
Getting kissed by a poop-eating dog.*Dropping Mentos in Mountain Dew (But who doesn't love that?)
Writing seventeen letters to Santa Claus.
Eating one pound of hamburger.
And putting up a good wrestling match with his Dad - nothing makes a boy happier than some old-fashioned violence, right?

There's some sort of statistic which compares the number of laughs between kids and adults in a day. It's something really pathetic - like 100 children giggles to 5 adult laughs. Now, this is one lesson we need to take from our kids - laugh more. If you can't figure out how or why, spend some time with a kid. And if you can't find any, you're welcome to hang out with Cole. He'll find a way to make you laugh. Maybe he'll even give you a ride on his motorcycle sometime. Although, that just might scare you to death. But I bet you'd be laughing.

Cole Kramer. Lover of Life.

Anyone Feel Like Reading a Short Story?

2010-12-12T14:57:00.000-08:00

A few months ago I submitted yet another short story to a Writer's Digest contest. I fear that my claim to fame will only be one Honorable Mention in one writing contest. Ever. Despite several (I mean several) entries. Oh well. I hope a few people enjoy some of my writing entries to the world.

Here's the link to my other, sparsely frequented, blog: Read.Write.Share. It's where I posted the story. I attempted to do a "mystery/young-adult" genre short story. See if you guess the culprit!

Chronicle of the Winter Weekend - A Change in Plans

2010-12-12T12:55:00.000-08:00

There's dialogue in the movie Marley and Me when John and Jen are reflecting upon his career. John is, once again, wondering if he made the right decision by changing his career path. Comically portrayed by Owen Wilson, he makes the remark, "None of this was part of the plan." But the always wise wife (played by lovely Jennifer Anniston) responds, "No, it wasn't part of the plan. But it's so much better."

This weekend didn't quite go according to plan. We had arranged a small gathering for some friends when Old Man Winter decided to quit pussy-footing around. Who can blame him? The kids haven't had a lick of snow days and it's December 12th already. Anyway, despite all my toiling in the kitchen, my dedicated practice of vacuuming seventeen times before a guest visits our house, and, of course, at least one teary-eyed child when told of the cancellation, we had a pretty darn good day.

Let me in please. I'm freezing.

The weekend started off with a foreboding on Friday: the 1950 garage-refrigerator took a dump and left us without a home for soda and beer. And guess what? We had meat from the 2003-era in the freezer. The good news? That smell we had noticed was not Percy-poop in some secluded corner of the garage - as we had suspected. The bad news? No place for extra beverages. And no time to shop for a new fridge. On the upside (we think), Percy found some new treasures that he assumed he could bury in the house somewhere. Sorry, Dude. You're not that cute.

Once the storm rolled in, we did what 80% of the the rest of the families did in Shelby County this weekend. We baked. Being the mother that I am, I rolled out the sugar dough (compliments of Betty Crocker), and started making stars, angels, trees, candy canes, and a few other unnameable patterns. Then I attempted to place my cut-outs on the cookie sheets. And I cursed. The sweet little scene fell apart from there. Yes, I know I needed more flour. But what do you do when you only have approximately 1 1/2 cups? You scrimp! And it never bodes well in the cooking or baking department. So, after one batch of making "cracker-cookie-cutouts," we just made circle-cookies. And the kids frosted them. They were just fine. Better than fine. Look closely - see a bit of frosting on around those cute little lips?

Sometimes the best plans are those curves on the road. We just need to learn to lean into them.

And Speaking of Vacuums

2010-12-09T18:58:00.000-08:00

I don't understand what type of commerce goes on in our schools these days, but my kids sure require a lot of cash. Daily. Before school. Usually on the way in.

"Oh, Mom. Do you have a buck? I need it to buy these pencils they're selling?"

"Who's selling? For what?"

"Mom! It's for the food pantry."

What do you do? Sure, take my last dollar. The thing is, no matter how much I probe into the ultimate good of my cash uses, it's a futile exercise. There are ceaseless causes to support. And we like to support causes. Oh yes, we do.

Back in my day (ooh, how I love to say that to my offspring!), I rarely had a need to carry any money to school. Maybe by the time I was in high school, I'd scavenge a few quarters for the occasional soda. But Mom and Dad would've needed additional part-time jobs to pay for all the nickel and diming our kids do to us. (Wait, my folks already had additional part-time jobs.)

Am I sounding a bit like Ebeneezer? Perhaps. Don't get me wrong - we get great satisfaction from giving. So what is it? Is it the constant requests of "Can I have $5 for this or $5 for that?" that eventually begins to feel like nails on the chalkboard? Nope, don't think so. Anyone with kids learns to tolerate repetitive phrases by the time they turn 3. My greatest irritation of getting nickeled and dimed from my kids is this: the mere inconvenience of having to carrying cash. No lie. I'm a banker - I use my debit card everywhere. I don't like to carry cash, because it screws up my very intricate budget system. (Ahem.) But now, I'm finding myself having to add a whole new budget category - school trinkets. And I'm not sure I can prove the deductibility.

Naughty or Nice?

It's occurred to me that perhaps we should keep a whole wad of one dollar bills for these occasions. But my sixth sense tells me that's a bad idea. So, I'll just keep ranting and raving every time the kids need more cash. And find a way to get it to them and hope we are really making a difference!

Dear Mr. Dyson

2010-12-05T20:07:00.000-08:00

I've been a little obsessed with my vacuum lately. Of course, it all started with this dog, Percy. We keep saying that we're gonna keep him outside more. But that resolution is toast as soon as the mutt bats his big black eyes in our curtain-less windows. We can't resist his canine charm. Consequently, we live in hairball hell.

You know that song "Me and my shadow?" Don't know any of the other lyrics, but that's the tune that rolls through my brain as I grudge to the closet to, once again, vacuum most specifically those spots that Percy has frequented. So, here's my story.

For those of you with bagless vacuums, have you ever studied the quantity of your carpet debris? I'm not so interested in quality, because in our house, it's mostly gray and hairy. But it's the quantity that amazes me! I've been emptying that compartment everyday - not because I need to so much - but mostly out of curiosity. But here's the problem. I'd like to know more specifically what I've done in a day. Empirically, my family and I will tell you of the vast and disgusting amount. "Look at that Doug! It's a one-day collection!" Dyson should consider adding a metric line to their amazing machine. Seriously, since they want to disclose the grime of our carpet anyway, why not measure it as well? Soon, women will quit talking about the loads of laundry they've done. It will become passe'. You'll start to hear comments like "I dumped 9 gallons of gunk from my Dyson this week." And who wouldn't rather talk about dirt, than laundry?

Happy dog - basking in the rug.

Anyway, just some food for thought for the Dyson folks.

Weekend Journal-Boring or Perfect?

2010-11-30T18:46:00.000-08:00

Friday night: Pizza Hut! And a visit to the grocery store - my favorite. (NOT) Actually, I felt a bit smug strolling through the deserted aisles with my family, thinking about the fact that no complaints about my healthy choices would be hurled at me when we got home. ("Why didn't you get anything to eat??") HOWEVER, the trip was much pricier than usual as I found the cart laced with items like beer, ho-hos, frosted animal crackers, hot cocoa, etc. (UPDATE - most of these food-like substances were gone by end of weekend...except the beer. At least my grapes and apples last longer. Sometimes for weeks.)

Saturday: After sleeping in to that glorious hour of 8 AM, we weaseled ourselves into the vast storage tunnel of Christmas decorations! (Oh yes, it's always a grand day for us - a time when I weather Doug's cuss words with a smile as we try and remember how the damn lights are hung.) Eventually, the deed got done. We even allowed ourselves a trip to WalMart and splurged with one of those-there lawn ornaments. Pretty classy, heh?

I was kind of thinking Christmas card? But wasn't sure if I wanted to go with the White Trash theme.

I won't continue with more boring details of the weekend, but let's just say it ended with food, books and movies. But if I had to nail down one aspect of the weekend that truly made it great, it had to be the quality and the frequency of the laughter. The Kramer recipe: each family member needs a few unique passions and peculiarities. (E.g., Jedi fetishes.) Tolerance and a penchant for giggling helps as well. Oh - and don't forget two or three bizarre pets, preferably saved from the depths of the gallows. They're always entertaining - because they really have a story to share.

An Extra Dose of Gratitude

2010-11-25T14:30:00.000-08:00

It's really not a big secret. A little gratitude goes a long way. Remember that last time you sincerely felt thankful for something? Didn't the happiness fill you up from the bottom of your toes to the tip of your ears? Studies are now showing that it even improves your heath and well-being. I know it's true because I read it - here's the article. Thank You. No, Thank You Article by Melinda Beck of WSJ It's just so insanely logical, isn't it?

Many of us on this American feasting day are undoubtedly thanking our lucky stars for family and friends. But something happened a few weeks ago that has given me an extra does of gratitude.

After church, I was asked, "Are you Alex Kramer's mother?"

Yikes... "Yes."

"Well, she just won $599 in the raffle drawing!"

It was the Kramer family's lucky day! Of course, much to her dismay, she had to split her winnings with Cole. Just because that's life. And, of course, since the parents purchased the raffle tix, we determined how the proceeds were to be spent. Each were to place $200 into their savings. As for the remaining $100? They could spend how they wish; however, a portion of it had to go to a charity of their choice. This is the good part - the results:

Cole: $50 was sent to St. Jude's Hospital to help children fighting cancer. The other $50 went to the latest Spiderman Wii game. Yes, he decided to give $50 back to charity. Good for him.

But just wait.

Alex: She sent her entire $100 to a charity called Love 146 which is devoted to help stop child sex slavery and exploitation. Not sure how she heard about it and we had a heck of a time explaining it to Cole. (We managed to avoid the topic actually.) I'm quite proud she felt so much empathy about a particular cause. I even asked if she was sure she wanted to donate the entire $100. "Yep. I don't need anything Mom." Then she showed me the website and told me a few heartbreaking stories.

Last week, the checks went into the mailbox. I'm pretty sure a few others will be feeling the gratitude of a few smalltown kids from Iowa in a couple days.

The CFO and The Crippled Lamb

2010-11-19T18:42:00.000-08:00

When I was young, oh so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in anyway. Wait! No - that's not where I was going with this post. The words began and John Lennon's voice popped in my head. Sorry. Let’s start over. When I was young (as in "child"), never did I picture myself working as some sort of manager. Honestly, my memory may deceives me a bit, but it seems the only career I gave any real consideration was that formidable field of acting. (I attempted to orchestrate numerous plays with the town kids, but no one quite shared my enthusiasm for Grease.) In the meantime, I grew up. After experimenting with pre-law, music, English and finally business, I found myself at my current position: CFO of a bank. But ever since I stepped out of grad school, and into the working world, ne'er was there a period that I wasn't in a management position. Hmmm. And I’ve often wondered how I, Stefanie Elaine Ronfeldt-Kramer (non-aggressive, conflict-avoider, people-pleaser, sensitive-skinned weenie )landed in management. Then finally, after 17 years in banking, it occurred to me. “That’s precisely the reason." Nobody wants a bossy boss.

I’m in the middle of doing performance reviews – not one of those tasks that make me jump out of bed and say, “Gotta get to work, Hon! See ya!” But as I’m talking to my staff, I’m taking more time to hear comments. I'm reading expressions. And I’ve become much more contemplative about the process. Perhaps, just perhaps, this interaction is much more meaningful than I’d like to admit. People do like to hear they’re good at their jobs. And believe it or not, they like to have goals. And one more thing - people generally don’t mind suggestions to improve their performance…as long as the suggestion is given in the spirit of helping.

I guess I’ve been struggling with purpose lately. Wanting to be a writer (since I’ve got a lot of important things to say), but not getting any dibs on getting my latest and greatest book published. Wishing I could spend more time with my family so I could give even MORE motherly and wifely advice. Shouldn't I be doing more than budgets and ensuring our network is stable? As my hubby often tells, perhaps I'm over-thinking my purpose. (I never over think.) But maybe I'm just... missing the boat. God has probably put me in this position for a reason. Not that I have all the answers for my staff, but maybe I can help them to either a) work in an “unintimidating” and encouraging working environment and/or b) attain a certain career aspirations. At least for now, I will try my best to do just that.

I used to read a children’s book – The Crippled Lamb by Max Lucado - over and over again to my kids when they were young (younger). Josh, the lamb, wants to run with the rest of the herd, but has a bad leg. I won’t ruin the ending, in case you haven’t read it, but the theme is about understanding that we don't always understand our purpose. But we should have faith and eventually, God will make us understand. It's a great story - for all age groups. I think it's time for me to pull that book out and read it again.

Signing off now - to get a refresher on Harry Potter 6, before we watch HP 7 sometime this weekend...talk about serving a purpose. Is the whole world spellbound?

Dog Boy Wonder!

2010-11-08T19:11:00.000-08:00

Cole and Percy. Percy and Cole. Do they share the same soul? I wonder.

Last night, after coming off a gruesome day of fighting head pains, I decided to force down a piece of cinnamon toast. No sooner did I sprinkle the sugar on my bread when I heard a little voice say, "Cinnamon toast sounds good!" And when I turned around with toast in hand, here's what I saw:

My two beggars...

Consider the parallels-

When we go walking, both Cole and Percy are the pacesetters. Neither dawdle. Except for the occasional bladder break to mark some territory (not just talking about the dog) and the occasional distraction of a kitten or bird in the ditch. Admittedly, Cole uses much more discretion during our nature walks. No need to hold him back on the leash.
There's the hygiene issue. Both seem to have a distaste for bathing and hair-brushing. Both have similar repulsive reactions when I go after them with either a brush or a nail clipper.
Obviously,their extreme penchant for meat isn't completely uncanny; however, Cole was tempted by some of Percy's meat snacks. I'm hoping Cole didn't sneak any behind my back. He begged me, but I refused.

But the most striking similarity between Cole and Percy is their love of life and their love of people. Yesterday, as I lay on the couch clutching my head in my hands, Percy hopped up several times to check on me, slathering me in puppy kisses. Then later, as we winded down the evening, Cole told me that he saw a lady at church who had cancer. He felt sorry for her, so he prayed that she would get better. While it makes me weepy to type this, I feel quite proud of my son for being so caring. The "lady" with cancer just happens to be a friend of ours.

I love Cole's super "puppy" traits; fast, loyal, doesn't worry about unimportant details (like hygiene?) and, the most (all) important trait - his loving nature.

Beautiful Girls, Part II

2010-10-31T19:29:00.000-07:00

Alex was at a sleepover last night- here the girls were playing with cameras and mirrors. This photo has managed to capture their charm through glee, naivety and pure enjoyment of friendship. That is beauty.

Beautiful Girls

2010-10-31T13:24:00.000-07:00

Last summer when I found my 13-year old daughter crying her eyes out because she hated the way she looked in her swimsuit, my heart fluttered between sadness, indignation and, quite honestly, bewilderment. I’d never seen Alex emanate a shred of self-consciousness about her figure before. A muscular-build (not fat, not stick-thin and still adorable in a tankini), something apparently made her feel like avoiding the public pool. And she was willing to give up a day of fun in the sun because she felt ashamed of her figure.

So it began. The inevitable lack of confidence every female feels at sometime in her life. That moment when we realize that we can never be "pretty enough."

Even though I convinced her that day to put on the suit and have fun splashing around with her buddies, we haven't squelched the insecurities. It frustrates me beyond belief because I can’t believe this girl won’t see herself as anything but beautiful. She simply responds with a - "But you're my mom. Of course you think that."

As a little girl, I looked forward to watching every pageant that was televised. And God bless my mother, but I remember her emphasizing the importance of posture, dieting and exercise if “you ever wanted to look like any of those women”. (Don’t get me wrong,she was even more encouraging of my academic studies so I could make something of myself.) My mother was (and is) a very pretty lady. And as I think back, there wasn’t ever a time when I didn’t believe that being beautiful wasn’t important.

Baby fat was a concern early on. And by the time I reached high school, I had given up school lunches. An apple, a granola bar and a diet coke became my meal plan. It kept my weight at a dainty 95 pounds. Once I zoomed off to college and quickly found the “freshman fifteen,” it was swiftly noted. Easily swayed by any overt opinion, I restarted my starvation techniques and took up jogging. In no time at all, I was dipping below 95 pounds. Pretty skeletal for a 5’5” frame.

Eventually, I found my way back to a healthy weight and a healthy attitude. But now, as I raise my girl, I wonder how I got myself into that predicament - and how she can avoid the same unhealthy attitude.

Of course I don't blame my parents. They are loving, kind people who only ever wanted the best for me. They were most likely unaware of my eating disorder. And I can only assume that they unintentionally bought into the wrong kind of message - a message that has spanned the ages: Women need to look beautiful. Always.

And what do beauty pageants teach girls? Some may argue beauty pageants are changing - it’s not about the bikini or the evening gown competition anymore. It’s more about charisma and intelligence. Really? Then let’s just have some fire and brimstone debates. Maybe we could throw in a few speeches with topics like the 19th Century Women’s Movement! I’d love to see a pageant like that. Oh, and the dress code? Who cares. I’d vote for t-shirts and jeans. Loose-fitting, of course.

I want my daughter to understand that she is beautiful -exactly the way she is. Of course, she needs to respect her body - treat it well. Exercise and eat right, but don’t make it something it’s not. Most importantly, I want my daughter to dream real dreams. No silly beauty pageants. Real life stuff. Using her acumen and her own agenda, I want Alex to know that she can make a difference in the world without having to wear more mascara.

Keep the Force -In Your Back Pocket

2010-10-28T19:39:00.000-07:00

I remember the day clearly. It was a cold, dreary Saturday afternoon. And I found myself sitting, ear-to ear with my son, fascinated by the third installment of the Star Wars prequel "Revenge of the Sith." Oh sure - initially I might have been enamored with Anakin Skywalker's hair. But eventually, after renting (and eventually purchasing) the entire George Lucas series with the bonus features, our entire family was captivated by the magic of Star Wars.

Jumper cables, cell phones, swiss army knives - all handy tools to keep around in case of emergency, right? Well, in our house, we like to keep a lil' something we call "The Force." Allow me to demonstrate.

Need someone to get some chores done? Invoke Jedi mind tricks...With two fingers and a steadfast glare, command, "You will scrub the toilets. You will scrub the toilets." (Sometimes dollar signs help results.)

Or, need to practice your fencing skills? Without becoming fatally injured? Toy light sabers are fabulous aggression-reducers. And I'm sure it's a great workout. (I wonder how many calories I burn during a duel? My son sure seems fit.)

But here's where The Force really came in handy. This week happened to be Red Ribbon week in school, which means the kids had to dress up in a theme each day. (Ugh. Just what we need - to subtract another 15 minutes of getting ready time in the morning.) Anyway, the Force came through again! Career day: Jedi. Costume day (no masks allowed): Jedi. Nerd day: well...I couldn't go that far. But I thought it. Anyway, Cole's homegrown Jedi costumes have worked well for him this week.

Master Jedi Cole

But the most utilitarian use of the Force in our house comes when we happen to be in Star Wars mode and one of us has had a bad day. One or all of us will cozy up to the afflicted. Often the idea of popping in one of the Star Wars (or Harry Potters, to be honest) DVDS will float around. And we'll express our love by offering, "Oh, and by the way...May the Force Be With You." It's our way. Our geeky, Star Wars way. But it works well.

For the Sake of Learning?

2010-10-23T16:12:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll admit it. I have bribed my kids. No - I bribe my kids. "Eat all your vegetables. Then you can have some ice cream....If the basement is clean, maybe we'll go to the movies." Then something occurred this week that really irritated me. And it occurred it to me, "What kind of lessons are we teaching our kids if we constantly dangle carrots in front of their cute pug noses?"

Our awesome school (and I truly believe in its awesomeness) kindly requested donations to incent students to boost ITBS (Iowa Test of Basic Skills) scores. Most of us reacted with a &*$? Give students stuff to do well on their tests? Shouldn't they want to do well? For the sake doing well? After visiting with a teacher friend, apparently this philosophy doesn't work. And our sacred school is on a watch list because of the low scores in this particular area. And after thinking about the issue, how different is this act than bribing with ice cream or movies? Not sure.

Last Sunday, our family was having dinner at Applebee's. And talking about getting As and Bs...taking tests and what not. I asked the kids, "So when you miss something on a test, do you know why? Or do you make sure you find out why?" Cole continued to chow down on his cheeseburger. (I think he had lost interest in the conversation by then.) Alex shrugged and picked up the dessert menu. But my hubby aptly replied, "I just assumed that if I missed an answer, I had guessed wrong." Touche.

All this talk has worn Percy out.

Perhaps I truly am the geekiest of all geeks. But there's something about the word "academia" that invigorates my soul. And I enjoy (yes, enjoy) the challenge of the TEST! And to see the results? To see if possibly, just possibly, you could achieve a perfect score? What could bring more self-satisfaction than that? Certainly not an I-tune card. But what do I know? I'm a just a geeky Mom...who needs to bribe her kids to clean their rooms.

And They Call It Puppy Love!

2010-10-14T20:10:00.000-07:00

I had been feeling a bit blue - for no one particular reason. Sinus headaches. An absent husband harvesting his crop. The continual hectic pace that keeps the house messy, messy, messy. (And perhaps I had become too ponderous about the Women's Movement of the 19th Century? See blog post below.) Yes - I fully realize these are all pathetic excuses for a sour mood given that I wasn't trapped in a mine shaft for 69 days. (Stay with me though.) But then something happened.

I fell in love.

He's completely charming; although, I must confess, he's much younger. (Please don't excuse me of being a cougar, or you might very well scare him away.) He's almost timid - perhaps he's been hurt before? Oh, there's something irrevocably enduring about his warm, chestnut eyes! They make my heart melt. They make all of our hearts melt at the Kramer household (even our Germanic stoical patriarch). Meet Perseus Jackson Kramer, a.k.a. Percy. (Yes, named after the infamous demi-God.)

Percy -next duty, winning over the cats...

A long time ago I would never miss reading this very average comic strip (can't even remember the name). And one day it nailed the utility of a dog as companion. The girl (name??) had come home from a crappy day. And as her dog (name??) sat licking her face, she looked him in the eye and (with comic strip bubble dangling above her head) she stated to her faithful dog, "YOU know how to ruin a perfectly awful day."

Percy - YOU also have broken a perfectly crabby mood. Thanks, Buddy.

Ladies of Seneca Falls by Miriam Gurko

2010-10-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

Ms. Cady-Stanton and Miss Anthony

This is something I'd normally only post to my Read. Write. Share. blog, but I feel kind of passionate about this particular topic. So my apologies if it seems pedantic.

It's quite possible that I might be difficult to live (unlike before), now that I've read a completely fascinating account of the 19th Century women's movement. Oh sure, I'd heard of Susan B. Anthony. And knew she had something to do with women's suffrage. (And of course, we banking professionals are all too well-aware of the nifty silver dollar done in her honor.) But just ask me about this amazing Quaker-feminist-speaker-writer who never even lived to see the 19th amendment passed. We all have those people we can't wait to meet in heaven...Jesus (of course), our grandparents, Buddha, and so on. Well, Miss Anthony is in my top five. Elizabeth Cady Stanton would be there as well; although, I dare say I might be a bit intimidated by her. Simply put, my greatest question to these courageous women would be: How far do you think we've come? They might just turn around and tell me, "Look, here are the things you still need to do."

To encapsulate how this book affected me in a blog is impossible, but here are a few thoughts to summarize:

It took 72 years from the first organized women's convention to grant legal authority for women to vote. 72 years! Trivia: When was the 19th Amendment passed, allowing women to vote? Hint - It wasn't terribly long ago (in a historical sense). The answer: 1920. Although, women have been paying taxes since...uh, we landed on Plymouth Rock perhaps? Interesting. Does anyone recall a little saying that went something like "taxation without representation"? I believe the book points out how a few feminine property owners, such as Susan Anthony's sister, Mary, would pay her taxes along with a note stating "Paying Under Protest."
The masculine consensus was that women were too frail or didn't have the capacity to make such decisions. And a populace women's vote could be the detriment of the country! Obviously, this argument is flawed at many levels. Most women weren't allowed an education. But so what if a woman wasn't educated? If a man wasn't educated or intelligent, was he not allowed to vote? Of course he was. (I didn't come up with this argument - one of the great minds at the convention at Seneca Falls argued this point.) As for the capability for women to learn? We must give thanks to our Quaker brothers and sisters for being the predecessors of equality in this particular issue. If they had not brought up female and male to be educated equally, who knows where women would be today? This issue continues to boggle my mind. Even today's classroom, don't girls mature more quickly than boys? Couldn't society see this in the 19th century? Most recently I read an editorial in the WSJ from Thomas Spence How to Raise Boys Who Read . Instead of creating these dumbed-down grossology version of novels, shouldn't we be holding them accountable to learn at a certain level? (Let's say the same level as our female student? Tee-hee. Issue aside - the article is worth reading.) Anyway - I was thinking how the 1800's culture would read the title to Spence's article as such a paradox!
In general Quakers led the cause in the education of females; however, there were a few brave non-Quaker women to buck the issue of education and demand more than elementary schooling, i.e., Lucy Stone and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. The great men of our country (and they were great in many other ways) argued that the Bible commands women to be subservient to their husbands. A few great women, the aforementioned, could not and would not accept this. So, they needed to learn Greek and Latin to translate the original text of the Bible. Of course, they were called heretics and much worse, for that matter, but eventually, they came to prove their position upon equal standing as men. And guess what? There were many, many men that believed in what they had to say.
I'm getting a bit windy, aren't I? Okay, I'll try to be succinct, but these points are worth reading. (Oh, maybe you should just read this book...I'm just barely touching the surface.) The Civil War actually was a setback to the movement. Almost all of the women felt their contributions to the War would earn them "points" in the eyes of the government. When the the black man was allowed the vote, surely women would be allowed to vote as well. Not so much. Susan B. Anthony was the only one to predict this. The Republic felt that women needed to put their selfish wishes on the back burner. It was the negro's time. It couldn't be done all at once. Where did this leave the black woman? Ask Sojourner Truth - one of the few Black Abolitionist Women. It set them further back than anyone could imagine.
Beyond suffrage, what were the other issues of the women's movement? If women owned property, it went to her husband. If they divorced, the husband gained custody of the children. Women couldn't sign a contract. If a woman was beaten by a drunk husband, she had no civil rights. If she was raped by her husband, she had no civil rights. If the woman worked outside the home, all earnings went to her husband. And of course, the education of women for any of the fields open to men has been a long and arduous journey.
Issues of abolition and temperance ran parallel to women's rights in the 19th century. Would you believe these issues actually hampered the women's right movement? I alluded the Civil War setting back the women's movement above. But temperance? Well, there were two major entities who absolutely did not want women to get the vote; politicians and the alcohol industry. Politicians didn't want women taking note of the corruption - and cleaning up their machine. And the alcohol industry saw women as the ultimate victims of alcohol abuse. So, put those two factors at work and the result? 72 years of fighting for the vote.

I've been trying to decide, where does this leave us today? Obviously, women have all the possibilities as men in terms of education and career paths. Susan and Elizabeth are smiling down at that. But I think a few of us are not carrying on the fire of the women's movement. Women's pay is not equal for the same job uniformly across industries. And surveys show that the majority of childcare and household chores are still carried out by the woman even if both are working full-time. This is NOT freedom. (Is this the collective psyche that girls are the natural caretakers? Whatever!) I love taking care of my family - so should my husband. Anyway, I think there is some work to do. I'm going to start by making my daughter and son read this great work by Miriam Gurko. And I'll end this rant with a quote from Susan B. Anthony:

"Oh, if I could but live another century and see the fruition of all the work for women! There is so much yet to be done."- Susan B. Anthony

A Verbal Quandary

2010-10-07T18:21:00.000-07:00

The other day our management team holed up for a day in a strategic planning meeting. At one point we were discussing the age-old issue of customer loyalty. (Not to worry - I won't go into details of that tantalizing session here.) Suddenly, there was a word I wanted to use, disputing the theory of customer loyalty. But it wasn't coming to me. The word, I mean. The definition was clear in my mind. "The refusal or inability to act." But the word? A complete blank ________.

As a matter of fact, we had moved on to many other topics and the mysterious word still befuddled me. It haunted whenever my mind found a chance to creep back to that moment of customer loyalty versus _________. ACK! What in the heck? Isn't the study of words my hobby? Don't I consider myself somewhat of a verbivore?

Word. Word. Is it....."complacent"? No, it's a noun, silly. A noun..."Complacency"? No. Not it.

On the way home from the strategic planning session, something scary occurred to me. "So, this is it. Alzheimer's begins." Then I started to think about physics. The word. It involves physics! Once step closer.

By supper time (still bothered by this elusive word), I asked Alex if she has studied any physics. "Nope." she replied. "What's physics again?"

Finally, I went to my PC and googled "physics" and "state of inactivity." Within thirty seconds I had my word: inertia. Yeah, pretty heavy stuff, huh? Stephen Hawking would be impressed it took me all day to think of that one. (Anyway, the point I was going to make that often it's not really customer loyalty that keeps people from changing brands; it's usually inertia. )

So, this morning as I was reading through Cole's homework, imagine how delighted I was to see my son learning about Newton's First Law of Motion! And in capital letters (wouldn't you know?) Cole had neatly defined that amazing inactive state of stasis known as...inertia.

I could've just asked my nine-year old...gheez.

Wild Kingdom

2010-10-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

Shrek

Last night I went out to feed some scraps to Shrek, who happened to be having a late night snack on the deck. Shrek, as some of you may recall, is the feral cat who reluctantly joined our family but has become so comfortable with the Kramer surroundings, that he now EXPECTS a daily ear scratching. (I even have had the pleasure of picking him up and carrying him out of our house on occasion...just your basic cat whisperer stuff.) Anyway, back to last night. As I bent forward to pet the little scruffster, he shot me a glance. Only he didn't shoot me a glance. It was a opossum. (Sidenote: For you grammar gurus, would the correct article be an "a" or an "an" preceding opossum?) Cripes. Is there some sort of animal honor roll for those who frequent the Kramer Bed and Breakfast for Varmints? So far: skunk, fox, opossum, raccoon, praying mantis (just today!), bull snakes and garter snakes (at least the vile serpents don't make it to the deck - compliments of husband equipped with spade), and a few other rodents of which the cats wouldn't think of allowing to live. So feline.

It makes me think perhaps my former life was filled with an incredible amount of action - and fighting off wild animals was one facet of it. So, in designing my pro forma, I opted for a life a bit more on the banal side. A Banker - who likes to dabble in writing. Perhaps live someplace quiet, with a pretty landscape, like, um, Iowa. I was probably putting the finishing touches with the proverbial husband and two kids, getting ready to enter into this life when a thought occurred to me. "Stop! God? Maybe we shouldn't take all that adventure away. Perhaps, just, tone it down a bit." So here we are.

Praying Mantis - photographed on our deck. Looks much larger in real life. And grosser.

Oh, and guess what else happened last night? Cole and I ran across eight baby kittens in the middle of the lane back at the old farm last night. (Mucho bueno than a pack of lions.) I found one today and had it purring for me. Just the type of adventure I need.

Here's the adorable kitten whom let me scratch it's chin. Moment captured with the magic of my Blackberry.

Future Journalist?

2010-09-29T19:44:00.000-07:00

Cole showed me his first double-spaced typed essay today. I don't think he'll mind if I do a reprint:

Summer

I had a good summer. Even though I mostly just played video games and listened to Green Day on my I-Pod Touch. We went to Kansas City. There was this thing called Magic Quest. You buy a wand and go around the hotel with magic stuff. We went with Dave and Will. When we left, we went to World's of Fun and went on two roller coasters, called the Prowler and the Mamba. The Mamba goes 250 feet high and then you zoom right down. On the Prowler you zoom all around. I liked the Prowler the best.

By: Cole

While there wasn't an extensive use of vocabulary, I appreciated the action and intensity of this writing. Even when indicating companions "Dave and Will," images of bustling motion occur. (Of course, it helps to know these twins.) Anyway, it seems to have all of the foundation of interesting journalism, don't you think? I was quite proud - and a bit hopeful that my son will perhaps consider a career in something that doesn't involve great danger.

Cole - on assignment, playing Magic Quest.

Wait. What if he considers reporting? In places like the Mid-East? No way. I need to get him thinking...novelist. Action without danger.

Defining Courage

2010-09-22T20:48:00.000-07:00

I asked my husband what's the most courageous thing he's ever done. Of course, he told me, "I've never done anything courageous." Liar. I've seen him dance with a bull and fight a sow. He walks through the fields when it's pitch black outside. Some unknown vehicle drives back to our old farm? He hops into his pickup with intentions to who knows what (apparently with his bare hands). The perpetrator could be armed and dangerous for all he knows! And he's never done anything courageous? Ha.

Well, courage has been on my mind today because I'm particularly proud of Alex. (I know, weird for me to be proud of one of my kids.) Today she decided to audition for a solo part for a choir concert. Now, I'm always trying to talk this kid into "doing this" or "doing that" and she is usually quite perturbed with my ceaseless counsel. (It isn't as if the girls a slacker...she's pretty much a straight A student; however, she just doesn't seem very busy to me. Check out her Facebook page and you'll see what I mean.) Anyway, this audition idea tickled me. It seemed so, so ambitious. And fearless! But.... gosh Alex, are you sure you want to do this? What if....well...you choke? Okay, I didn't say that to her. I said, "Let's hear you sing." And guess what? She sounded really good! Really. It wasn't just a mother imagining this voice of an angel. I was truly excited for her to audition.

So when second hour rolled around today, I said a little prayer for Al and hoped all went well for her. And that all the other auditions went poorly. Just kidding. Sort of.

Later today...

"Hey! How was your day?" I ask on the phone.
"Great!" Alex says in her typical perky after school voice, as she snacks on something unhealthy.
I wait for her to tell me about the audition. A pause. Could this mean it went well? Or could she be watching Spongebob with Cole? Finally I ask, "How was the audition?"
"Terrible!" she says. "It was so bad! I came in too late. I sang too quietly and I missed like three notes. It was really bad."
"Oh, it couldn't have been that bad. How did the others sing?"
"They were awesome, Mom. Really, good." Then she giggles. And tells me a little more about the auditions.

The whole time Alex's tone isn't bitter or sorrowful. She's laughing and telling how much better it will be next time. Next time! I'm thinking that I probably would've had diarrhea before and after the audition, then cried all day. And here's my little champion thinking about her next chance.

When I got home that night, she played me a song on the guitar she'd been practicing for awhile. No signs of discouragement whatsoever. I told her it's time to start singing with the chords.

Courage in the face of failure shows great strength of character. Today was one of those days I thought, "How did I end up with a child like that?" Amazing. Thank you God.

Calling All Bug-Eaters!

2010-09-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

Like every well-meaning capitalistic Americans, Doug and I have traditionally made a past time of brainstorming Get-Rich-Quick schemes. No need to bore ya'll with our list of fantastical ideas (as I'm quite certain that some will sound eerily familiar to a few of you). And now with lottery clerks master-minding grand schemes to heist from droves innocent Powerball affection-ados, we might as well invest our time and extra dollar in doing something more constructive (in addition to our day jobs, I mean). Like dabble in wholesale bugs.

Does anyone (who graduated in the decade of the 80's) remember a Weekly Reader which had an article giving credence to the nutritiousness of insects? Well, I do. It's one of those nano-pieces of information that remains forever imprinted in my mind. A snippet of my school days came roaring back when the WSJ released an article this week claiming that, guess what? Bug eaters are on the rise. Maybe not so much in Shelby County. But it's a rising trend on the east coast, of course.

Of course, you can buy chocolate covered crickets at hip NYC cafes; and there are kitchens in Brooklyn hosting insect tasting events. I'm not kidding! As a matter of fact, there are websites - Insects Are Food. Take a look! It's really quite fascinating...if your stomach can take it. Anyway, back to my $$$ idea.

So, we Kramer's live in bug paradise, right? (Doesn't all of Iowa?) All we need to do is get hooked up with the right NYC restaurant to sell our crickets and grasshoppers for a lucrative price and voila! We're in the money. Just a few logistics to conquer:

Doug is a bug smasher. I doubt the chefs would like how he would compromise the insect's aesthetic appeal.
So, my hubby suggested fumigating as an alternative. But I'm guessing it would tarnish the bugs' zingy taste. And we probably couldn't label them as "organic." Heck, we'd be shooting ourselves in the feet before we got out the gate.
What am I thinking? After reading all this Eat Pray Love stuff, I've been feeling a little Hindu lately... I don't like to kill anything, even bugs. So, we should really wait out these insect deaths and hunt for cricket and grasshopper carcass. We got plenty-o-land to hunt. Sure, it might take some time. Maybe this will be a task for the kids. Heck, maybe this whole idea should be a task for the kids. A way for them to make money...My Dad had a few of these schemes for me.

Grasshopper-you look yummy!

Next blog topic: The value of hardwork.

Sensory Customer Service Techniques

2010-09-11T17:25:00.000-07:00

Customer Service. Customer Experience. Customer Relationship Management. I googled each of the phrases in attempt to see if any newer, clever buzzwords were out there I hadn't heard of. So far, no dice. Anyway, in my past year as CFO I haven't spent much time thinking about customer service. Until last week. Because when you experience outstanding slap-you-in-the-face customer service, it's hard to stop thinking about it. As a matter of fact, it makes you realize how rarely you get pleasure of it.

Last weekend Doug needed to stock up on Levi work jeans since gaping holes have inevitably ended up in the most inconvenient spots for most of his current inventory (and his wife lacks mending abilities). So we took a trip to JC Penney. As the boys went to the men's department, Alex remembered that she needed to tour the cosmetic area. Sounded pretty good to me.

As we entered Sephora, we were immediately greeted by a chic English lady. I'd tell you she was about my age, but that would inaccurately age her...she was more likely 30-ish. Cute as a button. Obviously, she wanted to help us, but help we did not need. With my mish-mash of cosmetics and skincare products, I'm already well-taken care of. And Alex was searching for one thing only...of which I had no idea what that was. She let us be, but I really could have listened to her chat awhile. I do love a good accent.

Meanwhile, I found out that Alex was searching for a bright blue liquid eyeliner, a staple of all awesome 13 year-olds. Now here's where the the customer service story comes in. Even though we dallied a good twenty minutes and only made a $14 purchase, the cute English Lassie spent another twenty minutes giving us each a fragrance sample. And not just last season's overstock. She asked us our preferences, what we liked to wear, yada yada yada..... AND there were other people in the store...looking way cooler than us! Well, cooler than me at least.

Anyway, my point is, I wonder why that English girl is working in Council Bluffs? No, that's not my point. My point is, I'm very anxious to go back to that store. For TWO reasons:

Because of the CUSTOMER SERVICE Ms. Soho delivered. We had an awesome EXPERIENCE. She sure knows something about CUSTOMER RELATIONSHIP MANAGEMENT.
There's a Culver's close by. Good ice cream. Or is it custard?

Maybe I was just enamored by the accent. And the fragrance! I was hynoptized by the fragrance. It's all so clear now....Note to self: Have tellers start speaking in British accents and giving free fragrance samples.

Labor Day!

2010-09-07T20:13:00.000-07:00

Things I accomplished over the Labor Day weekend:

Gleefully watched Eat Pray Love with mother and daughter and wondered if I'll ever get to eat pasta in Italy. Or do yoga in Bali. Didn't even consider the fact that I'll never be praying in India.
Reluctantly purchased new pillows to replace the superbly-comforting five-year 90% dust-mite- filled pillows gracing our beds.
Lost myself in a dystopian young adult fictional novel. Sadly, I finished it. Started two other books.
Toured countryside on motorcycle ride with group of friends on nearly perfect day without once worrying that we were going to get killed. That's a lie.
Painted yet another yellow coat on that damn end-table project I started at the beginning of summer. Target completion date: Thanksgiving.
Went to Mass. Bulletin is on the counter to prove it.
Wallowed in Borders yesterday afternoon with the family. Purchased four new books to read. Correction - two are "new," two have been read before...but were borrowed copies. Hmmm Could there be somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty books waiting to be read on my bookshelf? So now I'm reading Eat Pray Love (which I've already read because I want to be a journalist someday like Elizabeth Gilbert and look just like Julia Roberts, the actress who played her because obviously reading the book will make this happen...)

But despite the awesome things I did accomplish this weekend, I have one major regret...I found out that my closest friend was bummed that I hadn't asked her along to Eat Pray Love. We had been sort of planning to go...but when I had brought it up a couple of times the Monday before, I wasn't sensing she wanted to go. And since she has really little kids (sort of the second family that Doug and I didn't opt to follow along with), I didn't want to bug her about it. Honestly, the feeling kind of nagged me the whole night. "Should I have called her?" I had emailed her about a few things the day before, hoping she'd bring it up. But instead of just asking her, I waited it out, hoping that she would say something first. Since she didn't say anything, I assumed she didn't want to go. Women are so weird in this way. Then I get the text. "Sort of bummed that you guys went without me."

Amy is like one of my best friends. Apparently, it was too difficult for me to come right out and ask her if she wanted to go. We women pretend not to have egos, but I think we just disguise them differently. What would have been the worst that Amy could have told me? "No?" Boy, that would've been horrible.

Anyway, the story has a happy ending...as we (along with a posse including my sister-in-law and brother-in-law and another friend) got to ride with our hubbies on their Harley's this weekend. (One of we girls favorite things to do!) And there are no hard feelings. I told Amy how sorry I was. And luckily, I'm willing to attend the movie again. All she needs to do is ask me...

the basement and the bedrooms

2010-09-04T08:16:00.000-07:00

So a friend shipped her firstborn daughter to the U of Iowa about a week ago. When I asked Kathy how the move went, she waved me off with a "can't really talk about it." Now, Kathy's not really the blow-you-off type of friend. Obviously, she was overtaken with emotion. I happened to be very empathetic at the time. "I know how you feel, Kathy. We just moved Cole into the basement. I was weepy all weekend. Granted Cole is only nine and still in the same house, it's just another milestone to deal with. Now both kids are in the basement and they might as well be living in Chicago.

When Alex and Cole were babies, sweet little old ladies would always be coming up to me and saying, "Enjoy it, it goes way too fast." I'd be thinking, "Right, whatever. You change their poopy diapers, then." But just thinking this morning it occurred to me, I'm already one of those sweet little old ladies. Except I'm probably not very sweet, really. Anyway, back to my point.

While I've had somewhat of an ability to keep my youngest from growing up too quickly, my daughter's a complex story. It's like I gave birth to my mother.

My boys (hubby, son and father) are on an overnight trip, so last night I asked my daughter if she (at the ripe age of 13) would like to sleep in my bed with me. You know, cuddle with her mother, for old time sake?

No response...She's a sweet girl. Doesn't like to hurt her ma's feelings.

I decide to let her off the hook. "You don't have to. Just thought you might want to..."

"Well, I really like to sleep in my own bed," she lets me down gently.

This girl has been giving me the same excuse since she was two years old! TWO! What two-year-old girl doesn't want to sleep next to her mommy in bed? My independent little Alexandria G. Kramer. God love her.

Anyway, she always has been a little beyond her years, which is usually entertaining and only sometimes makes me truly sad. (To be completely honest, it irritates me once in awhile...that statement will really get her going when she reads this post...) HOWEVER... my mother and I took her to Eat Love Pray last night thinking that she would probably get this movie because she is a wise, young soul. But when I asked her how she like it, she thought it was only "Okay. Liked the food parts in Italy. It wasn't nearly as good as Scott Pilgrim vs the World." Smile. A Soul Journey Across the World or a Kid Defeating Evil Video Villains. Okay, so maybe she's still a kid after all.

What???

Rocker Dude!

My Sweet...

Interruptions

2010-09-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been in the middle of something completely awesome and then you get interrupted? And you keep getting interrupted over and over again? And it seems the universe is teasing, always teasing you with this completely awesome thing that you want to finish?

No, I'm not talking of cheesecake or that maple blondie brownie dessert from Applebe's. I'm simply talking about a book. A really good book. A book I've been waiting to read since, like, February, I think. It's the third installment of Suzanne Collin's Hunger Games called Mockingjay.

So far, my hindrances include:

The "pre-order" that didn't arrive until two days after the book was released. What the _*$? Is UPS mad at me or something?
Trimming trees becoming a priority for my in-laws.
The birthday party that I planned for my son landed on the day that the book arrived.
My conniving daughter who devised a rotating daily schedule. She gets it one day - me the next and so on. (Who convinced her to read these books anyway?)
The sinus infection, taking me out of the reading mood for two entire days. Obviously, I was extremely close to death.
WORK. I HAVE TO KEEP GOING TO WORK. Oh, sure - I can read a chapter on my lunch hour, but then I can hardly think about anything else all afternoon! Will Katniss destroy the Capitol? Will Peeta ever recover? And Gale...OMG?
And then, just when I think I have a free night to read....bingo. The dreaded message on the answering machine."You're on to work for bingo." ughhhhhhhhhhhhh

Hey! What in the heck am I doing right now? Wasting time while Alex is NOT reading the book? Gotta go. Mockingjay is calling me...and BTW, it's way better than eating dessert.

Karma?

2010-08-25T20:07:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my Dad backed into my car. He felt pretty horrible. It really wasn't that big of a deal. When I told the kids that night what happened, Cole immediately asked, "Is Grandpa okay?" Obviously, he didn't realize the mild severity of the "crash," and I was amused by Cole's sweet response. (So was Grandpa.)

Then another interesting event occurred. We ate supper at my parents the other night. We girls were chatting in the backyard. The boys were in the garage revving up motorcycles (I think). Doug came back and motioned me to follow him. His stern look concerned me only slightly. Without saying a word, he led me to my car which now barely held a rear windshield with a bazillion tiny little cracks on the verge of shattering. And an 8-year old boy, standing by, ready to burst into tears.

A rock, no bigger than one-inch in circumference, was nonchalantly tossed in the air by our young son. And apparently it landed on the Achille's heel of the glass. To think that I've been worried about my kids puking in the car that was only purchased last May. Or even spilling something.

"God must not want me to have this car," said me, stupidly as I stared at the perforations, trying to fathom what happened.

But Dad reminded me God probably has a few other issues to deal with. Then I noticed how my son really needed comfort with his twisted look of terror and regret. Poor kid. The only thing to do was to hug him.

For the past few days, both incidents had me wondering if it was bad Karma or if the Universe was trying to send me a message. Then it came.

Yesterday Cole cuddled up to me on the couch. With his baby blues eyes he looked up at me and said, "You know the other day when I broke the windshield? That day Grandpa said to me, 'Now you know how bad I felt when I ran into your Mom's car.' But Mom? He couldn't have felt as bad as I did. I felt really, really bad."

I've been really concerned about Cole going down the wrong path. But you know what? There's no way that kid is turning to the Dark Side. There's way too much good in him. He's as good as....his sister.

The Dark Side?

2010-08-24T18:38:00.000-07:00

"If you don't be careful, your son is going to turn to the dark side..." was the foreboding of my initial encounter with a psychic. I thought she was mocking my family's infatuation with Star Wars...but as I giggled and she didn't, I realized she wasn't joking.

Last week a few of the girls and I decided to visit the winery across the street because Suzanna the psychic was doing readings for the bargain price of $5! Finally, a chance to hear if I was really going to get that big publishing deal or not...Low and behold, Suzanna felt it more compelling to warn me of things she sees coming in my son's future...and just in the nick of time.

"Does he have trouble finishing things?" she asks.

-I nod. Actually, I think he has a little trouble starting things. But I don't tell her this.

"You don't have a computer or video games in his room, do you?"

-"No." But they are in the room he's planning on moving into soon. Yikes. Bad idea?

"Tell his father that he needs to spend much more time with him. And don't let him spend so much time by himself on the computer and on video games. The problem is that your son is too damn cute and no one thinks he is capable of doing anything wrong."

Just look at this face...

Okay. I'm totally with her on this. The innocent little face speaketh too much about the day that he will drinketh. He's way too obsessed with bands like KISS and Guns N Roses. And, of course, I need to shut off the damn computer, IPOD Touch, DS and WII. Anyone know of super-encrypted locks that no nine-year old could hack? Oh wait, Cole installed his own lock on his IPOD Touch...even he couldn't get into until we called Apple... Anyway, who was the idiot who bought those gadgets for him anyway? Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy. But back to my story.

So, even though my dearest Doug thought I was crazy, as usual, and only looking for an excuse to visit a winery, even HE tuned in to Suzanna's advice. (I think we both are on to Cole and his cute facade.) He got right on the stick and took him out for target practice that very night.

Well, maybe he'll still go to the Dark Side. But at least he'll be there with his Dad. But somehow I don't think so. Cole is very emphatic about only shooting inanimate objects like cranberry jugs...which makes his mother's animal-loving heart very proud. I might not be a psychic, but my intuition tells me that he's meant to be a Jedi.

Is it really over?

2010-08-17T18:47:00.000-07:00

What we did NOT do this summer:

Play outside near enough...remember that bullsnake on the driveway early on?
Paint walls orange.
Visit enough museums. (This point is arguable in my tribe.)
Get a new dog.

What we DID do this summer: Patronized zoo (only once, boo!), sweated buckets at ballparks, mowed every other day (only Doug did that), grew monstrous flowers (yes, that was me - and maybe God), played with a self-absorbed cat while grieving over dead dog, walked and walked through mutant butterfly gardens, witnessed kids create paintings sure to be worth millions someday, messed up house fiercely, vacationed with best friends (nice to meet up with them in KC because it's hard to catch them at home a mile away), motorcycled on windiest of days because Doug and I are happy doing anything together, shared memories with relatives as we cried over Grandma Shirley and remembered how much I missed my relatives, read more books than I care to admit (see messy house comment), planned five new family vacations because I'm a big, fat dreamer (not sure how will afford but will figure out, I promise, Doug) and noticed that Alex and Cole are growing up at Mach Speed...almost as fast as the summers always go.

Now, off to bed. School tomorrow.

Friday the 13th

2010-08-14T20:58:00.000-07:00

On Friday, my husband turned twice the legal drinking age (as he informed his drinking buddies while imbibing his way twice past the legal alcohol limit). And with the exception of not being with our kids, the night couldn't have been more definitive Doug. So, if you're wondering how to throw a party for my husband, here are the key elements:

Beer
Baseball
Friends that like baseball
More beer
Oh - and if you can manage a Yankee loss (especially a loss to the KC Royals) that would be especially nice

We trekked to Kansas City with friends Pat and Amy to catch the KC/NYC MLB game on Friday night. Despite the two hour rain delay (which caused sort of a hometown reunion of sorts around the concession/beer stand area) it was great fun. And something AMAZING happened!

Pat caught a FOUL ball!

Then he lost it. After demonstrating how he gracefully caught the ball between his knees, it slipped from his hands, only to drop and roll in front of the seats in front of us. A girl swiftly picked it up. I'm positive she was about to give it back, but my husband didn't think so. Doug quickly felt compelled to explain how Pat's FIVE children would be heartbroken without that foul ball. She handed it back without blinking an eye. (I really think she was handing it back anyway, but the men disagree.) So, you see, the story has a happy ending - Pat got the ball back. And he gave the girl $20 worth of guilt money.

The entire event was an interesting study in guy behavior. You see, what also happened, as Pat secured the foul ball with his knees, was my husband tried to aggressively shove Pat out of the way to get the foul ball himself, obviously to no avail. We didn't happen to see this highlight on ESPN this morning and Pat doesn't seem to be harboring any ill-will. So unless Pat shows up on the Today show next week, I think their friendship will be saved. (Guys just happen to be pretty cool about this kind of stuff.) Maybe it was Doug's role in getting the ball back from the little girl. Who knows? But the important thing is this: the seams on MLB baseballs are certainly different than regular baseballs.

Not much more happened after that...except more beer drinking and a lot more baseball talk. (Amy guarded the foul ball.) Finally, around 11:30, we decided to call it a night. The Royals were still ahead and even though it was pouring buckets, we decided to walk back to the hotel. Since rain was beating down, Pat splurged on four garbage bags. By the time we assembled the plastic wraps, it was merely sprinkling. Truly we looked ridiculously stylish and I found it almost hilarious, but the birthday boy was almost downright embarrassed. So, he turned his into a cape. So much more demure. My super-hero.

By then it was almost midnight and the magical day was about to end which was a good thing. Because hangovers at the Plaza would be like maneuvering a land mine...and we didn't want to ruin the perfect weekend.

Use Your Brain

2010-08-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

A few of my peers were giving me a bit of grief about my last blog. Not so much on content, but on word choice, i.e., vocabulary. "I don't EVER hear you use those words." No, not out loud and certainly not all the time. What they don't realize? Perhaps my lexicon is grandiose and slightly poetic! (Usually after reading some particular piece of classical literature.) And last weekend, despite being in the middle of a Dave Barry read and watching Animal House at the same time, my brain was pouring out with either sublime or pertinent words without a single glance at a thesaurus. Go figure.

At other times though, my brain utterly fails me. I can't think of the name of the most simplest of objects, like that thing that holds water. You know? That you drink out of? When you're thirsty? Do you know yet? That thingy? That I'm pointing at right now? Yes, that's it! A cup.

I do the same exact thing with numbers. Despite what my husband may tell you, I pretty good at solving math problems - especially those that are algebraic in nature. But I'd be lying if I told you that I have never misplaced a decimal in my head a few times and completely miscalculated my savings in store, wanting to argue with the clerk at the checkout, but having enough experience to know that her cash register is probably smarter than my brain and not wanting to embarrass my daughter anymore than I already have by saying something that I no idea could be embarrassing...but I digress.

My point: Whether it's math, reading or using a dusty old vocabulary stored deep within some hemisphere of our cerbrum, shouldn't we engage our brain as much as possible? My favorite method: scribbling a few witticisms in attempt to hone my wordsmith skills. But I'm guessing Alex likes the math exercises for one reason only=>

I BET SHE SAVED A BUNCH!