Sending out an S.O.S

One of the first things I did when I got let go was cancel my gym membership. $75 a month saved! But its funny, the savings didn't translate to the booze budget. (BTW-that would make a great government assistance idea-an "unemployment" alcohol allowance.) I've been drinking quite a bit of empty calories at night, so that coupled with the not working out, has made me more of a woman. And not in a good way. With the warmer weather, I am now getting a chance to do some walking.

Tonight I decided to take Rosie our German Shepard with me. She also has weight issues. And come to think of it, she doesn't have a job either and likes to sneak food out of the kitchen, so we have a lot in common. We're cruising along and pass a house with a snotty little yippy dog. Rosie doesn't get along with other dogs and I think they can smell it. They always get extra excited when Rosie passes and not in a good "oh here comes my good friend Rosie" way. More like a "I can't believe that bitch Rosie. Who does she think she is anyway?" (By the way, for my young nephew and any other sensitive souls who read this, I use the term "bitch" to mean "female dog." It's a dictionary term and they use it on those dog shows on t.v., so I'm hoping its okay for me to use in this blog.)

So Rosie takes it upon herself to poop right there in front of this yippy dog. Good thing I remembered the grocery baggie! What? It fell out of my pocket while working up the good sweat, I've been working up? And then I looked around. Darn. Too many witnesses on this 72 degree evening to just leave the poop. So I looked around and checked my resources. The last time she pulled this stunt on a busy street, someone had discarded a McDonald's cup and I just scooped up her firm droppings and deposited them in the corner trash can and that was that. This time all I could find was the employee newsletter from Bryan LGH-the same hospital my husband works for. (Irony? Deeper meaning?)

So I tried picking up the poop with the newsletter. I'm not sure what she's been eating, but let's just say Rosie has gotten a little "soft" on the insides. Her poop became unpickupable. I tried scraping it "dustpan" style, but the quality of paper that Bryan uses to print its newsletter doesn't hold a lot of weight. Also, Rosie left a trail of her droppings that went about 3 feet. So I'm trying to scrape up 3 feet of soft stinky dog poop in front of an audience and a yippy little dog. Thank goodness for my new mp3 player and The Police.

I was already formulating this blog as I was pushing/scraping the poop and I was carrying it back the 5 blocks we were from home. Breathing in the not-so-fresh air, I was formulating the story, crafting it for your enjoyment. And then I wondered, why the heck do I feel the need to share this stuff with you? What is wrong with me? Other people can go on walks and pick up their dogs' poop and have no need to share the story with anyone. Why do I have the desire, the need to craft my daily happenings into stories for anyone (everyone) to read? Why do I post on Facebook every 10 minutes? Why can't I just keep these things, these thoughts to myself?

And then I listened to Sting. (As we all should more often). The song Message in a Bottle. "Seems I'm not alone at being alone. A hundred million castaways, looking for a home." I think that the reason I write these little stories is because a lot of times, I feel terribly alone. Even though I am surrounded by people, my family, my neighbors, my Mary Kay friends, the pool board, I feel alone. I need to share my ideas and thoughts to stop me from feeling lonely. I can post my idea, send it out there and hope that someone else can "get it." If we can share that connection, then the world isn't so lonely. Maybe they are a castaway too, looking for someone to listen to their crazy story.

So there you go. That is why I am doing this. That is why I feel the need to tell you stories about my every day adventures, as sometimes self-serving as they seem. I am just sending out my S.O.S to the world. My Message in a Bottle. On a Bryan LGH employee newsletter.

Chainsaws and Fudgsicles

My favorite entertainment venue is the crazy stuff my kids say. And then the challenge is to remember it all so that I can get home and write it for you.

I was yelling like crazy for Grant to come inside from playing all afternoon. It was gorgeous outside and we like to give him the freedom now to run around the neighborhood with the other kids. "GREEEAAAANTTTTT!!!!!!!" I screamed, sweatpants a little too tight, hair all pony-tailed and disheveled, standing in the front driveway in my socks. He finally showed up, so cool that he's been hanging out with the guys, licking a fudgsicle. "Mom," he says. "The ice cream guy is even weirder looking this year." That's when you know its finally Spring.

Then we're sitting around on the couch and the younger two have decided to skip Spring and Summer altogether and are already working on Halloween. "I'm going to have a chain-saw," says my adorable sweet-voiced 4-year old daughter. "Yeah, she's going to be a whore," adds her almost even sweeter-voiced 6-year old brother Spencer.

Woah! Did I just hear what I thought I heard? "A what?" I pleaded for a new box of q-tips. "A Horr-or," Spencer clarified. "You know, someone who goes around and kills people."

(Whew!)"Oh, is that all," I said. "Mia just wants to go around with a chainsaw and kill people. Hmmmm."

"Don't worry, Mom," Mia chimes in with her sweet princess voice, twinkle in her eye. "It won't be a real chainsaw."

Thank goodness I have a few months. I need to save up for the fake child's chainsaw and at the same time, buy a steady stream of over-priced fudgsicles from the even weirder ice cream man.

Bottle of Amazing

I don't know why when Grandpa takes the kids out into the woods its called "Exploring" and when I do it its called "Boring Looking at Stuff." Its Spring Break and the weather is nice, so yesterday I decided to take the kids to Pioneers Park to do some "Exploring/Boring Looking at Stuff." Pioneers Park here in Lincoln is a great multi-purpose park: there are roughish trails to hike, groomed and landscaped areas to enjoy the geese, lots of picnic areas and a playground.

The first stop was the playground. The kids had a ball playing freeze-tag and going up the slide. There are two types of parents at the play ground. Ones who insist that the slide is only for going down. Any other use of the slide is dangerous and non-conformist and could be a step toward teen delinquency. And then there's me, "Go ahead. Go up the slide. Give it a try. Use those feet and those legs and do something unconventional. You might not even be able to do it, but give it a shot. Just make sure that there's no one below you. Or at least make sure that the person below you can take the hit when you crash back into them." I'm one of those kind of parents. I think that kids learn a lot about social situations when they have to figure it out for themselves instead of having Mom orchestrate everything for them all the time. "Go ahead. Go up!"

The kids had a lot of fun and got thirsty, so each got a bottle of water to refresh themselves and rehydrate for our hike. Pioneers Park has a fantastic statue of a Native American sending smoke signals that has been at the park since 1935. It is currently in restoration mode. It's on the top of a big hill and we hiked up to get a closer look. I was very excited that my kids were getting an education on this bright and shiny Spring Break day. They were learning about sculpture, Native American and Nebraskan history, and Grant (being the one who can read) picked up a couple of new words that some jerk decided to carve into the back of the statue.

As we hiked back down from the statue, we made note of some of the cool stones that were around the statue. I couldn't remember the name of the type of rock and wished my dad was with us, because he for sure would know. (One of the reasons why it is so much cooler to "explore" with Grandpa). Grant decided he wanted to sample some of the stone so he poured out the water from his water bottle and scraped up some of the stone and put it in. A specimen for later analysis. He called it his "Bottle of Amazing."

The next task was to keep our eyes out for more things to put into the "Bottle of Amazing." Things that we just thought were really cool that could fit into a water bottle. We hiked around the statue looking for something small and interesting. We found a couple of used lollipop sticks. A cigarette butt (not so amazing). Pinecones galore. And then we headed to the pond. Algae is perfect to put into our Bottles of Amazing. The challenge was how to get it into the bottle without getting our new shiny shoes from Target(Mia) all covered in mud. ($14 right out the window.)

As we were leaving the park, mud-encrusted shoes, algae all over our hands, dirt in our hair, we held our Bottles of Amazing proud in our hands. Discoveries made on a sunny day in March. Things captured in a bottle that, for a moment in time, we wanted to know more about. Things we found amazing.

What would you put in your Bottle of Amazing? Look around. What would you like to capture and know more about? What would you like to investigate and keep close to you? Things in life that we might not usually notice because of how busy we get with work and bills and errands and life. Keep in mind, you might get your shoes dirty and the things you put in there may have to be pretty small. Unless of course, you have a really big bottle.

Crown of Stars

"Many stars in her crown." That is what one woman said about a friend of mine's mother who passed away a few months ago. I got to meet her just once. The woman was an amazing artist. A gifted quilter and doll maker. Her name was Joyce Donlan.

I never got into quilting. I never could get the machine to work. My mother was working while I was growing up and I never learned "domestic skills." That is why I don't clean. That is why, besides baking cookies, I don't really cook. I can't sew. My mother does know how to knit scarves. That's it. She never learned beyond the scarf. No hats or mittens, sweaters or even vests, just the scarf. But she didn't teach me. I learned that one from a book. (That's how I've learned a lot of things....that's for another blog entirely).

Joyce had a tested life. She lost 3 children. 3 children in a devastating manner. 3 boys sent to Heaven before her. She nursed them when they were ill and held their hand as they were dying. I've read (and whole-heartily agree) that when we as women give birth, a part of us goes and lives with the new person. We are never whole again and don't care, as we can watch that new part of ourselves grow and blossom in this new miracle. I can only imagine what Joyce felt watching her boys go and the pain of losing hope.

But she was an artist. She took every thought and dream and passion that she had and, although it may not have made sense at the time, took what confusion she was feeling and made it tangible. Pain soothed by beauty. Heartache into prayer.

I often sit and stew in my own pain. A pain which only some people fully realize. I pray daily for assistance and salvation and hope. I look for answers and direction and focus. At times I feel selfish, with people across the globe facing much greater obstacles than myself. True poverty. True hunger. True oppression. And I wonder why God decides to test us like this.

Clergy will say that its because we can handle it. The cross is never heavier than we can carry. We suffer so that others can grow. There is a reason, but there is always doubt.

Today, I have been thinking about Joyce and her abundant love for her children. Her struggle and her faith. The truest testament to her love is her greatest Legacy. Not only in her art, but in her examples to her children and her grandchildren. Staying strong, laughing, and creating beauty in a not beautiful world. Sit and listen. Look at the beauty that has been created. There is a reason.

The Closet Cafe

My kids are addicted to video games and I'm always trying to think of way to get them to unplug. My first clue about their addiction was when they all started to run around the house speaking in an Italian-accented falsetto. "Ima Mario!" (Super Mario Bros. for the uninitiated) They play some form of a Super Mario Bros game on the computer or on the Nintendo or on the Wii. And since we've gotten rid of cable, it's something they have been doing a lot more lately.

So last night, I decided to help them unplug and I was able to get Mia and Spencer to help me make dinner. I helped Spencer decide that we were going to make homemade pizza. (Moms are incredibly influencial when we want to be.) We got out the dough mix and some water and mixed it together. While we were waiting for the dough to rise, Spencer remembered that Grandma K had given the kids a chef's hat and apron a while back and ran upstairs to put his on. Mia ran upstairs to her room to look for hers but couldn't find it anywhere. We searched her tiny closet. Not in the toy box. Not in the dress-up cubbie. Not even on the shelf where we put her baby things that we haven't had the heart to sell yet.

As we were looking Spencer came up with the idea that we should build stairs in Mia's closet. Her tiny 1 1/2 ' by 3' closet. "Yeah! And we could put a shelf up there!" Spencer added, his excitement building.

"It could be our restaurant!" Mia chimed in. Barely started in their culinary training, my little chefs were already planning their first restaurant. We hadn't even gotten the pizza in the oven and they were making plans for table lay out, menu content and whether "bistro" or "cafe" had better commercial viability. The Closet Cafe.

We never did find Mia's chef's costume. We settled for a princess hat and a fancy necklace and came downstairs and finished the pizza. Which, by the way, was AWESOME! Healthier than takeout. Tastier and cheaper than frozen. And it was made from love. My kids, at least for an hour put down the video games, gave me a chuckle, and we all had a great time.

And even if they never open up their Italian Pizza Bistro Closet Cafe, at least they've got the wardrobe and, of course, the accent down pat.

Jocks and Candy Bars

I almost exploded yesterday. After an entire year of insisting that he wanted to run on the Lincoln South Youth track team, my 6-year old Spencer changed his mind and decided he wants to play t-ball instead. Of course the deadline for t-ball with the Junior Saltdogs League was a couple of weeks ago, now we would have to pay the late fee, so that the sport that we can't afford, now we really can't afford. Looks like we'll be signing him up with the Y.

Not that I don't love the YMCA-the Y is very budget-friendly, but every time we sign one of the kids up for a sport, no one steps up to coach. There's always a last minute dash for coaches. Why don't we do it, and volunteer our time to teach the little ones the finer points of soccer or baseball? Because I spent an entire summer of my youth doing cartwheels in right field (that's how great of an athlete I am) and Chris spent summers sneaking smokes behind the fieldhouse. Not exactly ideal coaches.

We did register 4-year old Mia for track, though. I love South Lincoln Track Club or Go Little Green. Its one of those organizations in Lincoln that has been around for forever (1967). These are 2nd Generation athletes, and the organizer Jerry McGinn is fantastic and still running the show. He refers to the kids as "ath-el-letes," never as little kids and treats each one of them as a super star. It's a great organization that lets each "ath-el-lete" compete and feel pride and embrace sports and camaraderie.

And Go Little Green is very affordable. It costs $85 for 10-weeks, the kids get a nifty t-shirt and shorts and every other week they win a ribbon of some color. At the end of the event in June, each "ath-el-lete" gets some kind of plaque or trophy and has a great time. To make things really affordable, you can participate in the fundraiser. You get 80 delicious candy bars to sell for a $1 piece, so really registration is just $5.

If you sell the candy bars. So far my family has eaten at least 10. (Keep in mind, we just got them yesterday). Can you imagine the argument when they come home from school, the smell of delicious rich chocolate in the air, an afternoon of learning taking effect on their metabolism? "Mom, can I have a candy bar?" "But we're supposed to make money on them," I plead. "But Mom, I'm really hungry!" The boxes just sitting there mocking them, teasing them.

Mia doesn't understand why we need to sell them at all. She thinks they are her prize for signing up for track. Sign up for a sport, get a cute little uniform and 80 candy bars. Isn't that the way the wide world of athletics is? And imagine if it were. Run a mile, get a snickers...shoot a basket, get a piece of cake...hit a home run and get a couple of beers and some nachos. The world would be full of "ath-el-letes." Granted we would all be enormously fat, but we would be athletic!

My point to this post is 3-fold. 1) If you have time on your hands and like kids and know a thing or two about sports, volunteer to coach. The Y needs you and so do the kids. Especially the ones with parents lazier than you. 2) Sports are expensive. If you are a rich millionaire, donate some money to kids who would like to play, but can't afford it, because they are from families with a lot of kids or their mom just lost their job. Start a fund or something. Call Jerry McGinn. 3) And finally, if you're craving chocolate, you know where to find me. All it'll cost you is $1.

Books and Boas

Today was the Book Parade at school. Each child was encouraged to dress up like their favorite book character, and parents were invited to line the halls of the school and cheer them on. I couldn't go last year, because I was working. Now that I am semi-employed I was able to go!

Grant is a big fan of those "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" books, so he dressed up as the wimpy kid (not much of a costume, but easy.) Spencer's whole class was supporting the book "If You Give a Pig a Party," so they all dressed like pigs. We were hunting around this morning (because everything in my house is last minute) for a pink shirt for Spencer and white shoes for Grant, when Mia insisted on dressing up as well. Her favorite books right now are the Fancy Nancy books, about a little girl who likes to "kick things up a notch" and adorn her world with lace and feathers and glitter. Mia threw on a princess dress and a boa and was good to go.

It was so neat to be able to go to the book fair. I felt like a good, responsible parent. One that cared enough about their child to a support their education and build their self-esteem. Last year, I completely forgot about Spencer's Christmas program. I had gotten caught up in some project at the radio station and missed it. He was hurt. I was devastated. These are once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that I have the good fortune (if not actual cash) to be able to capture now.

The kids paraded past in their costumes holding up copies of their favorite books. Lots of Fancy Nancys. Lots of Harry Potters. A Darth Vader. A spy and a couple of kids big into war books decked out in camo. They were so excited to be on parade and to be a part of something fun. They almost forgot that what they were doing was educational, to promote a love of reading.

I decided to further the cause after the parade by taking Mia to the library. The Lincoln Public Library is a mom-on-a-budget's best friend: 1) You can get the kids out of the house for an hour and stop the constant squabbling and ever worsening cabin fever. 2) They can choose books to expand their minds and increase their intelligence and 3) It's free.

Except for our family. We owe the library so much money, its embarrassing. And yes, it is all my fault. We checked out a book a couple of months ago that had an accompanying cd which I did not know about. Of course the cd got out of the book and now is lost with all of the other important expensive things we can never find (glasses, remotes, scotch tape, scissors). That one cost us $18.00.

Mia opened up her own own library account and we used her card the last time we checked out books. These we just returned, a week late. I never can remember when books are due back. When you check out books now, they give you a receipt listing every book you check out and when they need to be returned. I lose the receipt before we even get back to the house. I miss the old days when the librarians stamped the card that was nestled o-so-snuggly in the front of the book. You could see right there in the book when it was due back. Now I just have to guess and pay the fee, $5.00 this time.

Fees paid. Dues up to date. We get ready to leave the library. I have a great dog book picked out for Spencer. Grant has been talking a lot lately about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, so I got that for him. Mia, still in her Fancy Nancy costume, pink tulle sticking out of her winter coat, white feather boa floating in the air, grabs her kitty books and yells behind her, "Ha ha! See you later Suckers!" and takes off running.

Like we got away with something. And I guess we did. For $22.00 (even though it really should have been free), we got whole new worlds to explore. We got rich pictures to enjoy and stories to spur our own imaginations. And I just might get an entire afternoon with no fighting or whining, which is worth its weight in gold. Or feathers.