Kids on Vacation!

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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.