A Piece of My Thoughts About Newtown, Connecticut

Between the summer of 1975 and the summer of 1993, Connecticut was the only place I knew as home. Between two towns I went to school while being raised by two New York City bred parents. Some kids took advantage of the rivers and hiking available around the state. I, on the other hand, most vividly remember visiting family in New York State. I lived in the part of the state that I, and others, joked wouldn’t exist without New York. I had very few friends that were actually born in Connecticut, and was always surprised when I met someone who was. We were all the offspring of New York parents who moved to the country looking for a quieter life for their children. If you know me or follow my posts you already know when I graduated high school I flew far and fast. I could go on and on about my CT childhood, but instead I provide this to you solely as background information.

For two years I grew up down the street from Newtown, albeit a long street, but I was only a street away.

Like residents of Newtown, CT I do not like the idea of Newtown becoming a Columbine or Jonesboro. A town synonymous with a school shooting. I have “liked” a group on Facebook called “We Are Newtown” that in addition to providing information about the horrific events and ways people around the world can help they post pictures of what “their Newtown” really is. I was a street away from a town that offered (and still does) $2 movies at The Edmond Town Hall and a flagpole situated right in the middle of an intersection. Directions in or through Newtown always contained the words “at the flagpole….” It was also the home of Fairfield Hills, a mental health hospital, that was the occasional butt of teenage insults.

The media has coined Newtown a quaint New England town. Yes, it has white clapboard buildings and is as picturesque as any small New England town, but the word “small” is such a relative term. Yes, it’s smaller than New York City where many of these reporters are based out of, but it makes my dad, who lives in a border town, “laugh” in confusion. Many towns in Connecticut are much smaller than Newtown, but to those out of the state; yes, Newtown is small.  Heck the entire state of Connecticut is small! The town is not small in the same way a Midwestern town is small. I doubt that everyone knows everybody and it is not small in the sense of farmland and country folk that rarely leave town. It is small in the sense that there are only two (that I can think of) shopping centers in town. It is small in that I bet everyone knows somebody who knows somebody. But, in that area of Connecticut a large part of the population live in large tree surrounded homes that they are proud of and able to afford as a result of commuting on average of an hour to work every day. 

Every time I visit my dad, about once a year, visiting my dear friend takes me traveling through Newtown, or I eat at the diner in Newtown, or I stop in town to buy bagels at the nearest bagel shop to his house. I have memories in Newtown, they are not many, they do not consist of long visits, but they are there in my mind vividly enough that the thought of the events that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School make my stomach turn just a little bit more than the random person in my Wisconsin small city. My heart aches as a mom, for all the parents, and my heart aches as a school counselor for all of the children. My heart aches because I have physically been in the town. I cannot describe this ache as anything more than my feet have been there so I ache; in the same way my heart ached when the F5 tornado ravaged Tuscaloosa, Alabama; the place I called home after I moved away from “small town” Connecticut.

For my running friends across the nation there is a memorial 5K run in Newtown, Connecticut tentatively set for March 23, 2013. They plan to have a virtual component to it and whether I am here or there on that day, my daughter’s 6 ½ half-birthday, I will run!

What the Spritz was I Thinking?

I love holiday baking! I gift plates full of a variety of cookies at this time of the year to several people. My mom did not bake often, but at the holidays I have fond memories of her making spritz cookies and of me decorating them; adding a cherry, chocolate chip, or nut. So when I make my spritz cookies and my kids do the decorating with m&ms and sugar crystals I smile and think about the traditions that started a generation before.

My mom knew I enjoyed baking, so, many years before she died she gave me her (now 50 year old!) Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer. I remember her saying to me that I would use it much more than she does and so I happily hauled it from Florida to Wisconsin. I love my mixer and the history it represents. It was a wedding gift from my great-grandmother to my mother.

My kids love me banana bread, which is my mom’s recipe, another thing I remember her baking and me eating with enjoyment. So, in the week after she died I found her recipe cards and took one of each (she had several copies of each?) There were a total of six recipes, including one for play clay, two for ruggelach and one for “basic spritz”.

This weekend as I excitedly began my holiday baking my heart got the best of me and I decided, after making two batches of spritz cookies, that I would use her recipe for the last batch and have a taste test in the end. I compared my trusted Pampered Chef spritz cookie recipe with that of her aged typewritten recipe card. The only thing I noticed at a glance that differed other than the quantities was that hers called for baking powder. OK, I thought. Since hers was a smaller recipe I decided to double the recipe. My first mistake. I touched my mixer and said, “Here we go, you’ve made this recipe many times, let’s go.” Four sticks of butter and five cups of flour later I loaded my spritz maker/cookie press, what my mom and I always called her cookie or spritz gun; I would never call it that to my kids.

The consistency was a bit drier, but the dough packed together fine, I thought, and I began pressing out my wreaths as my children played outside in the first snowfall of the season awaiting me to call them in to add the sugar crystals and m&ms. Big problem! The dough was not coming out, not at all. So frustrating, as I decided to take a closer look at the recipe I realized my recipe calls for an egg. Ok, so that would make it moister, but the baking powder must act as the leavening agent. There was no way I was going to go back and add the egg that late in the game, so I took the “log” out of the cookie press and cut it thinking I could use the dough for just plain, round cookies and make the wreaths out of my recipe. I did not want to waste four sticks of butter and five cups of flour! Admittedly the dough didn’t even taste that good raw, and after baking three cookies the dough ended up in the garbage and then I realized something…an epiphany if you will. My mom was not what I would describe as a baker! She was a great cook, when she cooked, she could grill delicious chicken, London broil, lamb chops and steaks, but it was I who was the baker! I laughed as my heart had taken control over my common sense. If you have a recipe that works, that is the recipe that you should stick with when making many, many, many dozens of cookies, especially when gifting them.

So, I started over, my kids happily played in the snow longer and I recalled the day she gave me her Kitchen Aid stand mixer saying I would use it more. How true that has become.

One day though I will try her recipe for Jewish Coffee Cake.

Thanksgiving as My Favorite Holiday

The other day, my status on Facebook read, “Just like my mom, Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday, must be a grown up thing.” Someone responded by posting, “It's my favorite holiday too! ... it's all about when you're old enough to realize that the time with family is the real gift.”

After reading that, I realized Thanksgiving means something different for me. Yes, there’s the obvious, no gifts, just food, thankfulness, and family. Several years ago I made an executive decision for my then newly growing family that we would only travel for Thanksgiving or Christmas. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made for my family. Although I prefer not to travel on the busiest day of the year (the day before Thanksgiving) I welcome family and friends to come eat with us any year.

In my family, Thanksgiving was traditionally “my mom’s holiday”. Although it was almost always spent with her after my parents were divorced it wasn’t rich in tradition, other than the foods. The year after my mom died (the second Thanksgiving without her), I invited my dad, brother, sister and niece to come celebrate with us. To my surprise my dad took me up on the offer, only I didn’t find this out until the morning he arrived. It was an unprecedented Thanksgiving and although it was wonderfully picturesque I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a once in a family experience.

Thanksgiving is easily my favorite holiday because of the traditions I have created or those that have spontaneously developed with my own, small family of four. Early Thanksgiving morning I put the turkey in the oven and all, or some of us (on the rare occasion we have family visiting) spend a few mere hours delivering meals for our Community Thanksgiving to those who are homebound, and sometimes alone for the holiday. We have been doing this since my kids were young and I absolutely love this part of the day. This year we’ve added a twist. As my daughter’s first year as a girl scout (Daisy) we collected donations as part of her cookie sales (and added a few ourselves) so that we can give each family we deliver a meal to a box of girl scout cookies as well.

After delivering we enjoy our own Thanksgiving meal at home. I’m on the side that Thanksgiving dinner should be served at dinner time but we end up eating between 1:00 – 3:00 regardless. Our centerpiece is a branch we have newly collected and each year we add a paper leaf with our name, the year, and what we are thankful for to hang from our tree of thanks.

For the past several years we have enjoyed a hike up the bluff after eating and last year we went to see The Muppet Movie. There may be another movie this year, but one thing I’m sure of is that between my husband and football-crazed 8 ½ year old there will be football on our TV.

And those are just our traditions for Thanksgiving day, they continue onto the next day as well, and no they do not include shopping.

This year I’m even thinking of serving Snoopy’s Thanksgiving feast of buttered toast and popcorn sometime during the day.

However you are celebrating and whatever your traditions are I wish you a wonderful, relaxing and thankful Thanksgiving holiday. May the servings of bickering, guilt, and regret be small.

How Far Did I RUN?!

I wore out a pair of running shoes! They looked good, they were comfortable, how could they be worn out?

Okay, let me back up a bit. A few weeks ago I hurt my foot near the beginning of a long run, yet it didn’t hurt bad enough to stop my 9-mile run. After going on a nature walk field trip with my son’s class and standing for 2 hours waiting for and watching a parade following fore mentioned run it became obvious that my foot was injured and those were not good choices to have made. Long story a bit shorter was that I had tendonitis and until I actually spent long periods of time off of my foot (harder to do than I expected, since my husband was out of town), iced my foot a few times, and took ibuprofen (apparently not just for headaches!) every few hours it was on the mend.

Two weeks later, I decided, hoped actually, in a somewhat selfish new pair of shoes kind of way, that if I bought a new pair of running sneakers that I’d be all healed. See, I got my running shoes for Christmas 2010 to kick off my serious dedication to running. I also received an iPod with a Nike plus system to track my runs. My husband supported my new shoe idea saying that I’d probably exceeded the 500-mile lifetime of running shoes. Yeah, right!?! I thought. Thanks to Nike plus I knew exactly how many miles my shoes hit the pavement, road, and trails…..703 miles!!!! I was in awe of myself, unbelievable I kept thinking. Seriously, I could have run somewhere really far and vacation-like rather than in circles and lines around town! (Although I did put on those miles in a few different towns and cities and even in Canada!)

A few days later I ran six miles in my new, tighter fitting sneakers and my feet thanked me for it. Now my good-looking, comfortable sneakers have become my casual sneakers, so much more comfortable than my last pair. Really what’s more comfortable to walk in than running shoes?

Being a Safe Adult

I like kids, actually I enjoy kids. I have worked with kids ever since I was a kid; babysitting and working as a camp counselor; mostly with three and four year olds. When I went away to college I missed having interaction with kids. After my first few years in college I had to do community service for a class and off of a list of possibilities I chose volunteering at the local domestic violence shelter, for one reason; they were looking for volunteers for their children’s support group. It evolved to occasionally working with the children in shelter too. Thus began my passion for working with children in need of a safe and trusted adult. I completed my 20 or so required hours and remained for four years, only stopping because I moved.

I love being a mom, but I still get a need fulfilled by being a safe adult to children in need. After working at another domestic violence shelter for five years as the children’s advocate, my passion led me to graduate school. There I earned my master’s degree in school counseling so that I could reach even more kids.

Currently I occasionally sub in local elementary schools; mostly the one my kids attend. I’m not a morning person by even at 7:45 in the morning a kid can make me smile simply by saying hello. I have been subbing for an extended period of time for an elementary school counselor at another school where there truly are more children in need. I thought this was an ideal situation, but I have discovered that I miss my kids. Yes, they are in school, but I am missing an hour with them in the morning, I am missing driving them to school, and I’m missing 20 minutes with them in the afternoon, and picking them up at the end of the day.

I do not get paid monetarily for being their mom, but the hugs, kisses, smiles and thank you’s make being their mom a priceless position. First and foremost I am their safe adult and I admit that I sometimes have to remind myself of that. There are so many kids I have interacted with that I wish I could “take home” but my kids must come first.

My husband is very supportive and without him I couldn’t be living this ideal life of my mine, of spending so much time with our fabulously, amazing kids.

Unexpected Cry

My mom has been “gone”, “dead”, “passed away”, “passed on”, whatever you feel comfortable calling it for 3 years, 4 months, and 2 days (or is it 3?). I prefer to focus on her birthday, which is in one month and 6 days, than the day she died. I don’t miss my mom every day. Think of her every day yes, but not necessarily miss her.

Just shy of my 18^th birthday I moved, by absolute choice, 1000 miles away from her to attend to college. In the end I went to The University of Alabama because my paternal grandfather and his brother went there, oh, and because they accepted me! But all the schools I applied to were many states away. My wings were tucked and aching to be spread for years leading up to my high school graduation. To me college was a safe time/way/place to test them out. I didn’t miss her every day then either. Not seeing her for months was part of my chosen life; we honestly had a closer relationship the further I was physically away from her. For about a year since I was 18 we lived 600 miles apart, border states, and to me, it was close.

When my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer in September 2007, my daughter was 12 days away from turning a year old and my son was 3 months shy of 4 years old. Statistics were not good, so we didn’t read them. What I knew was that we wouldn’t have her much longer, so in the spirit of Randy Pausch I asked her to write letters to my beloved children who she would never see grow, or even graduate from preschool it turns out. I was reminded last June when my daughter graduated that I missed my sons’ three years prior because I was in Florida with her.

She wrote poems, we had long conversations, we laughed, but the one thing she couldn’t do she said was to write them letters, for every time she tried she cried (I’m sure sobbed is more like it, but I wasn’t there). One of my favorite poems she wrote during that time expresses that, and now over three years later that is the one thing when thinking about her life and death that is sure to make me, too, cry. For Hanukkah this year I made them “Shutterfly” books of my favorite photos of each of them with her. I honestly cannot wait to give them to her them, only hoping that at 6 and 8½ years old they will not find these as disappointing gifts; when they only get one a night. I do think they are old enough to appreciate them. I received the finished products a few months ago and have looked through each a few times always smiling. But as I put them in a new hiding spot today I had an unexpected good cry. In her words, “Sometimes you just have to get the sad out.”

10/11/12 (She would have gotten a kick out of today's date)

Jennifer Livingston

Many of you have had the pleasure of meeting one of my local news anchors, Jennifer Livingston. Monday morning when I dropped my kids off at school a friend asked if I had heard about the letter Jennifer had received from someone in the community commenting on her weight and it not making her a good role model. This letter led to a statement she broadcasted that very morning. My response was no I hadn’t, although in hindsight maybe I had seen the letter on her husband’s Facebook page…now I can’t remember if I had seen it before or after she told me about it. But I had not seen the news, so once I returned home I went online to find and watch it.

Her televised response to the letter (Watch it here) she received went viral. Not only did it flood Facebook and throughout the world. bbc.com had an article, People Magazine.com, she then appeared the very next morning (what a fast world we live in) on Good Morning America, The Today Show, and The Early Show, and Ellen Degeneres (one of my favorites) tweeted that she wants to meet Jennifer Livingston and have her on her show next week!

The part that has struck a cord with me, as with Jennifer’s from what she’s reported, was the part of the letter that said she was not a good role model, especially for girls, because of her weight.

So here’s my two cents…Jennifer Livingston always comes across on camera as smart, prepared, confident, and trustworthy. The same cannot always be said of the other local female anchors and reporters. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: thin does not mean healthy! Jennifer Livingston is a prime role model for girls and just like the person who wrote the letter (and myself for that matter) didn’t know she had a thyroid condition; there are many “thin” women who have eating disorders so the size of a person is not an acceptable measure of their ability to be a healthy role model.

New York Bagels Cause Power Outages?

Growing up in Connecticut it was not uncommon for our power to go out. It didn’t happen often, it just wasn’t completely surprising when it did. I never realized how not uncommon it was until I moved away. I have no recollection of the power ever going out when I lived in Alabama and here in Wisconsin it has only gone out a handful of times and usually flashes back on shortly after. But here I sit by the sun’s light typing…the power has been out for 10 minutes. 

My husband returned from a short business trip to northern New Jersey today and my only request to him before he left was, “Please bring me back some New York bagels if you can.” And he did just that. They taste better than any European chocolate he’s ever brought home from business trips abroad, but I can’t help but think that after our dinner of bagels our power went out 15 minutes later. Coincidence? 14 minutes later it’s still off…good time to catch up on blogging, especially for my dad in Connecticut who now owns a generator.

p.s. power came on after 45 minutes, if you were wondering.

Idiom? Speaking

I’m sick as a dog, at least that’s what I said last night. I never had a sick dog so I’m not really sure how sick that is or how long it will be until I’m feeling better. While we’re on it I’d like to meet the baby the metaphor (?) “sleep like a baby” was worded after. My babies were wonderful, but light sleepers. I think a more honest sentence would be; I slept like a baby last night, I was up every two hours. Which I was, leading me to say I’m still sick as a dog.  I do remember a friend having a sick dog once in college and she was told to feed it rice.  Rice? Is that what’s for lunch today? I’d just be happy to sleep like a rock right now.

September 11th: Previously Known as the Day After my Birthday

A few days before my birthday I gave my friends on Facebook a warning. This is what it said, “In less than 48 hours Facebook will inform you that it's my birthday. Although I thank you for your happy birthdays ahead of time, I would really enjoy it if you can post a joke or story on my wall in place of "Happy Birthday".”

As much as I enjoy reconnecting and staying connected with friends and family via Facebook I do not feel the love on my birthday when 50+ friends simply put, “Happy Birthday” on my wall. Last year I asked for a memory of our relationship and got some great ones that I had forgotten over the years. This year’s request resulted in friends and family across the world providing me with smiles and laughter all day long; what more could I ask for on my birthday? Several hours of my birthday were spent home alone, so the smiles and laughter were greatly appreciated.

Up until 11 years ago I simply felt the day after birthday blues on September 11^th, but now I feel a pit in my stomach and a longing to have my kids close to me. I will be in their school this afternoon, which provides comfort to me, but tonight I have a meeting to attend and am not looking forward to the short drive along the Interstate alone. With that said I continue to be thankful to be living in a small Midwest “city” where I convince myself I am out of harm’s way.

So, today on a day we could all use a laugh or smile I am sharing some of the jokes and stories I received yesterday. There really isn’t anything wrong with re-gifting, right?

• What did 0 (zero) say to 8?    ~ Nice Belt

• I was going to make you a rum cake, but now it’s just a cake and I’m drunk.

• When I get old I don’t want people to  say “Oh what a sweet little old lady”..I want them to say “Oh hell what is she up to now”

• I don't know any jokes so thought of the last thing that made me laugh until I cried. Please read nothing into my character or feelings toward you, just a laugh & my sincerest wishes for an amazing birthday!!

http://pinterest.com/pin/121245414939209881/ (Click on the picture after you click on this link)

• A blonde goes out for a run. She comes to a river and cannot see a bridge anywhere nearby. She spots another blonde on the opposite bank. "Yoohoo doll!" she shouts, "How can I get to the other side?" The second blonde looks up the river then down the river then shouts back, "You're already on the other side!"

• Three men walked into a bar and the fourth one ducked.

• "Community Service: isn't just for celebrity convicts."

• Well lets see.... This one my nephew told me... Why did the farmer throw the butter out the window? He wanted to see the butter fly! Not so funny. My daughter did tell her dad that she and I played soccer in our undies in the backyard today.... That mental image should get you laughing! Happy Birthday!!! P.s. I did no such thing.... (names have been deleted to protect the innocent J

•  What do you call a fake noodle? ~ An impasta

• I have no jokes but will let you know that my son was mad at me this morning over a Bandaid. Have a great day and Happy Birthday!

• A dyslexic man walks into a bra…

• What did the pre k teacher say to one of her favorite alum. moms on her birthday? Why, Happy Birthday, of course :)

• Knock knock!

Who's there?

Interrupting cow.

Interrupting co MOOOOOOOO!

•  What is a potatoes least favorite day of the week?  ~ Fryday

• So. I saw your post the other day, and thought 'How neat, I'm sure I can come up with something, and how handy that she gave us a couple of days to think of something"

Today I have nothing, partly because I'm incompetent and forgot, and partly because I'm not sure I can think of any funny stories, well, besides 'Youthanise America'. Then I thought I could tell you a funny story about Melinda, since you'd find that just as funny, but she put the passive-aggressive kibosh on that idea.

It's your birthday, and all I got you was a rambling, nonsensical post about how I got you nothing. Man, birthdays are *hard* dude.

• I remember this time I was going to wish my friend a happy birthday, but she said she didn't want people to wish her a happy birthday; she only wanted jokes and stories... so I was just sitting staring stupidly at the screen because I don't know any jokes or stories... this continued for some time, until it ended.

Yes, I CAN Believe She’s in Kindergarten

Excited about tomorrow...first day of school for my third grader and a teacher orientation with my kindergartner! I love that I don't wonder where the past nearly 6 years went and I’m not asking myself if I really have a kindergartner. The answer is she’s been with me for all that time (with the exception of two years of part-time daycare while I finished up my master’s degree).

September 15^th marks six years ago that I worked full-time. At this time, that year, I was pouring with Type A qualities; making lists and schedules of how my newborn, toddler and I would fill our days. I had decided to be a stay-at-a-home, but not for one nanosecond did I believe I could truly “stay home” and be happy. At the drop of a hat I could tell anyone when storytimes, playgroups, or other child-centered activities were during the week.

Now I am busy filling my schedule with the time they are both at school. There will be no sitting on the couch watching movies. I am beginning a part-time job (more about that another time), and continuing to do the occasional subbing at my kids’ school, more volunteering in the school (hoping for some of it to be in their classrooms) and of course more running now that I can get back on a schedule! Half marathon in early November!

Six years ago many, many people told me that I would never regret staying at home with my kids and I thank them for their support and encouragement because guess what? They were all 100% correct. As for those lists and schedules I made, I’m so glad I had them for when we really needed them.

Part-time is perfect for me at this stage of motherhood. What job is perfect for you at this point in your life?

Little House on the Prairie

A few years ago; well, maybe only one since I don’t have the kind of brain that remembers that sort of thing, I learned how wonderful audio books (free from the library nonetheless) are for long car trips. Back in June the very weekend school ended we headed on a 3-hour ride to Green Bay with the first Little House audio book in our CD player. The reader is phenomenal at expressing the words that Laura Ingalls wilder so descriptively put on paper. There is also a fiddler player to bring Pa’s music to our ears.

We were so hooked on the book that we spent the next three months listening to the other eight books in the series. We listened while we drove to swim lessons, baseball/t-ball, tennis, soccer, the pool, a few more longer rides and sometimes even as we sat in our driveway after coming home from a drive, our ears glued to the speakers. It amazed me how much time we spent in the van just driving around town. It was also a relief to not have to find something on the radio to listen to.

Tonight we celebrated finishing the last book about a week ago and checked out the 90-minute Pilot episode/movie of the television show Little House on the Prairie. I’d almost forgotten how adorable Melissa Gilbert was, I blame Dancing With the Stars for that.

Next weekend we will conclude our Little House summer by driving an hour and a half north to the town where Laura Ingalls Wilder was born; Pepin, WI and the site of her first book Little House in the Big Woods. The first weekend after Labor Day every year the town holds “Laura Days”. The festival lasts Saturday and Sunday, but we will only be able to go on Sunday. Maybe another year I will run in the 10K race on Saturday morning and earn a shirt with my daughter’s name on it, but if we are to go any year this is the year.

If we were to finish these books with enough time to drive to De Smet, SD; about 7 hours away, before school starts on Tuesday I think I’d be at the library looking for audio books to listen to on the drive west. We’ll leave that for another summer; hoping my kids will still be as captivated by her life as I am.

www.lauradays.org

An Olympic Moment

 

Last night I watched Kirani James from Grenada qualify in first place in his heat for the men’s 400 meter sprint = ¼ mile. I also watched Oscar Pistorius from South Africa finish last in that same heat.  My eyes were on both of them. I’ve been following Oscar’s story for a few weeks (month or so?) since the media introduced him to me while the IOC decided if his prosthetic legs gave him a running advantage. Oscar is a double amputee whose goal was to compete in the semi-finals against able-bodied athletes. His entire life was spent competing against able-bodied athletes in a variety of sports. Last night I watched him accomplish his goal. 

After the qualifying race, Kirani walked up to Oscar, unpin his race bib with his name and trade it for Oscar’s. I have never before seen this act that I can only interpret as getting an autograph with no pen. This, to me, showed his utmost respect and admiration for Oscar. And today Oscar has the bib of the 2012 Olympic Gold medalist in the 400 meter sprint. Kirani has Grenada’s first Olympic medal, Gold nonetheless.

After Kirani won Gold, Bob Costas (aka the voice of the Olympics) shared this story about the Gold medalist. A Grenada “tour guide” for the NBC crew nervously asked Kirani for his autograph for her daughter, Sydney, and this is what he wrote, “ Sydney, Your mom is extremely proud of you…Kirani James”. I think it’s safe to say that Kirani James’ mother is extremely proud of her 19-year old son who is a shining example of sportsmanship.

Oh, and Kirani James trains in Tuscaloosa, Alabama where he ran for The University of Alabama for two years before going professional.

ROLL TIDE!

Swimming Pool, Lake, River?

I grew up swimming in a lake, entering either at the town park or off of my parents’ boat. I have memories of playing in the sand at the beach; digging holes and building castles, but as far as the water goes I mostly remember having little fish nibble at my toes. I enjoyed spending time on the lake onboard the boat. Swimming off of it was even fun, or tubing or being with my dad in a raft paddling off the boat. Mostly I spent hot summer days swimming in friends’ pools. This was much more enjoyable for me, no fish, no water plants and I could see the bottom.

I now live along the Mississippi River (my town, not my house). Although I think the river is beautiful in its own “Big Muddy” kind of way the idea of swimming in it or another river in town that has a town beach does not appeal to me at all. I’ve been to both beaches a few times for the sake of my children, but I rarely get wet up to my shoulders. I take them for the lure of the sand. I much prefer to spending hot summer days at our city’s pool with a zero depth entrance, two water slides and a few other water attractions.

Last summer my in-laws gave us a great inflatable pool for our backyard (8’ x 4’ – totally guessing). It wasn’t inflated this summer (which I swear began in March this year) until my husband suggested it. Although the kids have enjoyed it, as has my husband, and myself too on a few occasions, I am still drawn to the city pool. Our pool has been emptied and refilled once or twice this year. Two days I took a look at it and to my utter disgust the bottom was covered in algae! Yuck! I began draining it, which soon proved to be a bigger job than I had the patience for, so, my one chore for today was to clean it. I went outside, began draining it and all I could think of was how I never swam in ponds. Then I thought about the lake I swam in as a child and I remembered preferring to swim in pools. Then I watched the water I was draining turn to green and watched it run over my feet with a disgusted expression on my face.

The pool is now empty, I used the hose to spray some algae out (much less came off than I had hoped), then I began scrubbing the algae out with rags. Of course, that also didn’t go as easily has I had hoped. So, for now the pool is in the driveway in hopes that the underside, where there is no algae, will dry. I scrubbed for as long as I could stomach. Between a child throwing up this morning and scrubbing algae I have successfully lost my afternoon appetite.

When my husband (then boyfriend) has a fish tank with three large fish my favorite was the plecostomus, the algae eater. If only one could be put in my pool, when my toes weren’t in it.

As I type this, the rags are in my new washing machine on the “sanitize” setting and I wish I could put myself in there with them.

That house down the street that I sometimes fantasize about living in one day, the one with the above ground pool, I think would look great with a fifteen-foot (another total guess) round garden with a deck attached.

Humor in Tragedy

“Laughter is the best medicine” is one of my favorite clichés, definitely more than “Time will heal all wounds”. Humor has helped me through many challenging times, mostly through my mom’s cancer and her subsequent death.

I’ve read several articles about the tragedy in the Denver movie theater. It was a horrific event. However, it has left me with a few thoughts that bring laughter during a time when it is needed most…during tragedy.

I hope this does not lead to metal detectors or the checking of bags at movie theaters. I’ll never be able to sneak another bottle of water in again.

I read that several people in the theater thought that the shooting was part of the movie, because it began during a violent movie scene. I went to see Magic Mike last night and kept waiting for the real stripper to enter through an exit door.

Signs?

Before my mom passed away, but after she was diagnosed with lung cancer I asked her to give me a sign after she died. Almost to my surprise she responded with, “If that was possible don’t you think someone would have done it already?” I was surprised only because I thought my mom believed in signs and to an extent she did, as do I.

My mom raised me to tell her the truth, to share my opinions openly no matter how harsh they may be. We ruffled each other’s feathers daily when I was a teenager and even after. But we communicated and respected each other. I could tell her just about anything I chose to.

So it is because of that that I sit here on my couch with tears streaming down my face at 11:30 pm three years after she died. I had just finished posting my last blog entry, “Who is Family?” when my cat started slowly approaching my back door. As I looked (because I trust her instincts, especially when we’re the only two awake in the house) I saw a small white thing at my door. Before I freaked out I walked very slowly over to her to see what type of animal it was. Several years ago it was common to see a black cat out that door. To my utter surprise it was a frog hanging out on my door! Let me just say in eleven years I have never experienced this. We have found several frogs (none this year though) in our window well and one once startled me by hanging out in a houseplant I put outside for the summer, noticing it only when I went to carry the plant in for the fall/winter and was eye to eye to it.

Just the other day my daughter and I were looking at photos when she drew my attention to a photo I had taken in Florida of a frog hanging out on my mom’s car window. My mom had many toads and frogs around her house, they could regularly be found on doors, in “toad houses” she placed in gardens, on her porch, almost anywhere you looked. I was sure to be startled by one on nearly every visit.

The tears have stopped, but as I sit here I can’t help but think this frog is a sign. After posting my last entry I thought of other things to add to it, but at the same time I’ve sat here for a few minutes speculating if my blog was the right place to express those feelings. Thinking that maybe my personal journal would have been more appropriate. Is this frog a sign from my mom saying, “It’s done, don’t worry about it. You were just being honest. If someone reads it and they don’t like, oh well”.

Signs are what we make them and I thank this little frog for hanging out with me as I write this.

Who is Family?

Who is Family?

This entry includes my thoughts about what makes up a family that have jumbled and bounced around in my brain for years. I am writing with honesty and have no intentions to offend anyone. I’m not sure if when you are done reading this you will be confused, be able to relate to me, or just shake your head. Whatever you are feeling I thank you for reading this with an open mind and for not judging me based on the ramblings of this entry.

What makes someone a part of your family? Is it limited to those who you are blood related to? I think not. After all, those who are adopted or who adopt would strongly disagree. But adoptive families aside. If families are made up people whom you share memories with and love you for who you are, those who love you unconditionally, those who best understand you I would have to strongly disagree.

For me, I am fortunate to have some relatives who I would choose to be my family, those who I would choose to be friends with even if we didn’t meet through birth. There are also others who live their life and think so differently than me I am convinced that if we didn’t share DNA our paths would never cross.

Then there are loved ones we meet through marriage whose senses of humors, political views, and upbringings are so different than our own we wonder how their children grew up to be the perfect partner for us and parent to our children.

I have friends who have been promoted to the “better than family” status because we care about each other and love each other’s children as if they were “family”, but without the obligation, therefore choosing to be there for each other when we need help and support.

I have friends who are sisters and brothers, uncles and grandparents to my children. And I have known them no more than twelve of my thirty-six and a half years at best.

There are friends I can talk to about anything, who will listen with their heart and I have family who I can’t carry on a meaningful conversation with.

I have family whose kids I’ve never met or them mine. I have friends whose kids I only get to see once a year, but know they will be a part of my life because their moms are my “sisters”.

I have friends who send my children gifts and family who don’t even call on their birthdays.

I have family who keep secrets from each other and friends who I share nearly everything with.

I have family who are terrible listeners and friends who listen sincerely.

I have friends who I wish I could buy plane tickets for to come visit me, and family who I haven’t visited in years and have no plans to see.

I have family I choose to live several states away from and friends who I wish on a daily basis lived closer.

I have friends who I don’t talk with for months or over a year, but pick up right where we left off when we do speak or see each other. And family who I speak to regularly but have nothing to talk about.

I have family who I find no humor in and friends who I am guaranteed to laugh until I cry with during each and every visit, whether it’s weekly or yearly.

I have family who will never read this blog because it does not interest them, or they “don’t read” or maybe because they’re not interested in me and I have friends who “subscribe” to it.

I have a cousin who is more like a sister and a sister who is more like a distant cousin.

I am thankful for the people who are actively in my life and know that those who are not, my friends would say are missing out.

Most importantly, I own the fact that I choose between who is a part of my life and who is apart from my life. I am in awe of myself and the strength I have developed to make this decision, basing on my personal happiness, and my well-being, both emotionally and physically. I also know that in a relationship it takes both people to want to include each other. Surrounding myself with sincerely positive and respectful people who have similar lifestyles adds such peace to my life, I recommend it to everyone!

It is sometimes difficult to write with pure honesty not knowing exactly all who read my blog, but these thoughts have been screaming to get out of my head.

Monarch Mishaps

For the past few years I have wanted to raise a Monarch caterpillar with my kids and watch its transformation to a beautiful butterfly. This “want” never resulted into finding a caterpillar or even inquiring where I could find one. This year one fell right into my lap, well not literally, but it might as well have when one of my son’s classmates asked us if we wanted one. I answered, “YES!” faster than my son heard the question.

Over the weekend in between when we signed the adoption papers and the caterpillar’s arrival we searched and found milkweed, the main criteria for keeping it alive. We set up a container and then in just a day after bringing our baby home it got into its ready position of a “J” to start it’s chrysalis. Two days later we confirmed it dead as its body flattened, blackened and no chrysalis was formed.

Upon hearing of our loss the mom offered us a chrysalis. They had three and would give it to us in a jar, already formed and nothing we could do could kill it she assured us. Although she did say it could take weeks, so we should be patient. Unfortunately we missed the phase when it changed from a bright green chrysalis to transparent, because less than two days later we had a beautiful male butterfly. We knew it was male because of two black dots/spots on its wings. It flew from the jar lid when we weren’t looking, but thankfully our cat helped us locate it. We each held it on our finger before releasing it.

 

On a related note, if you’ve never read “Adios, Oscar” by Peter Elwell I would highly recommend this great picture book! 

http://www.amazon.com/Adios-Oscar-A-Butterfly-Fable/dp/0545071593

Slowdown and Enjoy the Summer

Feeling on top of the world, okay town, with my kids. 

“Summer is going by so fast.”

I can’t agree with this statement, not to mention most of the people who have said this to me have added something like, I can’t believe it’s already June 24 (when it’s really only June 23) or I can’t believe it already July (it’s not it’s only June 28). I just want to shout, “Slow down people!”

Maybe this is the first time I can’t agree with this feeling and I think it’s simple. I’m enjoying every moment and every day. I honestly think I’ve been good at doing this since my kids were born. My secret? Every now and then I stop and stand back from the moment (sometimes literally, sometimes it just resembles me pressing the imaginary pause button on my nose) and just LOOK at what is before me. Yesterday it was capturing my children’s faces full of excitement and fun during a trip to a waterpark.

It may also be because this summer we have no big trips plan. There’s no focusing on weeks and months ahead of time, there’s no, we leave in two weeks, or in one month we’ll be in…

So, you’re summer may be going by too fast, but over here I’m just livin’ the life savoring my summer one moment at a time.

It’s taking the cliché, “Stop and smell the roses,” to heart. You should try it some time.

Baking and Blogging

I’ve been in a blogging funk lately. I continue to blog in my head daily, but few end up being typed and shared. I’m attempting to spend less time on my computer now that summer has arrived (read: school is out!). 

I’ve thought about sharing recipes with you that I’ve found on other blogs (a new hobby of mine) and have baked. As a result I’ve gotten into the habit of photographing my baking. Today I will share with you not a recipe I found, but one I was given years ago that has become a constant in my kitchen, especially during my annual Christmas/Hanukkah baking.

This was the first delivery of my cookies to the person who won a year of my cookies at the Blue Ribbon Ball. There’s got to be a shorter way to describe that experience and the year of baking and delivery in my future. Any ideas?

Michele’s Cream Cheese Spritz Cookies

2 ½ cups flour

1 cup sugar

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 oz. packed cream cheese

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter

½ teaspoon salt

1. Cream butter and cream cheese.

2. Add egg, sugar and vanilla until well blended.

3. Slowly add flour and salt. Mix well.

4. Add food coloring if desired.

Using a cookie press, place cookie son your cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Do not brown. Cookies should be soft and look creamy in color. 

Two dozen cookies for the lucky Parenting Place supporter.