"Mental bearing, not skill, is the sign of a matured samurai"

It has started. And by 'IT' I mean the situation I thought I wouldn't have to deal with until junior high.

I'm talking about bullying.

We've had our first honest to goodness straight out of a scene from Mean Girls, bullying incident. And I'm already out of advice.

I'm also sorry, but not shocked that this bullying is happening so young. I expect it in high school and junior high. I'm not quite ready for it in fourth grade.

Fiona came home from school today upset that a girl stole her dessert at lunch. From what I understand, Fiona had her lunch in front of her, and was sitting sideways in her seat facing and chatting with the girl next to her, when The Girl seated across from her grabbed her little pack of Oreos.

When Fiona turned back to the table she began to look around her lunch table for her dessert and said 'Where's my snack?'She saw the already empty package in front of The Girl, and as they made eye contact and Fiona realized that was her snack, The Girl started to laugh.

And my girl, she got up and left.

She walked away. Like I've always preached, time and time again. "Just walk away." But has it been the right advice all this time? Ultimately, she should have walked away, but should she have stuck up for herself first? Maybe just made a small comment, a declaration that she would not be a victim of this girls mean-ness?

At the very least, if she was going to walk away as she did without a word, she should have done so with an attitude of "Whatever" and not have let The Girl's actions eat away at her all day, leaving her frustrated and upset.

My advice to her, as we talked after school, was that had she noticed it sooner, before or during The Girl eating the Oreos, she should have held out her hand and firmly said "Give me back my snack."

And if that didn't work, she should have gone to find the lunch mom. Because although, it is only a pack of oreos, stealing is stealing. And, in case The Girl was raised by immoral hooligans, I would like her to know that it is also wrong.

Fiona told me she couldn't say anything, The Girl would just laugh 'cause she does it to everybody.' She couldn't tell the lunch mom, because supposedly 'they don't do anything.' There were fourteen excuses why she couldn't stick up for herself. And one of them was that I always tell her not to be a tattletale.

I do say that. And she never listens.

I suggested that if Fiona asked for the oreos back, half eaten or not, and The Girl laughed, Fiona could've said something along the lines of 'I'm sorry your parents don't make enough money to buy you your own oreos.' But apparently, Fiona doesn't see the beauty that is a good comeback. I offered a few more, all of which were shot down.

I'm not proud to resort to playground trash talking. And I certainly don't want her to learn a finger snap and some 'yo, Mama' lingo. (Although I do have a few good ones she could use.) But, if the supervisor in charge is not approachable or helpful, and my child is left to handle this on her own,I want her to be able to stick up for herself.

It's not even about the cookies.

It's about tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

If today it's a package of cookies, who knows what it could be after that. I do know, that if Fiona goes on saying nothing, The Girl will go on taking.

I know I don't know a thing about The Girl, or her situation and her baggage. Because we all have it and who knows what is happening with her at home right now. But I do know a thing of two about My Girl, and she needs to find some confidence, real quick.

I hear her at home yelling, barking orders, being bossy to her siblings. I see her this way with neighborhood kids and cousins. She is a typical,take charge, likes to be the boss, first born. I hear her disrespect her father and I, when she can't have something she wants, with a door slam or a 'You're so mean.'

There is a voice there, this I know for sure.

Where was this voice when she needed it today?

As I type this, with this situation weighing heavily on my mind, I am sitting at Fiona's Tae Kwon Do class watching in awe as she breaks board after board with the strike of her hand or the snap of her foot. I see her form; stiff and controlled and strong. I hear her voice yell loudly as she makes contact time after time, sounding clear and firm, with a confidence that is so familiar when we are in this place. I watch her spar and back her opponent into a corner, I hear the snap of her kick as it hits their chest protector, her kick strong and landing dead center on her opponents chest protector. I see her stand right back up, quickly, ready to be challenged again, when it is her turn to be knocked down by a square kick to the heart.

This is why we are here. To find focus, confidence, and inner strength. To respect ourselves enough to know that even though we can fight, we won't. Because there is always a better way.

So why didn't she have the same courage she has tonight in this Dojang, today in the lunch room? Why didn't she use it to speak firmly and clearly and let The Girl know she would not be picked on?

Even if she doesn't want to carry on the tradition that is my snarky remark in situations such as this, why didn't she handle it the way she is being taught?

With confidence, with self-respect, and with courage.

Fiona disrespected herself today. She allowed herself to be taken advantage of and she let the person that did it make her feel badly about herself. She needs to remember that she is worth more than that.

I'm trying to teach her this. This non-tangible thing called 'the right thing.' And it is so hard. Especially, when I don't always know what is 'the right thing.'

Ultimately, the day is done, it's over. She's over it, and so I guess I am too. I just want it to be different next time.

Because there will definitely be a next time.

Wintertime Is Not My Favorite Time

I think that January and February are my least favorite months. It is always about this time of year, mid January, that I find myself with a bit of the wintertime blues.

The anticipation and excitement of the Holidays are over, the novelty of the New Year is wearing off, and Spring seems so very far away.

Valentines Day just doesn't seem to hold my interest like it once did, so the weeks leading up to it aren't exactly crossed off my calendar in red pen like they once were. But then again, I used to get flowers delivered to my office on Valentines Day. And then a nice dinner out in a restaurant where it didn't matter if the wait was an hour. Because having to wait for a table was Great! We can sit in the bar! And order an appetizer! And talk!

These days I find myself getting antsy if the drive thru line at McDonald's has more than four cars in it, because it means I will need to explain at least 32 extra times why they no longer have Polly Pocket toys. Even the recent Strawberry Shortcake offerings were not enough to erase the fond memories of a Polly Pocket Happy Meal.

And, on the occasion when we don't dine at a place with a drive thru, if the wait is longer than 20 minutes, we must think about leaving. Because 20 minutes gives each of my children exactly 5 minutes of their own to hold the your-table-is-ready-red-light-is-flashing-beeper-thingy. I think the adult word for it would be a pager?

And if the pager has not paged us in 20 minutes, look out. Because things tend to get a little heated. The pager gets grabbed and pulled and yanked around like a it's a hundred dollar bill, each kid hoping that during the time they have it in their hot little hands, it will go off. And they are not afraid to wrestle each other for it. Meanwhile, every other person in the waiting area is PRAYING TO THE GOOD LORD ABOVE that they do not end up seated near us.

I don't blame them a bit. I often end up wishing I didn't have to sit near us.

And what our lack of restaurant etiquette has to do with my wintertime blues, I have no idea.

Anyway.

I think I was really feeling the wintertime blues today, because while I was outside with the dogs it seemed that there were reminders everywhere that Spring was not even close to being around the corner. Which means that Summer is not even on the horizon. And I love summer.

I had my favorite winter boots on. I mean I love these boots, I just wish I didn't have at least twelve more weeks left to wear them.

They are cute though, don't ya think? A little cowboy-ish, but yet with a rubber sole and rounded toe that says, "Hey, I'm really a suburban mom who, while with no real reason to need cowboy boots, thinks that they pretty cool with my jeans."





And as much as I love my boots, I'd give them up in a minute for a good pedicure and some sand between my toes.

Then there's the grill. Were no grilling is taking place. We tried to grill some burgers a few weeks ago, and it was just too cold. The grill never really got hot enough. Which is actually why we ended up at a restaurant with the infamous pager system that causes me great amounts of stress, when we had a taste for steaks a few nights ago.




Not too far from the barbcue is the pool. Which is frozen solid. And obviously, covered with snow. And lately the only thing that has been stressing me out more than the questions about Polly Pockets is the question that will not die.

"Can we go ice skating on the pool?"

Ummmmm, NO. And the answer will still be NO Every.Single.Time.You.Ask.





And look at this poor, lonely, cold little playhouse. It sits outside in the freezing air and cold winds probably wondering where the little girl and her Polly Pockets are. It was below zero here yesterday, and no one even bothered to care enough to close the front door. Poor thing.




Inside, the cubbies are filled with vests and coats and scarves. Where bathing suits and baseball uniforms used to hang, there is enough down to fill a king size comforter.




Of course, another sign of wintertime indoors is the ever present bottle of the 'pink stuff' on the counter along with some form of cough syrup or cough suppressant or cough inducer. Whatever it may be, for the love of a good nights sleep, JUST MAKE THE COUGHING STOP.




And finally, the biggest sign of all that it's winter, it's cold and it's snowing with no end in sight? BOTH of our cars are in THE GARAGE. At the same time. Together.

Why does this make me sad? Well, for one, it means a lot more of the driveway is going to need shoveling.

But really, it means we're not playing outside. The garage is not strewn with bicycles and scooters and jump ropes that are supposed to get put away when the playing is done, but never do. The powerwheels are hung up high and the driveway hasn't seen a chalk painting in ages.




As much as I like having the garage picked up enough to have both cars in it, these wintertime blues really stink. I need some sun. I need some warm temperatures, and the smell of some fresh Springtime air.

Mostly, I need to snap out of this funk.

I need to quit moaning and groaning about winter, and the cold, and the snow. The snow doesn't even bother me that much. It's just this feeling I have that the greenness, the newness of Spring is taking forever to get here.

I need to be grateful for each day, each moment. Cold weather or not.

I probably need to go play with some Polly Pockets.

I'm Trying Something New Today, And Be Warned...It's Deep

A while back I had an email from the mommykelly and she had invited me to join a carnival she hosts on Fridays called Flaunt It Fridays.

I responded to her that I would check it out, and I did. And then I never did a Flaunt It Friday post. Because I was a little intimidated. In reading the mommykelly's blog, I realized that she doesn't just blog, she writes.

And me? Well, I think we all know that the effort I put forth on this blog daily probably wouldn't count as writing in fine literary circles.

Rambling? Yes. Writing? No.

(Did I just sound like Ross Gellar or what?)

(Great.)

Anyway, the point is, I just didn't feel like my rambling and pecking away at the old blawg was really something that would be appropriate for a Flaunt It Friday post.

Yet, here I am. I'll give it a try. If for no other reason than maybe I will finally be able to quit staring at the mommykelly's email in my inbox and thinking 'I really should either just do it, or delete it.'

So let's get to the heart of the matter. The challenge for this weeks Flaunt It Friday is to reflect on one special dream I have for 2008.

Could they make Diet Coke taste like regular Coke?

I really feel that is a valid dream. Especially for me. Think of all the calories I would save. Imagine how skinny I would be if Coke had no calories.

Okay. Seriously. A real dream for 2008.

A dream of mine for 2008 would be Simplicity. To live simply. To live without chaos and clutter. Both the kind in my home and the kind in my heart.

I feel like so much of my time is wasted searching for things.

Whether it is searching through my house for some obscure thing that I know I just saw somewhere, or searching through my heart for some peace within myself.

I am spending to much time searching, and not enough time doing.

(Now is a good time to run if all of my deep, italicized, thoughts are scaring you. See you next week.)

The peace, the calm? They do elude me. There just seems to be nothing simple about life right now. The simplicity in daily living is no where to be found near my home.

I don't mean simplicity as in hanging my clothes out to dry and baking my own bread. I mean something along the lines of 'A place for everything, and everything in its place.' I walk around my home feeling every day as though I am the maid. In order to keep everything picked up, orderly and clean, I must do it. I know this is one of my primary jobs as a stay at home mom, but still, I can't help but feel resentful sometimes. I often feel as though I am the only who cares enough, who respects our home enough, to try and keep it orderly. And when I drop the ball in this area, and K picks up the slack, I feel guilty, instead of grateful.

Wouldn't it be so much simpler if everyone cared? If everyone in my home was just as responsible for their things as I have to be? I know it would do wonders for the chaos I feel inside.

I don't always know where someones brown belt is. But I would guess it's right where they left it, and that it is probably NOT on the hook where it should be hanging. I can't keep track of two Tae Kwon Do Belts that look exactly the same. If they are not in the appropriate child's cubby, then I don't know where they are. But I would guess they made their way down to the basement to be used as some kind of tie up for either a 'robber' or a 'mean bull.'

Wouldn't it be simpler if the Tae Kwon Do belts just stayed in the cubbies where they belong, and our actual toys were used for playing?

Wouldn't life be simpler if we weren't rushing around at the last minute looking for some specific item that should be 'there' but isn't?

Yet, I feel alone in this daily struggle. And sometimes, I just don't care. I get tired of being the only one to care. (Mature, right?) It's sad, but true.

I've hung the hook for the belt, and I've designated a cubby for each child. But have I failed in the simple teaching of how to respect ones things? How to simply put something away when you are done with it?

This leads to me wanting to simplify things within my heart, too. It's like a big huge cycle that keeps going around and I cannot seem stop it. My heart is angry. And choatic. And unsure if it should just trudge along as the designated finder of all things within our four walls. If I weren't always resentful and crabby and overwhelmed about home keeping, would I be able to simply and freely give of myself to my family?

Would I be able to sit down and read the requested 6 stories at bedtime, instead of only 2? Would I have time to play more than one game of Sorry with my kids, instead of sitting there wishing the game would end because 'I have things to do.' Would I be able to sit and just 'be'?

I feel like if things were simpler I would.

But I don't know. Maybe this is just how life is with 4 kids and a dog and activities and friends. I have never lived in a house with this many people before.

I don't regret it. I just don't understand it.

My heart tells me to just enjoy them, raise them, be with them while they are young. But my senses get overwhelmed at the chaos around me. My senses long for simplicity.

And yet, despite this struggle between the need for simplicity in my life, and the ongoing chaos that surrounds me, I know that I simply don't want to miss a minute.

A New Year's Eve Reflection

2007. It was a good year. But I don't ever really think of any year as bad. Each year that I'm alive and happy has got to be considered good, right? Of course, every year has it share of hurts and disappointments. There are years that bring more hurt than others. The death of a grandparent, a loved one, a friend. Financial struggles, marriage struggles, questions about parenting abilities; these all ebb and flow over the course of the years for me, but not one year stands out as marked forever by one event.

Of course I look back and remember things about myself from years past that I am ashamed of. Things that disgust me and fill me with shame and regret. Memories of horrible things I have done that I will never shake and still regret to this day. I wish I could be someone who could say they have lived a life of no regrets, but for me, it seems as though every time I open my mouth I have a 50/50 chance of saying something I will regret, eventually. I have not yet mastered the art of thinking before I speak, even though I have been conscious of the fact that indeed I have been afflicted with stick-your-foot-in-your-mouth disease for at least 25 years.

I have many regrets, but it is who I am. I have one though, that for whatever reason, has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. And in the big picture of areas of my life in which I have really screwed up, it is probably the one that caused me the least amount of repercussions, yet the one that still fills my heart with hurt and regret some 22 year later.

I was a sixth or seventh grader, I can't remember exactly, but no matter the age, I was definitely a brat. I rode the bus to and from school every day and after school walked to my Grandma's house where I stayed and had dinner until my mom came home from work. My Grandma's house was always warm and cozy with a homemade dinner and fresh baked goods in the oven or in the cookie jar. My Grandma took care of my young cousins while their parents worked and somehow, her house was clean, her laundry done. She sewed, she knitted, she wrote letters, she hung laundry out on the clothesline, she cooked and canned and baked and she ironed. Oh boy, did Grandma love to iron. She ironed everything including her sheets. A tradition I tried to valiantly carry on myself, because boy are freshly ironed, crisp sheets, amazing to climb into bed with.

However after 1 child, I realized that I was not my Grandma and something had to give. And sheet ironing was the first to go. Followed closely by sewing, knitting, canning and writing letters. Oh, and growing my own vegetables.

Honestly, I don't know how she, or any woman of her generation, did it. They were amazing home keepers and yet I, with all the modern conveniences available to me, can't seem to get it together. I digress. My Grandma's home was warm and inviting, and I was glad to go there everyday after school, to have someone waiting for me.

One day, my grandma had my young cousin in his stroller and she was waiting for me at the bus stop. I don't know if they had been out on a walk, or if they had come outside with the specific purpose of meeting me. In any case, they were at my bus stop waiting for me. And me? I was embarrassed. Embarrassed of the old lady with the stroller who came to meet me like I was a five year old. I walked right past them like I was not the person they were looking for. Walked. Right. Past. Them. So the kids on the bus wouldn't know it was me that the Grandma came to meet at the bus. Apparently, I was too cool to be met at the bus stop by my Grandma.

And Grandma? She was hurt. And instead of apologizing, doing the right thing, saying that I was a stupid kid who was worried about what the kids on the bus thought, I yelled at her. For embarrassing me. For treating me like a child. I may have even said that I "didn't see her."

And I'm so sorry. This one event, this one hurt I caused this amazing woman who raised me, who loved me, who was always there for me, leaves an ache in my heart that I don't think will ever go away. How do you apologize to someone for ignoring them? For walking right past them like you didn't see them? For not acknowledging them and their existence? I don't know. Because I don't think I ever did apologize. I was a brat and when I was right, I was right. She was the one that was wrong for embarrassing me.

Y'all, I can't even say how much, 10 years after my Grandma's death, this one event still weighs heavily on my heart. Maybe it's because I'm the mom now. I'm the one waiting at the bus stop. And I know how hurt I would be if one of my three bus riders walked right past me. Like I didn't even matter.

And yet, my point with this story is that even though I remember that year by that one event, I know it was not a bad year. I know the next day I bounded into my Grandma's house after school to cookies and a glass of milk, the radio playing, and the dinner on the stove. I know my Grandma loved me and I loved her. I know that year I won a Battle of the Books championship and my Grandma was cheering me on. I know I had a fantastic softball season with my Grandma in the stands. I know I went on a trip to Alaska and saw things I probably will never see again. So while I am probably forever haunted by that one bad memory, I don't think of any year as a bad year. Any year, or day, or minute even, is a gift from God. And I don't take any of it for granted. How can any moment you are alive on this Earth, surrounded by friends, family and love, be bad?

So I want to record a few random happenings from this year, because even though I know there were many fights, arguments, disappointments, bad test grades, piles of laundry, un-ironed sheets and daily struggles, we are still here. Together. In a house with the heat on, the Christmas Tree glowing, non-homegrown vegetables in the fridge and more luxuries than we need. It was a good year.

2007 was a lot of things. It was the year we didn't win the lottery, the year we didn't get a new car, and the year we didn't come one step closer to our dream home.

And yet, oddly enough, my memories of this year of good.

2007 is the year I stopped buying diapers after almost 10 years. Pampers stock will surely plummet.

2007 is the year an acquaintance turned into a good friend. And I love her.

In 2007 we went on a wonderful family vacation. We enjoyed the sun, sand and sea and still smile about this trip whenever we talk about it.

2007 is the year K re-purchased his beloved Blackhawks season tickets. And yet, still no dream house.

In 2007 I was able to leave the house with no diaper bag, no snacks or sippy cups, and no extra changes of clothes. I have children that can put their shoes and coats on by themselves and we are finally able to make plans without worrying about nap time.

2007 is also the first year I have a child that WILL NOT TAKE A NAP. So it would go without saying that in 2007, my naps have been considerably less frequent.

In 2007 we were healthy. I am healthy, my husband is healthy, and my children made it through the year with no major illnesses or injuries. My son had a successful ear surgery and I think we only made 3 visits to the Urgent Care all year for various kids related emergencies.

2007 is the year of the summer that Choppy won her first 1st place ribbon in swimming.

2007 is also the year that Taco began playing hockey. And he loves it.

In 2007, we have had no deaths in our family. We have grandparents and great-grandparents still with us. And we are better for it.

In the summer of 2007 we caught more frogs than ever before at the cottage. There was a frog population explosion in Wisconsin this year and our buckets were ready.

In 2007 I was lucky enough to go on a girls only getaway to Galena with some good friends. And I had a wonderful time.

2007 will always be the year I started blogging.

2007 is also the year that I have really fallen away from the Church.

But yet, 2007 is the year where I have prayed more than ever before.

2007 found me as disorganized as ever.

And 2007 is the year where, again, I tried to get my act together.

In 2007 Fiona and Choppy have flourished in Tae Kwon Do. Breaking boards now not only with their feet, but their hands too. It amazes me. And they both swear it doesn't hurt. Which I don't understand at all, but love to watch them practice their art of focus and discipline and skill.

In 2007 we were able to see family from all over the country, and all over the world.

2007 will be the year I remember for the best vacation I ever took with K, to Hawaii.

2007 brought me success in the weight loss department, and also failure as I fell off the proverbial "wagon."

In 2007 I stopped drinking Coke for the first time in my life. And I felt great.

I also started drinking Coke again in 2007.

In 2007 I hugged and kissed my children everyday.

And, in 2007, I said "I love you" every single day, and meant it every time.

In 2007 there was good and there was bad. There have been good times, laughter, and fun, but there have also been struggles and worry and tears. And when you put them all together, they make up a life. And a good one it is.

Happy New Year!

Unlike Ebony and Ivory, they do not live together in perfect harmony

I had a weird dream. It was about my 9 year old daughter, Fiona. I dreamed she kissed a boy.

This dream woke me up and I sat straight up in my bed. It was vivid and in color and looked as if I were watching it on TV. And it freaked me out.

The kiss was just a simple little peck, and she looked to be a teenager in this dream, but still I was not prepared to see this. She is 9. She should still be 9 in my dreams. And she should not be pecking anybody. Even this very cute, tall, blond boy in the dream. She should be running through a field in a long, white sundress, carrying a basket and picking daisies to bring home to her mama. She should be a little girl. She is growing up too fast.

This dream got me thinking. About both of my older daughters, and how different they are.

Why was the dream that involved kissing a boy about Fiona? Why not Choppy? Do I stereotype and compare my daughters even in my dreams? I'm sure I don't. I'm sure it was completely random, a dream, for pete's sakes.

But this strange dream of mine has called to mind all of the differences in my girls. Two girls who have been raised in the same home, with the same parents, with the same discipline, the same rules and privileges. Yet they are so very different. It amazes me how different two girls, just one year apart in age, who share the same DNA, can be.

Choppy is generous and giving and thoughtful. Fiona is selfish and always looking out for herself. She will always decide if and how something will benefit her, before agreeing to do it.

Choppy is slow and deliberate. Fiona flies by the seat of her pants.

Choppy spends time in the bathroom in the evening and the morning. She cares how she looks, and she spends time taking care of herself. Fiona has to still be reminded to brush her teeth and her hair before she walks out the door.

Choppy studies and reads and is a responsible student. She gets good grades, because she works hard for them. Fiona gets good grades, straight A's, and I have no idea how. She hates homework, rushes through everything just to get done and has a backpack loaded with crinkled up paper, late library books, an iPod and crumbs. Lots and lots of crumbs. Choppy's pristine backpack looks like it did the day we bought it and no paper is out of place.

Choppy will plan ahead, bringing home a book that she may or may not need to work on a study guide and she faithfully practices her spelling words every night in preparation for the weekly test on Friday. Fiona has a book report due this Friday, that she has known about for a month, on a book she has not even finished reading yet, and she informed me this morning that she is not even sure where the book is. She is going to check the library at school to see if she already returned it. Because that would make a lot of sense since she ISN'T EVEN FINISHED READING IT YET.

Choppy picks out her own clothes, and dresses everyday. She matches from the headband all the way down to the shoes. She is always all dressed up to go nowhere. I am still picking out Fiona's clothes for her. When I ask her what she would like to wear, she always says "I don't care. Whatever you want." And on the weekends in the winter, if we are not going anywhere, Fiona will put her pajamas on Friday night, and they will not come off until Monday morning. This drives Choppy crazy. She is dressed and accessorized as soon as she is up. Fiona takes the term 'jammy day' to a whole new level.

Choppy makes her bed every single day. Without fail. Her room is always perfect. Fiona's room? The term war zone comes to mind. Things that go in there, never come out again. Like library books.

Fiona has loads of friends. She knows everybody and everybody knows her. She gets phone calls, goes to sleepovers and gets invited to all the parties. She has notes and silly doodles galore in her backpack. She is outgoing and funny. Choppy is quiet and reserved. She is funny in a different way. She has a harder time in the friend department. She has two good friends that she just made this year, and I hope they will be around for a while. Last year, she never really found that one friend that she clicked with, and I hurt for her. While Fiona's social calendar is often full, Choppy is usually home.

Fiona will tell me anything I ask about school, boys, friends, troubles. Trying to get Choppy to share her thoughts is a little more difficult.

Choppy internalizes everything. Fiona deals with things by screaming at anyone and everyone.

Choppy will admit when she is wrong and apologize. Fiona will blame others . For everything. Nothing is ever her fault.

Choppy has her coat on with her matching hat, mittens and scarf and is ready to go 10 minutes early every morning. Fiona is still loading her backpack, can't find her gloves, doesn't remember where she took her shoes off and still has to brush her teeth as the bus is coming down our street.

Fiona can stay up late and get up early. She is very easy going and up for new adventures. She travels well as she is very adaptable and can still function on little sleep. Choppy does not do so well when her schedule is broken. She needs her 11 hours every night. Choppy likes to know ahead of time who, what, where, when and why.

Fiona is a bossy, take charge, first born, who demands no real extra attention from us. Choppy is a soft spoken follower, she is needy and can be clingy and when this happens, we know she is needing a little extra attention.

Choppy eats healthy, fruits and vegetables. She counts soup and green beans as her favorite foods. If we have McDonald's for dinner, she will make herself a turkey sandwich. Fiona could live on oreos and coke. She eats too much junk food, no fruits or vegetables and hates to try anything new. Unless it's a new type of cookie.

Night and day these two girls of mine. I don't even think I've scratched the surface on their differences. And yet when I see these differences in print, it makes me a sad.

They fight, they argue, they bicker. They play together, but enjoy doing their own thing as well. They would not have a lot in common had they been born into different families and had a random meeting. I don't even think they would be friends. One puts more effort into their relationship than the other does. The other takes the one for granted.

As much as Fiona is selfish, disorganized, a scatterbrain and an all around mess, things come so much easier for her. She always lands on her feet. Nothing ever bothers her, she is so good at just letting things roll of her back.

Things are not as easy for my Choppy. And that hurts. She is so good, so honest and so genuine. She is one of those people you meet in life who you think is a truly good person. She is kind to people with disabilities, understanding of peoples differences and takes the time to get on her knees to talk to a three year old. She has never said an unkind word about anyone. She is a good friend, when she makes a friend. But she can be very judgemental, people do not always measure up to her high standards, so making friends is a little harder for her.

And so back to the dream, why would I dream that it was Fiona kissing the boy? Why not, Choppy? Is it because I think Fiona will be interested in boys and have a boyfriend first? is it because I view Fiona as the more popular of the two and therefore think she would be the first to be out with a boy and possibly kiss him? Is it because I picture Choppy home on the weekends, reading in her room? Do I have her labeled as the 'good girl' to Fiona's 'bad girl'? I don't know. And I feel bad. As an only child, this whole sibling thing is new to me. It confuses me and has me constantly second guessing how I parent the kids. Do I parent them all the same, across the board? Or do I tailor my parenting to their individuality? I try to do that, but is that destining them to be come what I shape them to be, rather than who they truly are?

Am I the same kind of mom to both of these girls? Am I giving each of them what they truly need, or what I think they need? Have I categorized and labeled them prematurely and worse yet, incorrectly? Am I parenting them according to how I see them, rather than how they actually are?

It was, after all, just a dream. But it really got me thinking.

I wish I had something, anything funny or witty to say, but sadly, I'm all out of funny and witty right now.

I have a lot on my mind this week. And as I sit here to type this, I'm not sure I'm ready to write out all the details. It's not that it's a big secret, or that I don't want anyone who reads my blog to know...it's more the fact that if I actually type it out, see it in print, it will seem real.

And I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.

So, that which I am not ready to see in print yet, has been weighing heavily on my mind for a while now. I have ignored it, and tried to hope it away. I have forgotten about it from time to time. I have even resigned myself to it. But no matter what I do, I just cannot stop worrying about it.

I realize I'm not making a lot of sense here. But really, I just have some feelings that need to come out, so I can sleep. I haven't been doing much of that these past few days. And I'm tired.

And like I mostly do when I need something, I pray. Selfish, I know. But, I am human.
So I have dusted off my bible this week and re-read some bible versus that I have not read since I was in high school taking Mr. Schneider's religion class.

And my favorite is still As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord (Joshua 24:15). I try to live by this. I try to raise my kids by this. My husband and I try and be models of this to our children. For me, it just makes sense. And, I think I've done a pretty fair job. I could do better, I could be better. Of course. There is always room for kinder words, gentler actions, selfless gestures, quicker forgiveness. But I try. And that should count for something, right?

However, with the great fear of that which I am not ready to see in print yet, following me around this week, I find myself questioning everything I believe. My favorite bible verse does not bring comfort to me. It brings resentment. It makes me feel like screaming "I HAVE. CAN'T YOU SEE I HAVE TRIED? I'M DOING MY BEST LORD, AND THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO SHOW FOR IT?"

It leaves me with the feeling of 'why is this happening to me?' Why? Could this really be happening to me? That is the million dollar question. And I don't have an answer for it. I hope and I pray that by the end of the week, this problem, this great fear of that which I am not ready to see in print yet, will be resolved and all of my worry will have been for nothing. Then, I can write freely. I can laugh at the time I've wasted worrying about something that was 'nothing.' I can get back to my life. Because right now, I'm a bit paralyzed. Fear, anger, sadness and worry have taken over my heart and my favorite bible verse does not bring me the comfort I am looking for.

I feel guilty for this. Am I really a person of so little faith? I did not think I was. And, if I am, well it's no wonder that the Lord saw it fitting to deal this great fear of that which I am not ready to see in print yet, to me. But, I've never before had any experience with this great fear of that which I am not ready to see in print yet. But now I kinda do, and my faith jumped out the window about 17 seconds in. I am all for prayer. I remember others in prayers, I pray over my children while they are sleeping. I've had prayers answered. I just don't want to be the one depending on the prayers to get me through this.

Am I still a believer, even if I'm not sure I believe right now?

Because this thing, this great fear of that which I am not ready to see in print yet, it scares the crap out of me. And all those phrases about God and Him not giving you more than you can bear, or the one about If God brings you to it, He will see you through it, those are great as the signature on someone else's email account, but I'd prefer not to have to put all my eggs in that basket. I don't want to worry about having to bear anything. I just want to happily go about my little existence here in suburbia where the biggest problem I have to worry about is did I remember it was silly sock day in Kindergarten?

And as I type all this, and bless you if you're still reading since I won't even tell you what you're reading about, is that while I question my belief and my faith, and ask God "Why Me?" the tiny thought of "Well, why not me?" keeps creeping into my head.

And I don't like how it sounds.

Hopefully, tomorrow will bring some good news.

I Need You Internets To Tell Me Something Please

Why is it that the second I sit down in front of the computer or I get on the phone, one, two or all four of my children need something RIGHNOWTHISVERYSECOND?

I just don't get it.

I am here for my kids. I am an available, involved type of mom.

I am also the type of mom who cannot make it through a phone conversation without having to fill a sippy cup, wipe a butt, dress a Polly, or shoo someone out of the snacks.

I am beginning to wonder if I am not giving my kids enough attention. Or do they get so much attention that they cannot handle it when I am not devoting my time to them?

My husband and mother would vote for the latter.

But I've always believed kids can never have too much attention. When I was a new mom, my mother would say to me 'Put that baby down, you're going to spoil her. She'll never learn to sleep when she's not being held.' And like most things that involve my mother, I felt completely the opposite. Is it really possible to hold a baby too much?

As my kids have grown, I've spent many days playing dollhouse or Barbies or building Geotrax, when perhaps I should have been cleaning or doing laundry. My husband will come home from work and ask 'What did you do all day?' Ummm, let's see...I nurtured another human life??? How's that for spending my time wisely, buddy?

My mother will visit and is always quick to point out the things I could be accomplishing if I wasn't 'playing'.

And she's probably right. But I just don't agree. I cannot remember one single time during my childhood when my mom sat down and played with me. And I really mean that, not one time.

Okay...now I've just reread what I've written and this post is turning out to be a lot more serious than I intended. I was merely just planning on complaining about my children who are not happy unless they have my full, undivided attention.

But that would be quick and to the point. And there is nothing about me that is quick and to the point. My indecisiveness is a topic for another day, though.

What I am wondering is...how do I find a balance? How do I spend time doing the things I need and want to do with them? Things like playing a game, going to the park, reading stories? How do I balance those needs with the needs of running my home? The cleaning, the cooking, the laundry. I am having some trouble. I can do one or the other, but not both.

Does anyone have any advice for me on how to spend time with the kids, be an involved mother, but also be the mother who does not have to stay up untill 1am catching up on all the days chores because she was at the park playing most of the day? I can't seem to find the balance here.

And it is really wearing me out.

The Story Behind The Story

Why Take 90 West?


What exactly does it mean?

When I was first contemplating starting a blog, I would read other blogs and always admire their catchy titles, their play on words or their use of a meaningful bible verse. The more titles I read for inspiration, the bigger blank I drew when it came to naming my own blog.


And then one day, I was driving on the expressway to my home, and it hit me. Take 90 West.



Because I do. Because I did.



I90 is an expressway here in Chicago. In a city that names its expressways after dead people, I90 is pretty major. Closer to downtown, and when you live out in the suburbs you always refer to Chicago as downtown, I90 is known as the Kennedy. Among the other 'named' expressways around here are the Eisenhower, or the Ike, the Stevenson, the Dan Ryan and a few others around town all with equally interesting names. I know...it's weird. Especially the one called the Bishop Ford. Who's he? Is there really a famous Bishop by that name? I've always wondered that. So yeah, basically "Take the Ike east and then south on the Ryan to the Skyway" would be considered actual directions here in Chicago. Anyone not used to driving around here looks at you like you are speaking some form of C-R-A-Z-Y. It wasn't until I actually moved away from Chicago that I realized people actually called roads by their numbers, I10, I75...how original, I thought.

When I was growing up in my small Chicago community off the Eisenhower, we never traveled west. It was the suburbs; full of cornfields and neighborhoods without alleys and it was a place the El didn't run.

Then, when I was about 11, my mom, a single, working mother, decided that we needed to get out of the city and head west to the suburbs. The suburbs had better schools, bigger houses, and wide open spaces. So we loaded up our truck and we moved to Beverly. Hills, that is.

No, no, no. But you get the idea. We sold the house, and moved to the suburbs. And lo and behold...we had a garage attached to our actual house. It was like arriving in the land of OZ.

And as the suburbs of Chicago go, DuPage County is a great place to grow up. You know, your typical place to find privileged, spoiled, know it all, private school attending, teenagers. All in all, not a bad gig if you can get it.

I left for college and spent some years in the south. I stayed in the south for a while, worked various jobs, spent a lot of time on the beach, got married, spent more time on the beach, travelled around the Caribbean as much as possible, and basically just lived for each day, no plans, no schedule, no worries.

Then, we decided to grow up. My husband and I took a trip up North to visit family and friends and we both agreed how much we missed Chicago. It felt like home. So, in 1997, we packed up, left the sand at the beach and came home.


We settled in a trendy, urban, upscale community. We got real jobs, bought nice cars and left our beach wandering lifestyle far behind. We rented an apartment, got a dog, and spent Saturday mornings buying organic fruits and vegetables at the local farmers market. We decorated with cream slipcovers and fresh flowers, and we went out to eat where ever we pleased. It did not matter to us what kind of macaroni and cheese a restaurant served. Our throw pillows stayed on the couch, we slept late, spent Sundays watching football, and we saw a movie every week. We watched the TV shows we wanted too, we visited friends and family and there was not a chicken nugget to be found in our freezer.

And then, we got pregnant.

And we were thrilled. We were excited and scared and happy and nervous all at the same time. We traded in our 1 bedroom apartment for 2, we put a car seat in the back of our import and we spent our weekends roaming through the aisles of Babies*R*Us like kids in a candy store.

Life was changing.

By 1999 we had had 2 beautiful little girls, 16 months apart, I had quit my job, we had bought a small, 100 year old bungalow in a beautiful community that we were going to happily spend our time 'rehabbing' and our kids could have been the cover girls for a 'Growing Up Urban' magazine. We went to museums, parks, the lakefront. We dined out, sent the kids to the 'best' preschool and pondered why anyone in their right minds would ever live out in the suburbs.

About the time we were convinced we would be city dwellers 'till the end of time, real estate prices in our community skyrocketed, the housing market was booming, and in our neighborhood the demand for homes was greater than the supply. If we were to sell our little bungalow, our first home, we would double our money. In just 5 years. Double!


It was an amazing opportunity. The only downside being, the bigger home that we dreamed of owning, was not going to be possible for us to afford on one income in our existing community. Our homes value was not the only one that had skyrocketed.


So began the debate of selling and moving to the *gasp* suburbs. We thought, we pondered, we contemplated, we argued, we made lists, we flipped a coin, we debated, we even played rock, paper, scissors. We just could not decide. Was the grass greener in the land of subdivisions and strip malls?


On top of that, after 3 years of being a family of 4, we were about to become 5. And suddenly, it was a no brainer. Our small bungalow did not have enough room for 5. We barely had enough room for 4. And with two, soon to be three small children, our time spent 'rehabbing' the old money pit was increasingly scarce. We suddenly wanted bigger, better and newer. We would forgo the culture and the public transportation for a laundry room on the main level and lights that didn't dim when the dishwasher started running. Instead of taking the green line to work, my husband would take the Metra. Change...it was in the air.



So we took the plunge, sold our first home, and bought a house in the 'burbs. Even farther West than DuPage County. *huge gasp*



We hopped on I90 and drove West. To a place I never thought I would end up.


Yet, here we are...with the attached garage, the 5 bedrooms, never ending laundry, 4 kids, and a dog. There is not a skyline view to be found from our neighborhood, but soccer games, swim meets and candle parties abound.


And you know what? I was wrong about the suburbs.


Life is good out here.

Bear With Me...My Thoughts, They Are A Pourin' Out

My friend Mary, at Not Before 7, (because really, why would anyone get up before 7 if they didn't have to?) posted this about creating a home sanctuary. Her post then led me to Rachel Anne, whose blog is in fact called, Home Sanctuary.



Funny how all this blogging business works.



Well, let me tell you a few things first, before I get to my thoughts. I am a fairly religious person. I occasionally wear a cross around my neck and I make it to church on most Sundays. And I say 'most' because I am not a fan of getting up before 7, as I've already mentioned. I would just be lying to you all if I said I was there every single Sunday morning. I was raised Catholic, and attended Catholic schools. I have had my children baptized and send them to Religious Ed. classes. I attend a Mothers at the Well group, which I really enjoy.



I pray daily and attend weekday masses when I have a free morning. My husband and I have sat together many times and asked the Lord to lead the way for us. I encourage my children to pray by asking them if they've talked with God lately and I read children's stories to my kids based on bible stories.



That all being said, we do not pray before meals, nor do we sit as a family and pray. There's nothing wrong with either, and we've got friends and family that do, we just don't. Never started the habit, I suppose. I am not a what you might call a fanatic, I do not read my bible every single day, and I think I can only quote about 4 bible verses from memory. BUT, I do believe, and I am happy with the relationship I have with God. For me, going to church is a great source of comfort. It is about traditions and routines and it seems to be the one place in our world that hardly changes. Sitting through a mass today was almost exactly the same as sitting though a mass when I was a young Catholic schoolgirl. And that is what is comforting for me. Change rattles me.

My faith has been tested and I have been angry with God on more than one occasion. But, God has also come through for me plenty of times, and one time, in a really big way. When I needed a prayer answered, the most important prayer of my life, He came through. And so, even when I am angry or have doubts, I still believe. Because I have seen His work, first hand. My son is alive today because my prayers were answered.



Okay...that sounded bad, and it was, but that's another post. He's fine now!



So anyway, now you know just a bit about my faith and the role it plays in my life, so I can now tell you just how awesome it was to read Mary and Rachel Anne's post on creating the sanctuary that is our home. Seriously...I had like an AHA moment, as Oprah would say.



I was reading this at Rachel Anne's and near the end of the post she talks about trying to apply lessons from the first sanctuary, Eden, to our modern day home sanctuary. And then it hit me. This is what I'm trying to do. This is what I struggle with day in and day out. Creating a place that feels, smells, and looks good, a place that brings a sense of peace to all who walk in. Sure my home looks fine, it looks good actually, and it doesn't smell bad, I think. But it doesn't have the peace that I want it to have. There is too much clutter and chaos. My house looks clean and organized to most anyone who enters. And for the most part it is, but when I say there is clutter and chaos, I mean not only in my home, piled into corners unseen, but also in my heart. And this is not the vision I have for my home.



In Mary's post on the home sanctuary, she talked about creating a sense of belonging in our homes for our children. Oh, how I've found myself many a time wishing they would "just go back to school." It's true, sometimes Monday morning just cannot come fast enough. But if there was more peace, and a lot more order in this home, I doubt I would feel that way. I feel as though as soon as they all walk through the door at 3:50 in the afternoon, chaos explodes and I just want to hide.



My kids need me front and center, and to let them know this is their home, their haven where they can find structure, discipline, laughter, and unconditional love. A place where they can find the sameness and routine that I crave and can only find in Church. Establishing this foundation now will remind them down the road, that they belong to a family that loves them very much, cherishes them, and values them as individuals. By doing this now, hopefully it will eliminate the need for them to reach out to the 'wrong' crowd to find a place to belong. Thank you Mary, for reminding me of this. I knew it all along, I was just too busy and overwhelmed, and had gotten away from taking time to really cherish my children.



I always said I wanted my children to feel at our home as I did not feel at my home as a child. Welcomed, wanted, and cherished. I try, and I really think I do the best I can. I think I have good kids, so I must be succeeding, even a little bit. But I can do better. And I will. This sense of belonging, love and faith, will happen if I work on our home sanctuary.

K and the 3 older kids are taking a road trip with some of K's family, it's very last minute, but they are heading to Cincinnati, Ohio to, hopefully, see the Cubs win their division and clinch a playoff spot. I would've loved to have gone, but Gracie, at 3 she can barely sit through a children's movie in the theatre, so I think that 2 days of baseball games with her would just put me over the edge. And that would not be fair to her, for me to be aggravated and short with her when we were the ones that put her in a situation we knew she was too young to handle. So Gracie and I are home alone this weekend. We have no plans, Gracie is still recovering from her recent trip to Urgent Care, which I had mentioned on Wednesday. She got bit by a dog, our beloved family pet to be honest, and we are still reeling. She is going to be fine. Maybe I'll post some more on that this weekend, I believe I was speaking of creating my own home sanctuary, but if you've ever read a post or two on this blog before, you'll know I tend to get sidetracked very easily.



Sorry for that. Thanks for sticking with me. There is a point coming, I promise.



And that point would be, that I am not doing as well as I want to be in creating this sanctuary for my family. And I'm not talking about a trip to Pottery Barn here, I'm talking about bringing some calm to my home.



This weekend, I am going to make some time to tidy up the loose ends around here that are driving me crazy, and also take some time to write down what type of routine we all could follow so that the chaos and messes stop wreaking their havoc on our home.



And, when my family returns Sunday night, we will start fresh. I will be hopefully be more relaxed, calmer and ready to 'loosen' up and just enjoy our space.



After having read and been inspired by Mary and Rachel Anne, I was reminded about what is important; peace, beauty and order in my home and my relationships. What is not important is perfect decorating, countless hours spent running around outside the home and a frazzled, short tempered mother who snaps at children, not because of the children, but because she is over extended.



Yes, Market Day will carry on with out me I'm sure, I have more important things to do.



Maya Angelou once said something to the effect of "when you knew better, you did better."



This week, Rachel Anne and Mary have reminded me of things I've always know, but had just lost in the shuffle of everyday life, causing my vision of my own home sanctuary to get sidetracked. I posted a while back on building a cathedral within the walls of my home, and I've realized that in doing that, I've become a bit bitter. The thankless job of being a stay at home mom has taken it's toll. But I've been reminded that it is what I make it to be.





Thanks for the reminder.





And thanks for sticking with me through this long post. I expect that my rambling, sarcastic self will return next week with all the mediocre blogging you can handle.



Enjoy this beautiful weekend, and your families.

Building My Own Cathedral

I'm invisible. Or am I?

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

Obviously not.

No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?"

I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?"

I'm a car service to order a pickup from, "Right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going, she's going, she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell the peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:

"To My Friend, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work.
No one can say who built the great cathedrals -we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."

And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride, always needing to be the martyr.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my daughter to tell the friend she's bringing home for dinner "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a roast for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want her to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to her friend, to add, "You're gonna love dinner at my house."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been.




Frivoulous ramblings to return next week.