Assembly Required

It felt like a Christmas tradition over the years. After the gifts were opened and the paper was cleared away, the boys were dying to crack open the boxes and start playing. The problem was, most everything they received had dozens of little parts to be assembled before they were able to use it. 

Perry's frustration level with this type of task made ME the default assembler each year. If anyone took a picture of me Christmas Day, it was sure to be a shot of me frowning in concentration and hunched over a multi-lingual instruction novel. I remember the sheets of stickers that had to be transferred before the plastic parts would start to resemble a superhero's headquarters. I can't say it was horribly difficult work, but having little boys hanging on me and whining for me to hurry up made it more challenging.

One year, the boys received an enormous Lego castle. I think I spent three whole days constructing that. Since we would be moving to a new house a few weeks later, I brilliantly schemed that if I hot glued the strategic parts as I built, the castle would be sturdy enough to withstand little boy play and it would prevent me from any reconstruction later. A few days after I completed the process, I think one of the boys' friends fell on this masterpiece while rough housing, reducing my hours of labor to a pile of glue-globbed rubble.

This year, I thought I had graduated from that season of life, with boys who are old enough to handle their own assembling. Yesterday, Sam received a Magnetix iCoaster, a marble-rollercoaster contraption that thrilled him...until he opened the box and took a glimpse at the directions. At first, I resisted his pleas for help, gently encouraging him to start by looking at the diagrams and see how the pieces are labeled. I tried my best to ignore the grumbles and moans that I knew were directed my way. The best way for him to learn is by doing, I chanted to myself. I tried to picture the satisfaction he'd have when it was completed.

I finally gave in to his pleas, and sat down to help him. After studying the diagrams, I understood his confusion. The directions looked more like mathematical equations than a guide to assemble a toy. Since I'm a visual learner, I focused on the illustrations, and we were finally able to construct a roller coaster that kind of resembled the one on the box. When we started to connect the electrical components, it became apparent that we were missing the 4 C batteries ...the one size I don't have anywhere in the house.

Sam and I decided to postpone "our" project or risk being late for Christmas dinner at Gram's. Today we will head to the store for batteries and pick up our mission where we left off.

It's Just a Cold

Things I hate about having a cold:

----------------------------------------------------

Not being able to pronounce words. "Fun" becomes "fud."

Feeling my pulse in my teeth.

Stopping to gasp for breath while chewing food.

Sneezing immediately after applying mascara. My eyes slam shut forcefully, imprinting a grotesque looking set of extra eyelashes on my cheek.

Trying to imagine what things taste like, besides phlegm.

Wandering around the school, baffled because my fuzzy brain can't recall where I set down my diet coke.

The unattractive red chapped ring around each nostril from blowing and wiping.

Feeling like I need to bleach my hands along with everything I touch.

Making disturbing whistling and crackling noises when I breathe.

Not having time to reach into my pocket and grab a wad of kleenex in time to catch the sudden stream of body fluid before it flows out of my nose.

A day too late, finding my diet coke exploded in the freezer of the teacher's lounge.

A Rachel Ray Wannabe

Last week I felt just like Rachel Ray. I wanted to show my students how a traditional Hanukkah food was made, so I brought the supplies and ingredients to make potato latkes. I've got a handy peninsula-like counter in my classroom that was the perfect place to set up my cooking "show". The kids were giddy with excitement as they crowded the "stage" and watched me grate the potato and heat the oil in the pan. This is how Rachel must feel, I thought to myself, except for the moments when I had to separate mischievous audience members and send them back to their seats. 

Yesterday, my cooking adventures continued when I decided to whip up a loaf of sun dried tomato bread in my bread machine. Early in the day, I premeasured my ingredients into tiny glass dishes. My heart sank when I realized that I was out of bread flour and my yeast was probably a year old. I  wondered What would Rachel do? (WWRD) and concluded that she probably would have one of her "people" dash to the store for fresh ingredients. Since was impatient and it was below zero outside, I proceeded. 

During the mixing cycle, I poked the dough and added a little water, curious about how dry the mixture looked. After the rising cycle, I prodded it some more because it still looked crumbly. When the baking cycle had completed, I dumped the loaf out of the pan and wondered if gourmet chefs on the food network would have a special name for this type of dense biscuit-like bread. My husband matter-of-factly suggested that we throw it out.  "No way," I answered. "It has two dollars worth of sun dried tomatoes in it. We're eating it."

 I don't know how a slice of bread can taste dry and gummy at the same time. Three bites into it and I chucked the loaf into the garbage. I'm sure Rachel would have agreed.

A Lesson on Hanukkah

Today I started a mini unit at school about December holidays around the world. Since the children are so excited about Christmas, it only makes sense to include the excitement of the season into something teachable. I decided to talk about Hanukkah the first day, since the class is a very homogeneous group without any religious diversity. The kids listened with interest to the book I read about the symbols and traditions of the holiday. They liked hearing about dreidels, menorahs, and latkes. One little girl wondered if a person could celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah. I explained that it is done when some families choose to celebrate both holidays because of their parents' traditions.

A little later as the class completed their paper menorah craft, I overheard one girl fibbing with authority, " My dad and brother celebrate Christmas, but my mom and me celebrate Harmonica."

I just had to walk away to keep from laughing. Happy Harmonica, everyone.

Christmas Letters

'Tis the season, and that means it's time for me to get busy writing the Christmas letter. It's a letter that sort of reviews the year and gives an update on what is going on at our house. My parents always included a Christmas letter with the cards sent to out of town friends and family, so I guess I've always done it too. 

It seems everyone has an opinion about holiday letters. My dear husband is one of the people who happens to hate letters like this. He thinks including one with our card is simply unnecessary. Maybe at some point in his life he was subjected to one of those multi-page holiday letters that reads like a resume' and has the effect of a sleeping pill.

I happen to be one of those people who loves to receive letters along with holiday cards. It's great to catch up on the lives of cousins or former classmates that I rarely get to see. The biggest disappointment to me is opening an elegant foil edged card that has a sentimental verse printed on it, and nothing but a signature at the bottom. 

I realize that in an ideal world, one would get out a pen and hand-write an individualized letter to each person on their list. I will probably get around to that the year I start creating handmade paper from recycled dryer lint or sewing all my own clothes from repurposed Goodwill fabric.

Knowing how he feels, I write one anyway, but proceed cautiously, taking care to re-read and revise, removing any hint of a brag. I probably overcompensate actually. Over the years, I recorded the time he gave one of our sons a shoulder ride and ended up breaking a light fixture with our little one's head. Instead of creating an illusion about our perfect lives, I tell about the time the Christmas tree fell over or the time I took the kids' photo in front of the decorated tree, but failed to notice the small pile of cat poop under the tree which was in every shot.

A picture perfect family...we are not. And I'm pretty sure my letters reflect that. After all, what's Christmas without a little comic relief?

Counting My Blessings

Before I open the paper and look at all the "Black Friday" ads that will send me into a list-making frenzy thinking about all the things I need to get for someone (or wish I could buy for myself) I'm going to take a minute to count my blessings.

I am thankful:

Joey is home for Thanksgiving. He even made dinner for us last night....one of the two specialties he's developed during the first semester in an apartment. It was delicious and awesome to have a night off!

Ben completed his senior year football season with no injuries. That is amazing when I think about all the hard tackles that can easily send a player to the emergency room and the sidelines for the rest of the year.

Perry appreciates me working full time. Somedays he surprises me and walks into my classroom with a cappuccino...just the thing to put a spring back in my step when I need it most! Every month at payday he says, "Have I thanked you for working?" We laugh because he says it all the time, but I love to hear it and I hope he never stops.

My mom comes to volunteer in my class two mornings a week to listen to students read. I'm glad she gets to really see what I do. My students get to benefit from an extra "grandma" with smiles, hugs and encouragement for their hard work in reading.

Pam, my childhood friend, who recently moved back to Boone. I get to play auntie with her two little girls who are a blast to have around. Plus she and I drop in on each other some weeknights for a spontaneous glass of wine and heart-to-heart talks.

Sam, who walks out the door every day to deliver 80 papers. He picked up an extra route this summer which has been an enormous time commitment. Now that it's cold and he's finishing his route in the dark, I am thankful for his perseverance and work ethic that keeps him going each day when many kids would have quit already.

For flu shots, Airborne and general good health at our house this fall. It seems like strep throat and stomach bugs are all around us, but so far, we have avoided most of the icky stuff.

My first grade students, who think I'm smart, tall and funny.

My two little dogs, who are always glad to see me and ready to cuddle whenever I am. They agree with everything I say, and never talk back.

For God, the source of all my blessings, who gives me wonderful things I don't deserve, and keeps me from things I certainly do deserve. He gives me hope when I feel discouraged, strength when I feel exhausted, and peace when I feel worried.

Now those shiny newspaper ads with the coupons don't seem quite as appealing as before. 

Let's be "Thankyou"

Yesterday at school I did a little activity to help the kids focus on their blessings. At the top of a chart I wrote, "I am thankful for:" and we brainstormed the blessings we have. Once we got past family, food, home and friends, they really got into it and lots of great ideas. Soon our chart page was full and it was time to decorate their Thanksgiving tree craft. One little boy, who is just filled with passion and energy, bounced over to me several times that day to announce, "Guess what else I'm thankyou for?" Even though he didn't quite learn the word, I know he got the concept.

A Sign of Winter

We know it's getting cold when the dogs start laying across the heat vents! It doesn't look very comfortable to me, but Pearl has started lounging on the floor vent near our kitchen. Our dogs have very little fur to keep them warm, so Buddy and Pearl are always eager to seek out any warm place to cuddle up. If anyone in the family is lounging with a blanket, it's a "given" that the dogs will show up and want to cozy up and join in the warmth. On sunny days, they often look like cats, lounging on the living room carpet in the sunlight as it shines across the floor.

Forget the weather report or the Farmer's Almanac. Now that Pearl is laying across hard metal strips to get warm, that's a sure sign that winter is nearly here.

Baby Shower

This week I went to a baby shower for a teacher friend of mine. It was so much fun to see Julie's excitement as she talked about preparations for the birth of her first child. She was so thrilled with each gift she opened, and it was interesting for many of us with older children to see how baby supplies have changed since I had a baby in the house. 

When she opened the baby-wedge thing designed to keep the baby on his back as he sleeps, I remembered how my babies slept on their tummies. They were spitters after all, and I couldn't risk them sleeping on their backs and choking to death. Now tummy sleeping seems to be a dangerous practice. It's a wonder my kids survived!

The gift I brought was something that didn't exist when my kids were babies. It's a cover for shopping cart seats and restaurant high chairs. The fabric covers the edges where a baby often puts his hands. I remembered to myself how all three boys would lean over and suck on the handle of the shopping cart at Fareway.  Ugh !  How did they live to see their second birthdays after ingesting all those germs!

As an additional "gift" to Julie, we were all supposed to write down a piece of advice for her from our years of parenting experience. My advice was for her to keep the baby monitor out of her bedroom. Having the monitor next to her pillow will ruin those precious few hours of sleep by hearing and worrying over each little squeak and grunt. After all, when a baby needs to be fed, he will make his needs loud and clear! 

As the party continued, the conversation turned to the newest standard for baby sleeping arrangements...to keep the infant in the parents room, next to the bed, for the first six months of the child's life. Apparently this is supposed to reduce the likelihood of death due to SIDS. Many of us reacted with surprise and disbelief to hear that this is the new accepted practice.

After the party, I wished I could tear up the page of "advice" I had contributed . Becoming a parent is hard, but it's even harder when you get conflicting advice from well meaning friends and family members who had their babies at least a decade before.  I remember the frustration I felt when  helpful people urged me to feed my baby boys rice cereal sooner than the doctor advised because that's what they did back in "their day"? 

When I saw my friend the next afternoon, I knew I had to apologize if our good intentions and conversation made her feel confused. Then I couldn't resist giving her one last piece of advice. I reminded her that I (and all those veteran moms at the party) got experience through a lot of trial and error. We all made mistakes and did the best we could with what we had and what we knew at the time. I urged her to simply listen to her doctor and trust her gut. 

My friend may have picked up some baby-care tips at the shower, but I learned something that day, too.

Fall Leaves

Having a non-English speaking student in my class this year has been such a fun challenge. This student of mine started school here just three weeks after moving from Mexico. I admired the courage it took him to walk into our school and join a classroom full of people who spoke a language he didn't understand, and a crazy teacher who tried to overcome the language barrier with wild gesturing. 

I've been studying and practicing my spanish for the past 3 months which has helped refresh a lot of my forgotten high school and college spanish, as well as picking up some new vocabulary. Each morning before I go to school, I even check an online dictionary to help me with words I might want to use with him that day. That has helped some, but I'm very lucky that children are fast learners and pick up new languages quickly.

The season of fall has been fascinating for him, and he has marveled at the leaves that have been falling from the trees. During draft book time, I helped him make a picture plan of trees and piles of leaves on the ground. I thought carefully, then explained in spanish that he could write about how he makes piles of leaves. I turned around to help another student, then realized in horror what I'd actually said to him, "Many children like to make piles of eyeballs in the fall."

He just smiled when I rushed back and said, "Hojas, not ojos!" What a patient little guy. What he's missing out in his education, he's making up for in entertainment from his bumbling teacher.

Date Night

Perry and I went on a date last night....the first time in a long time. For the past few months, our Friday nights have been spent cheering for Ben and his friends at the high school football games. Even though it was sad to see the season end, Perry and I can now enjoy some much needed time together.

I've been wanting to see the movie Fireproof, but according to the listings, we would have to drive to the Des Moines area to see it. Since we want to keep our date nights inexpensive, we decided to skip dinner out at a restaurant. The snow flew in the air as we drove and we were amazed at the recent change in the weather. It would have been a bad night to sit on bleachers watching a football game!

The Jordan Creek theater is huge and impressive with it's fancy concession stand area and stadium theater seating. After paying $9 apiece for the tickets and buying the $6 bag of popcorn, we laughed at what was happening to our cheap evening! How do people afford to go to the movies on a regular basis??

Fireproof was an awesome movie with an excellent message for couples at any stage of married life. Even though there were many other shows we could have seen, at theaters much closer to home, making the drive to see that one felt like a positive investment for our relationship. A box of Junior Mints would have been nice, but other than that....it was a perfect evening!

Flu Shot

This morning, I went to school with a sore arm from getting my flu shot. Since a large part of our school's  literacy program involves teaching reading and writing at the same time, we teachers do a lot of modeling to demonstrate writing skills while the students read along. I decided to use my flu shot for a teachable moment, and began my writing demonstration by explaining why my arm was sore.  I explained the reason people get flu shots, and helped the children say the word "in-flu-en-za". At the end of the lesson, before the kids went to their tables with their draft books in hand, I overheard one little boy re-tell my story to his friend, explaining "She had to get a shot so she doesn't get godzilla."

Twelve Years Ago...

It happens every year at this time in October. The feelings hit me at strange times, like when I'm writing or reading the date, or when I see Halloween decorations. I'm not sure why I'm still surprised when I go through this little blue period.

Twelve years ago this week, Sam was a newborn. We had been dismissed from the hospital after a normal c-section birth when he was showing signs that something was very wrong.

Sam was admitted to the NICU at Blank Children's Hospital where we spent 10 days trying to diagnosis his problem. He had Hirschsprungs Disease, which is a like a bowel obstruction because a section of his intestine formed without any nerve cells.

Instead of coaxing him to eat, like I had at home, we were forced to keep him NPO. Our days were spent holding him and rocking him as he cried himself into exhaustion from hunger. I remember wondering how a baby was supposed to bond with his mother when the very essence of mother-child bonding time involved feeding and meeting their most basic comfort needs. I remember wishing I could wake up from the nightmare of seeing my new baby poked regularly with needles, and taken from me for procedures that no infant should have to experience. The panic and worry about what his future held literally made me feel like I was choking at times. The days were a blur, with eternal waits for the next doctor visit, the next round of tests and results.

The only way I could keep track of time was with my regular trips to the "pump room". I remember how marking the tiny 2 ounce bottles of milk with the date kept me connected to reality in a small strange way. 

I refused to leave the hospital, so Perry and my mom took turns caring for the two older boys at home, who were missing me and wondering how they went from having a new baby brother to not even having their mommy around. I felt like my heart was being torn in two when I thought about them needing me at home, but the idea of leaving Sam alone was unbearable for me. So I stayed. I preferred not to even leave the unit because there I could focus on what needed to be done for him. Walking to the cafeteria and back was an emotional drain because looking at the words "Neonatal Intensive Care Unit" on the door and knowing I belonged in there felt like a punch in the gut to me. It was painful to rejoin the outside world and see signs of other people's normal routines. Hearing small talk and laughter sounded like a foreign language to my ears.

One night a supper tray arrived with a small halloween goodie bag on it. I read the enclosed note, which explained that a child on the pediatric cancer floor had made these treats for parents of the "sick babies". I bawled over that sweet gesture from a child who herself was seriously ill. I bawled because it was halloween and I didn't understand how everybody in the world could be thinking of ridiculous things like pumpkins and costumes when my baby was sick! I bawled because my older sons needed me to come home and be with them on Halloween and I didn't know if I could do it. 

On the morning of October 31st, my mother arrived to take over with Sam. She had persuaded me that she was more than capable of rocking and loving him while I spent this much needed time with Joey and Ben. I drove to the boys' school and stood with the other parents holding cameras and looking to see which Power Ranger was their son. The difference was, I was the only mother sobbing through the entire parade. I spent the rest of the day with my big boys, taking them trick or treating, and trying to pretend that I wasn't grief stricken, exhausted and hormonal.

Every year since then, Sam has grown bigger and healthier. That traumatic time in the hospital is long past us. By the time he was a year old, our visits to Blank were much less frequent. October became a time to celebrate Sam's birthday, and a time to prepare for the costumes and silly celebrations that Halloween brings. When Sam was little, the memories were raw and painful, sometimes even waking me up in the night. After several more years, the mix of halloween/hospital memories have mellowed.

This year Sam insisted that we needed more Halloween decorations in the house. He took it upon himself to (properly) decorate the front hall of our house with dangling spiders, bat banners on the windows and a smiling pumpkin on the table. I smile to myself at this big healthy boy and remember how far he has come. It's nice to dust off those old memories and allow myself to remember back, but even nicer to "put them back on the shelf" and take a little swing at the rubber bat that hangs over my head as I walk by.

Good Sports

A week ago, Sam turned twelve and he wanted a big roller skating party at the rink in Ogden. Our oldest son, Joe, decided to come home for a visit that weekend. Besides his little brother's birthday, he'd been wanting to get home to see Ben play football and to have poker night with his dad and some friends. He even brought his girlfriend, Lindsey, and good friend Stephen home for the weekend.

Joe doesn't come home very often, so when he does, it's a big deal to us. The perfectionist side of me wants to have home-cooked food for him, and the laundry caught up so I can wash the laundry he brings home. Having extra guests in the house causes an additional tug at my Type-A tendencies. Working full time and keeping up with the crazy fall schedule, plus getting food and groceries ready for the birthday party meant that the dirty laundry was piled high and the sink was loaded with dishes when Joe and his friends arrived. I have often said that my life as a parent has been one long series of lowering my standards. I felt them drop an extra notch when everyone walked up  to the house and I realized that I hadn't given much thought to where they would sleep and if I had clean blankets for everyone.

Instead of sitting down to a home-cooked meal, we all piled into the van and headed south to Grimes for the football game. I thought about what good sports Stephen and Lindsey were to ride all this way, then go to a high school game where they didn't know anyone. Steven was an especially good sport when the woman at the ticket booth assumed he was a high school student and Joe teased him unmercifully.

Saturday was spent getting ready for the afternoon skating party, evening poker party, and the family dinner the next day. Lindsey helped me bake an enormous batch of monster cookies for Sam's party, and Stephen provided tech support, getting the basement tv working in time for the Iowa game. That afternoon, all three college kids joined us at at the skating rink, which made Sam's party even more fun! 

On Sunday, Perry enlisted Joe's help cutting a branch off our tree in the front yard. I was only a little surprised when I looked out the door to see that it was actually Stephen that ended up cutting down the branch, since he was the tallest person around and had the best reach.

I shook my head, thinking about all the ways Lindsey and Stephen could have chosen to spend a weekend, yet they came to Boone and pitched in like part of the family. What good sports they were!  I promise that next time they come to visit, they won't have to work like slaves and I will even cook for them!

Many Sides of Ben

Last week was homecoming, which was a crazy-busy week of fun activities for the high school kids. I wanted my students at school to understand what homecoming was all about, so when we watched the parade on Friday, they could share in the excitement. I asked Ben and a couple of his classmates to come to school and speak to the kids. I was thankful that he agreed, especially since he had been sick at home the previous two days. For his part, he brought his football gear and told the students what all the equipment was for. Later, he even went out on the playground to play catch with some of the kids. 

The coronation assembly was Friday, and I can only imagine how nervous and uncomfortable he must have felt, walking across the gym floor while his bio was read. He stood and posed for pictures with the rest of the homecoming court before, during and after the ceremony, and I marveled to myself...remembering the little toddler that used to cover his eyes if someone spoke to him that he didn't know. 

Last night was the final part of homecoming, the Powderpuff football game when the girls from the junior and senior classes play against each other. The boys provide the comic relief because they serve as cheerleaders. We laughed as we watched (hopefully our last chance to see) our son dressed in drag, prancing around the field with a bunch of the other guys. This is the same boy who as a young child, scowled from his seat in the shopping cart and exclaimed, "Don't WOOK at me!" if some nice lady greeted  him at the grocery store.

If you would have told me 14 years ago that I'd be watching my son do all these things, I never would have believed it.

The Brother's Weekend

Joey doesn't call home or email very often from college, but he scored big points with me when he invited his little brother to come spend the weekend with him in Iowa City. It was homecoming, and he was able to get an extra ticket for the game, so he invited Sam to stay with him at his apartment for the weekend.

He got to join Joey and his friends with lots of their homecoming activities from a concert on the Pentacrest to bowling, and of course, tailgating and the game. I know Sam will never forget the time he spent there!

I remember when I was Sam's age and I got to spend the night with my cousin Pam at her Iowa State dorm. I was fascinated by everything from the bunk beds to the elevators and I felt so special and grown up to be hanging out with college students. That created such an impression for me, so I'm grateful that Joe decided to do the same thing for his littlest brother.

Working at the Swim Meet

Staff members at my school district can earn their activity pass for the year by working at athletic events. Some involve supervising, which I shy away from, as I supervise all week long in my classroom. I don't need any more opportunities for confrontation in the off-hours. The other duties involve being timers, scorekeepers, and record keepers at the various games and meets. 

This year, my first duty was timing at a girls' swim meet. I'd never done it before, but everyone I talked to assured me it was easy. I was looking forward to watching the diving portion of the meet and seeing my friend Darci as she coached the girls. When I reported for duty, I was relieved to see another first grade teacher there. She was an experienced timer and had daughters on the swim team. We were given their stopwatches and we took our places at the end of each lane. I felt awkward and conspicuous. Wasn't there a more out-of-the-way place I could stand?

My mind raced back to high school, when my first cheerleading experience was for the girls' swim team. We wore short sleeved polyester outfits instead of the traditonal cheerleading sweater, and I remember how the humidity of the pool area played havoc with my carefully styled hair (think: big and puffy) The red and white saddle shoes that we wore were slippery on the wet tile. Doing jumps as we cheered was out of the question.  I remembered standing at the opposite end of the pool and getting a face full of water as the girls did their flip turns. Thinking back I tried to remember the chants for any swimming cheer. What did we yell? ..."S...W...I...M...??"

Would that year of experience help me remember the various swimming events and how many lengths of the pool each race went? How long was that pool anyway? I fought the urge to hand my timer to the next passerby and declare myself confused and unprepared. The meet was beginning and I would just do the best I could.

When the alarm sounded for each race I had the important job of clicking the timer for the swimmer in lane 6. During the race things got even more complicated because I had to keep track of which lap of the race she was on. Counting should be a cinch for a first grade teacher, right? I fought the panic each time I was sure I'd lost count and the race would end before I realized she was on her last lap. My experienced friend Julie helped me count from her lane, so I didn't miss any swimmers on their final approach. The big moment came at the end of each race. As my swimmer completed her final lap, I had to carefully work my way through her cheering team-mates, lean down, and reach the cord for the button-thingy that stops the touch pad. Leaning down near the edge of a pool while high school girls are jumping and bumping around next to me made me scared. I was sure I would get jostled at the wrong second and be first timer in Boone High history to get knocked into the pool.

As it turned out, the swim meet ended without any major problems or controversy. I'm fairly sure none the girls' Olympic trials were resting on their times from this meet. I was a bit wet from the flip turns and taking-off splashes, but I reminded myself that at least I wasn't wearing a hot polyester cheerleading outfit.

Boys Will Be Boys

We've had a bit of a problem with wasps in the backyard. There was a nest as big as a basketball hanging from the garage overhang. Over the past few weeks I worried as it grew in size and lovingly reminded my dear husband the we (he) needed to take care of that before someone got stung. Well, one day last week, our son Sam was jumping on the trampoline and got stung. Perry felt so bad and went to the hardware store bright and early the next morning. The resident wasp expert talked him out of spraying because that same evening we would be hosting the weekly football team dinner. Apparently, spraying toxins at their nest causes wasps to become cranky.

That night was rainy, so we used the basement and garage for the dinner. It was a success because no one got stung. The behemoth in the backyard was the subject of conversation for the dads, and as the evening went on, these overgrown boys brainstormed many creative ways to destroy the nest. You know what little boys do when they have a large stick in their hands, right? Well, you can imagine what one grown man did with a golf-ball-retriever-pole. After poking a hole in the nest, he barreled around the corner of the garage without getting stung. This only encouraged the rest of the group.

Another dad threw a football at it, and got stung. Later, after more strategic planning, the "offense" march back to the yard with my husband as the official quarterback. A few seconds later, there were cheers as the pass was complete and the nest was hit squarely, breaking it and releasing hundreds of angry wasps. The guys ran for all corners of the neighborhood before breathlessly coming back to declare the mission a success.

A few days later, with the help of a large can of poison spray and some colder temperatures, the wasps appear to be nearly gone. Sam can go back to the trampoline and the dogs won't be afraid to go outside anymore.

A Little Brainwashing

Call me a proud mom, but with the beginning of the football season, it's hard not to be excited about watching my son Ben's games. At school today I was proudly wearing my new Toreador football sweatshirt. During my daily writing demonstration this morning, I wrote a story about going to the football game tonight, and encouraged the kids to attend the game with their families.

Later in the morning, as we walked to PE class, I told the kids that their PE teacher also happens to be one of the team's coaches. I asked the class, "What will you yell at the game tonight?" Mr. Hoover patiently played along and guessed, "Go Boone?" 

"No," they corrected him. "Go Ben !"

Struggling with Spanish

One of the things on my "Bucket List" is to brush up on the spanish I learned in high school and college. I have become embarrassingly rusty over the years with no reason to practice it. In fact, the only thing I'm very good at is Sesame Street-level spanish...numbers, colors etc; although I must say, I do sound pretty convincing ordering a quesadilla a mexican restaurant. 

During the past few years, I've had a few ESL (English as a second language) students in my classroom. I've had students who were adopted from orphanages in other countries and children from Hispanic migrant families. It's fascinating for me to help them improve their English skills during their first grade year. It's made me want to take additional classes to get my ESL endorsement and become fluent in Spanish. 

That goal was in the back of my mind until school started this fall and I met one of my new students... a little boy whose family just moved from Mexico and speaks NO ENGLISH at all. That accelerated my language-learning plans in a big way ! I have checked out books to study, found online resources to help me translate and teach him vocabulary, and have enlisted help from nearly every Spanish speaking teacher in the district. I'm even listening to daily podcasts on iTunes ! It's called Coffee Break Spanish and the lessons are great, but they're taught by people in Scotland, so I'm afraid I'm learning Spanish with a bit of a Scottish accent !

I'd be doing pretty well speaking to my new student if it weren't for verbs. Conjugating verbs is something I'm really struggling with. Unfortunately, every helpful phrase and sentence I can think of, needs one. Until I learn more, this little boy is being patient with my use of partial phrases, a stab at the infinitive form of the verb and a LOT of pantomime. At least I've overcome a former habit of mine...trying to break the language barrier with volume. After all, he's latino, not hard of hearing.

Feeding the Masses

Apparently, our house is the new designated spot for the high school football team to gather on Tuesday nights. It's tradition to watch videos from games of this week's opposing team, so the guys can check out the competition, and watch their strategies or whatever. (I actually don't know what they do.) It's Ben's senior year and we are glad to have him volunteer our house for this kind of thing. In a short year, our second son will be out of the house and we will wish for the days we had a house full of football players.

I thought I had everything covered: 5 pounds of taco meat in the big crock pot, a small crock pot of nacho cheese, several bags of chips, 2 pans of bars, a couple of gallons of koolaid....And then the boys arrived ! They started in on the food and I couldn't believe how fast it was going! I think there were about 15 guys, but they kept coming back for food, so it seemed like there were dozens more. At one point, I panicked a little and sent Perry to Fareway for more tortillas. But as it turned out, we had plenty of food, so I shouldn't have worried. 

All the guys were so appreciative, which makes them fun to cook for. I don't ordinarily get much thanks or praise for whipping up dinner, so I was eating it up ! There are a lot of fun things about the football season, and now I can add Tuesday night ego-boosts to the list.

Blinking IS Allowed

I came home from the first day of school and immediately crawled into my pajamas. I'm exhausted and hoarse...sure that I talked more today than throughout the entire summer months. It actually was a pretty good first day, though, if you take into account the rain and 2 inside recesses. As any teacher can tell you, managing a class after inside recess is tricky, even after rules and routines are firmly in place.

I spent the day explaining and modeling the essential parts of our school routines, then we did short activities for the kids to practice. Getting the hang of sitting still to listen and focusing on me is a challenging thing for wiggly small people. 

Music and activity is a big part of my teaching, and I used several songs today. Dancing around the room to the song ,The Freeze, was a fun way to practice the "stop and listen" part of our classroom routine. The kids obediently froze in place when the music stopped, then crazily marched and danced when it started again. At the end of the song, one little boy walked up to me and solemnly asked, "Is it ok that I blinked?"

The Dogfather

You know that famous scene from the movie, The Godfather? The man is sleeping and wakes up in horror to find a horse's head in bed with him? Well, I had a similar reaction when I woke up this morning. Perry's alarm rang, I rolled over and turned on the light. Then I felt something curiously damp and gritty beside me. I turned and to my horror, discovered that I'd been sleeping next to a humongous pile of dog vomit !

How did a dog vomit next to my head in the night and I didn't notice? Am I sleeping so sound now that I've gone back to work that ALL my senses have stopped working? This morning as I'm washing the sheets, I wonder if one of the dogs should be taken to the vet today or is really trying to "reason" with me, Don Corleone style?

Back to School

The good thing about being a teacher is the feeling that I'm starting a new job every fall. The bad thing about being a teacher is the feeling that I'm starting a new job every fall. 

Now that we're back from vacation and August is here, it's time to get serious about cleaning my classroom and organizing supplies for a new school year. Walking into the stuffy classroom with it so stark and bare is depressing. I look around the room trying to decide where to start. The bulletin boards seem like they've survived a war with a stapler; I pick the occasional stray shred of paper which stubbornly refuses to let go of last year's decor. The floors are freshly cleaned and the marker boards have been washed, but a thick layer of dust covers everything else. As I get my rags and fill a bucket at the sink, I wonder how many other professions have this much janitorial work hidden beneath their job descriptions.

I glance at the clock and think about the lazy habits I've picked up this summer. Lounging in the afternoons reading a book, then taking a nap has become part of my daily routine. Life has such a relaxed pace when I'm off for the summer. How will I get my rusty brain back in "teacher mode" and adjust to the hectic schedule of fall?

There are closets to reorganize and furniture to arrange before I can start putting up bulletin boards and preparing for my new class. As I work, I feel myself mentally preparing for the weeks to come. I think about the group of little people that I have yet to meet, but in a few weeks I will come to love and regard as "my kids". It's important to me to get my room just so... an organized space for me to teach in, and an inviting space for these new kiddos to begin their first grade year.

A few hours later, I've made a little progress "feathering my nest" but I have a long way to go before I'm ready to start the new year. As I clean and arrange, I realize that I'm actually mentally rehearsing the first few days of school, and feeling more prepared for the challenges ahead. Maybe the time I spend in my classroom, while the rest of the building is dark and quiet, is more valuable than I realize.

IKEA...here I come!

I've been looking forward to this for months. Perry has promised me a trip to Minneapolis and free reign at my favorite store. This is my Christmas, birthday and Mother's Day gift all rolled into one. It was love at first sight the very first time I visited that store. I love the modern styled furniture, bright fun colors, and unique style of everything from home accessories to kitchen gadgets. Most importantly, I get such a kick out of discovering fun things for my house and classroom that are so cheap!

It will require at least two separate visits to the store to make sure I have seen everything. Perry is so patient and understanding with me. He also knows his limitations and realizes that he will need to make other plans while I power shop. I think he would rather do just about anything than follow me around that huge store for hours. 

What am I shopping for? Well, I'm on a mission to find some nice looking storage to replace the huge tubs that seem to be stacked everywhere in my classroom. I hate clutter, so keeping my "stuff" out of sight makes my days at school much happier. IKEA has containers and storage that actually seems decorative, and when I walk through their department of organizational supplies, I feel like I'm that much closer to getting my life under control.

Beyond that, I'm not really sure... sometimes I don't know what I "need" until I see it ! :)

Young Talent

When these guys make it big, I will tell you I knew them when. I even changed their diapers! This is a picture of my cousins playing in their band, Sofo . They live in Denver and have created quite a name for themselves in that area. I am so proud of them, and the way they have pursued this dream while balancing school and day jobs. Years ago, I remember family Christmas gatherings and hearing them noodling around with their guitars, but never dreamed the sounds they were creating would become parts of the music they play today. This spring, the boys released a CD, which I have listened to over and over. I don't understand all the songs, but I really like 4 of them. Because of them, my taste in music is expanding and I've added the word "indie" to my vocabulary! I can't wait until their touring brings them to Iowa so we can go see them in person.

This summer, I have encountered 2 other talented musicians from the Boone area. I ran into Josh Davis, a former student of mine who has been playing in his own band for a few years. His popularity is rising in the midwest and the southern midwest, and I've even heard his music played on a Des Moines radio station! After visiting with him, it was fun to go home and check out his website to hear his music and check out his tour schedule. 

A few weeks ago, I was in our church youth room and met the daughter of some fellow educators here in Boone. I didn't realize Laura's been living in New York and performing in clubs there. I was blown away by her beautiful clear voice and her style of song writing. How fun to later visit her myspace page to hear her music and find that she is performing locally while she is home for a few weeks. Perry and I visited a coffeehouse where she played and we really enjoyed it.

So what has gotten into me? Although I've always loved music, I've never been a groupie by any stretch of the imagination. In fact I don't even like concerts, due to the price of concert tickets and the claustrophobic, ADHD feelings I get when sitting in a crowded arena. Maybe my new interest in following the success of these new talented performers is because I know them. The familiarity makes attending a show much more meaningful. It's kind of like watching sports for me. I'm only a big fan when I'm watching my kids on the field. 

Summer Classes

It wouldn't feel like summer if I wasn't spending a few days driving to Johnston for continuing ed classes. This year, I decided to take a class called "Celebrating Diversity: Latino Culture" figuring that it would help me understand the lives and backgrounds of my hispanic students.  Driving to Johnston 6 days in a row has been a bummer, but getting 3 graduate credits makes it worth it. The instructor told us this class is "experiential" which is an understatement. In addition to guest speakers and projects, the group is bussed all over Des Moines to eat at authentic mexican restaurants and shop at hispanic markets. I never thought I could get tired of eating Mexican food, but I'm on my third day of puffy hands and heartburn. After this week is over, I may not want anything in a tortilla for a very long time.

Going through the grocery stores was so amazing. I was fascinated as I scanned the package labels and tried to mentally recall spanish I haven't used since college. The meat counter was not for those with weak stomachs. Huge chunks of stinky meat sat unwrapped on the counter in a small neighborhood market, and even the larger supermercado had chicken feet (claws included) and beef tongue! After seeing that, living as a vegetarian seemed entirely do-able.

I have two more "experiential" assignments to complete...look up some facts about Carmen Miranda and do a creative presentation with members of my group; and prepare an authentic latino dish for a fiesta on Saturday. So tonight I am searching online for cactus salad recipes (seriously! ) and trying to figure out what I have around the house that might resemble a turban or fruit headdress for my group's informercial in the morning. Maybe I should make a run to the store for some extra Tums while I'm at it.

Our Anniversary

Yesterday, Perry and I celebrated our 22nd anniversary. It was a nearly child-free weekend, as Joe was out of town visiting friends and Sam went to Grandparent-Grandchild camp with my parents. How did we begin this memorable day? By doing Sam's paper route !

When Sam realized he'd have to miss a day of paper delivering, he tried to line up a sub, but everyone he called was unavailable. When Sam started this route a year ago, I insisted that this would be HIS job. I wasn't going to be one of those parents who is regularly seen driving their vehicle along the child's route or adding "assistant paper carrier" to their job description. I prefer to offer my support behind the scenes. Perry doesn't share my hang-up about this and suggested that we help Sam out this weekend. 

So, we got up bright and early and I dressed for the paper route...sweats, ballcap, sunglasses, and no make up. After all, no one would be seeing me, right? Perry and I loaded the papers...he took the big canvas paperboy bag and I handled the extras in a Fareway sack. We hopped on our bikes and pedaled off. The first street actually went pretty well. Perry and I divided the houses and efficiently zipped up and down the driveways. It was a bit tricky to get on and off a bike near each house's front step.  Once my bike crashed to the ground, tearing my capris when my seat and pant leg seemed to be attached. I had to remind Perry that a good paper-boy really shouldn't swear outside customers' homes just because he is struggling to balance a paper bag while steering a bike. 

My plan to stay in-cognito didn't last very long, as it seemed to be the day for everyone in that neighborhood to go outside and personally greet the paper carrier. Perry felt chatty and stopped to visit with two of Sam's customers, but I preferred to keep my baseball cap tipped low and keep going, because by then the rain had started.

As we finished the route I was relieved to see that the number of papers matched the houses we had on the list. We got home, dried off, and made plans to celebrate properly by going out to dinner that evening. Most people spend their anniversary reliving memories of past years, but leave it to us to create an unlikely new one.

Sock Soup

Each morning, I get up early and spend a little time with Joey before he leaves for work. He has a summer job doing field work for Monsanto.

This morning, I opened the door to the garage and spotted one of the most disgusting things I've seen in awhile... a huge pile of socks that were black and soggy. Dozens of what used to be white socks,....undoubtedly saved up from long hot days in muddy farm fields. My throat slammed shut, and as I turned away to shut the door, I was thankful for an empty stomach. The question I asked was stupid, from a college boy's perspective. Joey replied matter of factly, "They were in the trunk of my car."

Moms like me recognize teachable moments, and this morning's lesson was "How to Pre-Soak Disgustingly Dirty Items of Clothing" If you drive by my house today, you'll see a large rubbermaid tub of "sock soup" in the driveway. Just roll up your windows and keep going.

20 years ago.....

Tomorrow my oldest son turns 20. It's such a weird feeling for me, to think I'm old enough to have a twenty year old child...to think I've been parenting for 2 decades."It seems like just yesterday" is an over used phrase, but one I'm using a lot as I think back to when Joe was little.

It seems like just yesterday...

He bounced up and down throughout the fireworks display every 4th of July, narrating for us..." Oooh, look! Geen one!  Oooh look, wed one!"

I was clipping coupons and debating the pros and cons of Pampers, Huggies and Luvs diapers. Joey even wore the baby blue Huggies, which was the big thing back then.

He and I would go to weekly play groups with friends of mine and babies his age.  The mommies would drink coffee and chat all morning while the kids played. Many of those kids graduated together last year and have stayed friends throughout their school years.

I was reading Good Night Moon for the umpteenth time while he sat on the potty chair.

I watched Mtv during middle of the night feedings, rocking him to the sound of Guns-n-Roses singing, Sweet Child of Mine.

We went to parent child storytime at the library for fingerplays and picture books, followed by a trip to the bakery for a treat. Come to think of it, we started going to storytimes in the "old library" even BEFORE the Ericson library built its large addition and renovated its children's department. We went to the bakery when it was still located where the Purple Crow gift shop is now.

I took him to preschool when Small Miracles was still at the Central Christian Church.

I bought his clothes from Kelly's Kids. - adorable one piece rompers and overalls with colorful appliques and personalized with his name. Many play group moms like me even bought coordinated mommy outfits. Urg.

Last night we watched the fireworks without him, as he was out of town for the holiday. When we got home, I saw that I had a text from him. It said, "ooh, ahh, red one!" 

He has no idea how much that meant to me.

Superstitions

My life in the summer means high school baseball games almost every night. Our family has been zig-zagging the state over the last 6 weeks, traveling to games as far away as Pella, Knoxville and Carroll; many days leaving Boone mid-afternoon and not getting home until 11:00.

The games have been fun to watch, as the boys are having a good season, and are undefeated (so far) in our conference. It's great to see them playing well, but we know that each night is different. We see many players go from a hitting slump, to a night hitting balls that sends outfielders running to the fence. 

Baseball is truly a game of inches, and it's amazing how "mental" it can be. The boys often feel baffled as to the reason they are hitting well, or striking out repeatedly. Each player stands at the plate and has to "read" the ball as it comes out of the pitcher's hand, deciding in less than a split second if he are going to swing or not. Position of the hips, elbows, and shoulders also affect whether the hit will be an easy-to-field grounder, a lazy fly to the outfield, or a squarely hit ball that burns past the short-stop. All outside edges of the strike zone get pitched to, and it's easy for the guys to fall victim to curve balls and change-ups. 

With all those tiny little details to attend to, I see my son, his team-mates, and even the dads in the bleachers become superstitious. After a good night at the plate, they attempt to keep the luck going by wearing the same t-shirt, parking their car in a certain spot, or some other silly little ritual. Ben played with a sore wrist one day, so he had it wrapped with athletic tape. He hit the ball unusually well that game, so I wasn't surprised to see his wrist taped for several days after that.  I usually roll my eyes at these quirky behaviors, and prefer to shoot up a silent prayer each time Ben goes up to bat. A week or so ago, even I got sucked into this superstitious thinking. 

One day, in an effort to be a good mom, I got organized and prepared a big mid-day meal. Since we're gone every night, it's impossible to cook a healthy evening meal and we live on sandwiches and fast food. That day, Ben went off to his game fortified with homemade ham balls and cheesy potatoes, and he slammed the ball to the outfield nearly every time he went to bat. I was so happy for him, but silently crediting his success to the hearty pre-game meal I'd prepared. For the next several days, my faulty thinking kept me as busy as a farm wife at harvest time, slaving away to make a meal that would stick to Ben's ribs and help him  be successful at his game.

Well...as you probably predicted, there wasn't any power in the ham balls after all... or enchilada casserole, meat loaf, or chicken fettuccine alfredo. Ben's performance at his games is only a product of his motivation, mental focus and a variety of small adjustments in his batting stance and swing. 

Today I'm making french dip sandwiches for lunch...only because I want the whole family to have something nutritious before we drive to Norwalk. Ben has my prayers, and beyond that, he doesn't need my help out there.

Doggy Dental Work

The other day, I took the dogs for their regular yearly check ups. After the necessary vaccinations, heartworm tests & Heartguard medicine, I got out the checkbook and braced myself to hear the total.  Apparently, it would be only a subtotal, because the doctor noticed that Buddy's gums were swollen and inflamed, and it was likely he would need to have teeth extracted. She recommended that he come in for a thorough cleaning, which is done under general anesthetic.

Sighing, I realized that it was the right thing to do for dear old Buddy, and I decided to make the appointment for the doggy dental work and get it over with.

On Thursday, I reluctantly delivered him to the vet clinic at the appointed time. Then I watched the clock until they called a few hours later to tell me he was awake from the anesthesia, and doing well. During the procedure, they found that five of his front teeth were extremely loose and had to be pulled. The doctor also removed a mass of some kind from his gums and it was recommended it be sent to a lab for biopsy to determine whether the lump is cancerous. As they tallied the grand total and I got out the check book, I sighed, convincing myself that having the lump tested for cancer was the right thing to do.

So... several hundred dollars later, I drove home with poor Buddy beside me, looking drunk. He leaned precariously on the seat with his eyelids at half-mast, until he finally drooped over and slept the rest of the way home. The poor little guy is a bit funny looking anyway, with no tail and mismatched eyes. Now he is missing the bottom row of front teeth, and eating with his sore mouth requires more effort and tongue visibility than it used to.  He requires soft food for a few days, so I've even been making him scrambled eggs each morning!

Yes, I am a hopeless animal lover, and would do about anything for my pets. I know that part of being a pet owner is spending money on vet care. It's a little depressing, however, to think about the money we've spent on dental care, yet none of the humans in the family have been to the dentist yet this summer!

Underwater University

This picture makes me so sad. I found it on the Des Moines Register's website and the impact of the flooding at the University of Iowa really hit home. Many of the other pictures I've seen are ariel shots or pictures taken in a way that I can't quite mentally orient myself to.

I've seen the shots of the Mayflower dorm, where I lived as a freshman. The name seems a little ironic now that it seems to be sticking up out of a body of water. From the way the pictures are taken, it's hard to see where the water level is in relation to the building.

This picture, however, is the one that really gets to me. It shows an entrance to the Union that I went in and out of daily when I was in school there. That door led me to a quick cup of coffee and tables for a place to study between classes. I walked that way to buy books and other supplies at the Union book store. That was the way to get a quick lunch when I didn't want to go back to the dorm. It's hard to see such a familiar sight in such a surreal and tragic way.

One Window at a Time

Today I washed my kitchen window. 

Seems kind of lame when I see myself type those words, but that is my accomplishment for the day. One of my goals before summer is over is to get all the windows in the house washed. But the way the "lazies" have kicked in, I don't feel a bit motivated to do a window-washing marathon or tackle any other big project for that matter. Each day of the summer seems to fill itself up with exercise class, cooking, dishes, laundry, and going to the kids' baseball games. I'm loving the chance to curl up every afternoon with a good book and my two dogs.

It really isn't like me to be content with such slow paced days. What has gotten into me? You could say that I have "evolved" and matured to the point that I'm able to savor the little blessings in each day. It's more likely because spring at our house was filled with undertakings like painting the kitchen and the frenzy of cleaning out the basement, I'm burned out on big projects for now. 

I can't ignore my list though...it's the piece of notebook paper filled with projects I hoped to get accomplished  over the summer; things there doesn't seem to be any time for during the school year. Every couple days I make myself check the list and find something constructive to accomplish and check off.

So today I grabbed my new bottle of mint-scented window cleaner that I bought during a recent shopping binge at Target (no that wasn't on The List) I climbed up on the kitchen counter and tackled that dusty window that was speckled and spotted from months of rain and sink splatters. When I got done, the window looked amazing. I even vacuumed the window screen, and it was amazing how clean and clear the view of the back yard had become.

Did I continue on, and tackle another grimy window in another room? Nah. That was enough for one day. I dabbed a little window cleaner on my wrists and behind each ear and headed for the couch on the porch.

Gathering my Ducklings

I've never been afraid of storms, but I don't like it ONE BIT when severe weather is headed our way and I don't have my family with me. Just like a mother duck, when things look dangerous, I want to gather them together and tuck everybody under my wing. This is harder as my "ducklings" are growing older.

Last night a strong line of storms moved through and I was uncharacteristically nervous about it because none of my kids were home. As the dark clouds were bearing down from the west and the super doppler alerts were issuing new warnings every minute, my oldest son Joe was driving home from night class in Ankeny. A quick text confirmed that he would be home before the weather got bad here in town. 

Ben was at the high school softball game. Being a pretty independent guy, he doesn't love it when his mom tries to keep tabs on his wearabouts. I went for the subtle approach, texting, "Since the storm is moving in, let me know when you get safe inside somewhere". A few minutes later, he responded, "I'm inside." Of course, the Mother Duck in me couldn't settle for that, so I replied, "where?" Apparently I pushed too far, because I got no answer. 

Sam was at camp a half-hour northwest of here. Since checking in on him was not possible, I said a prayer that this strong line of storms would somehow miss Hidden Acres and the camp would be protected. My eyes stayed glued to the radar, as if my vigil would somehow affect the path of the storm.

Today, even though the sun is shining, I am heartsick for the families whose sons were boy scouts, and who won't be coming home from a camp in Western Iowa. Those parents would probably give about anything for an abrupt two-word text message from their son.

Later I read the  blog from the camp director at my son's camp about their experience in the storm. It confirmed what I knew in my heart all along. Sam was in good hands, and probably just as secure at camp as he would have been at home with me. Having my kids beside me during every storm just isn't possible anymore. As much as I want to,  I can't protect them from the weather or the world by tucking them under my wing.