Tuesday, December 28, 2010

All or Nothing



We (finally) got a Wii. I was actually against it from the start but Joe was really pushing for it. I saw the whole thing as a giant money pit – extra controller, more games, bonus controllers, paddles, guns, DJ tables… but Joe swore that we could “keep it simple” and “just get the basics”. The reason that I doubted him on this was because of the “Christmas Village Incident” of 2006.

It went a little something like this. We decided to take a family trip up to Frankenmuth in November of that year. While we were in Frankenmuth we had a really nice time together and we bought a ceramic light up house that could be displayed for Christmas. We decided, as a family, that it would be nice if we made this trip every year and bought a house to remind us of the fun we’d had.

When we arrived home Joe went on, what can only be described, as a Christmas village bender. He got on Ebay and bought nearly every house, store and accessory that he could find. He bought the creamery, the music studio (complete with monogram), the store, the town square – everything. As the packages began to arrive I said, “What is all this?” He sheepishly looked at me and confessed. Do you want to know the really crazy part? We have so many houses that we don’t have anywhere to display them!

So you can understand my concern with the purchase of the Wii. He actually went to the game store yesterday to “pick up a few things” and I was nervous all day long. At one point he called and asked me for my money that his parents gave me so he could buy me my own Wii controller. No sir. That money has “pedicure” written all over it.

Joe tends to be an “all or nothing” kind of guy and he is not easily reined in, which is why we’ve never gone to Vegas. I’d have to pat him down to make sure he didn’t bring the deed to the house!

Alright, back to the Wii. We got it and it’s a lot of fun. Here’s the weird part – I’m really good at it. Really, really good. Which is strange because, as you’ll recall, I’m not the least bit sporty. Still, I was beating everyone at tennis, bowling and fencing. Joe and I almost came to blows over the fencing game because he COULD NOT beat me and it was driving him crazy. We must have played that game 30 times and he didn’t beat me once! Finally I had to beg him to stop because I was tired.

We tried to do the boxing game but that was a little out of control. I had (really clear and vivid) visions of actually beating him with the Wii controller. When the game paused and the message said, “Wouldn’t you like to take a break now?” I figured it was a sign from God.


Monday, December 27, 2010

Snowmobile Fun

You’re probably expecting a Christmas blog out of me today, but it’s not gonna happen. I think I’m suffering from some sort of Christmas shock or something or maybe I’m just done with it all, but nothing Christmasy is coming to mind right now so I’ve chosen another topic.

Snowmobiling. We went last night with some friends who have snowmobiles. I wasn’t going to go at first because I wasn’t properly dressed – slacks, satin shirt, cute pumps. But then I realized that I didn’t care how I was dressed and that I wanted to ride a snowmobile! So I put on my MIL's boots (she's a good six inches shorter than me so you can only imagine the discrepancy in boot size), a crazy hat and some fuzzy gloves and went on out. It should also be noted that in the frenzy to find appropriate outdoor gear Joe ended up wearing a ski glove on his right hand and a garden glove on his left.

Growing up, we had snowmobiles that we spent a lot of time on. We would run them all through the horse field and even down the road. We pulled sleds with them, jumped hills and even crashed them sometimes (Susan). It was fantastic! I’m really not sure how my Dad kept those crazy old machines running. They were NOT top of the line machines and were probably pretty old. Still, he maintained them and they ran like crazy for us.

One of them was all orange and the brand name was Johnson. This thing was a BEAST. It could carry three of us on the seat while pulling at least two more on saucers behind it. We’d play a game where we would have equal lengths of rope going to each saucer so that you were side by side. Then we would try to knock each other off. Now that I say it, it sounds like a bad YouTube video, but it was actually a lot of fun at the time…

It all came back to me last night. The feel of the wind, the sound of the engines, the smell of the gasoline. But it’s not all the same as it was back in the day. For one thing, the snowmobiles go a LOT faster than they ever did back then. Plus, I was riding with my brother-in-law and, while he’s a very safe driver, I was still pretty scared to be riding one of those things going that fast.

The other part that is not at all the same is my body. Every part of me hurts today. Muscles I didn’t even know I had are screaming out in agony with every move. My back is completely wrecked too. I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to act my age.

I was thinking a lot yesterday about childlike trust. I remember riding snowmobiles with my Dad and it never occurred to me that anything could go wrong – that we could flip it or crash. That could never happen with my Dad at the wheel. I had complete faith and trust in him. Of course now, being a wife and a mother, there’s a lot more at stake if something goes wrong. If I get hurt or killed things won’t go well. Joe couldn’t tell you Max’s underwear size if you put a gun to his head.

I kind of wish that I could return to that state of childlike innocence, just for a little while. It would be nice to feel the magic again if only briefly before going back to being an adult again, wouldn’t it?

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Open Mouth - Insert Foot

To understand this post you're going to need some context so here it is. My maiden name is Arnold. My sisters and I have a phrase that we use to describe a bad social encounter and it is this, "Oh my gosh, I totally pulled an Arnold". If you "Pull an Arnold" it means that you have gone into a complete and total social nosedive during a chance encounter with an acquaintance.

It looks a little something like this. You see someone that you haven't seen for quite some time - let's say, an old boyfriend. He says "hello" and you promptly open your mouth and the words just roll on out and they don't stop. For a long time. You find yourself rambling on about the most bizarre things you can imagine - I once gave my full address, with zip code - to an old boyfriend who had simply asked, "So where are you living these days?"

You kind of leave your body and float above, unable to look away from the train wreck taking place below and unable to stop it. A voice in your head is shouting, "STOP TALKING! PLEASE!" and yet you cannot seem to will your mouth to close. And then you start to sweat.

By the time the ex-boyfriend is able to get away from you he's looking at you like you're a complete maniac and he's SO relieved that he broke up with you when he did. It's horrible.

The reason I mention this is that I "Pulled an Arnold" last night at a local restaurant. I ran into a very important work related colleague. The trouble was, he didn't really know me by just looking at me but I knew him so I felt that I had to introduce myself. I had it all planned out. I would walk up to him and say, "Excuse me, Dr. ???. I'm so sorry to interrupt (turn and apologize to his date) but I thought that was you and I just wanted to say Hello. I'm Julie Nowak, Risk Management." And that was it. That was all I needed to say and then I could just turn and walk away. But that is not at all how it went.

One of the problems with the situation was that I had my winter coat on so the sweating started earlier in the process than it usually does. And Joe was with me so I had a witness. Once I said "hello" my brain kind of shut down and I forgot all the other stuff I had planned to say. I ended up misunderstanding what he was talking about and getting confused and flustered. Joe, helpful as he is, told me later than I was rambling and the Dr. was just trying to get away from me. Which I can understand because I wanted to get away from me too.

Once I regained control of my mouth I was able to get away but I feared the damage was already done. I wonder if there's a class for this or a pill I can take to make it stop?

Monday, December 20, 2010

Ice Skating

Lest you think, from the title, that I broke my vow of last year to “never skate again”, let me reiterate that the vow still stands. My family, however, didn’t get the memo. We went to an ice skating party with our 4-H club last night and the kids LOVED it. I stood on the sidelines, feet firmly planted on solid shoes, and held all the purses.

The whole thing is just so dangerous – skating. I mean, people get seriously hurt doing this crazy business but everyone treats it as if they’re just going to the movies. I had a prime vantage point and was able to witness all of the falls that took place on the ice. It would be mean if I laughed at the people who fell, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I did try to make sure that they weren’t seriously injured before I openly mocked them though so that should count for something.

Watching an ice skater, especially a novice skater, fall is like watching a cartoon character slip on a banana peel. The first thing that happens is their arms shoot straight into the air, then the feet start to flail back and forth like they’re running in place, then the arms start to flail, then they’re down. Unless they happen to be near a wall which looks even worse. They start to fall, grab for the wall, bang into it, have a moment of hope, then fall completely to the ice.

Then there are the falls that involve more than one skater. Those are really awful. I witnessed my niece take down about 5 people when she fell. There’s just no warning. One minute you’re kind of stumbling along thinking that you may have finally gotten the hang of this crazy sport and the next minute you can feel the ice seeping through your pants while you stare at the ceiling.

At least with roller skating you’ve got a fighting chance. To begin with, you’ve got FOUR WHEELS underneath your foot instead of one skinny, sharp blade. Seems safer right off the bat, don’t you think? I don’t really roller skate either because that is also harder than it looks. Plus, I just don’t have enough vacation time saved up to be in traction.

This is not all to say that I’m not sporty, except I guess I’m kind of not. But I am well-read so that needs to be taken into consideration. I probably wouldn’t hurt myself too badly if I did cross country skiing or maybe snow-shoeing. Then again…

Friday, December 17, 2010

Agony (Warning: Female Content)

My body has decided to rebel. Apparently I haven't been paying enough attention to it or I've been running it too hard or whatever, but the jig is up. My "systems" have decided to, inexplicably and without warning, turn against me. Things that had always been a certain way (27 days days apart - 5 days long) just weren't anymore. And so I find myself on the threshold of a hysterectomy. At 41. Kind of weird. Not really the way I saw things going for me but, to be fair, my parts have done their job admirably and I don't really need them anymore. Especially if they're going to start making trouble. Today, for instance, was one of those troubling days. I went to the OB this morning and he informed me, rather unceremoniously, that the cyst on my ovary had doubled since I last saw him (three weeks ago). Ah, so THAT explains the excruciating pain in my side... But, I had a lot to do today so laying around wasn't really an option. I did all I had to do (and then some) and was finally on my way home when it really hit. Hard. I'm talking about doubled over, shouting profanities, weeping loudly and wondering-if-I-should-pull-over-and-call-an-ambulance-on-the-freeway hard. But here's the crazy part. My thought process was not at all in line with what my body was trying to tell me. I actually thought, and I kid you not, "I should stop really quick at Learning Express to get that gift I need - I'm right here after all and I don't want to have to drive all the way back to Ann Arbor. Anyway, if I do need to call an ambulance they could probably get better parking in front of the store." What kind of insanity is that?? Luckily, there was some small shred of common sense within me and I drove home. Though I will confess to making a quick stop at Dad's house to drop off the gifts I had already purchased. Poor Dad. As I limped, crying and grabbing my side, into the house with my gifts he asked what was wrong. I told him that my "business" was giving me grief. I'm a grown woman and I still can't say the word "ovary" to my Dad. WTF? Anyway, I have an entirely new found respect for those that deal with chronic pain. I simply cannot imagine. It is exhausting, physically and emotionally. The pain was so bad that I could not get away from it. Nothing felt comfortable, nothing made it better. I was absolutely beside myself. Thank the Lord for Vicodin. Here's the even crazier part. As I was moaning, crying and rolling around in agony on my bed, Joe said "Why didn't you schedule this for the beginning of December? The Doctor told you it was bad so why didn't you just get it done?" "Because I had a lot to do. If I don't take care of all the Christmas stuff, who will?" WHAT? Honestly, is that that most ludicrous thing you've ever heard? I think I will take the time off after my surgery to reflect on the airline policy on oxygen masks. If I don't put mine on first, I'm sure as hell not going to be able to help anyone around me.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

It's like "Where's Waldo" but with a pig....






Baby, It's Cold Outside

Seriously. It is REALLY cold outside – wind chills below zero. I went out last night to tuck in the animals and I felt really bad for them. I was bundled from head to toe and was still cold. I even put on one of those over the face ski mask looking things - fashion be damned. As I was putting it on though, I said to my son, “Honey, why does this face mask thing feel wet?” My husband chimed in by saying “Didn’t we see the cat over by that just a little while ago….?” Story of my life.

Anyway, we walked out to check on the animals and I just started thinking to myself about all of the ways that I’m a bad pet owner. Maybe if I didn’t own these animals they could have found a home in Florida where it’s warm. Maybe if I didn’t have them fenced in the goats could live in the wild, off the land, in a cave. Maybe there’s someone out there who actually wouldn’t mind have a pig in the house. (They’d have to be stark raving mad of course which might present further problems for Phineas but at least he’d be indoors!) And my poor sweet llama. Maybe he could’ve found a less neurotic herd to be in charge of. You know, without a pig that chews on his leg and goats that actually appreciate his tender loving care. Sigh. So I apologized profusely to the group, added extra straw to the stall and bid them goodnight.

I usually don’t mind winter at all. I love the snow and the ice and even the tricky driving (mostly). But this cold, well, this is something else entirely. The teachers must hate it too because the kids probably won't go out for recess which seems like a big nightmare. It makes the evenings worse too because, while I'd like to sit by the fire reading and sipping (spiked) hot cocoa, the kids don't seem to be all that hip to it. They are full of energy and have no way to expend it other than to pick on each other, complain to me about it and torment the dog.


If I've told them once I've told them a thousand times, "Sugar doesn't like to wear the Santa costume. We only make her wear it on Christmas and even then only long enough for a picture. Leave her alone. Go put the costume on your sister. Wait. Forget I said anything."

It's probably highly illegal to spike their hot cocoa with Melatonin, right? Yeah, Yeah, I thought so.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Pushy Pig


You would not believe what Mr. Phineas T. Pig has been up to lately. I went out the other day to cozy up the stall for all of the animals. I spread straw all over and made it nice and thick to help keep them warm.

The very next day I went out and what did I see? Phineas had moved ALL of the straw into the warmest corner of the stall and made a HUGE pile of it. He perched himself right in the middle of it and he must’ve been just as toasty as could be. Meanwhile, the goats and llama looked angrily on, clearly wondering why we had to adopt this dumb pig. I’ll have to keep a close eye to make sure that we don’t have some sort of uprising...

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Bad Back

My back is officially OUT. This always happens to me when I get stressed (Is it December already?). I was carrying water buckets to the animals the other day and I felt my back just go. It was like a little “hitch” and I knew it was all over for me.

The trouble is that I simply don’t have time to deal with this. I have tons of shopping still to do and I haven’t even ordered Christmas cards yet. (I’m actually considering New Year’s cards at this point. There is NOTHING wrong with that.)

For now, all I want to do is lay on the couch and moan in agony. But that’s not really an option for me. There is still dinner to be cooked (and cleaned up), children to be cared for, bathrooms to be cleaned, groceries to be gotten, and so on. I just haven’t scheduled a back injury into my day.

Isn’t this always the way for us women though? We could be on death’s door and we’d still feel obligated to do all of the stuff that we normally do. Now men, on the other hand, don’t seem to have this problem. When Joe’s back goes out, the world (apparently) stops revolving. He will make the announcement that his back is hurt and he’ll go straight to the couch where he will faithfully remain for about a week.

I, on the other hand, will not slow down my schedule one bit. I can’t afford to. I will press on, getting up earlier to account for my lack of mobility, and get the jobs done. Of course, this means that my injury will hold on for about three weeks instead of one because I won’t give it a chance to heal.

In my mind, I get it. I understand that I should do what needs to be done to heal myself. Putting on my oxygen mask first and all that. Still, I just don’t really know how to put it into practice. If I let everything go then, 1) nobody else will do it and 2) it’s just a bigger mess for me to clean up in the end.

So here I sit (which is my most uncomfortable position, by the way) at work, showing up and doing my job. I’m trying to keep my moaning and whining to a low level so I don’t disturb others…

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Snow!

The snow is absolutely beautiful today. Huge, fluffy flakes twirling and swirling by. Just makes me want to snuggle up with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate and call it a day. If only I was independently wealthy. Sigh.

I’m thrilled that the snow has FINALLY arrived though others, I admit, are not so thrilled. I am definitely a person of winter and I live in a house made for winter too so that kind of works out in my favor. I love to get the wood stove fired up and just get totally warm. And I love that I can put the kids’ wet snow clothes on a drying rack in front of the stove and be assured that they’ll be totally dry by morning. It works well for boots too which is a good thing because you would not believe what Max did to my boots the other day. I don’t even want to talk about it.

Of course, all this being said, I’m quite sure that Joe sent the kids to school without hats and mittens today. Not that it would be entirely his fault – finding matching mittens for the first snow from last years’ mittens supply is unlikely – but the fact remains. Zoe, though, is currently refusing to wear hats. My little “fashionista” has concerns about the detrimental effect it would have on her hair-do I guess. In second grade.

I need to try and dig up all the boots, winter coats and snow pants from last year to see if 1) we still have them 2) they still fit and 3) they’re in decent condition. Of course it stands to reason that I would wait until the first snowfall to do this. No sense planning ahead, I always say.

Rotating the kids’ clothes for the seasons isn’t one of my best skills so I’m inclined to put it off until the last possible moment. Not saying it’s right, I’m just saying. I tend to assume that the things that fit last year won’t fit this year so I should just get rid of them. Plus, there’s nowhere to store it all anyway. Those moms out there who are more organized than me (you know who you are) probably have everything labeled and put away in clear plastic bins. They could probably produce a pair of pajamas, from the bins, in any size and style you requested. Whatever. Like that’s important.

So if you see Zoe without a hat today, please remember that I'm not a bad parent - I just have a stubborn kid. Have a happy snowfall!



Sunday, November 28, 2010

I'm Baaa-aack!!

Ok, I'm sorry, I've been away too long. Life just keeps getting in the way of me maintaining my commitment to my blog! Seriously. But I've got my focus back now and I'm ready to hit the ground running. Tomorrow will bring a new, fresh, exciting entry to my blog. Alright, at the very least, there will be a new entry. That's the most I can commit to right now...

Friday, November 12, 2010

Wood Splitting

Well, it's wood splitting (and stacking and moving and stacking some more) time at my house. I have handled more wood in the last few days than I care to remember. (That doesn't sound quite right, but you know what I'm talking about so grow up already!) We heat our house all winter long with only our woodstoves so getting this all pulled together is kind of a big deal. I was in charge of running the splitter today. Joe puts the log up there and then I pull the lever that makes the hydraulic, super strong splitter, split the log. I think it should be mentioned here that Joe and I have been "fighting" for the past couple of days. Interestingly enough, we've been "fighting" about communication issues. But I digress.

Anyway, my job is to keep my eyes on Joe's hands to make sure that I don't crush them in the splitter. My job sounds easy but it's not. It's complicated because the instructions that I receive while doing my job is sketchy at best. Joe communicates to me while we're splitting wood through a series of head nods, grunts, and gestures, none of which are very clear. You can understand why I've been pushing for us to work on "better communication". Anyway, I was running the splitter and he was nodding and grunting and gesturing and I guess I misunderstood what he was trying to say (BECAUSE HE WASN'T ACTUALLY SAYING ANYTHING) and I pulled the lever when I shouldn't have. Let me be clear - he wasn't injured. Luckily. Still, based on the situation, the probability was high that he COULD have been injured, which was enough to make him yell at me. 

I don't respond well when people yell at me. Even if I might have almost just accidentally crushed that persons' hand - I don't like to be yelled at. This brings me back to my original issue with the whole thing which is that Joe needs a boy friend to split wood with. Boys seem to get, nay cherish, the idea that there's not a lot of talking involved in wood splitting. I figure it's a good time to catch up with each other, albeit over the sound of a huge John Deere tractor running in the background. Boys don't see it that way. They like the fact that they can spend time together and not have to speak. I will never understand men, I swear. Anyway, after the near crushing and the yelling, my feelings were hurt and I didn't want to work anymore. I'm not a total baby. I kept at it and got the job done, but now I'm waiting for flowers and an apology. I suppose that men will never understand women either...

Friday, November 5, 2010

Toy Story 3 - Spoiler Alert

We watched Toy Story 3 the other night. In reality, the movie should instead be titled, Toy Story 3 - Not at all what you'd expect because the previous 2 movies were really sweet and this one serves only to rip your heart out a million different ways until you're sobbing uncontrollably while your kids beg and plead to attend community college so they never have to leave you.

I mean really!! The kid is leaving for college in this movie - you know the kid, Andy, who was so cute and little and loved his toys desperately and with reckless abandon. So to promote the idea of Andy growing up, sad music is playing as we bounce between pictures of him as a small boy playing with his toys, to pictures of him as a young man packing to leave for college.

I sat there stunned. I mean, Max will be leaving for college in like 11 years!! And Zoe will be right behind him in 14 years!! Ok, ok, I get that I'm overreacting but the fact remains that time goes way too fast when it comes to kids. Max is already freaking out about leaving for 7th grade camp (in two years) and how he doesn't want to go away. So clearly, we're a family that plans ahead.

It's not like I don't know what's coming, obviously, it's just so different when it's YOUR life that will change. I know that it's all about ages and stages and that each phase should be celebrated and enjoyed. I know that in my head. But my heart gets all emotional about these things and then all is lost. I'm a sucker for a good cry. But Toy Story 3 went too far. My eyes were a WRECK the next day.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Ghost Hunter

Had a little bit of a situation going on last night. Max has been complaining that he feels afraid in his room at night. Not totally uncommon, to be sure. Still, acknowledgement was required. Upon further questioning he came up with some pretty scary stuff - feels like he's being watched, hears strange noises, etc. Beyond acknowledgement, that required action. I tend to run on the skittish side myself. I'm not usually one to head bravely into scary situations, but when you mess with my kids, well, all bets are off. Never having dealt with a ghost before, real or imagined, I headed into the room to take care of some business. I was armed with sage (for smudging) and crystals. I didn't really figure that this was something that warranted the use of holy water or anything and, to be fair, I'm not really authorized to use that anyway. (Methodists don't utilize holy water.) Could I sprinkle it with casserole? Methodists can rock a casserole... The whole point of this operation really was to make Max feel better. After much prayer, running dialogue and smoke (didn't really realize how smoky those sage sticks can get) the room was "clean", if not a little smelly. I explained the power of the crystals (but kind of made up their powers because I sort of forgot what they were) and Max was satisfied. But then of course, Zoe wanted her room cleaned too. A ghost hunters' work is never done...

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Stop the ride - I want to get off

Life is moving waaay too fast right now. I would even go so far as to say that its picking up speed as we go. How did this happen? Why is it like this?? How do we make it stop? I've talked to three different moms today who feel the same way. Everyone sounds so frantic and so scared. There is so much to worry about these days - suicides, drug overdoses, sexualized kids, bullying. Was it always like this? I think that, with the media coming at us in so many forms and so many different ways, we are overwhelmed and completely saturated with bad news. Scary news. It's no wonder we're all terrified and running off to get ourselves on anti-depressants!! It's as if we're on a speeding train that won't slow down. The only option is to jump off but that ain't much of an option. 

And what about the kids? What are we teaching them by running around in a million different directions looking panicked and unhappy? How many times a day do I say to my kids "I can't come and watch you (jump on the trampoline, climb the tree out front, do a stunt on your bike or look at a picture you drew) because I'm too busy. I have way too much to do. Or, we're running out the door (late) to get to someplace I usually don't want to go. Is that really living? I have made one decision to try to slow things down. I have chosen to not have my kids involved in extra-curricular activities. Really. I know that this is bucking the trend and I've actually had parents ask me why I would do such a thing. Like it's child abuse or something. I know, that for my family, adding on extra stuff is a step too far. It came to me last year as I was fighting with my son about going to swim practice. He didn't want to go. I had paid the money already and he was going. Then it occurred to me, as I was physically stuffing him into the car, that this was lunacy. Wasn't the whole swimming thing supposed to be for his enjoyment? And if he's not enjoying it (and neither was I at that moment) then what was the point? I'm not advocating raising a bunch of quitters who sign up for stuff then decide they don't want to do it anymore. I'm advocating that a 10 year old kid shouldn't have extra commitments that stress him out and make him cry. 

 But there doesn't seem to be a way to slow the rest of it down, short of running away Up North and living off the land in seclusion. That's something I might consider except there aren't any good restaurants, we'd be too far from the movie theater, the nearest grocery store is too far away and there might be bears. Plus, if we didn't have Internet access, I'd have to deal with Joe's withdrawal symptoms. See, more work for me! I want to go back to the 1950's. Ok, the 1950's minus the threat of nuclear war and having to wear heels and pearls to clean the house. I want to go back to a time when we didn't have all the technology that we have now and I didn't have to remind my husband not to call, text and/or answer email at the dinner table. A time when kids ran freely through neighborhoods, dads went to work, moms stayed home, dinner was on the table, and a lot more time was spent together. (To be fair, I wasn't alive during the 1950's so I could be way off on some of that but it sure sounds good to me.) So for all of you that are running to swim practice, youth group and Spanish class tonight, trying to figure out how to prepare a dinner at 3:00 that will still be good at 8:00 (when everyone gets home), I salute you. And I wish you rest. Or at least cancelled swim practice....

Monday, October 25, 2010

Halloween Fun

Well, we've done it again. We've hosted yet another Halloween party and given countless children some crazy nightmares that are not to be believed. It starts off  with food, a hayride and a bonfire.

Then things get dark. Really dark. Seriously, after seeing what Joe and his friends and family are capable of I'm totally sleeping with one eye open. Really, what kind of "normal" people do these things??

I try to keep it light so the children aren't completely terrified. I prattle on about how "It's all fake and just silly. The monsters won't get you, I promise." Still, the little ones are scared out of their minds and I usually don't even let them go on the trail at all if the "monsters" are present. The ten and eleven year old boys are another story altogether. They LOVE it. They LOVE to be scared to death!! My son's gaggle of friends walked the trail at least 5 times!! Maybe it's a Darwin thing, you have to test yourself and see if you can outrun the bad guys?

The trail was bigger and better than ever this year. Seriously first class stuff. It's pretty funny to see how things shake down when you have no idea what might happen. For instance, the teenage group that I thought would be super brave wouldn't even ENTER the building that housed the "Butcher Shop". They ran around it, through heavy brush and thorns, just so they wouldn't have to go inside. When the guy with the chainsaw came out, they shoved the only girl in the group toward him so they could get away. I swore that I sent three boys and a girl down the trail but all I could hear was high pitched screaming and it WASN'T the girl...

I sent my Mom, Aunt and cousin down the trail and then listened as they made their way along. There was a lot of jostling for position - mostly jostling out of the position of being in the back, front or sides, which doesn't leave much. I also learned later that my mother in law fell on the trail. I felt really bad about it until I heard that she was trying to run away from her SON (my brother in law) who was covered in fake blood and acting like a complete lunatic.

The "monsters" were fantastic this year. They were positioned where you'd least expected them and would jump out before you could see them coming. Joe's Dad was hiding behind a stationary ghost and just as you were walking by, thinking you were safe, he'd jump out and make this loud, crazy noise. We had at least two kids fall to their knees with that one.

Jamie was hiding on the outside of the Butcher Shop with a machete. Enough said.

My sister's husband, JC, was hiding outside of the black light house. You'd enter this house with florescent words spray painted all over it. Just as you were coming through, he'd start yelling "Get out of my house!!" and then he'd chase you down the trail. Good stuff.

Greg was positioned at the end of the trail in the campsite scene. You weren't quite sure what was going to happen until you heard the rustling in the weeds off to your right. Then Greg would come charging out of the underbrush and chase you until you couldn't run anymore (or you fell down).

The guys put so much effort into this whole thing and they really love it. At the end of the night, two girlfriends and I decided to get them back a little bit. We hid out at the campsite scene as they were all coming down the trail. We were not quite as professional as the guys so getting into position was not exactly well orchestrated. Still, we persevered and were able to scare the hell out of them as they rounded the corner. Awesome night!!

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

How I Spent My Birthday

Yesterday was a day for the record books. First and foremost it was my birthday – which made it a good day. Scheduling, being what it is these days, also made it the day that I had to take the pig to the vet to get castrated. Totally weird day.

I had to make A LOT of calls to get this pig thing figured out. I started with my goat/llama vet but he said he didn’t do work on pot-bellied pigs and that I should call another vet and so on and so on. I finally called a vet’s office in Saline (they specialize in exotic animals – not that a pig is exotic exactly…) and they were willing to do it. I was VERY clear on the phone about the whole deal. I said “I have a pot-bellied pig, he’s a rescue, so I don’t know a lot about him and I need to get him fixed. He is NOT a small pig – probably about 75 pounds. Can you do this?”

No problem, they said. My beloved sister, Susan, offered to help me get him to the vet’s office that morning. Susan showed up at my house, (wearing make-up, mind you) and we began the process of moving the pig. As I said, he’s not a small pig. Still, I completely underestimated his size by quite a bit. Phineas, in the cage, on the scale topped out at 165 lbs. Sue and I struggled, tugged, lugged and pulled (and almost got llama spit on us) before we finally got the cage and the pig in the car. Whew.

It’s kind of strange to be driving down the road in a minivan, listening to the radio, talking with my sister and hearing a pig making "pig noises" in the back. Honestly, I just never knew that my life was headed in quite this direction. Halfway there, the pig had to attend to “business” and the smell was not to be believed. The minivan will be never be the same. Bless Sue’s little heart.

We arrived at the vet’s office and I went into the lobby to tell them that we were there. The lady looked and me and said, “Ok, here’s a leash, you can just bring him in.” Uh, not so much. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

So Sue and I dragged this giant cage with this big (and totally freaked out) pig in it into the main lobby. No one knew what to think. The staff got all flustered and said, “Oh, my. That is a BIG pig.” Yup, just like I told you on the phone...

They took Phineas to the back and put Sue and I in a consultation room. The vet, interestingly enough, mistook Sue and I to be “life partners” (which is strange because we look a LOT alike) and was talking to us as though Phineas was the child we never had. “We’ll take very good care of him, he’ll be just fine”. Yeah, whatever, how much is this going to cost?

Then the vet broke it to me that she didn’t think Phineas was a pot bellied pig at all. In fact, she said, he looks more like one of the feral pigs you find in Florida. Oh. I asked if she thought he might be just a regular farm pig (because then we could just eat him and be done with it) but she said no, that she thought he was some strange mix of a few different breeds. Just another misfit for the Nowak menagerie.

Once we got the pig dropped off Susan was kind enough to take me out to lunch for my birthday, so that was nice. I’ll be totally honest and tell you that I did indeed enjoy an alcoholic beverage during that lunch. Wouldn't you? Seriously, it had been quite a morning and it was already after 12:00 pm so I figured it was ok.

I called the vet’s office back around 2:30 and said, “Hi, this is Julie Nowak and I’m calling about my pig. I'm just wondering how he’s doing.” Of all the things I thought I’d never say…

All went well and he was ready to be discharged home. Poor little piggy. Once we got him into his enclosure at home he was just about the happiest pig I’d ever seen. The llama was pretty darn happy to have him home too because he takes his caretaker responsibilies very seriously.

So now Phineas is a changed pig and hopefully it’s a change for the better. We’re hopeful that we can train him to do tricks (while NOT biting us) and to be a little bit nicer overall. Of course, he’s still a little angry about the whole deal so we’ll have to give him some time to reflect on that. ..

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Teenage Angst

We went to a concert at the high school last night. It was actually a Pink Floyd cover band with a laser show to boot. Of course, I was a little hesitant to go because I kind of came "of age" in San Francisco and the Pink Floyd laser shows there were UNBELIEVABLE. Still, we figured that the kids wouldn't know any better and they might like it. They did. The lasers were cool and we got to wear 3D glasses which makes everything more fun.

The best part of the concert for me, however, was watching the row of teenage boys in front of us. It was fascinating!! There were probably 10-12 boys all in a row and, if you studied closely enough, you could figure out the social standing of each and every one of them based on their position in the row. At different points during the concert there was a lot of switching of seats and some moving around. The most critical point came when two girls arrived.

Two of the bravest boys moved forward to see what was what with this new "presence". I was able to follow the entire scenario based on body language alone. The boys jostled for position, then the girl made her choice. However, once chosen, the boy wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He got himself in position next to her and I waited to see if the arm went tentatively around her shoulders. (It didn't). The poor girl was giving him signals like crazy but he was SCARED TO DEATH.

Let me be clear about one thing. It was all very sweet and innocent. There was nothing untoward happening at all - just the usual high school boy/girl "stuff". As a matter of fact, all of the boys in the row were extremely well behaved and polite. And there were a LOT of them so that's saying something.

So this poor girl is giving off signals that could be picked up from outer space and the boy was really focused on the concert... Sort of. You could tell that he was aware he should be doing something, he just didn't know what that should be. At one point, the girl and her friends were messing around and they shoved her into his lap. The poor boy froze like a statue. It really was almost painful to watch. He was VERY careful not to touch her. At all. She was clearly inviting him to rest his hands on her waist or her shoulders or SOMETHING and he sat there like King Tut with his arms laid across his chest.

She gave up and returned to her seat beside him. He continued to talk with her and enjoy the concert beside her, rspectfully. I should also add that I know the boy. He's a friend of my nephew and he's a really good kid. The kind of kid that you want your kid to be friends with. Solid parents, solid values, nice kid. So I was kind of relieved when he didn't make any "moves". I felt like he bought himself a few more minutes of just being a kid and for that I was grateful.

We didn't stay until the end of the concert. Zoe was thirsty, Max was hungry and everyone was starting to whine. That's just where we are right now. Still, it was fun to witness and remember the drama of new relationships, young love and nervous confusion. So not ready to watch it with my kids!!!

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Classic Julie, just classic.

It’s lucky for me that Joe and I were good friends long before we started dating. On our very first “official” date we decided to rent a movie at the local video store (Yes, I did say “video store” and yes, we probably rented a VHS movie). We had made our selection and we were walking out of the store when it happened. My long, flowing skirt got tangled in a cinder block that I didn’t see (because I was walking backwards – always a bad idea for someone like me) and I fell – I mean “*ss over apple-cart” fell. Down to the ground, skirt around my hips, legs kicking frantically trying to right myself. Can you even believe that he asked me out for a second date?

Now, no one would ever mistake me for someone who is graceful. I’m not one of those girls who took ballet from an early age and who learned to make everything look effortless and smooth. Quite the contrary actually. I trip and fall a lot. Plus, I bump into things a lot. I’ve always accepted this as a part of who I am though and I’ve usually muddled through with a few apologies and a lot of embarrassment. The other day, however, was just plain awful.

I’ve been making some changes in my job and have been given some additional responsibility that I’ve been excited to take on. I’ve been working hard to step up my professionalism and appear competent and responsible. I had a meeting with my boss the other day to discuss some of these additional responsibilities and that’s when the “bad thing” happened.

We were going to be making a phone call that might prove to be tricky. My boss was basically going to watch me try to deal with a difficult person to see how I handled it. I was good with that, I was ready. Right before the phone call, one of my papers fell to the floor.

Let me also clarify, because it just occurred to me, that I was wearing a skirt (stupid skirts). Not only that but I was wearing a skirt with knee high nylons because the skirt was really long (like you’ve never done it…). So when you’re wearing a skirt with any kind of nylons the skirt can sometimes cling to said nylons. Ok, on with the story.

I looked down at the paper and bent to pick it up. At that very moment, the chair (which was, sadly, on wheels) shot out from behind me and I was rocketed to the floor. I landed on all fours and just kind of froze.

My boss, probably bewildered by my sudden disappearance, leaned forward over her desk and said, “Are you ok?” Aside from dying a million deaths? Yup, I’m good. In the process of trying to get back up and get back into the chair, my stupid knee highs got all clingy with the skirt and, in essence, hobbled me. `

By the time I got it all figured out and made my way back to the chair my boss was just kind of looking at me. Was it pity or confusion? I couldn’t really tell, I just wanted to get the heck out of there. I think I have some shopping to do. For pants.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Are we still fighting about the tree?

I was over at my Dad’s house the other day and noticed that the tree I had planted on my beloved horse’s grave was dead. I was devastated. I knew that Dad had tried to protect the tree from the other horses, who loved to chew the bark off, but it appeared he had lost the fight. Let me just say that the horse buried under that tree, Cocoa Puff, was the love of my life. My best friend and confidant from the time I was ten years old. Was I a little overly emotional? You could say that.

When I got home I explained the situation to Joe (he had helped me plant the original tree) and told him that I wanted to plant a weeping willow on our property in honor of “Puff”. He said, and I quote, “Those trees do really well in swamps.” WHHHAT? This simple conversation took a sudden turn and morphed into an ugly altercation with me leading the charge.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Just stick my “stupid tree” off in the swamp somewhere so nobody can see it,” I fumed.

“Um, ok, where did you want to put it?” he said.

“I wanted to put it in the field where we will one day have a riding ring. It can be in the center of the ring so that we’ll have some shade while we’re watching the kids practice on their (currently imaginary) horses.” I said.

“I thought we were going to plant the pumpkins there,” he said.

Wrong answer. I WENT OFF. It went a little something like this… “You don’t even KNOW me at ALL!! How can you not know that, all my life, I’ve planned to have horses in the field and a riding ring and a barn? How can you NOT KNOW that? (At this point I paused for a breath and noticed his “deer in the headlights” stare which did nothing to slow me down.). So I want to plant a MEMORIAL tree for my BEST FRIEND (in the equine way) and YOU think that your stupid PUMPKINS are more important than that, don’t you? It’s just ALL ABOUT YOU, isn’t it? Why can’t you stop and think about someone else every once in a while? HUH? HUH?”

He took one careful step back and said, “Are we still fighting about the tree?”

No. We were not still fighting about the tree. To be fair, he never saw it coming and he didn’t stand a chance. I don’t get too riled up emotionally very often which might explain why it’s such a big deal when I do. It means I’ve been bottling up whatever I’m upset about for months and it’s going to take a while to get it all straight.

If I could offer some advice to the men out there it would be this. Pay attention every now and then. It doesn’t take a whole lot of time or effort to figure out why the person that you’ve chosen to spend your life with is freaking out. If he would’ve stepped forward and said, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry about Puff’s tree. We’ll plant a new one wherever you want,” the situation would have resolved on its own.

Granted, my wild flailing, gesturing, sarcasm and tears probably scared him a little and stepping in for a hug probably seemed risky and dangerous. Still, we women are unique and different creatures who have to be handled in very specific ways. There is an art to understanding your partner. Someone should offer classes….

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Llama Love

I think my llama is in love with my barn cat. It’s so adorable to see them interact and so I fear that I can never tell them that they belong to different species. And why should I? Who am I to determine what love is? When I look out into the field and I see them together it makes me smile so I’m not going to say a word.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

If Only He Would Listen...

An unfortunate (but completely avoidable) event occurred last week-end. Joe, the kids and I were driving our old truck down a little farm lane to get some wood. As we proceeded down the lane we all saw a thick branch laying across the road. I said, "Don't run over that, we might get a flat." Joe proceeded to run over it and get a flat. Sigh.

From there, as you can imagine, things went quickly downhill. To my credit, I didn't say a word. Not a single word like "Did you not hear me?" "I KNEW it" or "Nice Job". Not one word. Still, I was most certainly thinking it. To be fair, it could have happened just as easily to me, but it didn't. So there's that.

So there we were on this dirt two track road, with the kids and we need to change a flat. Did I mention that the truck was made in 1973? We didn't even know if we had a jack or any of the necessary gear. Plus, I had been sick for two days, Max was getting sick, it was nearing lunchtime (therefore the kids were STARVING) and it was starting to rain. Could there be a more obvious test of the strength of a marriage? I think not.

Of course the flat tire decided not to cooperate, as is so often the case. We would get one small victory (the truck has a jack!) and then suffer a crushing blow (one of the lug nuts is stripped). One step forward, three steps back.

I kept asking Joe to call a tow truck and he kept saying no. Finally, he had gotten all of the lug nuts removed and tried to pull the tire off. Stuck. Rusted on. Not moving. He decided to call our dear friend Lesia who came to our rescue with a sledgehammer. By the time she arrived, tensions were running high. When the sledgehammer didn't work I told Joe, in no uncertain terms, that the kids and I were leaving with Lesia. He could come with us or stay and hit the tire with a sledgehammer all day, didn't matter to me.

That's when the stony wall of silence got really bad. I was so mad that I couldn't even speak to him. And then HE got mad at ME. What??? He started slamming things around and barking at the kids, like it was our fault. I don't think so. Did I further mention that our anniversary was yesterday? 13 years of wedded bliss. You can only imagine, I'm sure.

We were finally able to discuss the situation last night a little, but I have to say, some men just don't get it. They don't understand that communication is the key to a successful marriage. I think they figure that, once they get married, they don't have to worry about all that "talking" stuff anymore. Once they get married, it's all business, "Did you call the phone company?" "What time is the party on Saturday?" "Did you get a mother's day gift for my Mom?" Check, check and check. Got it. Oh, hi, nice to see you. Didn't I used to be in love with you once?

I actually had to remind Joe that I am, in fact, still a woman. I'm all about helping out around the house. I mow the lawn, shovel snow, tote hay bales and wield a chainsaw when necessary. I even went into labor with Zoe while I was hauling wood for crying out loud. Still, every now and then, would it kill him to treat me like a girl? Remember the days of wine and roses? I'm not talking about being pampered and treasured every day but more than once every 13 years would be nice...

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Not again...

Blast it. I've done it again. I've waited until the very last possible moment to go and gather the much needed (and anticipated) school supplies. But alas, I am too late. I cannot find a glue stick within a 30 mile radius and it is now certain that my children will be mocked because of it. Honestly, I'm just a little too tired to care. I mean, the mocking would be awful, but aren't there more important things in life than providing 12 glue sticks to one student - all at once? Will she really need all 12 sticks the first day? I think not. I can't just totally give up though. I will quest forth tomorrow, angry and a little bitter, to find said glue sticks. I also need to locate two sets of colored pencils that all the "good" parents already picked up. Seriously, when did everyone go out and get this stuff? If I really had it together, I'd have picked up the extra stuff last year, when it was on sale, but if you know anything at all about me, having it together isn't at the top of my "strengths" list. But, I refuse to beat myself up about this. I'll get the stuff - I always do. By hook or by crook, my daughter will have her 12 glue sticks in her new backpack on the first day of school. But I don't have to be happy about it...

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Break Down

I think I might be having a nervous breakdown, or at the very least, an identity crisis. Or maybe it's a panic attack? I find myself stuck this morning, in one of those "grass is always greener" and "if only" situations. As I rode the elevator up to my office today I was thinking of a million places I'd rather be. I'd rather be home, I'd rather be running errands, I'd rather be at the movies, I'd rather be with my goats. I know that everyone goes through this but it's just so crappy when it's you going through it. Much easier to empathize and help someone else when you're in a good spot yourself. Much harder to claw your way out of the pit on your own. Damn dirt keeps getting in my eyes...

So now I'm trying to make the following determination: Serious or not serious? There comes a point in everyone's lives where decisions must be made. The information that you base those decisions on is what is critical. Is my job/spouse/outfit REALLY that bad or is this more of an internal "my life sucks" kind of struggle? Is this a true jumping off point where I could change my life completely and live happily ever after or do I just need more coffee?

I do have some bigger plans out there. I do have some things that I'd like to try and change. Here's the problem: I tend to embrace the "I'll be a completely new woman by next week" theory. It's a bad theory, mostly because it doesn't work that way. But the small changes just seem so small. I'm not totally unaware that my all or nothing thinking is part of the problem, I'm just a little lost on how to reframe that notion.

Let's talk about my weight, for instance. Ugh. I'm so tired of struggling with it, worrying about it, momentarily conquering it, and losing to it again. It runs my life in a lot of ways and I'm so fed up with it. I'm constantly studying thin people to try to understand what they do that makes them look the way they look. The problem is that it's not necessarily what they do so much as what they believe about themselves. And there's the rub.

If I don't know where I'm headed or what I want to do or be, then what should I believe? I think it's time to sit down and work on setting some goals. Now before I get negative about the whole thing and beat myself up for not doing this sooner I need to say, in my defense, that this is all about timing.

Prior to this, my life has been all about the kids. Are they hungry? Are they thirsty? Are they clean? Are they happy? Perhaps I'm approaching the time in my life where that focus can shift ever so slightly to allow me to care more for myself. They can pretty much manage foraging through the kitchen for food and water so no one is going to starve or get dehydrated by me stepping back just a little. And maybe, just maybe, if I focus on myself I'll feel more content with where I am. Fingers crossed.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Goin' to the Derby

Let me begin by saying that I'm a civilized woman. I read voraciously, I go to the theater and I consider myself to be fairly well educated. That being said, I LOVE the Demolition Derby. It's truly one of my guiltiest pleasures. I love everything about it - the cars, the drivers, the paint jobs. There was a green car in last nights' match which had "The Pickle" painted on one side. Another car had the phrase "Time Out - I'm Texting" spray painted across the back.

I liken the Derby to an ancient gladiator fight. At last night's match, in front of my children, I actually screamed "Finish Him!" I was shocked at my own behavior.

Still, I can't deny that it brings out something primordial in me. As soon as the car engines fire up and the siren goes off I start cheering. It's all so loud and muddy and crazy - three things that, under normal circumstances, I detest. There is something very freeing about letting it all go and cheering with abandon when a car sprays the crowd with mud. I have discussions with total strangers in the stands about the cars and the competition. "Oh boy, he's really stuck now!" "Look, his radiator just blew - it's all over for him" "Wow! That was a HIT!" If you knew me in my everyday life, you would realize that this just isn't who I am.

Still, once a year, the redneck from deep within surfaces and I just let it fly. And it feels gooooood.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Camping

We went camping over the week-end. Last week-end. You know when it was 90 degrees and about 400% humidity? Yeah, that's the one. Did I mention that it was hot? Well it was. The kids, of course, were oblivious to the heat, because that's how kids are. I thought I would melt.

We ended up camping not too far from home (which was necessitated by a lack of planning all around) and it worked out pretty well. Joe was able to run home to take care of the animals every day (or was he just running home to the air conditioning?) so we didn't have to worry about that. Plus, anything we forgot to pack (which was a lot) could be easily picked up.

I was raised as a camper. My parents took us camping pretty frequently throughout the years and we always had a lot of fun. We would get on our bikes and just ride and ride all around the campground, making friends along the way. And that's just what our kids did too. At one point I went looking for Max and found him smack dab in the middle of an impromptu water fight. Cool.

We camped with my Mom and my sister Kelly who both have motor homes. Joe and the kids and I were in a tent. The first night was waaaay too hot so the kids and I slept in the motor homes (Joe stayed home). After that, even though I thought it was still hot, the kids wanted to sleep in the tent. There is something very sweet and wonderful about the smell of a musty, moldy tent and the sound of zippers, zipping and unzipping.

Though I profess to be a true camper, I will confess that Joe and I sleep on an air mattress. Anything less would be inhumane really. Still, the air mattress presents its own challenges - mainly trying not the launch the other person off as you get on. Movement in the night requires teamwork and patience. At one point, Joe got up to head to the bathroom and I was sound asleep right until the moment I hit the ground - hard.

The tricky part about camping in a tent is that you have no "Center of Operations". It's like living out of bins and boxes and never being able to find the salt. And once you do find the salt, you realize that it's slightly damp like the rest of your stuff. Everything is always kind of damp and sandy. But that's just how camping is.

Still, it just reinforces my need to obtain a camper. I'm not super picky about what it would be - a pop-up would do just fine, I suppose. But a hard sided camper would be even better. Just a little extra protection from the elements and a dry place to keep my salt. I don't ask for much.

Joe is of the notion that you aren't really camping unless you have no electricity, no water and no bathrooms. That sounds more like a third world prison to me but I guess, to each their own. I've offered that he can take the kids on his kind of camping trip without me but, as of yet, I've not seen the plans for that take shape. Hmmm.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The Agony of August

"We'd like to take the kids for the day and then keep them for a sleepover if that's ok. We'd like to give you a little break." Sweeter words have never been spoken. Dave and Suzie (Joe's parents) have granted me this respite. To be fair, they grant me respite ALL the time. They step up and take the kids regularly and help out in a million other ways as well. But to hear them say that they'd like to give me a break is a really big deal to me personally - sort of an acknowledgement that this stage of life and kids isn't always easy.

I tend to be a bit of a whiner. I'm not from such hardy stock as they are. They both have come through really tough times to be where they are today and it certainly wasn't without some suffering. They raised their first child (who had serious health problems) in California, totally separated from family and the support it offers, but I can't imagine that Suzie whined about it. Then she went on to handle Greg and Joe and we all know what that must have taken out of her. Still, she was pretty stoic about it and didn't complain much.

I lean more towards the idea of having lots of chefs (or at least sous chefs) in the kitchen when it comes to raising kids. I figure, the more input and support that I have from others, the less the kids can pin on me later in therapy. Plus, I do tend to be a person who needs a mental break a little more often than most. I used to think that made me seem kind of weak, but I actually think it's a good thing to recognize about yourself. As a general rule I can handle day to day life with the kids but some days, it's just all too much.

I was on the phone with a friend yesterday who was going through the same situation. We were talking but she kept pulling the phone away to yell at the kids. The two older boys kept sending the younger one out to report on the situation inside the house (my friend was locked in her car in the garage). I'm not sure if my friend was rolling down the window or just yelling through the glass, but it's not my place to judge. Been there.

A lot of my mom friends are nearing the brink of madness right about now. When August hits and you're out of ideas for fun adventures with the kids (and you don't like the kids enough to do it anymore anyway) things get a little dicey. Another of my mom friends reported that their pool was still standing and it was CLEAN! She's always been an overachiever....

Now that the kids are gone I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. This is how it usually goes with me - I get SO fired up to have some free time but I'm never sure what to do with it. It's strange when cleaning the house ALL ALONE seems relaxing, but that seems to be the plan for the day. It sure isn't a day at the spa but it is a day to myself. Hooray for awesome grandparents!!

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Obituary for a hamster

Our beloved Butterscotch

Butterscotch Nowak, Dexter, MI Age 8 months. Butterscotch passed away peacefully surrounded by family on July 21, 2010 after an extended battle with some weird tumor the size of a baseball. He was born sometime in November somewhere in a hamster breeding facility somewhere in Michigan (probably). Not clear on who his parents might have been but they obviously had some bad genes. Butterscotch didn’t really have a job, mostly because he was a hamster, but he did work really hard to escape his cage every chance he got, so I guess that counts for something. Butterscotch never really got a chance to marry or reproduce (thank goodness) but we’ll count his survivors as Max and Zoe and, I suppose, Joe and Julie Nowak. We will miss his twitchy little hamster face and his genuine love for all of us. Even at the end of his life he did his best to comfort those of us he was leaving behind. The family will receive friends if they happen to stop by for whatever reason from 2 - 4 p.m. and 6 - 8 p.m. on Thursday, July 22, 2010 and again on Friday, July 23, 2010 from 9 a.m. until the time of funeral service out by the garden. Internment to follow in a hole near the garden. In lieu of flowers memorial contributions may be made to “Let’s get Zoe a New Hamster That Isn’t Diseased” fund. (Just don’t contribute too much because they only cost about $10 bucks). He will be deeply missed.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Fair Week

It's fair week. It's hot, the kids are filthy, everyone has been in tears at least once and it's only Wednesday. Also, one of the goats got loose, Susan (my sister) actually "farmed up" and tackled the goat in the aisle. I was pretty impressed with her! The goat ("Cammie") was less than pleased because she thought she was in the clear, but Sue did a flying leap as "Cammie" rounded the corner and saved the day. Never mind that Sue was wearing some cute khaki pants and a matching cute shirt, which was then covered in goat hair. She sacrificed her outfit to save our goat and I will be forever grateful.

There is always at least one of each animal that gets loose during fair week. The cows and the horses are the most exciting ones but the goats and sheep keep it interesting as well. If you ever see a commotion and a bunch of people walking slowly, kind of crouched down with their arms outstretched, you know that some animal has had about enough of the fair.

Zoe and Max showed their chickens yesterday. For those of you who are not 4-H people, it's a little out of the ordinary to "show" a chicken. (I.e., "Show it what?") There's actually a lot to it and the competition is quite fierce. Some kids take it quite seriously (Emma) and others are just there for the ribbon (not mentioning names). The chickens could care less about the whole thing and just want to go back to their cage. I can't imagine what this all looks like from the animals' perspective. As if they didn't think we were crazy enough...

There is something very sweet and kind of humbling about watching the 4-H kids with their animals. I watched today as a toddler (complete with pacifier) walked a goat around who was about 100 pounds and towered over him. The goat just walked along without hesitation. Then you see a little 10 year old girl hauling around a 1200 pound steer and it makes you believe in the human-animal connection.

And then there are the parents and volunteers. The whole lot of them is completely crazy but none of this would happen without them. They give up their time, money, blood, sweat and tears for the 4-H program but more importantly for the kids in the program. They get, more than most, that kids need to get back to basics. Back to a time when it was ok to just be a farm kid and spend most of your time caring for your animals and playing on your property. You weren't running in 3 different directions trying not to be late for soccer and tuba practice while still maintaining a presence at swim practice. If it allows the kids to have a little more free time, I'm all for it.

The 4-H volunteers still believe in the idea of community and they understand the concept that it really does take a village to raise a child. They get the concept of giving back and of volunteering your time when it isn't always glamorous to do so. They attend countless meetings on countless evenings to make sure that things go smoothly. And for what? So that kids can learn where their food comes from. So that kids can learn to respect the land and the animals that sustain us. They can learn how to sew a dress or can some jam. Things that might be forgotten if we don't reinforce and celebrate them.

People make the mistake of thinking that 4-H is for "farm kids" only but that just isn't true. Kids can be involved in a lot of different ways even if they don't live on a farm. They can enter classes like creative writing, photography or jewelry making. They can join a club and start to meet kids and parents that they have things in common with. The parents then form their own community and it builds from there. There's no telling where we could go with this. Do yourself a favor and check out 4-H.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Close Call

I’ve survived yet another brush with death. Or at least it feels that way. I ended up in the Emergency Room the other night with kidney stones. Never having had them before I naturally assumed I was going to die. The only other time that I felt a similar amount of pain was when I was in labor. To be fair, I was in labor for all of about 20 minutes before being rushed off to get a C-section, but it was a rough 20 minutes. My sisters are natural born birthers – honestly, they were troopers all the way through. Sue gave birth in a birthing center with NO DRUGS and Kelly’s babies were all over 10 lbs (and at least one was born with no drugs).

Me? Well, I asked for the epidural at 7 months and was ready for the C-section at the doctor’s earliest convenience. With Zoe I actually did go into labor and they were going to make me deliver but it turned out that Zoe was breech. Whew. I was totally unprepared for an actual delivery. Joe and I had dropped out of Lamaze class and went to dinner and a movie instead.

Anyway, back to my near death experience… I started having pain around 4:00 pm and decided that I’d better get to the hospital. I had no idea what might be wrong – appendicitis, ectopic pregnancy, total body sepsis. The pregnancy thing really had me freaked out because I’ve seen waaaay too many episodes of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”. Lots of time spent screaming at the screen, “Come ON – how could you NOT know???”

So I figured it would be best to go to the hospital. Just in case. Now let me tell you one thing – my family is the best family on the planet when it comes to a crisis. We can mobilize quickly and efficiently, working out child care and car rides in a matter of moments. We thrive in an emergency setting. Needless to say, I got to the ER quickly and efficiently (Thanks Dad!).

After a VERY long wait in the waiting room, I finally got into a room to see the doctor. He informed me that they were going to start an IV and get me some pain meds – NOW we’re talkin’.

While I have many strengths, one of them is NOT that I have good veins. They’re horrible as a matter of fact. Everyone that tries to poke me misses at least once. By the time the third nurse was ready to take a stab at me, Joe and the kids showed up. Zoe was hysterical. Let me just summarize the situation – I’m in screaming, agonizing pain but my daughter is totally freaked out and crying. Yet another instance where I have to be the adult. Ugh. So as the nurse has stabbed the needle into my arm and is shifting it side to side to hit the vein, I’m smiling and telling Zoe that everything is fine. When it most certainly was not. All I really wanted at that point was the damn pain meds. The nurse came in with the meds and said “ok, here we go”. Finally, I could sense relief on the horizon. Almost. As soon as she started putting the meds into my IV I was faced with another challenge. With the kids about 2 feet away from me, I leaned over to the nurse and said, “I think I might be sick.” Good grief.

After NINE hours in the ER they sent me home with some Vicodin and their best wishes. The doctor told me that the stone should “pass” within 12 hours but that I should also be aware that they saw another stone on the other side as well. Great news.

Today was pretty bad. Never mind that it’s about 400 degrees out today and I was in the worst pain of my life. I think things finally resolved around noon today but I’m in such a Vicodin fog that I can’t really be sure. Either way, I’ve had enough and I’m going to bed. Tomorrow has GOT to be a better day.

I've Got You