Flooding, Family and Faith

The title words pretty much sum up the past few weeks around here. I worried and cried about a repeat flood of 1997, family and friends told me to have faith in our dikes, the families of our four siblings in the Fargo/Moorhead area sandbagged and sandbagged and came through this first crest pretty much intact, Dave's sister Roberta and three of her kids stayed with us for a week while her husband and two oldest sandbagged even more, and eight of us piled into the suburban and supported Lucy as she met with the priest and completed the sacrament of first reconciliation.

There were a few other happenings too - the girls performed some dances at Artwise, we caved in and bought a Wii, John got pnemonia, Sophie joined me and Nancy Devine on a trip to Washington D.C. to lobby for the National Writing Project, I laughed so hard I peed my pants at Nancy's escapades with a D.C. Newfoundland , John's godfather, Jeff, cooked some terrific steaks for us and took us to Mt. Vernon, Sophie read two books in one day while we traveled home, Roberta helped Lucy organize her bedroom and closet (Yeah!), John got better and better with the latest round of antibiotics even as Dave got sick, we got to see Carmyn's newly remodeled and redecorated apartment and I learned how to make crosses out of palms.

Everyone is in bed - Dave still with a fever - I've finished a blog entry for the first time in a while and now I'm going to finish reading my latest book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Good night everyone!

The New and Improved Dungeon

It's clean, it's painted, it's organized... it's the dungeon! Over the past week I have smiled every single time I walk by it - and I keep smiling when I actually spend time on the treadmill or use the newly purchased exercise ball.

Toothless Wonder

Since losing his first tooth a few weeks ago John has lost three more. He hung onto two of them for the duration of our trip to Arizona but decided to pull them both out the night before last. Here he is - without his four front teeth.

They're growing up

Seven-year-old John recently lost his first tooth. Overall it was a pretty non-traumatic event as he figured out he had a loose tooth one Saturday morning, he spent all day wiggling it, and by bedtime, it was out and the tooth fairy was on her way.

It went by so fast – I didn’t have time to prepare for it. With Lucy a tooth can be loose for months before she’ll get up the courage to pull it out – and even then it’s with lots of drama and by the time it’s out she’s lost a tooth and I’ve lost my patience. Sophie is pretty nonchalant now but when she was younger we had to coach her through it. With her first one she let Dave take the pliers to it but after that she wanted to do it all on her own.

Over the last twelve years there have been lots of firsts, seconds and thirds. And usually I’m fine with it all – I was excited for Sophie’s first steps, Lucy’s first words, and John’s first bed. I was happy to send Sophie off for her first day of Kindergarten, then Lucy and then John – there weren’t any tears shed by me for any of the kids. But this first tooth thing took me by surprise – after the tooth fairy had put the $1 bill under the glass that held the tooth, I shed a little tear.

Maybe it’s because Dave was out of town, maybe it’s because I was starting to get sick, or maybe it was because the kids had all been sick and I was tired – but actually I don’t think it was for any of those reasons. I think it had everything to do with the fact our kids are getting older and there won’t be any more losing of the first tooth at our house. We’re done – we’ve passed that milestone and we won’t see it again – until grandchildren start losing teeth.

The thing is, I wonder why this hit me so hard when other major events haven’t. Is it that our life has finally slowed down enough that there are times during the day when I actually have time to drink my coffee and just think? I have to admit that having three kids and one miscarriage in four years meant there was a whole lot of blurring of our days and nights but I must have still had some time to think and process, right?!!?

I don’t know the answer but I do know it hit me hard that all our kids are growing up – by July Sophie will be able to babysit, Lucy will hit double-digits on her next birthday, and John will be in second grade. The grade I used to teach and when I was teaching I certainly never thought of those second-graders as little ones.

My plan on coping with all this: sit back, grab a cup of coffee and give a kid a hug every chance I get. Oh, and I guess there might be a tear or two shed along the way.

Checking on Dakota

I've been thinking about Dakota...and missing her. So this morning I called the kennel to see how she was doing. I didn't get the owners but I got another person who knows Dakota and she reassured me Dakota was doing fine and that she was sure she missed us.

With the phone disconnected but still in my hand I looked over to Dave and said, "I don't know what I really expected - I mean it's not like they'd let me talk to her or anything."

The strange thing is this - a year ago I never would have dreamed I'd call from vacation to check up on our dog. I don't think I ever did that with Dasher, (our "before kids" dog who we treated like a baby and slept with us every night) but then again Dasher usually stayed with family while we went on vacations. I think she only stayed in a kennel once in twelve years.

This dog has touched me in a way I didn't think I'd feel about an animal again. I love her smell, her soft paws, the way she licks my toes, and how she sleeps diagonally on her back with her legs all sprawled out. I miss her.

We'll all be happy to see her Sunday morning - and I think she'll be happy to see us too.

Heights

I'm a bit afraid of heights. Perhaps it's because I grew up in North Dakota where the spring ritual for our track team was to run two miles just to find a small incline on which to run "hills." And then, even that hill was not much more than a dip in the gravel road. Or maybe it's because I have some distant childhood memory of traveling in a Winnebago and making our way around windy mountain roads. I'm not sure why I'm afraid of heights but I'm reminded of it every time we're in Arizona.

This year I told myself I wasn't going to climb right outside Mom and Dad's backyard (the red rock in the above picture). Last spring I climbed higher than I ever had before and well, I guess I thought that was high enough. This year the kids and Dave knocked off that same climb before lunch the other day - they came back happy and exhilerated and I was just as happy that I'd stayed on the ground. On another day I talked them into going for a hike, not a climb. There was lots of complaining going on during that four mile walk (too much walking, not enough climbing) but I was loving every minute of it.

Then came our last day in Sedona. John wanted to make to climb again - not hike - and I couldn't talk anybody into going for a hike around Bell Rock - or even a small jaunt to Cathedral Rock. So while Sophie and Lucy stayed back and made cookies with Mom, I went for a climb with Dad, Dave and John - with every intent of coming back on my own once I felt that familiar stomach tightening.

It started out wonderfully - I was amazed at John's climbing and his enthusiasm for leading us up the wash. He reminded me of Dad with the way he just scrabbled up the rocks. Here's a pic I took right after one of our water breaks.

We kept going and I was feeling great - beauty surrounded us everywhere I looked and the rocks in the wash were solid and strong. We kept climbing and climbing and I started kicking myself for not doing this the previous days.

Then came some loose rock that involved some hunching over and maneuvering sideways on all fours. Dave stuck with John but I could see the look of concern on his face - he knows me well enough to know that I had just reached my limit. But unfortunately, there was no going back down the way we had just come. So I sat, took a drink, and talked to myself. I looked over at Dave, with his smile and his shorts and hiking boots full of red dust and took this picture of the view. I told myself I've come this far and I'm fine - and I can keep going. So I did - slowly and carefully trying to breathe and willing my legs to keep moving.

By the time we all stopped for another water break Dad knew I wasn't doing so well. He came over to me and talked me through a narrow pass full of loose rock, "Hug the rock Marc, hug the rock. Get down on all fours, face it. If you fall you're not going anywhere. Hug the rock, hug the rock. Great job Marci Miller!"

I was less than reassured. By then I knew I had to make it to the top - we could try to find a different way back down but they knew, from past experience, that there was an easier way down on the other side of the rock. So, up we climbed.

John was starting to get a bit nervous - I'm sure I wasn't helping him feel any more comfortable on the rock even though the only thing I said was "Dave, stay with him. I can't watch him climb." Meaning - it was all I could do to worry about myself and worrying about him was making me even more stressed overall...

During this last stretch, Dad was climbing around like a mountain goat above us - back and forth, back and forth, trying to find the best way to get to the top. He called out, "Oh I don't know, we may need to go back down." My heart skipped a beat. Dave whispered, "What do you think?" and I replied, "There's no way I can go back down there." So we kept climbing to where Dad's voice was. John was chattering saying he wanted to go back down when suddenly he came to a complete standstill and exclaimed, "Holy Moly!" I looked up from my position on all fours and reiterated John's words, with a bit more emphasis.

Dad was sitting on the other side of a twenty foot drop - as calm as could be. But it was clear to us we'd have to walk across a ledge less than a foot wide and about eight feet long to reach him.

John was all for it. If he would have had a harness and a rope and been at the climbing wall in Grand Forks, I would have been fine. And although he didn't have those things, he had Dave and Dad and no fear. And he made it look so darn easy - he grabbed the rock, shuffled his feet and made it across without any problem. Then it was my turn. I certainly didn't make it look easy to anybody who might have been watching. The first shuffle step or two were all right but when I felt I couldn't get a good handhold I started to sweat. I willed my right leg to move but it didn't. I felt like my 94-year-old Grandma who has Parkinsons and tells her legs to move but they just won't listen. Dave reached over to it and said, "Move it on 3... 1,2,3." It moved on four... or maybe five.

I made it across and tried not to watch as Dave made his way. From there it was a relatively easy climb the next twenty feet or so to the top. Once we got there and I saw long distances of flat land I sank to the ground and gave a silent prayer. And thought, I don't care if I ever do this again - for the rest of my life.


We rested up a bit and then had a leisurely walk down the back side and around the hill...and I've made up my mind. I'll stick to regular old hiking from here on out.

PG 13 for a Reason

Last night Mom and I went to the video store because I had it in my head that we (as in me, Dave, Sophie, Lucy John, and Mom and Dad) should all watch Ghost Town. In February I watched it all by myself when Dave was away on a trip and loved it. So much so I actually recommended it to quite a few people - including our wonderfully wholesome dentist.

Mom and I found the DVD at the store but I was surprised to see it was rated PG13. I racked my brains trying to figure out why - I didn't recall any nudity or violence. There was that one scene in the beginning of the story where a man is talking to his wife on the phone and we slowly figure out he's a jerk and is having an affair with a young woman named Amber. I took a minute and thought about what the kids would think and decided that the movie, as a whole, was worth it. I couldn't think of any other scenes I might object to so we got it and put it in.

Well, once the movie was playing it didn't take more than three minutes for me to see why it was rated PG13 - there was a major cuss word right in the beginning of it. I jumped when I heard it and looked at Mom who raised her eyebrows at me. We kept watching - my first mistake.

Then there was the part where there's talk of a mummy's private parts. We kept watching - my second mistake. (Oh wait - can it be a second mistake if I'd already made it once?!!)

There were various references to women, body parts, and lots of muttered expletives. Each time I jumped or coughed or made some other noise to try to drown out the movie. My final cough sequence, the one that came immediately before I told the kids they couldn't watch anymore, was so loud and lasted so long that Lucy asked me to be quiet so she could hear the movie.

They put up a fuss about having to leave. I tucked them in and as they lay on their air mattresses at Grama and Papa's I explained that I'd made a bad choice in ignoring the PG13 rating. And that even though I truly felt the overall message of the movie is an important one to learn, the movie itself was certainly not appropriate for them to watch. I summed up the movie for them - trying my very best at storytelling while all the while knowing I couldn't compete with the Hollywood version.

And then I hugged them and kissed them and said good night - all the while kicking myself for not heeding the PG13 warning.

So I've apoligised to our children - now what do I say to our dentist?!

Valentine Celebration Catch Up

The 2nd Annual Chocolate Fondue Party

Dakota in her Valentine Gear (poor puppy!)

He's heading to Lovejoy Drive

So last night I'm in an overheated room curled in a ball on the couch covered in two blankets and wishing my throat would stop throbbing. Dave is sitting in the Big Chair getting ready for his trip to Indiana - every few seconds I hear him state a destination into his new TomTom (a portable GPS device). The first few times he says something I grunt "What?" This goes on until I realize he's not actually talking to me. So I start to zone out again and in my cough-medicine induced haze I hear the following: County Road 39....Lincolnway....Jefferson Road...Lovejoy Drive...

I perk my ears, sit up and give him a look as in "Where exactly do you think you are going?"

He smirks and we both crack up. Can you imagine being the CFO of the company that is actually housed on Lovejoy Drive? I'm sure they've heard it all. But last night, in the middle of feeling sorry for ourselves and our sick kids, it gave Dave and me a much needed laugh.

Sick Germs

We fly to Arizona on Friday and I'm already a bit nervous. My nervousness has nothing to do with flying and everything to do with all the germs we're more than likely going to pass on to all the other passengers and crew members. Sophie has been coughing like crazy for over two weeks and now John has started. Lucy just finished up antibiotics yesterday but now both Dave and I are feeling pretty awful with sore throats, headaches and general aches.

So I called the doctor today and tried to get three of us in. Unfortunately there was only one slot left in the entire clinic - with any doctor or any nurse practitioner. I nabbed the single appointment for Sophie and made a seperate appointment for me for tomorrow. My plan is that if our doctor doesn't think antibiotics will help Sophie, then they probably won't help John either. I've already increased his advair to twice a day and we'll take the nebulizer to AZ with us, just in case. We'll keep pumping Sophie full of expectorant for her cough.

As far as Dave and I - we'll go with the same plan except for totally different symptons. It's one of those things - I don't really think we need antibiotics but I sure would feel bad if it turns out we should have had them and we needlessly exposed all the other passengers and grandparents to our germs.

So wish us well at the appointments - and steer away from our part of the country if you can.

Saga of the Crowns

I am not one for dentist visits. Even a little 30 minute visit makes me nervous - the xrays, the foreign objects in my mouth, the dentist asking questions when all you can do is nod your head or move your eyebrows up and down. But the worst is when I know I will have to have my mouth open for an extended period of time. Our dentist is wonderful - he plays classical music for me or lets me watch movies while he works on my teeth but I still leave feeling stiff and sore. No matter what he does or how I try to relax, I just can't.

I suppose it has something to do with me always wanting to be in control. And seriously, as an adult, there aren't many places I allow myself to go when I don't feel like I'm in control. But, at times, the dentist office simply cannot be avoided.

I knew a visit was on the horizon a few weeks ago when I bit down on a leftover Christmas candycane and suddenly felt a large jagged edge on my back molar. I gave a silent prayer that it was just a piece of candy cane that was stuck to my tooth - but to no avail. It was a broken tooth. And based on the size of the jaggedness, I knew it meant yet another crown for me.

The saga of the crowns all started when I was pregnant with Lucy and had a craving for Milk Duds - every single day. Until part of a tooth broke off right in a milk dud. Our dentist was able to patch it up with a temporary until after she was born and then he did the real work - but that crown turned into an emergency root canal as well as a crown. As did the next one. By the time I needed a third crown two years ago I suggested we just book an appointment with the endodontist right away. We didn't but I did need a root canal. Finally, on the last crown I made it through without a root canal. My mouth, and our pocketbook, were both pretty happy about that.

And here I am - day five post dental work for my fifth crown and all is well. Here's hoping it stays that way until the permanent crown is in place. If you have any connections with the tooth fairy, please put in a good word for me.

Tastebuds or Funny Little Bump Things

Over lunch Dave and I were discussing the bumps you get on your tongue every once in awhile. You know what I mean - the little red bumps that are sort of like a cankersore but on your tongue. I said I thought it was a new tastebud growing in and he called it "a funny little bump thing." So who was right?

Apparently neither one of us, or both of us - depending upon how you look at it.

They are actually inflamed papillae - where the taste buds are. According to this site, the bumps are an injury caused by hot food or drink or a self-inflicted bite. Which totally makes sense for me as I had a two-hour dentist appointment followed by a few more hours of a numb cheek and tongue last Thursday.

So, Dave was right in that they are indeed funny little bump things and I was somewhat correct in that they had to do with the tastebuds. And there you have it - new, useless information for you to share with others as you see fit.

Happy Valentine's Day

Ode to Dakota (from John)

Dear Dakota,
I love you so much. When I am at school I can't wait to see you.
From John.

Dakota

Dakota is one of four featured dogs on the webpage of Wag-N-Train - check it out here. If you live near us and your dog is in need of training or boarding, we think you should give them a try. It's been wonderful to work with Carlene and Jo - we'll miss them when we're done with our five-week training package but Dakota will still get to see them on occassion.

Why I Stay Home

There’s a new commercial on television – I think it’s either TLC or HGTV – featuring a woman entering her office and going straight to her computer. We can see the pictures of her kids on her desk but her eyes are on the 300 messages in her inbox while her ears are focused on listening to her voicemail messages. We see her go throughout her day – being frustrated with the copy machine, walking the halls with blueprints, and thanking her assistants as they drop off more blueprints and files at her desk. Finally, in the last few seconds we see her home all lit up in the evening hours and she walks through the door and is encompassed by her children who eagerly hug her and show off their homework. For the first time all day she looks relaxed and happy. The message – come home to your comfort.

I’m all about home and comfort but when I watched the commercial I felt sad. It reminded too much of when I was teaching at UND and was constantly questioning myself. “Am I doing right by our kids?” “Am I doing right by my students?” I was like the woman in the commercial in many ways – I had pictures of the kids on my desk, their artwork was posted on my office door, under my desk was a Rubbermaid container full of toys and books for when they visited, and when they were babies there was even a pack-n-play in my office right next to all the books about literacy. But when I was at work, I was at work.

And I liked to think that when I was at home, I was at home. I dropped the kids off and picked them up from school each day. We had a wonderful young woman, Dana, who came to our house each day for a few years so we didn’t have to take them out to daycare. One day a week, usually when I taught my night class or met with grad students, she came after lunch and stayed late. That meant the kids and I got to hang out for the entire morning. And I tried not to think about cleaning the bathrooms or doing laundry during that time.

But when I decided to “retire” from teaching at age 38 I was, frankly, relieved. It meant I no longer had to put the kids in bed and then stay up until 2 am grading papers. Or else get up at the ungodly hour of 3 am to grade those papers. It meant I no longer had to choose between raising our children and trying to be a teacher, mentor, and parent to twenty year old college students who often needed the same kind of parenting as our young children.

I was, and am lucky, that Dave was supportive of my decision. Even though it meant we weren’t stacking away money into my retirement account and even though it means we pay for health insurance out of our own pockets.

And it meant I could take over the household – something I hadn’t done much since we’d had kids. As I write this I realize I’m not sure the last time Dave cleaned a bathroom, vacuumed or did a load of laundry. That doesn’t mean things are perfect – after all when he left for his last business trip he didn’t have any clean white shirts because I’d done all the laundry, except for that particular load. Oops. Dave certainly still does his share of the cooking and some of the grocery shopping – but I blame that on him being so darn picky – not that I can’t cook.

And my professional ego is OK with all this – perhaps in part because, as my Theresa is quick to point out, I still have my foot in the professional world. With my work with the Red River Valley Writing Project I get a salary, am able to work with teachers and students, and get to do most of this from home.

All these points were brought home to me yesterday when Mike, a friend and incredible handyman, was irritated with me that I didn’t take him to Lowe’s to get insulation for 817’s attic. In his snit he even went so far as to say all I did was hang out all day long. Let’s just say I was a little peeved at that comment.

Yesterday, for instance, was Day 5 of Dave being gone for 7 days. Our bed had been a revolving door the night before with Sophie in with me at 3 because of a nightmare and John with me at 4:30 because his tummy hurt. When he threw up an hour later I knew he’d be staying home with me. And that was just fine – because I didn’t have to resent the fact that Dave was at a business meeting and I was the one who would have to miss work. So yes, John and I sat on the couch and snuggled and watched movies all day long. I drank a lot of coffee, made a lot of soup, and got the gazillion pictures on the computer organized – something I’d been meaning to do for over a year. But no, I didn’t get to take Mike to Lowe’s to get insulation. But that’s because my kids come first.

It isn’t that I wouldn’t like the thrill of teaching again. It isn’t that I don’t long for stimulating conversation during the day. But I am home because emotionally it was too hard for me to do it all – and do it all well. As you can probably tell from many of my blog entries I’m somewhat of a perfectionist. So when I didn’t feel I was doing a good job at any of my jobs – wife, mother, professor – it was time to stop. And most days, I don’t regret it. But yesterday I found myself going over Mike’s comment again and again and rationalizing what I do.

And what I cam up with was pretty darn important – I stay home with my kids. Going back to the TV commercial – how much do you want to bet that woman has someone right there at home with her kids, taking care of them and helping her be who she is. And aren’t those kids what is so very important in our lives?

So what exactly is a dungeon?

For those of you who haven't been to our house, there have been some questions about our dungeon - so let me explain. We don't actually keep prisoners down there - just a chest freezer from my grandparents, random tools, old paint cans, and oh yes, exercise equipment in the form of a treadmill and recumbent bike. Our house was built in 1911 but the dungeon and the family room above it were added on to the house in 1979.

According to Sophie, it is old and a storage place for odd things. (I agree with her, but the thing is, keep in mind it is actually the newest part of the house.) We started calling it the dungeon because it's a place we just don't love to go. And it's the place where, when objects do go, they are often not seen again for a very long time. If ever.

Take John's little hockey figurines and net. They got broken - they were placed in the dungeon to be fixed - and we haven't seen them in two years. What about Sophie's Christmas ornament? Same story.

Lucy recently had something that was broken and she wanted Dave to fix. I, of course, suggested the dungeon, but she got an alarmed look on her face. "No, Mom, no! If we put there I'll never see it again." I laughed, only because I knew she was right.

But I am a bit nervous about losing the latest occupant of the dungeon - it's a pretty special plate John drew and painted a few years ago during one of our Arizona visits. His sisters accidentally broke it and for weeks I kept the pieces on the kitchen counter - not wanting to put it in the dungeon for the very reason Lucy voiced.

So it sat on the counter and Dave did work on it. Every few days he'd take out the gorilla glue and piece one more ceramic shard onto the plate. The problem is, there were many pieces... and it wasn't long before he left for his infamous trip to Acapulco.

So, while he was gone, I carefully placed the broken plate on his worktable in the dungeon. I put the gorilla glue beside it and found Sophie's Christmas ornament and put it near the pile. And now we'll wait and see... and hope they don't get swallowed up in the dungeon.

Email to my husband in Acapulco while we're in the middle of an ice storm...

Hi - guess what... Mike's here painting the dungeon and it looks fabulous. Except where there's water on the floor and walls since we've gotten so much rain and the snow is melting - aughhh.

I'm also not parking in the garage anymore as I slightly hit the inside pole with the left bumper. No worries though - Modern Auto Body does not need to be called.

We're skipping all activities tonight as it's been raining all day and everything will be a giant skating rink. It was nuts this morning - everything was icy.

When I left Phoenix after being in John's classroom I heard someone calling out and looked down the alley - a man was flopping around like a walleye and yelling. When I asked him if he was all right he gingerly got up and just said, "Not a good day to wear Converse."

Then when I went to pick up Sophie, Lucy and John after school I looked around the playground and kids were dropping like flies - no matter where I looked. I guess we all should have just got out our ice skates today. :)

Tomorrow is supposed to be a snowstorm - on top of all this ice... yikes! Maybe we should consider moving somewhere warm...

But all in all we're doing good here - everyone's happy. I love you, Marci

By the way - Dave, being the good husband he is, called home within five minutes of my sending the email. Secretly, I think he was worried about his Suburban and our tiny garage but he insists he'd picked up his Blackberry to call home and saw the message. Hmmmm... sound like a bit too much coincidence?!

Sunday Morning Coffee

A photo essay by John - the title being "My mom likes every drop of her morning coffee.

And Dave, if he were here instead of Acapulco, would say with a smile, "Open up those eyes Marci."

Hockey John

According to John, he's going to play hockey "his whole life long." I think he's taking a lesson from his dad who still plays on an old man's league on Sunday nights. Or at least when he's in town and his knee isn't bothering him... or his shoulder isn't stiff ... or he's not too tired from choppping wood all weekend. It'll be fun to see how hockey plays out with John and what he's like at 42.

Kitchen Facelift

Before

Blame it on the cold weather over the last few weeks, but as a direct result I've spent a lot of time bundled up in the family room with the television turned to one home improvement channel or another. And now we've got new cabinet hardware to show for it.

After
As you can tell by the "coffee station" I'm still working on getting the hinges changed out - but give me a break as I had to buy 18 knobs, 15 pulls, and 36 hinges. Only 22 hinges left to go and we'll call it good.

It's not one of those things most people will probably even notice - but I feel like it's more of a match now. The knobs, pulls and hinges match the stove and dishwasher now instead of being gold brass. Now, if only a new counter was in the budget. Hmmmmm... I think that'll cost more than the $115 I spent on hardware, don't you think?

Sophie at the Climbing Gym

The Big Haircut Hits our Home Again

Almost two years ago Sophie donated her hair to Locks of Love; this time, it was Lucy who decided to grow out her hair and then donate her newly-cut braid to an organization that makes wigs for people who have had cancer or other diseases where their hair doesn't grow. We actually sent Lucy's hair to Pantene Beautiful Lengths instead of Locks of Love or Wigs for Kids because Lucy definitely had 8 inches, probably 9 to 10, but she didn't want her hair really short.

What a wonderful thing for a little one to do. We're proud of her... and here she is with her new look.

Musical Discover: Car Horns

After yesterday's post I wanted to do a bit of research about car horns. But this is far more interesting material - go to Car Horn Organ and click on the green link to the right of the page "Hear the Car Horn Organ." Then, if you want to hear more music, go to the middle of the page and listen to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" as played by the car horn organ. You're sure to laugh out loud.

Car Horns and the Bird

I'm not a horn tooter. In fact, before I hit the horn in any car I think about my actions. Of course, this overthinking can be a bit dangerous as that split second could be the difference between getting hit by another car or avoiding a collision. But I can't help it - I think horns are rude.

It seems there should be three different tunes on a car horn - one for an urgent warning as in "Let's avoid having an accident," one for "The light has turned green, it's time to stop talking to your passenger and start going," and one for "Hey Jodi, the mail carrier, how are you doing?" Notice I don't think there should be a rude tune - but that goes back to how I think our society, in general, has become overtly rude and immature in recent years.

Which brings me to yesterday's horn event. I was driving Dave's monster suburban and was second in line at a busy stoplight. The driver in front of me was enthusiastically engaged in conversation with his passenger and frankly, my mind was also otherwise engaged as I was thinking I should join Dave on his upcoming trip to Acalpulco (another story).

The stoplight turned green and the driver in front of me was still engaged in conversation. I waited and counted to three, looked in the rearview mirror at a long line of cars, and raised my hand to the horn and paused ... should I or shouldn't I? I looked again and the driver was still talking to his passenger, oblivious to the green light.

So I tapped the horn and a short toot emerged from somewhere under the trunk of the car. The driver looked up, started going and just as I was congratulating myself on a successful honk, flipped me the bird.

I was shocked. I raised my hands in a "What's that all about gesture?!" and proceeded to follow the driver as he turned into a strip mall. I wanted to explain myself - that if I could have done a polite honk, I certainly would have, but there was no need to flip me off. I'm not a honker for goodness sakes.

I followed him the length of the strip mall - at which point I remembered I was in Dave's enormous, could-be-perceived-as-menacing suburban. And the bird thrower wasn't stopping anyways, he kept going through the mall parking lot.

So I turned the car around and drove home, taking the back roads, just to be safe. When I told Dave the story he just looked at me, shook his head and said, "Do you have do to that kind of stuff when you're driving my car?!"

We've come a long way baby

This picture is of John at seven months - our happy baby who looked like he must just hurt. The baby who couldn't sleep for more than a few hours before he woke up itchy. The baby who had at least one bath a day (without soap) for his first year of life - just so his skin could stay hydrated.

John was first diagnosed with eczema at his two month checkup, but until that point it was manageable. But from the time he was 2 1/2 months until we figured out he was allergic to the cassein in milk and dogs at about eight months, he pretty much looked like the picture above. We tried everything - from Aveeno products to Crisco vegetable shortening... I know, I know but we were desperate. His daily regiment consisted of a lukewarm bath followed immediately by a "patting dry" followed immediately by an antibiotic ointment followed by a coritsone ointment or else protopic, followed by a slathering of aquaphor. We only used All Free laundry detergent, avoided fabric softeners all together and he only wore 100% cotton clothing. I was nursing so I gave up all dairy and all citrus. Nothing seemed to help.

Until, finally, at seven months we did allergy testing. At that point we found out John was allergic to dogs and the cassein in milk. I quit nursing and we tried Alimentum formula - which he actually drank even though it smelled nasty. After Dasher, our twelve-year-old cocker spaniel, died in her sleep we got all the rugs, upholstry and carpets professionally cleaned. And, within a few weeks of those changes, John was better. Better as in we could see his beautiful round cheeks without the weeping sores for the first time since he was only a few months old.

He still breaks out - especially his hands during this time of year when he's playing hockey - but he just knows it means we need to slather his hands with aquaphor and he needs to wear all cotton socks to bed for a few nights in a row. We've learned that the antibacterial gels that so many people use in place of washing hands do not work at all for him - they cause his hands to become almost raw. And we still use the Robathol bath oil once in a while - if nothing else but to give him incredibly soft skin.

What's most amazing though is that he drinks milk all the time now - and eats yogurt. And we got a dog - granted one that is supposed to be non-shedding (not always the case at our house) and hypo-allergenic. And even though Dakota does shed a bit it's pretty amazing to see how John just snuggles right into her furry belly and rubs his face all around her - and there's not a wheeze, not a dry patch, not anything.

Overall, I'd say we're pretty fortunate.

Introducing The Scoobys

Since the kids were small they've loved to watch Scooby-Doo movies. If we allowed it they'd have a Scooby-Doo marathon - watching movies and episodes until there weren't any more left to watch. I'm not sure where they get it - neither Dave nor I were big Scooby-Doo fans in our days

I took the girls to Target yesterday to spend their Christmas and birthday gift cards and they chose, you guessed it, a Scooby-Doo movie. John was elated with their choice and they all immediately sat down to watch it. Then today they formed a basement band called The Scoobys. They made microphones, fashioned guitars out of plastic hockey sticks and bathrobe belts, and decorated wooden rulers with glitter glue for drumsticks. John and Sophie are the guitarists, but John really rocks with him homemade amplifier (made out of black construction paper and hooked to his guitar with red yarn). Sophie is the lead singer and knows every word to the four Scooby-Doo songs they sang while Lucy had two roles: drummer and keyboardist.

The three members of The Scoobys believe in playing as you are - so they were in their pajamas with uncombed hair (and I'm sure, unbrushed teeth) for the entire day. Dave and I were treated to a concert performance intermingled with Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island footage.

It was all pretty wonderful - and I hate to admit it, but I even somewhat enjoyed the movie.

On cold days my office is...

HERE!

The fire has been going since before lunch and, as you can see, I've got a nice stack of wood that should last me into the night. A fire always beats the space heater in my regular office - go ahead, bring on the cold.

Stop and smell the flowers...

As you may have guessed my Republican husband wasn't in as joyful of mood as others around him yesterday. He wasn't overtly grumpy and did listen to some of the inauguration as he worked but let's just say I walked a little on eggshells around him. He gave a smirk, as in a "Maybe there's hope yet for Marci" smirk, when I read about a local elected official who attended the shoethrowing fest at the White House and started ranting about the immaturity of it all. But he knows me, and I know him and neither one of us is going to change the mind of the other. So, as usual when it comes to politics, we called a truce.

In the early evening hours I ran some errands after dropping Sophie off at ballet. As I loaded the groceries into the car I spotted an old friend stepping out of hers. Laurie's was the classroom in which I completed my dissertation research, she is the one I worked with to collaborate between the local school district and the writing project to offer inservice to teachers, her daughter was one of my grad students in reading education at UND, and just this past summer her son married Michelle, our very favorite babysitter. And in November, her husband suddenly died of a heart attack while playing basketball.

I shut the car door, called out and walked across the parking lot to her where we embraced in a hug that meant so much. You see, at Neil's prayer service I didn't give her a hug because there were oh-so-many people waiting in line to console her. I hugged and cried with Heather and Michelle but didn't have an opportunity to speak with Laurie.

In the cold and damp air we spoke and hugged and spoke and even laughed for about ten minutues - then I was off to my car and she walked to her shopping. And on the way home I stopped at the Flower Bug and bought some flowers for my Republican husband. I know the day wasn't an easy one for him, and I'm sure as a small business owner he'll be disappointed and even frustrated in the years to come, but he's here with me and me with him. And we're so lucky to have that.

Let's be a bit more mature...

What's wrong with us that we can't respect the presidency? Read this, laugh if you want, but then take a step back and think about how immature supposedly mature people can be.

I felt the same way at the 2001 inauguration when Dave and I were in the crowd with a group of friends. When the voice over the loudspeaker announced President Clinton's car the crowd booed and booed and booed. Some of our friends even booed and I think they were taken aback with me when I scolded them and told them to at least respect the office - you may not agree with the man (or hopefully, someday, woman) holding the office but please, please don't boo or throw shoes.

And by the way, I voted for Obama. Don't think I'm disgusted because I'm a sore loser.

More Kid Malapropisms

On the way to the ballet on Saturday night John was most interested in the concession stand and asked, "Can we get popcorn during the interference?" To which I replied, "Uh, no... that would be intermission John, and yes you can."

Two things - can you tell he had hockey practice earlier in the day? And secondly, aren't we lucky we get to munch on popcorn while watching classical ballet?

Sleeping Beauty

One would think that after five performances in three days and 30 dances, Sophie would be a bit tired of dancing. Well, she's not - nor is Lucy who did four performances with one beautiful dance in each. Nor am I - who sat through countless hours of practice and performances last week. But there's something much different about sitting in a comfortable chair in our own living room, with coffee in hand, watching the girls dance than watching from a theater audience.

As my friend Michelle best put it, I'm feeling a bit nostaligic about the whole ballet thing. Our girls have usually been some of the youngest - I remember watching Sophie and Lucy at some of their first ballet practices and telling another mom, as we laughed until tears came to our eyes, that watching preschoolers do ballet was the best kind of therapy available.

It's still therapy for me, watching them dance, but another kind. The therapy that involves coming to terms with myself as a parent and learning to let go. Even as Sophie has joined the Apprentice Company I have struggled with it - the girls are all older, most of them have cell phones, , they wear short shorts to practice, they talk about boys. I don't want her to grow up too fast. At the same time she's made good choices - she and McKenzie (the girl closest to her age who knows the ropes as she was in Apprentice last year) have become good friends. And when I see her in practice - her look of determination and the way she has challenged herself to do better and better each week, the way she moves and how different it is from even six months ago - I am so very proud of her.

In the meantime we still have a year or two before Lucy moves up to the Apprentice level and the older girls. And then she will hopefully have a peer group that moves up with her and it won't seem so scary for me. And I'll have learned that it is ok, that it's wonderful, to have the girls grow up and become independent.

By the way, the ballet was beautiful - the North Dakota Ballet Company did yet another outstanding job with bringing classical ballet to our small town. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Radiator Warmth

There's nothing quite like sliding your hand into the warmth of a mitten that's been sitting on a radiator.  Unless it's putting on a hat that's been sitting on a radiator.  Or maybe if it's the feeling of dipping your feet into the warmth of boots that have been sitting at the bottom of a radiator.

We've got two radiators by the back door and from November until mid-April they're constantly covered in hats, mittens, gloves and sometimes scarves.  Our radiator habit started at the old house when the kids were small.  After an afternoon of playing outside they'd come in with wet hats,mittens,scarves, coats and snowpants - and all that outside gear went right on top of the eight foot long radiator in the living room or the four foot one in the dining room.  In no time at all everything would be dry and ready to be hung up again.

But when we moved here four years ago things changed.  The longest radiator in the house measures only three feet and is in John's bedroom so coats and snowpants now go in the dryer to dry while the hats and gloves go on top of the two radiators by the back door.  It always looks like a mess in that back hall but all I need to do to take my mind off it is slide my cold hands into a pair of mittens and the mess is forgotten.

Squirting Flavor

In this household of five people, three of the five are extremely picky.  That would be Dave, Lucy and John - with Dave and Lucy being the worst.  It wouldn't be so bad if they all were picky about the same types of foods, but that's not the case.  Dave dislikes anything with onion, tomato, or peppers but will occassionally eat tomato soup from a can and loves plain old meat and potatoes.  Lucy cannot stand any type of potato except French Fries and hashbrowns - yet I'll make Cheesy Hashbrowns and she won't eat them.  John basically frowns and complains about anything I make - except pizza.  But at least he'll usually eat the food on his plate whereas Lucy has gagged and thrown up on more than one occassion at the dinner table.  It's to the point where Dave and I look at each other and smile as she starts gagging on her potatoes.  (Just so you know I'm not a totally awful parent, the first ten or so times she gagged I rubbed her back and talked her through it.  See, I'm not all bad.)

But I'm tired of cooking and having at least one person complain about it. Even as one complains, another is happy about the meal.  For example, I made Grandpa's Goulash (spaghetti noodles, tomato soup, and hamburger) recipe this weekend - Sophie was ecstatic while John and Lucy complained.  Dave, smart man, kept quiet.

It's been a long week here - with temperatures never seeming to reach above -20 degrees, Dave away in Philadelphia, and ballet practice going on three hours a night/each night. Throughout it I've been very conscious of making a good supper to last the girls through ballet practice. Last night it was chicken stew with dumplings - a hearty and warm meal, right?!

There were complaints all around. The dumplings had parsley in them (yes, I realized the parsley was a mistake the minute I added it to the flour) and there were corn and peas in the stew. And as Lucy said, "Didn't you know we didn't like this last time we had it? It was Dakota who liked it." (That's another story.)

Sophie at least ate most of it - her chief complaint being the dumplings didn't look the same as when she'd made them and they didn't taste as good either. But I was pretty frustrated with Lucy and John - and resorted to the timer. They had five minutes to eat and whatever they ate in that five minutes was all they got to eat for the rest of the night. They started eating - and talking - and eating.

As I washed the pots, I heard John say he wished there weren't such things as peas because they didn't have any flavor. And then he added, "But at least you can't taste them." To which Lucy replied, "They squirt though - they squirt flavor."

With my back to the kids I smiled - she had it right. Peas do squirt flavor and I, for one, love that squirt of flavor. Hopefully, one day she and John will too. In the meantime I'll just keep trying... and trying... and trying.

Climbing Club

Lucy on the Wall
John on the Wall

(Sophie missed the first two classes due to Sleeping Beauty ballet recitals - watch out on Monday!)

While visiting Nicole at Vail last fall I got to see a group of kids in action during their climbing club. At this particular class the kids were climbing up and down the wall as many times as they could trying to raise money for books in poverty-stricken countries. Now that's a fundraiser I can agree with on many levels - kids exercising both their bodies and minds AND literacy. C'mon - you can't get any better than that in my eyes.

Watching ten-year-old Susan climb (and even ballay me as I climbed)inspired me and I got to thinking how we could do a Climbing Club for Kids in Grand Forks. As soon as we got back I stopped by the Northern Heights Climbing Gym and talked to some of the guys there about the idea. You know it's a good idea when they were thinking the exact same thing.

SO that's where the kids are - Monday nights from 6:45-8:00 - at the climbing gym exercising minds and bodies at the same time. Now all we need is the literacy aspect.

To Done List: January 12, 2008

Remember my friend Corby's to done list idea? The object is to feel a sense of accomplishment from what you got done during the day rather than focus on what didn't get done.

So here's today's list - not as extensive as others but keep in mind I spent two - count 'em TWO - hours on the phone today with Mom and Theresa.

1. Stripped three beds at 817.
2. Washed sheets, towels and bath rug from 817.
3. Made up the beds.
4. Edited flyers for Davey-baby to take with him on his trip to Philadelphia.
5. Emailed flyer to Kinko's.
6. Purchased Christmas postcards and Reindeer finger puppets at Kinko's while I waited for the flyers to print.
7. Booked a flight to Edmonton to visit Theresa and her family.
8. Picked up asthma meds for John.
9. Mailed letters for Dave.
10. Deposited checks for Dave.
11. Kept the kitchen clean.
12. Walked to the greenway with Dakota and went cross-country skiing.
13. Sat on a chair in my office with my feet up, space heater on and blanket covering me for two hours - and talked on the phone.
14. Bought $42 worth of makeup - $42 worth!!! - for Sophie for the Cinderella ballet this weekend. Do you realize I haven't spent $42 on makeup for myself over the last three years put together?!?!
15. Picked up Sophie, Lucy and John from school.
16. Sent John off to a playdate with Oliver.
17. Fed Sophie and Lucy snack while we practiced putting makeup on Sophie.
18. Told Sophie she looks more beautiful without makeup than with it on - at least the way I'm able to put it on.
19. Put Lucy's hair in a bun.
20. Took Lucy to ballet.
21. Helped John look for his hockey sock - never did find it.
22. Told a neighbor she could use the suburban to pick up her husband whose car stalled by the Canadian border.
23. Heated up leftovers - fed everyone.
24. Went with Dave, Sophie, and John to drop John off at hockey practice.
25. Dropped Sophie off at ballet practice.
26. Picked up Lucy from ballet.
27. Fed Lucy in the car.
28. Picked up copies from Kinko's. Dave left me there while he got John - hence the extra buying splurge mentioned in #6.
29. Dropped off John and Lucy at the climbing wall for climbing lessons.
30. Shopped at KMart with Dave - vitamins and mittens for the kids.
31. Took Dave home so he could rest before his 4:40 am flight.
32. Watched the last of John and Lucy's climbing lesson - took some pics.
33. Asked the kids how proud we would have been of them and their listening if we would have been there. Unfortunately their answers left something to be desired - we'll try again next week.
34. Dropped off John and Lucy at home with Dave.
35. Watched the last of Sophie's ballet practice.
36. Drove Sophie home.
37. Made her some peanut butter toast and kissed her goodnight.
38. Sat with Dave for a few minutes.
39. Talked with our neighbors about their car - not good news for them.
40. Kissed the sleeping kids goodnight.
41. Checked my email for the first time today.
42. Wrote this blog entry...
and now I'm ready for bed.

If you made it this far, thanks for listening and keep in mind most afternoons and evenings here on Belmont Road are not like this.

Steph's Phone

Thanks to Odie and her great taste we've got this wonderful phone in our little kitchen cubby. Isn't it adorable? I was at her house a month ago and spied it on a storage shelf in her basement. I said something like, "Oh, look at that cool phone!" and before I knew it I was walking home with it cradled in my mittened hands.

It took a little bit of work to get it to fit right - I had to do a little painting in the cubby since there used to be door that hid the phone from view. And then we took off said door and put it back up on the other side. So there's still access to the phone via the coat closet and one can still technically sit on a bench in the closet and talk on the phone - if one can find a space to sit amongst all the backpacks and ballet bags. I have yet to do it, but I can tell from the scratchings on the metal laundry chute it's been done. (Lori O - can you give us any hints about that?!!)

The coat closet/booth itself reminds me of my Delta Gamma days and sitting in one of those phone booths making a date with Dave. Or worriedly walking by a shut phone booth door, hearing occasional sobs and wondering about the relationship or family drama going on behind closed doors. Let's just hope there's none of that to come in the phone booth here on Belmont Road. Seriously, there's drama enough in our lives. Remember that Sophie, Lucy and John!

P.S. Thanks so much Odie - as soon as you find a wall jack we'll get it back to you. :)

Dressed for outside hockey

Here's John - and no he hasn't gained a lot of weight around his tummy - all ready for outdoor hockey practice. They play even if it's below zero so he has his winter coat on in lieu of shoulder pads and elbow pads. What a cutie.

Comfort Keeper

I couldn't sleep last night - from 2:05 until 5:30 I lay awake asking myself, "When did John stop being my little boy?" I don't know the answer but it's apparently come on slowly enough that I didn't see it coming. Then, last night, at precisely 2:05 it hit me.

Lucy had a fever and was home sick from school yesterday so when I heard the attic door open and footsteps come up the stairs at 2 am last night I just assumed one of the kids wasn't feeling well. I forced open my eyes to see John at the corner of the stairs and as I prepared to hold out my arms for him I saw him bypass me and head to the other side of the bed. Admittedly, I was somewhat OK with that - after all, it meant Dave got to deal with a sick child. But then I heard him snuggle in with Dave and murmur, "I had a nightmare."

I instantly became fully awake. Wait a minute - if it's a nightmare aren't I the one to provide comfort? Aren't I the one to hold the child tight in my arms and nuzzle my mouth into that sleepy head full of hair and whisper, "It's OK, Mama's here. It was just a dream. Mama's here."

Granted, the instant Dave told John everything was OK and let him go John rounded back to my side of the bed and gave me a hug as well. I held him tight and resisted the urge to have him lay in bed with us for a bit. Instead, I told him to start down the stairs and I'd come tuck him back in. He did and I did. But even then, he was already in bed with the covers pulled tight heading back to his own dreamworld.

I went back upstairs and crawled into bed but I couldn't sleep. When did this happen? When did he start looking to Dave for comfort more than me? I'm not jealous, really I'm not. But I feel a sort of sadness that my time as the main comforter is up - my little boy is growing up. Maybe it'll come back around again at some point - but who knows.

The whole thing is I'm happy for Dave and for our kids. They all know love for one another in an unconditional way. They know that even though Dave might get grumpy at them for not listening the first time or for coming downstairs after they should have been in bed he still loves them and will always be there for them. That even though he travels around the country quite a bit we're not far from his thoughts when he's gone.

When he's home, he's really home. And that's not just because he works out of 817. It's because he's present. His presence is in the way their vitamins are on the kitchen table every morning and the way vegetables make their way to that same table at suppertime. It's in the booming "Good morning" we hear as he sees us for the first time each day. It's how he gets up early and goes to work at 817 and then makes his way back over here before school starts and even walks with us to school a few days a week. And it's in the "I love you" voiced each night. It's no wonder John sought Dave for comfort last night... we should all have such a Dave in our lives.

I'm so glad I do.

Dakota's First Christmas

Santa McSqueaker (the third in a series of McSqueakers Dakota has been through)

For the first time in our history the kids took money from their piggybanks and used it to buy presents for family and friends. In the past I've taken two of them out to buy for the third and then two others, etc... and Dave and I have always paid for each gift. But this year, with no prodding from either parent, they chose to use their own money. There was no rhyme or reason for who they bought for or why - they were just totally into the idea of giving.

Dave took them out shopping while I read by the fire and the minute they got home the wrapping began. By day's end the tree skirt was filled with gifts full of heart and childish delight.

So who, you wonder, got the most presents? I think it was a probably a tie between Dakota and me... although you would be correct if you assume I've taken better care of my presents than Dakota. Let's just say for about a minute after these pictures were taken we were afraid she'd eaten the squeaker inside of Santa.

It's all about the coffee, isn't it?

Even though I'm basically the only coffee drinker in our family I always make, at minimum, an eight-cup pot of coffee each morning. I do this for several reasons - such as I always seem to misplace my coffee cup or else I know where it is but it's too cold to drink. I have no qualms about microwaving my coffee to warm it up - but you can only microwave the same coffee so many times before it starts to get bitter. Trust me, I've done it. Repeatedly.

Most of my "stop over during the day friends" are big coffee drinkers too - so it pays to always keep the coffee on. But along with the moniker of "big coffee drinker" comes "picky coffee drinker" and trust me, my coffee is not anything to write home about. I can, at times, make an excellent cup - one that is strong and smooth and makes my day. Other days, well, let's just say, "Not so much."

I don't know what it is. I try to make it the same way every day. I've experimented with tap water, with filtered water and with all different kinds of coffee. But it just doesn't work. The first cup doesn't really matter to me - I think just about anything would taste good to me at that point. But by the time friends come over I'm way past that first cup, as are they.

Luckily for me I spent a few days in Cando over New Year's Eve and discovered the perfect solution had been under my nose hiding in Katie's Lazy Susan for the past few years. On each of the three mornings I was there I created my very own latte with her pot and frother from Williams Sonoma. But it wasn't until I took the kids to Kim and Pat's for coffee that I saw a single cup pod/K-cup setup could be useful. I always thought that the best way to serve company was via the pot - but I was oh-so-wrong. The coffee from her Keurig machine was perfectly perfect. And then again, the next day, at Heather and Paul's house - my cup of joe made from a Hazelnut K-cup was fabulous.

But still, I wasn't convinced. Wouldn't it be more expensive to only buy the K-cups? Did they have some of my favorite blends - such as Green Mountain Breakfast Blend? And what about when people brought me coffee for a gift - what would I do with those beans anyway? Heather, and the good people at Keurig, had the perfect solution: a filter assembly called, My K-Cup, where you put in your own freshly ground coffee.

So I'm converted - and I just got notice this afternoon that my very own Keurig coffee pot has been shipped. I'm sure you'll all be able to hear my shout of triumph in the wee hours of the morning sometime later this week... keep your ears open wide.

Just for you Grandma Bev and Grandpa James...

Christmas Morning 2008: Recipe for a wonderful day

1. Run to 817 to look for the presents from you.

2. See the presents on the conference table.

3. Jump for joy and excitement.

Thank you so much! We love you - Sophie, Lucy and John

We "breathe" skating in North Dakota

In case you didn't know - it doesn't matter what the temperature is in North Dakota because outdoor skating is always available. The other night Carmyn and I braved the below zero actual temperature to shop some post-Christmas sales while Dave and the kids braved the outdoor rink and -30 below windchills shopping for some exercise. Fortunately, none of us were any worse for the wear - not even the checkbook.

Check out the breath clouds in the pics - no wonder my glasses always fog up in the winter.