I am late writing you three a Happy Birthday blog entry.
Mom is known as "Bobo" to the twins. "Bobo" is the word that one-year-old's were able to glean from the word "grandma." Sometimes she is "Bobo-licious," other times, she is "the Bobo-meister," but always, she is loved.
She is good for feeding children thick, rich, organic chocolate milk. Indulging them in gourmet Stam chocolates. Making them homemade sweets like Snickerdoodles, caramels, ice cream pies and caramel apples. She stands in cold pool water, letting them splash her, as fall leaves and winds tell her it's time to close the pool down for the summer. She always has a moment to talk to them on the phone, and stay an extra hour to be sure a homemade dinner is left for them to eat, despite her having to head back to IA.
She replaces stolen I-pods, houses a boxer we could no longer make room for, and acts as a bank when big expenses come up.
She is
Always
There.
Happy Birthday Mom
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Happy Birthday Patrick Pee-pod
Uncle P
Uncle Pancake
Uncle Pat-wick
Uncle Pee-pod
Their names for you, have progressed almost as much as your names for them:
This one and that one
Hey you
Them
Sophia and Ella
That's cute -- your language of love -- and it's progression over time.
Happy Birthday to the man I call my brother, and to whom I repeatedly ask "when are you going to have your own kids so you can quit teaching mine bad things?"
P.S. Payback is a bitch, I hear.
Uncle Pancake
Uncle Pat-wick
Uncle Pee-pod
Their names for you, have progressed almost as much as your names for them:
This one and that one
Hey you
Them
Sophia and Ella
That's cute -- your language of love -- and it's progression over time.
Happy Birthday to the man I call my brother, and to whom I repeatedly ask "when are you going to have your own kids so you can quit teaching mine bad things?"
P.S. Payback is a bitch, I hear.
Happy Birthday Heather
Even keeled.
That's Heather. Calm, rational, and with a sharp, biting sense of humor that I LOVE. It comes at me in her e-mails, which she drips my way in a rare instance of free time. "Does she even know how funny she is?" I wonder.
Intelligent.
That's Heather. Working on a graduate degree in microbiology, I think, it's all so big-wordy and scientific, I'm never quite sure. Someday, I say, she'll have a PhD in germs. How lucky, I think, that I will have a sister-in-law who knows everything about food safety and germs?
Patient
As evidenced by reading all the words on a page, in every long-winded children's story there is. And setting up forts in the front yard. And lulling two of my children to sleep in her arms, something I have never been able to do. They love them some "Aunt Header"
Happy Birthday oh quietly sassy one.
That's Heather. Calm, rational, and with a sharp, biting sense of humor that I LOVE. It comes at me in her e-mails, which she drips my way in a rare instance of free time. "Does she even know how funny she is?" I wonder.
Intelligent.
That's Heather. Working on a graduate degree in microbiology, I think, it's all so big-wordy and scientific, I'm never quite sure. Someday, I say, she'll have a PhD in germs. How lucky, I think, that I will have a sister-in-law who knows everything about food safety and germs?
Patient
As evidenced by reading all the words on a page, in every long-winded children's story there is. And setting up forts in the front yard. And lulling two of my children to sleep in her arms, something I have never been able to do. They love them some "Aunt Header"
Happy Birthday oh quietly sassy one.
By the Way, Happy Birthday
There was no time for talking. We were on borrowed time. Spending the entire afternoon out shopping for Halloween costumes and exploring the Minnesota Children's Museum left us with overstimulated, tired, and hungry children. By the time we reached Pizza Hut and finally had our pizza arrive, Andi would no longer stay in her highchair, frequently able to free her legs from the chair's slots, stand up, she would proceed to stepping on the table. Putting her back in her chair granted us with the privilege of her ear shattering screams. It took Dave and I -- both -- to push the little stiff board of a baby back into her seat.
There are lists of life circumstances that experts say increase the risk of divorce for couples. Included are:
Unable to converse with Dave -- on his birthday -- over the roar of childrens' frenetic energy, I was caught off guard as I took a bite of pizza. I realized there were other ways to feel glimpses of connection. The taste of the pizza -- a combination of vegetables and pepperoni that we ordered years ago --
as we dated,
got married,
survived grad school in Missouri,
then law school in MN,
then all the heartbreaks of lost babies,
and finally the arrival of twins,
served as a reminder of our connection. The pizza, in the chaos, spoke words we could not. And that will have to do. For now.
Happy Birthday Dave.
There are lists of life circumstances that experts say increase the risk of divorce for couples. Included are:
- infertility
- miscarriages
- law school
- the practice of law
- raising multiples
Unable to converse with Dave -- on his birthday -- over the roar of childrens' frenetic energy, I was caught off guard as I took a bite of pizza. I realized there were other ways to feel glimpses of connection. The taste of the pizza -- a combination of vegetables and pepperoni that we ordered years ago --
as we dated,
got married,
survived grad school in Missouri,
then law school in MN,
then all the heartbreaks of lost babies,
and finally the arrival of twins,
served as a reminder of our connection. The pizza, in the chaos, spoke words we could not. And that will have to do. For now.
Happy Birthday Dave.
Monday, September 6, 2010
My Worst Nightmare is Coming True
I can't find my list. I had a grocery list and another list -- 2 separate pieces of paper -- both of which I cannot find. I am disturbed by losing my grocery list; but losing the other list, that I can't remember what was on it, is making my heart beat in my throat.
I NEED MY LISTS.
Last week, I was carrying them around and they blew out of the car. "OH MY GOD! That was a close one," I thought as my foot landed on it, securing it from the wind and allowing me to pick it up. That moment of the list blowing threw the parking lot was enough to awaken in me the idea that losing my lists in NOT a possibility that I can handle.
Dave is going to be home all day today, the first time in over two weeks. I awoke with great determination to accomplish, well, far more than reasonable. My high expectations, along with two cups of coffee has put me in such an accelerated, frazzled mode of being, that finding my list is my only hope of a cure. Without my list, I'm just a frenzied ball of energy. A spinning Tasmanian Devil with no aim.
"Just make a new list," Dave says. Calmly. Rationally.
I can't concentrate, though. My mind is stuck on "where could I have left it? What was on it?"
I can lose my diamond wedding ring. Fine. Insurance can replace it and I'm not the sentimental sort, anyway. Things are replaceable.
Lose one of my children -- no worries. The finder, after an hour, will likely move heaven and earth to find their rightful owner.
But a LIST? Can't lose that. That is my map for the day. The thing that gives me my breath back. It points me in the right direction. Anchors me. Let's me know all things are in order. Under control.
Make a new list? I don't think so.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to dig through the garbage one more time.
I NEED MY LISTS.
Last week, I was carrying them around and they blew out of the car. "OH MY GOD! That was a close one," I thought as my foot landed on it, securing it from the wind and allowing me to pick it up. That moment of the list blowing threw the parking lot was enough to awaken in me the idea that losing my lists in NOT a possibility that I can handle.
Dave is going to be home all day today, the first time in over two weeks. I awoke with great determination to accomplish, well, far more than reasonable. My high expectations, along with two cups of coffee has put me in such an accelerated, frazzled mode of being, that finding my list is my only hope of a cure. Without my list, I'm just a frenzied ball of energy. A spinning Tasmanian Devil with no aim.
"Just make a new list," Dave says. Calmly. Rationally.
I can't concentrate, though. My mind is stuck on "where could I have left it? What was on it?"
I can lose my diamond wedding ring. Fine. Insurance can replace it and I'm not the sentimental sort, anyway. Things are replaceable.
Lose one of my children -- no worries. The finder, after an hour, will likely move heaven and earth to find their rightful owner.
But a LIST? Can't lose that. That is my map for the day. The thing that gives me my breath back. It points me in the right direction. Anchors me. Let's me know all things are in order. Under control.
Make a new list? I don't think so.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to dig through the garbage one more time.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Clean Slate
Gathered with the neighbors, Andi and I sat and watched the tree guys work....
 | |||||
| BEFORE |
 | ||
| Work in Progress |
 |
| Timber! |
 |
| Bye, tree. |
 |
| AFTER |
Friday, September 3, 2010
Planting Roots
I'm afraid to wake-up tomorrow. Yesterday I woke up with grass in my mouth. Today I woke up hearing a cascade of loud and varying noises -- creaking -- metal being hit -- I thought someone, perhaps "the murderer," had rammed through my garage door.
Tip-toeing down the stairs, and slinking up to the window, something green was staring right back at me. It took a few seconds for my eyes to trace up the greenery to the cracked limb hanging off the trunk of the tree. The phone rang, and the neighbor, hearing the crashing from two houses up, called to find out if I'd looked out my window, yet. "Have a good day," she said as she hung up.
At first I was glad about my predicament. Something this major might be enough to compel Dave to stay home for the day. He could spend time fixing the tree and Andi and I could watch, asking him if maybe he should "try this" or "try that." Turns out he went into work and two tree guys came out and told me the tree has got to go. "It's unstable. Rotten, and damaged beyond repair."
Later, Andi and I returned from a walk, and looking at all of the leaves in the yard, it prompted me to replay the part of the conversation the tree guy and I had. "I'll chip it, haul off all the wood. We'll clean up your yard, rake all the leaves away. You'll be set."
My throat caught, a lump formed. I wasn't sad until that moment when I realized my children won't have a huge pile of leaves in their yard this fall.
A pile of leaves to jump in is a fleeting thing that happens a couple weekends a year. But the lack of shade we will have in our front yard will bake the grass day after day. Where will we play? But still, it is the lack of leaves to rake and jump into, that is biting at me.
When you jump in a pile of leaves, there is always the same smell, and it can take you back to childhood. The crunch of the leaves as you land in them, and the rustle as you swoop up an armful and throw it into the air -- those sounds alone can exhume moments of childhood in the fall.
Tomorrow, when the tree guy finishes, he will have removed the huge ash from our front yard, taken down the two unwieldy, overgrown evergreens framing the house, the evergreen shrub that stands below the front windows that is dying, and the dying apple tree in the side yard.
The base of the apple tree has been the girls' garden; it's apples, the food that lures the deer to just below our kitchen window, and it's branches, the holders of each child's bird feeder. "I want to feed the birds mommy," would prompt a trip to Fleet Farm to buy birdseed, then we'd fill the feeders and wait for the tiny birds, the big birds, the cardinals that would come as cute couples and feed one another, and the aggressive blue jays which would scare all the other birds away.
I'd been thinking lately, that I could leave MN and never look back. I still call IA home, and when I am there, listening to the ever-so-slight accent in an Iowan's speech, that I don't hear up here in Minn-ee-sota, I feel like I'm back where I belong. (Of course, I'm open to warm FL, too.)
A couple of our neighbors here look out for us -- OK, so maybe I would look back. They keep an out for our kids, they clear our driveway in the winter when we are snowed under by the life of working too many hours, or minding small children with endless needs. They call us when our tree crashes down to be sure we're OK, and offer to come over and clean it up with us. All while they have their own lives, their own children. Moments like those make me feel like I'm at a place that is close to home.
Seeing this house for the first time, framed by evergreens, shaded by mature trees, we knew it was thee house -- our next step. Nestled at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, backing up to a wildlife preserve, grapes growing in huge bunches by the back deck, and the apple tree in full-bloom, it had a good vibe...We didn't intend to stay here long, and I've said I have no connection to this house, or so I thought. "I could leave it and not care," I had told Dave.
But then the financial strain that comes with having multiple children at once happened, as did the housing market crash. Jobs are scarce, and those with good pay, even scarcer. I began to feel stuck...resentful that we couldn't take our next step to a different state, city, or even house. Our choice is made for us.
Sunday, when I arrive home from my trip to IA, reuniting with Dave who will have been up north, he and I will both be greeted by a naked yard.
Next spring, we'll go pick out new trees, shrubs, and bushes, and put down roots. And maybe, stay a while longer.
Tip-toeing down the stairs, and slinking up to the window, something green was staring right back at me. It took a few seconds for my eyes to trace up the greenery to the cracked limb hanging off the trunk of the tree. The phone rang, and the neighbor, hearing the crashing from two houses up, called to find out if I'd looked out my window, yet. "Have a good day," she said as she hung up.
 | ||
| View from the front door |
At first I was glad about my predicament. Something this major might be enough to compel Dave to stay home for the day. He could spend time fixing the tree and Andi and I could watch, asking him if maybe he should "try this" or "try that." Turns out he went into work and two tree guys came out and told me the tree has got to go. "It's unstable. Rotten, and damaged beyond repair."
Later, Andi and I returned from a walk, and looking at all of the leaves in the yard, it prompted me to replay the part of the conversation the tree guy and I had. "I'll chip it, haul off all the wood. We'll clean up your yard, rake all the leaves away. You'll be set."
My throat caught, a lump formed. I wasn't sad until that moment when I realized my children won't have a huge pile of leaves in their yard this fall.
A pile of leaves to jump in is a fleeting thing that happens a couple weekends a year. But the lack of shade we will have in our front yard will bake the grass day after day. Where will we play? But still, it is the lack of leaves to rake and jump into, that is biting at me.
When you jump in a pile of leaves, there is always the same smell, and it can take you back to childhood. The crunch of the leaves as you land in them, and the rustle as you swoop up an armful and throw it into the air -- those sounds alone can exhume moments of childhood in the fall.
Tomorrow, when the tree guy finishes, he will have removed the huge ash from our front yard, taken down the two unwieldy, overgrown evergreens framing the house, the evergreen shrub that stands below the front windows that is dying, and the dying apple tree in the side yard.
The base of the apple tree has been the girls' garden; it's apples, the food that lures the deer to just below our kitchen window, and it's branches, the holders of each child's bird feeder. "I want to feed the birds mommy," would prompt a trip to Fleet Farm to buy birdseed, then we'd fill the feeders and wait for the tiny birds, the big birds, the cardinals that would come as cute couples and feed one another, and the aggressive blue jays which would scare all the other birds away.
I'd been thinking lately, that I could leave MN and never look back. I still call IA home, and when I am there, listening to the ever-so-slight accent in an Iowan's speech, that I don't hear up here in Minn-ee-sota, I feel like I'm back where I belong. (Of course, I'm open to warm FL, too.)
A couple of our neighbors here look out for us -- OK, so maybe I would look back. They keep an out for our kids, they clear our driveway in the winter when we are snowed under by the life of working too many hours, or minding small children with endless needs. They call us when our tree crashes down to be sure we're OK, and offer to come over and clean it up with us. All while they have their own lives, their own children. Moments like those make me feel like I'm at a place that is close to home.
Seeing this house for the first time, framed by evergreens, shaded by mature trees, we knew it was thee house -- our next step. Nestled at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, backing up to a wildlife preserve, grapes growing in huge bunches by the back deck, and the apple tree in full-bloom, it had a good vibe...We didn't intend to stay here long, and I've said I have no connection to this house, or so I thought. "I could leave it and not care," I had told Dave.
But then the financial strain that comes with having multiple children at once happened, as did the housing market crash. Jobs are scarce, and those with good pay, even scarcer. I began to feel stuck...resentful that we couldn't take our next step to a different state, city, or even house. Our choice is made for us.
Sunday, when I arrive home from my trip to IA, reuniting with Dave who will have been up north, he and I will both be greeted by a naked yard.
Next spring, we'll go pick out new trees, shrubs, and bushes, and put down roots. And maybe, stay a while longer.
 |
| View from the back deck |
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