sitting in the driver's seat

make a wish and blow out the candles

2008-06-20T12:45:00.009-04:00

We're celebrating another birthday in our family this week: Andy's 15th. Fifteen years of looking into his expressive face; his big, baby-blue eyes twinkling back at me. A decade and a half of memories that will remain in my mind's eye for many years to come. As is tradition, I've been sharing my recollections of 15 years ago....

Dan and I were surprised once again to learn that we were expecting a child. We had only been parents for a little over a year when we opened our eyes and saw the telltale pink lines on the little plastic test stick. A ripple of apprehension fluttered through our bodies, then joy. We were having a baby, and our little Nick would be a big brother!

My due date came, and my due date passed. As did the next day, and the next, and....13 days in all. Thirteen days to wait, not at all patiently, to meet our new little pumpkin. I had a doctor's appointment scheduled, as well as a stress-test, to verify that our baby was still thriving within the confines of my belly. I sat in the large reclining chair, my feet propped up and belts strapped around my bulging midsection. There were sensors on the belts, recording the baby's heartbeat and movements. How he was even able to move an inch in that crowded space, I still don't understand. I felt like I had been pregnant for 5 years, and that he'd be born just in time to run off to kindergarten! While I relaxed in the comfort of the air-conditioned office, I was feeling what I thought were just Braxton-Hicks contractions, which I had been experiencing for several days. The nurse came in, read the information on the monitor, and informed me that I was having contractions. I told her I had been for awhile, and didn't think it was anything.

After the stress-test was completed, my OB saw me in his office. After a quick check, he exclaimed that I was already dilated several centimeters, and should immediately head to the hospital. I wasn't in any pain, and certainly didn't feel that I was in labor, but Dan and I left for home to prepare for the journey ahead. I packed my bags, and off we went.

Once we reached the hospital, I knew without a doubt that I was truly in the mid-stages of labor. The pains began to come hard and fast, and within a few hours, it was time to push. At 9:00 PM, we welcomed our second son into our lives. We named the little 9 pound, 3 ounce cherub Andrew Wayne, and couldn't wait to introduce him to his big brother. We weren't sure if we would call him Andy or Drew, but the decision was made for us when little Nick toddled in and exclaimed, "Aaaandy!!"

Our new little guy was such a joy; he was a bit fussy as a small baby, but grew into such a fun toddler. He had a shock of light blonde hair framing his chubby pink cheeks. He had a crooked little smile, and would wrinkle his tiny button-nose and grin when he was being mischievous. He had a deep voice for such a small tot, and his personality was quite different from his big brother's. He was imaginative, silly, and outgoing, and these traits have stayed with him as he's grown. He's developed many others along the way: he's smart, has a wonderful sense of humor, thinks outside the box, is creative, loves football, and is a servant of God. He has many fantastic ideas, and often enthusiastically asks me, "Mom, do you know what I'm going to invent when I grow up....?" He still has his crooked little smile, which has now been freed from the silver brackets that clung to his teeth for almost 2 years. And when he's being mischievous, his now-freckled little nose still wrinkles in a telltale manner as his blue eyes twinkle from behind the lenses of his eyeglasses.

Andy marked his 15th birthday by obtaining his driver's permit, and has been relentlessly asking Dan and I to take him out to practice behind the wheel. He is moving toward independence, one step closer to becoming an adult. I pray for guidance for him, and for the Lord to hold him close as I have to loosen my grip and allow him to stretch his wings. And I have no doubt that one day, I'll hear him proudly exclaim, "Mom, look what I've invented!"

Happy Birthday, Aaaandy.

what a face

2008-04-10T22:06:00.001-04:00

easter 2008

2008-04-10T21:52:00.006-04:00

I realize I'm a little late in posting our Easter pics, but I just downloaded, or uploaded, or whatever it is you do to get your digital photos from your camera to the computer. I thought this one was amusing, and worthy of sharing:

Note: The Easter Bunny didn't really leave Dan a pretty pink basket. I think it's pretty obvious who was the intended recipient.

move over, carmello

2008-04-10T18:09:00.007-04:00

Kid Update:

Cris's basketball skills have recently earned him places on the PAL All-Star Team, an AAU tournament team, and in the Hot Shot contest. He's looking forward to trying out for the middle school basketball team next year, and works out daily--shooting hoops and executing at least 120 pushups. The squeak of Nikes on the hardwood and the scream of the buzzers have become music to my ears.

i do it for the s'mores

2008-03-31T10:26:00.005-04:00

There are few reasons I find worthy enough to drag myself out of bed long before the sun starts to peek up from beyond the horizon. But for the second time since the first of the year, I have set my alarm to be roused from my slumber in order to go camping. I have spent more nights inside a tent over the past 3 months than I have in years, and I am just as surprised as anyone at how much I've enjoyed myself.

Our Girl Scout Unit's Camporee was held this past weekend. Mom, me, and 15 of our closest little friends hiked over the river and into the woods to find the perfect spot to pitch our tent village. Since this was our first overnight trip, many of their moms felt more comfortable with joining us for our outdoor adventure. I was very proud of the girl-power that we exhibited as we set up our tents all by ourselves. We did it all: the building of the fire--done by girls. Cooking over the open flame? Yep, the girls did it. Hiking and exploring and looking for crabs under rocks? You got it--all done by girls.

By all accounts, they had a fabulous time. Even the little Brownie who, when I told the troop we would be going camping, told me in no uncertain terms that the only camping she likes is done in an RV. By the time the final campfire embers were extinguished, they all had smiles on their dirt-smeared faces. Along with little chunks of melted chocolate and marshmallow bits.

fork in the road

2008-03-28T10:15:00.000-04:00

Dan has always been more of a risk-taker than I am. Even when we're watching a game show, such as Deal or No Deal, I'll advise the contestants to "take the money, it's a sure bet!", while Dan says, "No, there's still a million bucks on the board--open another case!"

In December, I wrote about the shakeup our family experienced as a result of the loss of Dan's employment. Over the course of the many weeks that followed, he stayed extremely busy searching and applying for new opportunities, sending out resumes and making multiple phone calls. He was even interviewed a handful of times, but all of this effort seemed to be taking us nowhere. Never before has he had this type of difficulty finding a job, but he remained optimistic, for the most part.

Towards the end of February, a new vision began to take shape: Dan's heart has always been set on owning his own business, and the timing seemed to be right to begin this adventure. A new spark lit his eyes, his energy was renewed, and he worked around the clock to get it up and running. Licenses were obtained, ads and business cards were printed up for the new water pump and purification venture. Our family began to feel the excitement, and we all gathered around him in support. The pieces were all coming together, with hardly a hitch-- Dan was able to obtain a personalized phone number and website, submit his ads to the phone book advertisers just before the deadline, and we set up a booth at a local health and wellness show, where we obtained over 130 leads. We felt on top of the world, and couldn't wait to see what other blessings God had in store for us.

Then came the curve ball. Dan received a phone call from one of the men who had interviewed him for a sales position back in December. He didn't obtain that job, but had been flown to Philadelphia to interview for a project management position for the same corporation. We waited and prayed, prayed and waited to hear something, anything, but they just told him to "hold tight". We did, but then started to loosen our grasp as the weeks passed by with no word. But now this gentleman was calling to offer Dan the position after all, and to negotiate the salary specifics. He would receive wonderful benefits, a matching 410K plan, as well as other perks.

Our feelings were mixed, but the elation we would've felt, had this call come weeks ago, was noticeably absent. Confusion was prevalent, as we all felt that God had been opening all the doors for us regarding the fledgling business. Once we'd talked at length about the situation, I was sure Dan was going to say that he would turn down the job and continue on the path he'd forged.

I was wrong.

He spent much time praying, searching his heart, and speaking with other Godly men, who know the pressures of being the head of the household and breadwinner of the family. "It's a good problem to have," he heard over and over. No, we decided, it definitely was not. A good problem would have been to have two or three lucrative offers on the table several months ago. The decision between taking a risk to fulfill your life's ambition or to take the sure bet so that you know your children will have food in their bellies and clothes on their backs is not a 'good problem' to have. Please understand, I do have complete comprehension that there are far worse situations we could be dealing with....after all, God has faithfully provided all we have needed throughout this critical time, and has ensured that we have remained healthy and happy as well.

When standing at this fork in the road, unable to see what lies beyond the bend, it all comes down to this: the uncertainty of depending fully on the ability of a start-up business to bring in enough cash to not only experience growth, but to support the needs of our family... or moving into the position that would offer stability and surety. Dan is choosing to accept the Banker's offer, rather than take the risk of opening one more case in hopes that it holds the big money, and I can't say I blame him. His decision shows me that he is truly concerned about the economy, and about using our retirement funds to bankroll our endeavor.

There is a peace that comes with this decision, the peace of knowing that a paycheck will be issued regularly, that we'll no longer have to depend on our savings accounts to keep the refrigerator filled and the lights on. However, a lingering doubt remains....is this new job offer a test to determine our commitment to GW Pumps & Purification, as well as our faith in the Lord's provision? Or is it a Divine detour, because He knows that the funds GW would bring in wouldn't be sufficient, and this is, in fact, His method of providing for us?

We have come to the conclusion that the decision doesn't have to necessarily be as black and white as we were making it out to be. Dan's a color-outside-the-lines kind of a guy, and is planning on blazing his own trail. As time-consuming and energy-draining as it will be, we have decided to continue to move toward the goal of growing the business, as Dan also serves as Project Manager for his new employer. He'll be traveling quite a bit, as he'll be responsible for an even larger territory than he was with his previous employer--the entire East Coast. We are thankful for this answer to prayer, and are looking forward to seeing many more of God's promises come to pass.

And we'll do it with insurance cards in our pockets.

And we know that in all things God works

for the good of those who love Him...

Romans 8:28

a new normal

2008-01-30T12:01:00.000-05:00

There are many stages in the life of a parent, and it never ceases to amaze me how quickly the unfamiliar becomes the standard. Each new phase seems so life-shattering, so daunting; but before you know it, it either comes to an end or has become a new normal. A once-obedient toddler learns how to use the word "no"; a small child straps on his backpack for the first day of school; a compliant, loving young man turns 13. And an ambitious 16 year-old passes his driving test to take another step towards independence.

Nick obtained his license in November, and I'll admit that a small part of me didn't want him to pass the test. As a mother, it is very rare to desire failure for your child, but my heart wasn't ready to set him free on the roads, to travel alongside drivers with many more years of experience. He'll tell you that I wasn't the model passenger while he was still operating under the limits of his permit: I was tense, panicked unnecessarily, and nearly wore a hole through the floor while using my imaginary brake pedal. Under Florida law, a new driver must have his or her permit for 1 year, and driven at least 50 hours, in order to become eligible for licensure. I thought a full year would provide adequate time for me to come to terms with the fact that my firstborn could be facing incidents of road rage, drunk drivers, and distracted motorists talking on their cell phones, unaware of the fact that they could be endangering my baby boy. But it wasn't.

When he walked into the lobby area of the DMV, his smile spoke volumes to me. He proudly held out his shiny little rectangle of freedom, and I gave him a hug. He probably thought I was showing him how proud I was of him, but in reality, I was holding on for dear life. I wasn't ready to let him go yet. It felt like it was just yesterday that Dan and I strapped our tiny newborn into his carseat for his first ride. He was so small, dwarfed by the safety gear surrounding him; his head lolled to the side, and we tucked blankets around it to prop it up. Dan drove so very carefully on our way home that day, both of us feeling the tremendous responsibility that came with this tiny person. And now here he was, looking me in the eye and holding out his hand in hopes that I would allow him to strap himself in and take me for my first ride.

Later that day, he took the wheel without an adult in the passenger seat, and I bit my lip as tears sprung to my eyes. His excitement was palpable, and I ran inside to retrieve my camera. The grin on his face filled my viewfinder, and then he was off. That day was more than two months ago already, and the transition has been much easier than I had anticipated. The convenience of having a third driver in the house has been monumental: he is more than happy to make the spur-of-the-moment run to the grocery store for a forgotten ingredient, is able to transport himself to-and-from work and activities, and is even willing to chauffeur his younger siblings around town.

My time sitting in the driver's seat has decreased a bit, and we have adjusted to our new normal. However, Andy will be able to apply for his learner's permit in June, and Cris's 13th birthday is just around the bend....

happy camper

2008-01-21T12:22:00.000-05:00

This weekend, I had the opportunity to learn about outdoor education, Girl Scout-style. Not just from perusing a manual or listening to a trainer teach a class, but a hands-on lesson. Yes, I went camping.

I have never really been one to fully enjoy all that a camping trip entails: the lack of a fully functional bathroom facility, the sleeping on the cold ground, the bugs, the dirt. I do love the campfire, the food cooked over the open flame, the fresh air filling my lungs and the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees. I found all of this, and so much more, on my weekend excursion to Camp Mah-Kah-Wee.

The journey began before dawn, when I crawled out of my snug bed to finish packing and preparing. My friend Wendy came to pick me up in her van, and we were on our way. We were looking forward to spending the weekend together, even if it had to be in a tent. The weather forecast wasn't very favorable, and we drove through heavy fog and mist on the way to the facility. When we arrived, we unloaded all of our gear and checked in. At that point, we found that we had been split up; I was to hike to one campsite, she to another, on opposing ends of the campground. We were unhappy at this development, at the prospect of having to bunk with strangers.

As I hauled my bags over the trail, I walked behind three ladies, with whom I struck up a conversation. They had come together, had managed to stay together, and they invited me to be the fourth in their tent. They were very welcoming, and I felt the awkwardness melt away. We finally reached the campsite, found an unoccupied platform tent, claimed our cots, then checked in to the Scout house. We settled in, ready to learn from the trainers, one of them having been in Girl Scouts for more than 40 years. They were full of great information and experience, and shared both with us throughout the two days.

There were 40 ladies staying at the same campsite as I: Racoon Run. Many of us had been split from friends, and many were not, but the trainers had another surprise up their sleeves. We played a game called Barnyard Bedlam, in which we were randomly given a small token with the image of a farm animal on it. We were to close our eyes and walk around, while making the sound of our chosen animal. Mine was a pig. Soooo, I closed my eyes and oinked, bumping into other ladies who were also making fools of themselves. I hooked arms with my fellow swine, and dismissed those who were baa-ing, moo-ing, or clucking. I had a lady on either side and was laughing hysterically and yelling "OINK", when the trainer told us to stop; we were in our groups, so we could open our eyes. The first thing I saw was another woman, standing right in front of me, looking at me as if I were crazy. Seems that we had been in our group for several seconds, and only I and one other piggy were still behaving as if we were sows. Oops.

These four groups of 10 women each were our new patrols, which meant we were to learn and work together to get tasks accomplished. We headed back inside to reshuffle our seating arrangements, forcing us to split up even further. My three bunkmates were in different groups, so I knew that if Wendy and I had been able to stay together, we most likely would have been separated at this point, anyway. We all settled in to learn the first of many lessons, including camping preparation from planning to evaluation, which is quite a lengthy process.

Unfortunately, we somehow fell far behind. Before we knew it, it was well after noon, and we still hadn't eaten lunch. This posed quite a dilemma, due to the fact that we were to cook our food over fire, but hadn't yet learned how to build or maintain this fire. By the time we were educated on this skill, our lunch had been pushed back to 4pm. We were understandably grumpy, and took matters into our own hands, starting our dinner prep while keeping the fire burning. The dish was to cook for 90 minutes, and we were all in agreement that we'd like to eat before bedtime.

As our dinner boiled and bubbled over the hot coals, we were greeted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Another trainer had run to tell us that we were to immediately remove the dutch oven, put out our fire, and batten down the hatches. A storm was coming, and we were given 30 minutes to gather our valuables and hike to the safety of the lodge. We went into action, unaware of the severity of the situation: this storm had produced tornadoes, hail, strong winds, and blinding rain.

We gathered with all of the camp's 100+ occupants, and I was reunited with my friend Wendy. The storm thundered and the lightning flashed as we sang songs, ate pizza, and performed skits, which we were to have done around the nightly campfire. Two hours later, we were told that the worst of the storm had missed us, had actually split into two storms, and both had gone around us. We felt blessed, which helped to ease the bitterness over having missed the traditional s'mores around the campfire.

After donning our ponchos and hiking through puddles and muck, we made it back to our campsite, where we found our lukewarm supper waiting for us. We munched on it a bit, learned how to tie knots, and were finally released to retire to our beds. The weather forecast was for a cold front to move in, which is usually preceded by strong thunderstorms here in Florida, as the cold northern air collides with our warm air. Even though the storm had passed, it was still relatively warm, and I fell asleep on top of my sleeping bag. I was awakened in the night by more rain, and a chill in the air. I huddled in the warmth of my cocoon, only to wake in the morning to freezing temperatures. The cold front had arrived.

Our second day was spent trying to stay warm as we attempted to absorb as much information as possible about knife safety, wood chopping, and cooking in a box oven, among other things. Suddenly the jobs of fire starter and cook were coveted, and that of the clean-up crew were even more despised, as cold hands met cold water. We made chili and cornbread for lunch, baking the bread in a box oven, over coals. I saw it as a grown-up version of the Easy Bake. One of the other piggy ladies and I were enthralled with this invention. We decided that if our state was hit with another hurricane and we lost power, we could provide our neighbors with comfort foods, such as cakes and breads, all baked in a box. Another of our teammates, who was a bit more cynical, stated, "Oh, yeah, while the contents of everyone's freezers are rotting, you two can bake up a cake!" When we stopped laughing, we enjoyed the fruits of our labors, which was the best meal yet, having been made from start to finish without assistance.

As the sun crossed the sky and began it's descent, we completed our training, carried out our kapers, or chores, and met back at the campfire pit. We participated in a Girl Scout ceremony, during which we all shared what was the most impactful part of the weekend to each of us. Answers ranged from "Learning what to do in case of emergency" to "Working together with people who began as complete strangers and ended up as friends." I commented that I was a bit reluctant coming into the situation, but was excited to tell my troop all about my adventures, and to share a camping experience with them. We sang a song, handed out hugs, and went our separate ways, with promises of emails to be exchanged.

Upon my return home, I soaked in a luxuriously hot shower, bundled up in my new fuzzy robe (thanks, Mom!), and sipped a mug of hot cocoa. I counted my blessings as I watched the Packers and Giants play on the frozen tundra in Green Bay, calculating that it was more than 40 degrees warmer here, before the wind chill was factored in. What had I been whining about?

Today, it's 70 degrees and sunny, with a nice easterly breeze blowing in off the ocean. Figures.

worth the wait

2008-01-11T12:25:00.000-05:00

I have wanted to adopt a little dog for several years now, but for one reason or the other, we've had to wait. First to convince Dan, then for a house of our own, a fence to be built, the "right timing". As the Christmas break approached, and with Dan home to help keep a watchful eye, we felt that it was time to start the search.

We knew we wanted to find our new little friend at a local shelter, because there are just too many unwanted pets in this world, in my opinion. So I'd been keeping my eye on the shelter's website, watching for a small, fluffy pup with big black eyes and a cute button nose. One day, while scrolling through all the homeless dogs, a new one popped up: a Maltese. A little ball of fur I could call my own. I phoned Dan with great excitement, and got the green light to explore this possibility.

After picking Cris and Brooklyn up from school, I told them the news, and invited them to take the adventure with me. We'd never been to a shelter, so we had a good talk about what we could expect there. We knew it would be difficult to see all those faces, waiting for their "forever homes". And it was. The smell of so many animals in one place was overwhelming, the sound of their cries and pleas for attention deafening at times. There was a big board that displayed the numbers of animals taken in, adopted out, and ultimately finding the end of their lives in this place. The workers were friendly, but very overworked. We asked one if the sweet little Maltese was still available, but were told that no, he'd found a home. "The little ones go quick," she told us. I knew I was being picky about the type and size of dog I was looking for, and was turning a blind eye to the larger dogs in need, but felt that a smaller dog would be a better fit.

We found a door marked with an "Adoptable Dogs" sign, and we turned the knob to open it. A long, cage-lined hall stood in front of us, and we tentatively stepped through. On the left side, several Pit Bulls looked out from behind the bars. They didn't appear to be too interested in us, barely raising their eyes to see who was coming through next. To the right, two smaller cages were stacked one on top of the other. The one on top held a tiny white dog, curled up tightly on top of a pillow. We saw that he was a Chihuahua, and I dismissed him as an option, having heard that they can be a difficult breed. Below him was a black Collie mix, very vocal and active. His info sheet stated that he was younger, and playful. He was cute, but I didn't want to bite off more than I could chew.

We continued on down the canine-laden hall, turned the corner to find even more large, unwanted dogs. I was beginning to feel my optimism fade away. We turned back the way we came, and stopped in front of the stacked cages once again. The small Chi barely acknowledged us, but he looked so vulnerable lying there, less than 3 feet away from those huge dogs known for their violence. According to his clipboard, he was estimated to be 8 years old, was seemingly well trained, liked to cuddle, and was found by the side of the road a week before. The kids and I looked at each other, and we agreed that we'd at least like to give him a chance.

After asking permission to take him from his cage, I carefully unlocked his wire door, and tried to coax him out. He just shivered and ducked his little head, not even meeting my eyes. I let him smell my hand, then ran it down the length of his small back, trying to let him know I meant him no harm. Then I slipped my hands around him and lifted him out. "Awww!" Both kids immediately melted at the sight of his little face. We took him into the socialization room, where I placed him on the floor to get an idea of his personality. He started nosing around, but didn't lift his leg-- bonus points, for sure. The kids were growing more and more excited, and the fact that he didn't yip, growl, bite or scratch made me want to know more about him. We decided to take him out to the play yard.

Once outside, the little guy immediately found a bush to sprinkle, and this show of good potty training moved him to the top of my list. We let him run and explore, and his sprightly gate, little bent ear, and bright eyes won us over. Another call to Dan was placed, and the adoption process was begun. In order to fill out the paperwork, we had to put the little man back in his cage. The Pit Bulls were riled up, filling the hall with their growls and fierce barking. Our prospective pup cowered, pawing at the cage, crying out to us as we walked away. We knew we had to hurry and get him out of there as soon as we could, so we dotted all of our i's, crossed our t's, and in just a matter of minutes, our family had grown by one.

It has been several weeks since we walked into the animal shelter; weeks spent getting to know our first family dog. Chico is a cuddle-bug who loves to explore his new neighborhood, nap on fluffy pillows, and munch on liver treats. The transition has been easy, he has adapted well. He lets us know when he needs to go outside, he is pretty quiet, and he sleeps through the night in his little bed in the master bedroom. He takes us on long nighttime walks, and it is really very amusing to see how he thinks he is so big and mighty, guarding "his" people from harm.

We are looking forward to many years caring for our new pet, and hope we are making his life as enjoyable as he is making ours.

blindsided

2007-12-03T15:05:00.000-05:00

Friday morning, while I was at work, I received a call from Dan. In an uncharacteristically nervous voice, he asked me to say a prayer for him, as his boss had asked him to set aside some time to talk that afternoon. Red flags started to wave in front of my eyes, my heart started beating a little faster, and I became worried. "I'm sure it's nothing," my husband said, attempting to comfort me. But I heard something in his voice....

Later that day, after several hours of fretting, praying, and wondering, I walked into the house to find out what had transpired. Dan's red-rimmed eyes and the stricken look on his face told me all I needed to know, but his next words still took my breath away: "They fired me."

Woosh. "What? Why?" I felt my eyes bulging, my chin starting to quiver, my heart racing even faster. The explanation he received from his boss did nothing to pacify me. He has been falsely accused of damaging a rental car, which was, in actuality, stolen from in front of his hotel room many months ago while he was on a business trip. When it was found, it had several thousand dollars' worth of damage inflicted upon it. The rental car agency maintains that this automobile is virtually un-stealable, and that one must have the key in order to start the engine. And since the key was given to Dan, he must've crashed it into that ditch, walked away, and blamed it on someone else in order to keep his name clear. That's their story, at least, and it appears they've convinced Dan's former employer that this is the true sequence of events.

My husband is a man of great integrity; if he had truly had an accident in this car, he would've been the first to phone the authorities and report it. If the retribution had to be taken from his pay, he would've agreed, had the fault been his. But he doesn't, at this point, even have the opportunity to defend himself. Not to a judge, a jury, or to the people sitting behind their desks, casting down judgements and changing a family's life.

I was very angry at first. But I continue to be inspired by this man who exchanged marital vows with me nearly 15 years ago. He has not shown anger or resentment, although I believe he has every right to. He continues to provide the kids and I with a sense of security, even through this trial.

I have faith that we'll come through this with minimal damage, because although I claim to spend most of my time in the driver's seat, I know that it's God who's really in control. And now it's time for us to put our faith to the test, allow Him to take the wheel, and to listen and learn what He has in store for us.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

halloween 2007

2007-11-01T10:39:00.000-04:00

I am a procrastinator. I'm married to Dan, and he's one too. Whether putting things off until the last minute is encoded in our DNA or is a learned behavior, our kids have the deck stacked against them. So it was not shocking to me that I'd be scouring the aisles of the local party store at 4pm on Halloween, searching for costume components for all 3 of our boys. They have now realized that just having an idea for an outfit is no longer enough.

I can't lay the blame completely on them, though, because not only have I modeled the procrastination trait, but for the majority of their lives, I've also shopped for and constructed their costumes (usually missing several hours of crucial sleep time the night before the big day). All they've been responsible for in the past was coming up with what they wanted to "be".

I will say that I am thankful that Halloween is one holiday for which preparation has actually gotten easier as the kids have grown. I haven't had to sew, cut, or glue pieces of felt or ribbon for a couple of years now; the days of the homemade cow, burrito, Pooh and Piglet costumes have passed. I mourn the loss of pink toddler cheeks peeking out of these creations made with love, but I rejoice in the creativity and humor of my teenagers. And I do it with bright eyes and bushy tail, because I got a good night's sleep on October 30th.

I submit for your enjoyment: Nick as Ron Burgundy ("Anchorman"), Andy portraying a Mexican cowboy, Bronco player Cris, pop-star Brooklyn, and our Packer-friend Adam. Happy Halloween.

mr. clean doesn't even know my address anymore

2007-10-26T11:10:00.000-04:00

My sixth grade son, Cris, needed a baby picture of himself to submit to the yearbook staff at school. So the other night, we hopped into the time machine that is my shelf full of photo boxes, and pulled out two that contain pictures from the mid-1990's. Looking through those snapshots, it was shocking for me to see how neat and tidy our little house in Thornton looked. The carpet was vacuumed, the floor swept, the counters clear. Knick-knacks appeared to be dust-free, and there were even decorations on the walls. Three little boys played happily with their toys and each other as I snapped away with my 35mm.

This is so remarkable to me because if you were to walk into our current home on any given day, you may find several pairs of shoes strewn haphazardly by the front door, the pan used to roast last night's dinner soaking in the sink, empty cereal boxes on the counters, newspapers and cups on the table, and a desk full of school papers and mail that needs to be sorted. I'm not posting all of this to air out our dirty laundry, so to speak, but because I was really taken with the home I saw portrayed on Kodak paper. "That looks so nice," I thought, as if looking through Better Homes and Gardens. "I would like to live there."

In early 1996, our boys were ages 4, 2, and an infant. I remember feeling very overwhelmed at times, like I couldn't keep up. I longed for a future filled with more than diapers, Barney, and toddler-sized tantrums. But now, looking back from my more experienced point of view, I'm left wondering what, exactly, was so stressful to me then? I couldn't have known that 1996 was before....

...before the kids gave up their naps, before the 4th child was born, before PTA, before basketball, before dance classes, before football, before cheerleading, before grueling high school schedules, before teaching Sunday School, before Dan's crazy travel schedule and working from home, before going back into the workforce, before Girl Scouts, before teenage angst, before a son's first relationship, before his driver's license, before curfews, before braces, before college nights and SATs, before satellite TV, before the internet, before cell phones. Before we had so much pulling on us, from so many different directions.

But we don't live in the before, and we don't yet live in the after. We live somewhere in the middle, and I have to remember that this is, like that was, just a season in our lives. And somewhere down the line, perhaps in the next decade, I'll be pulling photos off the shelf once again, and will have a reason to look at the images captured in 2007. Maybe by then I will have been able to dedicate time to filling my scrapbooks with our memories. I'll flip through the pages, look at the images of a busy-but-smiling family in a cluttered-but-loving-home, and I'll think, "That looks so nice. I would like to live there."

almost a teen

2007-10-24T14:12:00.000-04:00

Twelve years ago today, at this moment (Mountain Standard Time), I was celebrating the birth of my third son, Cris. My labor had been induced, because the doctor was fearful that he was already over 9 lbs, with one week to go in my pregnancy. Also, my original due date fell on Halloween, and I wasn't too fond of the idea of delivering my precious angel on this controversial "holiday". It just seemed a little creepy to me. So, when my ob-gyn dangled the induction-carrot before me, I sprang for it. 12 hours and an excrutiating amount of pain later, Cristian Daniel was born.

He was a beautiful little baby, almost too pretty to be a boy. He had big blue eyes, full, rosebud lips, and was an 8 lb. 4 oz. peanut. I fell instantly in love with the newest little man to join our testosterone-laden family. He had such a mild disposition, was early to smile and laugh, and was a great source of entertainment for his 2 and 4-year-old big brothers, who immediately began to include this tiny person in their daily play.

That teensy little boy has stretched and grown into a lean and lanky preteen, who is coming dangerously close to being able to look me straight in the eye without looking up. He is witty, athletic, cuddly (aw, Mom, why'd you have to say that?), loving, strong, protective, emotional, smart, talkative, focused, eager, and a child of God. He likes to play football, loves to play basketball, and won't admit it, but is an avid reader as well. He has dreams and aspirations, many of which involve his becoming an NBA star.

It has been a joy to watch him become a young man, and I look forward to experiencing the coming years with him by my side, having to look up to meet his eyes, as I know I soon will. Happy Birthday, Son.

sweet 16

2007-10-03T11:54:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, my oldest son reached a milestone: his 16th birthday. It has become a tradition in our family for me to recall, in sometimes unwanted detail, the circumstances of my children's actual day of birth. So for the past several days, many of my sentences have started with the words, "Sixteen years ago, I was..." while I would glance at the clock, remembering.

Remembering the fear that struck my heart as Dan and I walked around his parents' neighborhood late in the evening of October 1, 1991, timing my contractions. After waiting for over 9 months to meet our first child, the realization that his arrival was imminent was terrifying to me.

Remembering the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, prohibiting me from shouting and screaming out of frustration as I worked so diligently to deliver him.

Remembering the intense relief I felt once he was born, once I could see that he was as perfect as he could be.

Remembering our first night together, after our loving friends and family left, and we could truly begin to get to know one another. I studied him, committing every bit of him to memory.

For 16 years, I have watched him grow and change from that tiny baby boy, swaddled and cozy in my arms, into the young man who now stands taller than I. Looking into his face, I see the strong nose and cheekbones of the man he'll soon be, but can still catch a glimpse of the chubby-cheeked, squeaky-voiced toddler he once was. In the scrapbook of my mind's eye, I can see him holding his Puffy in front of his mouth, sucking his thumb, humming the tune from Barney. "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family...."

It is my fervent prayer that as the years have passed, even through the times when we haven't been such a happy family, that he has always known how much I love him, how much of myself I've poured into him, and how proud I am to say he's my son. Before I had children, I had no idea what a wild ride motherhood would be; the highs can be outstandingly high, the lows can be crushing, but I thank God for the child He chose to bless me with to initiate me into this exclusive club of women.

Happy birthday, Son. And thank you for 16 wonderful years.

ringing in the new year

2007-09-12T22:55:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer:

When I wrote my first entry for this blog, I made sure to state that I "may not post every day, or even every other day". I think it's quite obvious simply by looking at my datelines that this was a gross understatement. I have also mentioned that I have two teenagers, and that it is very difficult for me to elbow my way through the crowd to get some screen time. And, may I call your attention to the title of my blog, the "About Me" blurb to the right, and to my color-coded-out-of-necessity calendar. I will try to post more often.

Now for a much-overdue update:

The new year is always an extremely busy time for us. Not the traditional New Year, which is celebrated nationwide with the tooting of obnoxious paper horns and public drunkenness, but the (announcer voice) New School Year. The one marked by summer-vacation-weary moms, who are more than ready to clean their abused homes, get caught up on some reading, and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the bell rings and their little bundles of energy come running through the door, leaving shoes, socks, and backpacks in their wake. Our schedule (see above) was already tight prior to August 20, with football and cheerleading practices requiring much time behind the wheel, in the stands, and on the sidelines. Add to it the (voice, again) Back To School Shopping for four kids, and you'll understand why I was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up on my household tasks.

My optimism was purely in vain, though, because there has not been one blank, white, neon-free square on our calendar thus far. Someone always has to be somewhere, and they can't drive themselves. I had such high hopes for this September, because last year was so tough, our move into our new home coinciding with the beginning of the school year. However, this year's schedule has been nearly as unforgiving, with my mom's move coming on the first weekend, and our garage sale on the second. To add to the chaos, Dan's been training for the Tour Davita, which is a 230 mile bike ride to raise awareness for kidney disease. And what's that I see on the horizon but the start of Girl Scouts, which is, for the Leader, like having another part-time job.

With the advent of the New School Year comes delightful events, such as Back To School Night, Meet The Teachers, High School Orientation, just to name a few. The last one, in particular, is always entertaining. Our high school hosts an evening during which we, as parents, follow an abbreviated version of our child's schedule, complete with passing times and bells. Dan and I were both able to attend, so he took on the schedule of our Freshman son (who wishes to remain unnamed here), and I tackled that of our Junior, Nick. I used the map he gave me, along with the list of his classes, to find the appropriate classrooms. I felt the years melt away, and it was easy to imagine it was my first day of high school; people were lost, asking for help, looking for a familiar face in the crowd. When one was found, questions were asked:

"How was your summer?"

"Which class do you have now?"

"Can you believe school's starting already?"

And some, spoken on cell phones, that brought me right back to the present:

"Did you put the roast in the oven yet?"

"Have you finished your homework? I told you, you can't go until it's finished."

I hadn't really been transported back in time 20 years to the orange and green of my alma mater, but was walking along the corridors of the red, silver and white of what will be my children's. I am the parent now, and this is their turf; these halls and classrooms will become snapshots that make up a slide show of memories in their minds. I am just a visitor here.

As such, I attended Nick's classes, including AP English/Comp, AP US Gov, AP US History, Honors Physics, Pre-Calc, and Spanish III. Much has changed in the two decades since I attended high school; listening to what is expected of my son, it is obvious that he has the schedule of a college student. I was excited and daunted by all he would be experiencing in the coming months, thrilled to hear how enamored his teachers are of their chosen profession. They love what they do, have a heart for teaching teenagers, and are well prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead. He is in good hands.

I passed by Dan at one point in the evening, giving me evidence that our sons are able to greet one another during this passing period. I am pleased to say I was lost only once, and late only once as a result. I had forgotten how quickly one can cross an entire campus when worried about being tardy. When Dan and I met up at the end of the night, he shared that he was so late to 2nd period, he just decided to skip it all together. He was able to make it to his other 6 classes on time, and was equally impressed by the caliber of our Freshman's instructors, and by the amount of information he'll be presented with this year. We went to dinner and shared our new found knowledge, our concerns, our praises. We agreed that a difficult year is ahead of our sons, but we know they will rise to the challenge and impress us, and themselves. We have full confidence that they are each moving in the right direction, toward the goal of a college education, independence, and success.

Tonight, our younger children's elementary school hosted it's Back To School Night, so I was able to meet with their teachers once again, hear how the school year is going thus far, and what their plans are for the months ahead. Cris and Brooklyn have much to look forward to, as well. It was a relief to hear the instructors speak about concepts I have a clear understanding of, and to know that these two kids will still be able to come to me for homework help. And more importantly, that I'll be able to give it.

I am very pleased to report that the 2007-08 Back To School Season is now officially over. Football season rages on into November, just in time for the retailers to convince me that I should be preparing for The Christmas Season.

35 years young

2007-09-02T00:10:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday to my hubby! Since I posted 8 words to describe Brooklyn on her big day, I will do the same for Dan:

He's 1. funny, 2. handsome, 3. creative, 4. a social butterfly, 5. ambitious, 6. a good friend, 7. outgoing, 8. a sports fan, 9. a great husband, 10. tall, 11. cute in his bike shorts, 12. embracing his baldness, 13. a leader, 14. a fabulous dad, 15. the head of our household, 16. a jokester, 17. entrepreneurial, 18. travel-savvy, 19. adventurous, 20. competitive, 21. loving, 22. a Sunday-afternoon napper, 23. rambunctious, 24. goofy, 25. a Law & Order viewer, 26. generous, 27. great with kids, 28. good at fixing things, 29. a perfectionist (about some things), 30. a golfer, 31. a skier, 32. a valuable employee, 33. a good cook, 34. smart, and most importantly.... 35. a Godly man.

I love you, and wish you a happy 36th year!

where did the summer go?

2007-08-20T12:15:00.000-04:00

7:45 AM-- We close our car doors and the kids heft their heavy, overloaded backpacks onto their shoulders. The packs are full of newly sharpened pencils, reams of crisp white paper, folders with sharp corners. Their faces show their mixed feelings about this day: there's a sparkle in their eyes that hints at the excitement they're reluctant to tell about, a nervousness in the smile of my girl. My 6th grade son is working hard to maintain the scowl he's had since I woke him this morning. But his pace is brisk, purposeful. They tolerate the annual photo taken in front of the school's marquee sign to record this day, to chart their growth as they pass from grade to grade. This will be the last picture I take of my son in front of this sign, so I am happy to see that the scowl is not as pronounced, and looks kind of like a smile. Through the viewfinder, anyway.

Once the photo has been taken, my son once again walks quickly ahead of us, and we hurry to follow him, so that we can say goodbye. And good luck. And have a great day. And I love you. And we'll see you this afternoon. One more photo beside the welcome back sign on the door, and then he's gone. He'll emerge again this afternoon, more tired, less purposeful, happy that he's free again. Until tomorrow. But we won't be there to record the second day for the photo albums, much to his relief.

It's my daughter's turn to lead us to her door. Her turn to pose for a picture, to say goodbye. But she's not ready to go in alone. I walk her to her seat, and help her take out the brand new supplies and put them in her desk. She hangs her empty backpack on her chair, pulls it out and sits down. Her class has 3 pets, and her teacher is nice. She gives me permission to leave, but I do get a hug and a kiss first. She is ready to be a 3rd grader.

Back at home, my two high-schoolers are laughing, joking, getting ready to leave for the bus stop. The younger of the two is beginning his Freshman year, much to the delight and dismay of his Junior brother. They haven't been in school together for years, and will now share the same bus, lunch period, campus. I know my son would be fine on his own, but take comfort that his big brother will be there if he needs him.

Now it's time to leave, to catch the big yellow bus, but the boys know that even though there's not a sign to pose in front of, I will still mark the occassion with a photo. Their smiles are big, that much I can see, even through the viewfinder. My older son is happy; he's an Upperclassman. His smile is confident, his eyes are shining. My younger son smiles a rare, wide smile. His teeth are showing, the sun glistens off his braces. Most of the pictures I have of him from the past 2 years show him with a tight, closed-lip smile, hiding the metal that is guiding his teeth into straight,white lines. He is having fun, but I know he is nervous. After the photos are snapped, he follows his brother down the driveway, still laughing and joking. I hear their voices trail off as they round the corner, and I shout to their retreating backs. Have a good day! I'll see you this afternoon! I love you! And then they're gone, too.

I walk back into the house, which is much quieter now. For the past three months, it has been filled with the sounds of electric and bass guitars, keyboards, stereos, TVs, video games, teenagers, children. But now the sound of the air conditioner pumping cool air through the vents sounds louder than ever. The hot Florida sun doesn't know that summer's over. I pour a cup of coffee, sit down to read the paper before I head off to work. I am wishing I had taken the day off, to enjoy the silence. I could have spent time working on my scrapbooks, maybe finding the photos from the other first days. There have been 12 of them, and there is only going to be one more for my oldest son before he goes off to college. I will be there when he goes, looking through the viewfinder, recording another kind of first in our lives. But this afternoon, they will all come home, and they will share their stories of new teachers, new classrooms, new friends, new things they have already learned. They will have conquered their first day, and I will serve them cake, and listen to them talk, and I will be so proud of them.

This is a bittersweet day. This is the first day of school.

limping along in his mother's footsteps

2007-08-10T14:55:00.000-04:00

I believe it all started when I was 10, and I took a backward tumble off a swing in a Denver park. I landed on my foot, breaking a toe. Over the years, my poor feet have suffered multiple contusions, a pounding from a concrete pole, and a broken pinky toe just a couple of years ago.

I now pass the torch.

Poor Nick was helping his friend build a dock when a 200+ lb. piling rolled onto his big toe, shattering the bone. These crutches will be his new appendages for the next couple of weeks. On the upside, he has some new nicknames: Crutchy and Hoppy. Imagine his joy.

not a baby anymore

2007-08-10T10:27:00.000-04:00

My only little girl turned 8 on 8/8. She found this to be incredibly exciting. And since she's the baby of the family, I joined in her incredible excitement. It keeps me young. In honor of her special day, a tribute:

8 Words That Describe Brooklyn~

~Silly

~Sweet

~Cuddly

~Cute

~Loving

~Smart

~Helpful

~God's Girl

Happy Birthday, Brookadoo!

starting my very own buh-log

2007-08-09T15:19:00.000-04:00

I remember when gabbing with girlfriends meant being tethered to the wall by a twisty cord that was so stretched out, it pooled on the floor under the phone when it was hung up. When I was a teenager, it wasn't hung up often. I have great sympathy for my mom during those years, now that I have teens of my own. It's not the phone they commandeer, though, but our family computer. They spend a lot of time in front of the glowing screen, gabbing with their own friends through MySpace and FaceBook. So, I've decided to jump on board, and start a blog. Or buh-log, as my kids accuse me of saying.

I don't promise to post every day, or even every other day, but enough to give my friends and family a little glimpse of what our gang has been up to. I may even include a photo now and then. It all depends on how much time I can sneak in online. Come to think of it, I may just go back to using the phone.

Welcome to my buh-log.