Blues and the Zoo

Growing up sucks. When you're a kid, you never think that life as a grown-up is going to stink. That the job that you love will disappear and go away. That you will have money problems and bills and responsibilities. That your Prince Charming is really just a man who is flawed just like yourself, and your marriage is an entity that requires constant maintenance. That your kids, while loving little creatures, aren't always well behaved, either in public or at Walmart. (There is a difference: The kids were monsters the other day at Walmart. I said, "Is this how you want people to see you behave in public?" Spencer said, "Mom, this isn't public. This is Walmart.")

Life as an adult is a whole lot harder than I ever imagined. Did I not see this in my own parents? My parents got divorced before I turned 5 years old. Did I not see the struggles my mother went through to raise us? To make sure we were fed, not just our bellies, but our minds. I remember the set of World Book Encyclopedias she tried her hand at selling, just so we would have a set at home. (Encyclopedias, by the way, for you young 'uns, is like your internet today.) She always made sure that we were involved in something, to enrich us and give us hope for the future.

I go through the UNL campus on my way to some of my Mary Kay meetings. I drive past the young, hopeful college students. They are just now plotting out their futures. I remember my days at WPGU at the University of Illinois, so full of promise. Ideas and concepts pouring out of our little heads. Not realizing at one point, people stop listening to those ideas. That "cutbacks" and "economic decisions" and are more important than fantastic ideas. That "towing the company line" takes presidence over ingenuity.

I haven't been writing in this blog too much lately, because, to be honest, I've been pretty blue. The stress of everything is really starting to get to me and I didn't think that anyone would want to read a blog of an over-stressed, slightly drunk mother of three. Now that might be able to make a good country song. Maybe even a blues song. But usually people read my blog for the "uplift." And I haven't really felt that until today.

Today, Spencer and I took his friend Alex to the Lincoln Children's Zoo. Of course getting out of the house was a nightmare. Mia was screaming, full of jealousy wondering why she couldn't come too. Spencer was insisting that he have a special one-on-one day with his friend, whose birthday we had to miss a few weeks ago because of too many things going on. (A recurring phenomenon right now). Spencer's one pair of shoes got ruined yesterday because he and Mia spent an hour playing in a bucket with a bottle of dish soap and the hose. So the kvetching over which too-small pair of shoes he was going to suffer through was another ordeal. And then Lacey got out of the house on our way out. Her favorite game is "Look How Fast I Can Run From the Human Lady When She's In A Hurry To Get Someplace."

We finally get to the zoo, and I start to relax slightly. I love the Lincoln Zoo, but my favorite thing of all, and the point to this whole blog, is my endorsement of the Z.O. & O. Railroad. The little red train takes two trips around the zoo. It's a little loud, but the hum of the engine, the rumble of the tracks, and even the occasional toot of the whistle only seem to calm my frazzle nerves even more. The soft breezes soothe my soul as we go past the camels. The sunshine glistens off of the shiny green leaves on the trees. Lilac blooms filling the air with perfume. Today, we waved to the Lincoln Marathon runners passing by. We watched the pony volunteers wave back as we passed the pony rides. (Now those are troopers for ya. Their job is to put whiney, screaming kids on the backs of hot and sticky ponies and then scoop up the poop over and over. And still, when the train passes, they smile their biggest smiles and wave back.)

Therapy sessions are like $200 bucks plus. Depending on your insurance, the prescriptions are around $40. Bottles of wine are $6.98 (Jacob's Creek Shiraz-my favorite-I'm a cheap date). The train is only $2.00 for kids, $2.75 for adults. And it goes around twice.

Legacy and Red Peppers

Yesterday and today, I called upon my Nebraskan ancestors as I tilled Husker soil and planted my small meager garden out in the back yard. I grew up in Illinois, but my grandfather's family is from Indianola, NE. The young ones gradually moved East and I think that I am the only progeny that has moved back to the heartland.

I have always been fascinated by the pioneering spirit of the people who came out here years ago to cultivate the plains. Just a dream and a vision and a lot of guts. They had to move far away from loved ones, relatives, and security just to have a shot at something bigger. They knew that they would face hardships: disease, drought, unpredictable weather, but the pursuit of a dream was a stronger calling. They risked their own lives (and sometimes the lives of their children) in order to achieve something bigger than "right now."

My something bigger is a whole heck of a lot smaller. I've got two tomato plants, one zucchini, one eggplant plant (Is that redundant?), some spinach and some carrots and one each of a red and a green pepper plant. I like to plant vegetables because I am always looking for a thrifty way of growing my own food. Red peppers at the grocery store last time I checked were like a buck-fifty each, and I am hoping I can get more than one out of my plant. (Fingers crossed.)

I also like to garden to show my kids how things grow. Really, God created amazing miracles in the way things grow. From teeny tiny seeds to wonderous green plants to fruit that we can take and eat and nourish our bodies. It is truly amazing. And to be sharing this miracle with my own little growing miracles is a pretty neat thing.

And I also like to garden because its a great way to get a tan. If you've read any of my posts, you know that I have been battling the "Unemployed So I'm Going to Pig-Out Probably More So Than I Should, Even Though I Know I Shouldn't Blues" and I have a friend who insists that tan fat looks better than white fat. Who am I to argue with a friend?

I am sure that my relatives of the past in no way could have been as 2010 superficial as I am. I'm not even sure if tans were "in" back then. (I don't think they sold Hawaiian Tropic at the General Store.) But I do appreciate their sacrifice. As I till the earth and crush it in my hands and teach Mia the best way to hydrate the soil, I am inspired by their tenacity and look forward to my own "Something Bigger." Whatever it may be. My Legacy.

Woof!

So today, I got to do 2 of my favorite things both of which I have previously blogged about. You might think that that's all I ever do, and you would be right. Mia, my 4-year old and I walked a dog and we went to Ben Franklin.

Today, we walked Lacey our West Highland Terrier. And I should say that Mia actually walked her. She now outweighs the dog by 10 pounds, so I felt okay that she could hold her. Not without struggle. Lacey kept wanting to take off and lead the walk, so again to be more accurate, I should say that Lacey was walking Mia. I love those Cesar Milan-Dog Whisperer shows on tv and thought I would try out some of his suggestions on my teeny tiny 4-year old.

"Mia," I said. "You need to lead Lacey. She doesn't lead you." I was trying to get her to call on her inner-alpha, find the control and lead. Discover the confidence in her little preschool body. Sometimes on Cesar's show, he coaches the dog owners who lack self-esteem to fake it. Pretend to be confident. Muscle up the courage and take control. "Lacey," Mia commanded. "I am walking you!"

We got to Ben Franklin and I held the dog, while Mia walked in, by herself with her dollar. I could see her through the front glass the entire time, as she picked out her candy and, beaming, paid the lady at the counter for her goodies. Mia was such a big girl. The confidence that she had been kindling on the walk was now blazing as she showcased her independence. She was empowered!

Since I have been laid off, I have struggled with my confidence. I used to know who I was, what I was good at, and how to make things happen. I could tell a joke on the radio like I was sneezing (sometimes the jokes would be about sneezing) It was that natural. I was confident in who I was and what I could accomplish. Now, I question myself. I mean I think I'm good at things. I know I'm a creative person. I know I like to be around people. I know I like to see things come to be, but that assuredness of knowing I was in control and could make things happen is gone a little bit. I second guess myself. Question my talents.

So I have decided to take a lesson from Cesar Milan and my daughter. I am going to fake it. I am going to call upon my alpha-woman and take control of my future. I might not know what that future might be, but I am going to boldly step in and take charge of it. Strong. Self-assured. Confident. I can do anything. I am woman! Woof!

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.