I'm the Homecoming queen after midnight...

I am wildly popular at night. Before you get scared and stop reading, I assure you I don’t mean that kind of popular.

I just mean everyone in our house, or out of our house as so happened last night, wants to either be near me or talk to me. In the middle of the night, when I most enjoy being completely and totally a-l-o-n-e.

It’s a well established fact I enjoy animals, just from afar. I love Rolly dog, I really do, but I would like him even more if he was a robot. He’s such a good dog and asks for nothing, aside from lavish attention whenever we have company. --I think I may know why. Of all the people in our family, I probably have the least connection with Rolly. Brandon and the kids love him. I live with him.

Either out of shear will or because I feed him, drive him around, and treat him with turkey bacon and chicken, Rolly LOVES me. He needs to be near me at all times. The older he gets, the more needy he becomes. He follows me from room to room and waits outside the closed door while I powder my nose.

Lately, Rolly’s decided he should sleep right next to my side of the bed. ON THE FLOOR naturally, I haven’t completely lost my marbles. It would be fine if he just slept quietly, but he doesn’t. Rolly barks at imaginary UPS men and runs a half marathon in his sleep every night. He yawns louder than anyone I’ve ever heard, and occasionally he burps. Gross.

Meredith tends to visit at least once a night normally reporting that she hasn’t wiped well, has dribbled, and requests permission to change pajama bottoms. Sometimes her CD player is skipping. Last night her tree was off-balance and due to come crashing on top of her bed any minute regardless of physics dictating otherwise. It’s always something. She loves to visit.

Alex often comes in around 5:30 a.m. to tell me Meredith woke him up while going to the bathroom and now he can’t sleep. Do I know where one of the wheels to his Lego plane happens to be? Will I pack his lunch tomorrow because he thinks they’re having burritos and he doesn’t care for school burritos, only El Rodeo burritos, and can we eat there over the weekend?

Because Brandon travels, I have a king size bed all to myself. It doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m in no way a cuddler. I like space and lots of it. No one turns over 18 times an hour, no one’s snoring keeps me awake, I have all the pillows I want. Most importantly, I fall asleep and wake up on my watch; at least in theory.

Brandon is working in Phoenix, which means we have a two hour time difference. It means he eats dinner when I’m brushing my teeth for bed. It means he calls really late sometimes if he’s taken clients out to dinner. Last night, the phone rang at 12:45 a.m. I answered the phone with, “At which hospital should I meet you?!” Brandon didn’t seem to appreciate that he’d woken me from a deep sleep and thought it was pretty funny that I didn’t really want to talk. “You always want to talk," he laughed. At least that’s what I think he said, I hung up on him.

Hello again!

If you could hear my as you read this, you would know why I haven’t had much to say in the past week. I’ve had plenty going on and a cough that sounds like I’m on the edge of developing emphysema.

Since I last updated you, I shot pictures of Sarah Palin during her book signing in Noblesville.

I don’t need to tell you this was a huge thrill for me. I’ve told the story seventeen times to anyone who will listen, but I wound up in the front of the press line twice. It pays to have freckles. If you have freckles, people automatically assume you’re friendly and want to help you. It also pays to be naïve. It was an experience I wouldn’t have dreamed of having three weeks ago and one I won’t soon forget.

My new favorite person in the whole wide world is Maria, our cleaning lady. It’s not even fair to call her a “cleaning lady.” Miracle worker and brave soul are much more fitting. Not only did she not run screaming from our house, she even cleaned out the light fixtures in our bathrooms. I ♥ her!!!!! An hour and a half into her day, I asked her to come every other week instead of the budgeted once a month. I may have to stand on the corner with a sandwich board to drum up photography business to pay for her. I am willing.

We are 99% decorated for Christmas. All the trees are up and decorated, except the 12’ in the living room. I let the kids decorate it and it needs to be redone. In secret, of course. They put all the snowman ornaments on one branch, all the grill themed ornaments on another. Don't ask. Meredith’s tree tried to end its own life while we were away, so I have to re-decorate it today and pray that Gorilla Glue can hold Tinkerbell’s wings.

We spent Thanksgiving with my Mom’s side of the family in Carmi, Illinois. Friday morning, we went to Olney so I could re-shoot Jennifer’s Christmas card photos, after I pulled a Mary Lou Propes and lost her files. We visited my Grandpa & Grandma Berger and stayed until the kids started doing sommersaults in their living room. We grabbed lunch at Hovey’s and ran into my parents and half of Richland county. I was so miserable with this “cold” that I wasn’t very pleasant company.

After hitting CVS for Zicam, which come to find out is not at all safe for me to take, we went to Newton so I could re-shoot Jill’s Christmas card pictures which met the same fate as Jenn’s. Piece of cake. Brandon went to the restaurant with Gaspare, while I draped myself over Jill’s leather chair and drank hot tea. I love spending time at Jill’s house. It’s so warm and cozy and she is without question, the best hostess in the world.

Over the weekend, we decorated like fools. I think it helps Brandon feel connected to his mom. She was over the top with decorating, and he wants to do the same for our kids. Our house is dripping, dripping in garland, which the kids both call ‘garlic.’ Maria and I will be vacuuming fake pine needles for weeks.

I have photography orders to process, Christmas cards to mail, laundry to do, and tress to finish. Good thing I’m updating the blog, but I missed all of you! Hope your Christmas season is off to a great start!

This close to sanity...

As I’ve mentioned before I’ve become an undisciplined house keeper. I don’t want to be. I don’t like living in disorder. It makes me very grouchy.

My mother in law always gave me a hard time about the time I spent cleaning. She would tell me I just needed to relax and play with the kids. Time was fleeting and I would regret spending hours wiping down baseboards when I could have been playing UNO. In some ways she was right. Her time certainly proved to be limited, but she also wasn’t living with two mess generating machines.

It’s important to me that my kids remember growing up in a house of order. We always had a cleaning lady when I was growing up. If we hadn’t had the help of many saintly women, I have no doubt our home would have been in far worse shape. My mom always worked like a crazy person and she simply doesn’t like to clean.

I do actually like to clean. I would rather gouge out my eyes than pick up Legos and Barbie shoes all day, but the actual act of scrubbing down a room is something I strangely enjoy.

That is the reason I’ve been reluctant to hire anyone to help me with our constant mess. I reasoned that I could do the cleaning part, it was the picking up part I hated and who on earth could I possibly pay to pick up our stuff?! I wouldn’t subject Nancy Pelosi to that kind of torture. Well, maybe.

As I got busier and busier with writing and photography the situation with our house became more and more volatile. Any extra time I had during the day or early evening, I was spending on laundry and cleaning. The kids played in their playroom and didn’t seem to mind, but I did.

I finally decided we were either going to find room in the budget for a cleaning lady or a therapist. I can do other things while someone cleans my house. I don’t have time to sob on a couch, much as I’d like to. The cleaning lady won.

My neighbor has an immaculate house and a secret weapon named Maria. Maria is 4’ 11” of cleaning power. She doesn’t speak much English, but all I needed to hear from her was, “Yes! Leslie. I’m happy to be cleaning your house.”

Today was the big day. I’ve been picking up and wiping down bathrooms since Sunday. I know it sounds counter-productive to wipe down our bathrooms, but I didn’t want Maria to run away screaming. I had all the cleaning supplies laid out. I emptied all the trash and gave her a lesson on the steam mop. Then Maria broke my heart. She double booked herself for today. She will be back, but not until Monday. Sigh.

Now that my house is at least picked up, I should probably tackle the closets and drawers where I stuffed all the evidence.

Farm hand!

Meredith had her first “Imagination Destination” day at pre-school on Friday. It’s actually the second one of the year. The first was camping day and Meredith informed her teachers she wouldn’t be there because she “got a better offer.” We were in Chicago. I tend to agree, but I wouldn’t publically declare it.

Friday was “a day at the farm.” The classroom was completely transformed into a farm. The floor was covered in straw--and corn in the areas anywhere near sensory stations that included corn. There were sunflowers everywhere. Bales of straw dotted a wooden fence. Behind the fence was a pretend cow the kids could actually milk. There was a chicken coup, complete with roosting hens and their eggs.

There was a fruit and vegetable stand where the farmers could sell their crops. The produce was real. I know this because I kicked an errant onion half way across the room. One of the hazards of wearing a size 10 shoe...

The farm’s kitchen was stalked with fresh bread dough and rolling pins, making it smell just like I expect a kitchen that feeds farm hands to smell. The dough looked decidedly different between drop off and pick up.

Even after experiencing this class with Alex three years ago, I’m still in awe of what these women do. Next week is another imagination destination and where they find the energy to clean up the last one and move onto another is beyond me.

For movie night, Alex chose a Scooby Doo movie. Something about how the “gang” originally got together. I forgot Scooby Doo usually has a ghost or two. Meredith did fine, but Alex was a nervous wreck most of the movie. Meredith told me Saturday morning that she was scared in the night, but didn’t want to yell for me because I’m always “such a grouch” when she wakes me in the night. Wow!

Alex’s school had their first pancake breakfast Saturday. It was both a fundraiser and a kick-off for the book fair. I don’t really care what it was, it got my family up, dressed, and out of the house by 8:30 a.m. I used the momentum and finally put away six loads of laundry that lived on the island in the kitchen for two days. Brandon fiddled around with Christmas lights all day. I have no idea what he accomplished, but he claimed something about researching stuff on line so we don’t repeatedly trip the circuits this season.

Sunday morning, Jeremy and Amanda Williams came over for breakfast. They asked us to brunch, but Amanda wanted to show Jeremy some canvas prints I have. I thought it would be just as much fun to have waffles in our pj’s. Jeremy made “beermosas,” which I’d never been introduced to before and probably shouldn’t have been. Jill C., you would like them…Orangina mixed with a light beer! They sound terrible, but there not, I promise you. Sort of like a less sweet mimosa.

Brandon spent the rest of the weekend hanging Christmas lights. The sight of the lights, threw me into periholiday baking mode. The kids and I made a quick treat to have on hand for drop by company. The kind of company who always comes when my house is at its worst; I hope to distract them with baked goods.

Sunday night we watched the Colts game!!! I can’t say enough about the intensity of the game. That being said, I dozed off when it looked like we were tanking. I should know Peyton and Reggie better than that. Woo Hoo!!!! I try to be a good sport, so I root for my team and not against the other. Well, Bill Belichick is hard not to root against. When he took off his headset right after Indy scored in the final seconds and barely touched Jim Caldwell’s hand as he stormed off the field; I wanted to choke him with his cropped sweatshirt.

I have three sessions to work on today, a field trip, a client meeting, and a column due tomorrow. Thursday I have “New Moon” baking to do with Annie. Friday, I’m working the book fair at Alex’s school. Good thing I’m a stay at home mom. Ha!

Late to bed, early to rise, and I survived!

My plan to start going to bed earlier lasted a whopping two days.

A friend of mine, with whom I lost touch with about the time Meredith was born, found me on Facebook. We’ve been trying to plan a lunch since last March and decided Wednesday evening cocktails at my house would work much better.

When Brandon and I first moved here after college I had a hard time finding anyone my own age to hang out with. I had plenty of older friends from work and Linda, my mother-in-law, was always up for a craft show.

One day while on the phone with my mother, I mentioned I’d purchased a dried floral arrangement at a craft festival. She got really quiet and suggested it might be time to find some friends my own age. I told her I wasn’t into bar hopping and just where did she expect me to randomly meet women my own age?! She suggested the library. I said something to the tune of, “Oh yeah! That’s GREAT idea. I bet the library is brimming with fun 23 year olds!”

Believe it or not; my mother was right.

I was headed up the stairs when I noticed someone my own age coming down. She was wearing a Sigma Kappa jacket and she looked completely normal and fun. To put it delicately, the Sigma Kappa chapters at most Indiana schools were significantly different from Bradley’s chapter. (Not that they weren’t wonderful women and that was incredibly shallow of me, but I was 23. Cut me some slack.)

So, I took a chance and said, “Hey, are you a Sigma Kappa?”

Knowing her now, I’m surprised she didn’t retort back with, “No. I stole this jacket.”

Knowing her now, I’m surprised she was wearing an SK pull over. She’s not a pull over kind of gal. I’ve always been really thankful she was because I needed a friend and she dropped out of the sky. If it weren’t for those lavender letters I probably would have brushed by her without a second thought. It wasn’t an accident.

Before kids and her marriage we had all kinds of fun together. Brandon was traveling, so my evenings were free and lonely. We took yoga classes, went out to dinner afterwards, and occupied the leather couches at Starbucks, before they were on every corner.

We did THIS to Alex:

April tried earnestly to save me from myself and always made sure I had great haircuts and better shoes. The woman knows styling products like no other and is the closest thing to a female Tim Gunn that I know. We had a great time and then life got in the way and we got busy and lost touch.

Cue Facebook.

I was thrilled she found me. I was excited to catch up with her to see where life had taken her. She’s had a very interesting few years and has emerged a completely different person. She’s still wickedly funny, incredibly intelligent, and more stylish than ever. I’m glad to have her back.

We talked until midnight, which did nothing for my new sleep routine, but I woke up feeling just fine this morning. Completely worth it.

Neither Sick nor Tired...

My friend Robyn just about broke my heart with her comment on my last post. It honestly never occurs to me that anyone reads this, let alone misses it when I don’t write. So Robyn, at least for you, I promise to make a concerted effort with the blog.

I’m just about to wrap up shooting for the year. After Thanksgiving, things slow down considerably. Unless a new baby arrives, no one is very interested in having portraits taken in the dead of winter. This works well for me and my Christmas-crazed family. Aside from “my column” and shooting feature stories for “the paper,” my life is about to get a lot less complicated.

In couldn’t come at a better time. The last couple of weeks I’ve woken feeling terrible. I’ve had a headache, was nauseous, and felt as though I had a fever, when the thermometer I stuck in my ear every hour on the hour told me otherwise. I was whining about it to my friend Dawn who reminded me I’m not getting any younger and maybe it was part of the aging process. Dawn also mentioned I might just need more sleep.

I’ve been able to function well on seven hours for years. In fact, my body usually wakes up once I’ve hit the seven hour mark. My routine lately has been to serve dinner, clean up the kitchen, give Meredith a bath, read to each child, tuck them in, and come downstairs to start editing and writing. I had no problem staying alert until about 11:00 p.m. and then going to bed.

At least once or twice in the night, someone will wake up with an odd request. Normally it’s Meredith, but when Brandon is home he mumbles in his sleep and snores subliminal messages. Really, I’m not kidding. So, I probably don’t get a full night’s rest on any given night, but who does?

The night before last, I decided to try something different. After I put the kids to bed, I didn’t come downstairs to “work.” Instead, I climbed into bed at 8:15 p.m., watched a couple of hours of TV, and went to sleep at 10:00 p.m. Guess what? I woke up without feeling the slightest bit puny.

The scary part? Meredith told me yesterday that she came into my room in the middle of the night and asked me several times if she could use some lotion. She tried to rouse me, but I slept through the entire episode. Evidently she also took a trip downstairs to get new underwear out of the dryer and I didn’t hear a peep. Yikes! I’m a light sleeper and thought I heard every peep my children make, but I was horrified to realize that isn’t the case. I told Meredith that scared me and she said, “Oh geez, if I really needed you, I would have wiggled you OR done a cannon ball on your bed!” Good to know.

I’m chipping away at processing my sessions and writing a few stories here and there. They want me to shoot every cheerleader, artist, and ballerina in Hamilton county at 5:00 p.m. on the other side of town. When Sarah Palin comes to town at 2:00 p.m. on a Thursday, do they need me? Nope. I’m learning to say “No,” when I need to and so far I still have nearly all my hair.

Drowning in Fulfillment...

You might be wondering where I was. Or more likely, you’re busy and don’t give a second thought to why I haven’t updated in over a week. Regardless, following is an explanation of my absence.

“I’VE BITTEN OFF MORE THAN I CAN CHEW!”

Since I last wrote I became a “columnist,” (at least temporarily), we spent Fall Break in Chicago, I became a “staff photographer,” (maybe even more temporary) and I’ve been photographing more children than I knew existed. ‘Tis the season, and it’s not even THE season.

Several (three people) asked how the whole columnist thing came about. The short version is, I got annoyed with the lifestyle columnist in our weekly community paper. “The paper” comes in everyone’s mail; so in essence, we’re all forced to subscribe. It isn’t exactly the WSJ. ANYWAY…I threw caution to the wind, e-mailed the editor, and sheepishly directed him to this blog. Viola, 48 hours later they went to press with my first column.

At some point during those 48 hours we left for Chicago. (An hour and a half late, because I was writing a column and waiting for the dryer to churn out enough clean socks for our family.) We met some friends from college and their kids at LegoLand and then went out to dinner. We stayed in Schaumburg that night…The kids were fascinated by the indoor pool…I was repeatedly admonished for forgetting to bring their goggles…I had to share a bed with Meredith…long story.

Saturday we drove into the city and went to the Shedd Aquarium. Great visit until Meredith fell in love with a stuffed beluga whale and followed us around sobbing for the next 45 minutes. We waited all day to see their new animal encounters show. We went a half an hour early to get seats. At the start of the show, they informed us they were having technical difficulties and the show was cancelled. They offered to bring out the dolphins, whales, penguins and birds anyway. The animals all revolted, missed their marks, and perched in artificial trees that couldn’t support their weight.

When we left the aquarium, it was pouring down rain and we were parked a long way away. Everyone but me changed clothes in a parking garage and we went out for pizza in the middle of the afternoon. After stuffing ourselves, the boys went to the Lego Store on Michigan Ave. Alex eats, sleeps, and drinks around his Lego building schedule. Meredith and I walked to The American Girls Store.

According to Meredith, “Kit forgot to pack her shoes.” We couldn’t have Kit padding around the dirty streets barefoot. (I’m expected to ignore the fact that Kit’s plastic legs lack skeletal muscles.) Kit NEEDED shoes.

I was prepared for another beluga whale incident. I have a hard time controlling myself in that store, so I really don’t expect a four year old not to go bananas with want. Meredith couldn’t have been better. I told her we would be getting one outfit and for the most part, she stuck to it, much to my surprise.

As we were walking to the store she said, “I think I might get Kit an outfit AND a nightgown. She needs pajamas.” I explained that Daddy would get mad. We could only buy ONE outfit. She looked at me, wrinkled her nose and said, “We can keep a secret,” while gesturing between us. Brandon closed three accounts when I recounted the story.

We took the kids to Orange for brunch before leaving town. I had eaten there one other time and it was good and most importantly, kid friendly. I’m an Ann Sather’s loyalist, so it’s hard for me to break away. (You’re shocked I skipped cinnamon rolls aren’t you Beckman?!) However, Orange his “fruishi,” which is “sushi” made out of fruit. If you added a side of blue cheese, you would mesh all of Alex’s favorite foods into one treat. I didn’t want him to miss it.

We left town after brunch and made it home well in time to carve pumpkins and trick or treat. I’m going to annoy a lot of people, but we didn’t hit ANY traffic the entire trip. We did not sit idle on any freeway at any time. It was amazing and somewhat eerie. I kept knocking on the faux wood of the dash every time I mentioned how minimal the traffic was.

We trick or treated with the Staperts. The kids raked in the candy. Someone had a full bar set up on their driveway! I had a rum and Coke and a renewed enthusiasm for Halloween. Afterwards, we built a fire in the driveway, made s’mores, and drank cider with the neighbors. The plan was to come back to our house and let the kids trick or treat on our street, but they all decided they’d rather play football!

This week has just been crazy. I’ve written another column and photographed several events and people for “the paper.” I’m not sure it’s going to work out very well with my schedule. They also want me to write about actual news, and I’m not sure that’s my strong suit. I told the editor I’m much closer to Bombeck than Woodward and that may not be what the paper needs. We’ll see…I’m not going to hire a cleaning lady just yet. Although I NEED to!

In between unpacking, laundry, shuffling kids, writing, and editing, I’ve crammed in several photo sessions. Everyone wants Christmas card photos. It’s great for business, but not my sanity. I’ve never been this backed up with editing and I don’t like making clients wait for their images. It’s a good problem to have, I just need to manage my time better and keep the bowl of M&M’s out of arm’s reach.

This coming week promises to be more of the same, so updates might be few and far between, but I’m working on it, I promise! Bear with me!

I'm raising a dictator...

It’s rarely a good thing when the parent-teacher conference starts out with the teachers building up your parenting skills with an air that it’s all about to come crashing down. You’ve probably heard the theory that you should pad constructive criticism within two compliments; well I could feel it coming…

I had Meredith’s parent-teacher conference today. I was really looking forward to it, with some trepidation. Alex’s senior preschool conference was all about what a wonderful, empathetic boy he was. The teachers were stunned when I told them about the constant temper tantrums at home. They couldn’t say enough about what a great heart Alex had.

I knew the teachers had a different impression of Meredith because they kept telling me my kids were as different as night and day. I know my kids are entirely different people, but I don’t have the same rosy impression of Alex that they do. I had an inclining saying they were polar opposites wasn’t exactly a positive testament to Meredith’s behavior.

In short, I was worried she was a “mean girl.” Turns out, I’m not far off the mark. Anyone reading this who has a daughter who’s played with Meredith probably isn’t surprised by the report either. (Sigh.)

The teachers described Meredith with the following terms: lovely, smart, bright, academically advanced, a leader, powerful (that’s a direct and scary quote), and charismatic. All right, none of these are bad qualities. I exhaled and then heard the elusive “but,” in the room. The next line was straight out of Spiderman: “With great power, comes great responsibility, and Meredith isn’t using her power responsibly.”

Uh Oh.

The good news is Meredith has “unlimited potential.” The teachers both agreed Meredith could grow up to be an amazing person…if, and tell me how I'm supposed to teach this, she learns to use her ‘control over others’ in a more positive manner.

I heard that Meredith can read and write well beyond her age level. I saw her impressive self portrait with far more detail than anyone else in her class drew. I was handed a picture of a mighty oak with falling leaves that Merdi drew when they asked her to draw a picture that was representative of Fall.

In the same folder was a sheet where they were supposed to practice cutting lines…straight, curvy, and zig-zag. It was clear Meredith possessed the scissors skills required to cut the lines…she just did the first three curves and zig-zags and announced she was done. I was shown the jelly fish Meredith drew when asked to draw something that lives in the sea. She drew it, with significant detail and provided a reason why she liked jelly fish, but failed to draw a sea in which the jelly fish might reside. I was told that Meredith only devotes about 50% of herself to a project because she is so busy keeping an eye on the “home keeping” section of the classroom. Evidently, that is HER turf.

From what I understand Meredith runs the show in the home keeping area and all the kids follow her lead until they can’t take it anymore. Then, she’s moody and pouts. My suspicions were confirmed that Meredith is picky about whom she likes and whom she doesn’t. Merdi readily excludes people she doesn’t approve of.

Steam shot out of my ears at this point of the conference. We’ve talked about the importance of being kind since she was old enough to understand the concept. The cherry on top of the-my-child-is-a-tyrant sundae, was the revelation that Meredith “gets physical” when the children don’t do what she insists they do. Shoot me now.

It occurred to me that when the teachers used the word “charismatic” they meant like a tyrannical leader, not like Paula Deen. Meredith is the Kim Jong Il of Senior Preschool.

The teachers kept assuring me that I shouldn’t leave the conference thinking Meredith wasn’t a "lovely girl." They kept telling me how “attractive” she was and how the kids were drawn to her. Yeah, sort of like bugs are drawn to a bug zapper.

My suspicions confirmed; I left the conference with the scary realization that Meredith didn’t come by any of this on her own. I’m bossy, moody, and as a child often befriended kids I thought I could dominate. I survived, but I left a wake of people who didn’t have a very favorable impression of me. I really, really don’t want Meredith to be a “mean girl.”

The irony in all this is, Meredith is the “easy one” at our house. She nearly always has an ‘I’m up for anything’ mentality. She’s compliant and does what is asked of her 90% of the time. Up until about six months ago, she was 100% joy! I couldn’t wait for her to be in this particular class because selfishly I wanted her teachers to see what a fun and joyful child she was compared to her brooding and serious brother. I wanted them to know that I had it in me to raise a fun, outgoing kid. Be careful what you wish for…

Truth in lights

Last night I had a nose bleed for no apparent reason. I’ve been known to get serious, gushing nosebleeds in times of extreme stress, but this was just a regular-it’s-too-dry-in-here nosebleed.

I was in front of the computer editing pictures and holding a tissue covered finger up my nose when I heard a slight knock on our door. Mind you, I was fully visible to anyone walking up to our front porch because I have yet to select window coverings for our first floor. Great... to a bystander it looked like “a pick, not a scratch.”

It occurred to me pretty quickly that we’d just been Booed again and I called the kids down to open the door. They did and we could hear the high pitched whisper of a neighbor’s golf cart rolling away. The neighbor, who now assumes I pick my nose while editing pictures, left a bag full of goodies.

Within the bag of treats were glow sticks. The kids had them cracked and glowing within five minutes. As I went into my bathroom I noticed a green glow stick behind one of the faucets. It seemed odd that Alex would leave his glow stick just lying around, but I thought it was just another thing left behind for me to pick up. I washed my hands and turned off the light and it looked like Slimer had used the facilities.

Glowing globs of green were everywhere. The hand towel was the best. I could almost make out Alex's fingerprints.

I called Alex in and asked if---just by chance---he might have bitten, broken, or otherwise cracked open his glow stick in my bathroom. “No. Why?!” I flicked off the light.

Big smirk, the one he inherited from his dad, “Well maybe…I might have…All right, yeah I did. Sorry.”

If only every fib left behind this kind of evidence….

Ripping out my hair...

It’s been a busy few days, but when is it not?

Thursday night, we had a much delayed baby shower for our friend Stacey. Her shower was originally scheduled for late July, and right before the shower, Stacey went to live in a labor and delivery suite. Four weeks of hospital bed rest, kept our beautiful little friends Ella and Ashton healthy and well. The girl certainly deserves a night out, and probably needed it now more than ever! Things have a way of working out.

I don’t get out much after dark, so the shower was a big treat. I’m a true hazard on the road. My on-again-off-again astigmatism makes me a menace to other drivers. Headlights have halos and I’m completely distracted by lit up store fronts. I don’t often see those. I also had one limeoncello martini and turned into Dean Martin. I talked waaaaaay too much, even louder than normal, and knocked over my empty glass for the finale. I’m really surprised I’m not invited out more.

Insanity seems to have become common place with me. I decided to host a Halloween party for the kids and all their friends Saturday afternoon. I think I was lured into the idea by cute invitations. I’ve gotten myself into several bad situations through a weakness for stationary. Anyway, for whatever reason I decided to invite several children ranging from age two to seven into our home for two hours of games and sugar. As I was hanging decorations Meredith said, “Well, I’m excited for our first and what will probably be our last Halloween party.” Meredith knows me far better than I know myself.


It was bedlam! We had a scavenger hunt for bones, which the big boys were bored with and the little ones didn’t quite get the concept of going from clue to clue. We decorated cupcakes and 15% of the toppings made it onto cupcakes. Once I had them wound up from running and sugared from cupcakes and sprinkles, I handed them a stick and had them beat open a piñata full of MORE sugar. The only calm in the storm, was Annie dutifully painting faces and taking requests for things like…a Chinese dragon. What else would you expect?!

When the kids left, I sat paralyzed and dazed on the couch and told Brandon to have me declared incompetent if I ever decided to host such a party again. Meredith was so delusionally exhausted that she told me I was the meanest mom ever and it was the worst day of her life because I gave “her” eyeball bouncy ball to someone else. Never mind that I have 27 eyeball bouncy balls rolling around my kitchen floor.

Did I mention I handed out BOUNCY BALLS as a prize?! GREAT idea when your entire first floor is hard surfaces. OH…AND I had gummy frozen eyeballs floating around in the punch bowl. It dawned on me that no kid wanted an eyeball in their punch cup when there were rubber ones bouncing everywhere. I would never make it as a party stylist.

Sunday morning we met up with a friend of mine, Toni, who is also a photographer. She asked me if I would be interested in exchanging family photos. We met at the beautiful Indianapolis Museum of Art. I shot there a week ago and you wouldn’t believe how many leaves have since fallen from the trees. Fall is fading fast. Toni’s family is ridiculously good looking and they have four children who all looked at the camera and smiled on command. We looked like the Addams family comparatively and Alex did his best Lurch impression. In 80% of our shots, Alex looks like we’ve bound his feet. As I started looking for an acceptable Christmas card shot, my standard went from “everyone smiling and looking natural,” to “one where Alex doesn’t look pained.”

Here’s a dandy! I’m standing is some sort of weird, “I hope this makes my hips look less wide pose,” and the session is choking the life out of Meredith. I will say this is one of Alex’s better expressions… We finished our photo shoot just in time for the Colts game. We went to a restaurant near our house that used to have great food, awesome service, and a line to get in. All of those things are now gone, but they did show the game on four big screens and I didn’t have to make sandwiches. A word on the game…I felt badly for the Rams. I guess that’s why I’m not much of a sports fan. I don’t think you’re supposed to have empathy for the loosing team.

I’m ready to wrap up our weekend. I look forward to the calm of Monday and getting my house back in order.

This Little Piggy can't make up her mind...

I am a strange mix of stubborn and indecisive. I didn’t realize this until I had kids. Oh I knew I was stubborn, I just didn’t think I was unable to make a decision quickly.

When I worked in my parents’ appliance store as a teenager, I would go nuts when waiting on some lady who couldn’t decide between a Maytag and a White Westinghouse. I would loose it. Under my breath and from the safety of the office--but still I had absolutely no patience for “women who fiddle around and can’t make a decision.”

Two things have changed. 1.) I know how important it is to pick the right appliances, because your husband is going to make you keep them until the end of time. 2.) I had children.

Like everyone else I worry about making the right decisions for our kids. Some stuff I worry about is just ridiculous and won’t affect the fiber of their being in any way, shape, or form. (For example, I’ve been deciding on a gymnastics class for Meredith for the last three weeks.) Some stuff is more important and I do my best to steer them in the right direction and give them a solid foundation. I find myself doubting decisions left and right.

My latest bout of indecisiveness is surrounding the H1N1 vaccine. I have been wringing my hands and calling everyone I know to ask for their opinions. I have become one of those women who can’t make up their mind.

A week ago, I was vehemently opposed to vaccinating the kids against yet another strand of flu. They’ve already had their seasonal flu vaccines, and I kept hearing from people who had H1N1 and lived to tell their story. “Really no worse than a bad cold” “More of a nuisance than anything.”

Then Dr. Nancy Snyderman, the medical expert from “The Today Show” said something that caught my ear. That’s right; nothing our trusted pediatrician said moved me. I ignored what all of our friends who happen to be physicians or work within the medical field have said. It took someone on TV to raise my alert level. What have I become?! I really hope she’s an actual physician.

Anyway, Dr. Snyderman explained the reason the young are getting nailed by this virus is because it’s completely foreign to their immune systems. Unlike a “regular” flu, this one jumped species. Oh, that didn’t sound good! I started to pay attention. Then, Dr. Snyderman talked about the rapidity of the virus. I put down my coffee. A child could go from having a headache and cold symptoms, to being in the hospital on a ventilator in a short amount of time. Holy crap! Those with asthma are at an even greater risk. Alex has "seaonal-allergy induced asthmatic episodes." Does that count?! It does! Gulp!

Our school district is holding an H1N1 inoculation clinic this weekend. I had no intention of waiting in a cattle line where I would probably catch something else. I said as much to everyone who asked. Guess who’s eating her words? At least today I am. I may see a different news report and change my mind.

Weekend Update, Like SNL only less funny...

After the movie on Friday, I was fixing the kids a gourmet dinner of spaghetti with sauce straight out of the jar, when I heard the garage door. Brandon was in Chicago for the week and told me he wouldn’t be home until “late.” He came home early and hungry. A jolt of inadequacy shot through me.

I explained to him the kids weren’t hungry after all the popcorn and candy, but did agree to eat a little pasta before bed. He wasn’t impressed, but he didn’t starve to death either.

Saturday morning I was out of the house by 9:30 for a full day of shooting. It was chilly, but I would much rather be cold than hot. My argument is always, “You can add layers, but when you’re hot that’s it. Nothing you can do.” I have trouble shooting in a coat. It feels like my arms are bound. So, I shot in a vest, scarf, and a hat I was particularly thrilled over when I found it at Steinmart. When I came home, Brandon took one look at me and said, “Wow! You actually wore that all day?” I’m so glad he came home early! Who needs pasta?! I can live on Brandon’s compliments alone.

I had grown ups for this shoot and that really makes a difference. They sat where I asked them to and looked right at the camera without so much as a single package of fruit snacks waved in front of them. They brought along their dogs and had me use the words, “Treats!” “Breakfast!” and “Dinner!” to get them to look my direction. I felt like Benedict Arnold. I didn’t have so much as a Snausage to offer. You can’t argue with success.

Some of you may recognize the people in the picture. That’s Jeremy and Amanda Williams. Amanda recently completed her residency in psychology and lived in St. Louis for nearly a year while doing so. As a gift to thank Jeremy for being so patient about her absence, Amanda arranged the photo session as a surprise. They were so much fun to shoot and tolerated me dragging them all over town. They even bought me lunch. Not a bad gig!

Sunday we went to Newton to celebrate all the Cucinella children’s birthdays. Maria is turning one today and Giuseppe and Frank had birthdays the previous two weeks. Jill’s a planner, isn’t she?

I did a mini session for our friend Jennifer of her two adorable little ones in Jill’s yard. Jennifer’s normally smiley Reese was in no way impressed with my camera. Reese wanted to show me his serious side. We completely corrupted him by handing him a sucker near the end of our shoot. I would post a picture here, but I think Jenn is planning to use them for her Christmas cards and I don’t want to give an unauthorized preview.

I also shot Jill’s Christmas card photo and did a first year portrait session for Maria.

I would shoot all day every day, so I loved every minute. Maria is so ridiculously easy to shoot; she’s lucky she had birthday guests coming or I would have monopolized her all day long.

Alex had more fun than you can well…shake a stick at. Giuseppe, Frank, and Alex spent the majority of the day in Jill and Gaspare’s wooded acres. I’m not sure what they were doing, but it sounds like it involved dragging loads of sticks through small creeks. Giuseppe wore a red shirt, so we could see them and knew they were safe. I was so grateful that Alex had the opportunity just to romp around in the woods and be a boy. He came back covered in mini cockaburrows. Brandon was already flipping out about Alex hanging out in the woods unsupervised, so Jill and I quickly changed Alex into one of Giuseppe’s sweatshirts and went on with the day.

We got back in just in time for bath and bed. If it were up to me, every day would be timed like that!

Adrenaline with little risk..

If my children knew the adrenaline rush that comes with toilet papering a house, I would be out of Charmin.

Every October the kids get really excited about “Booing” the neighbors. More so, they look forward to being “Booed.” Every time our doorbell rings after dark, they both race to the door, hopeful that no one will be there.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you probably don’t have little kids or live in an area without neighbors. This website provides a full explanation, but in short you leave treats on a neighbor’s doorstep along with a cute little ghost who tells you to hang him in your window and carry the fun to another neighbor.

The fun part is you do it anonymously. You ring the doorbell and run like the wind. There was a time in my life I did the exact same thing without leaving treats. I also toilet papered my grandparents because I enjoyed the suspense with no chance of arrest. I was a weirdo. (Was?!)

The kids were really excited to Boo our neighbors. After much discussion, it was decided that Meredith would hold the treats in the car, Alex would do the actually ringing of the doorbell, and I would drive the getaway car. Alex was hilarious! “Leave it runnin’, in Drive, and my door open.” He rang the bells, dropped the treats, and booked it back to the car, all the while loud-whispering, “Go! Go! Go!”

We didn’t get caught and they had a ball! They also had a hard time settling down. Not the most ideal thing to do with a four and seven year old minutes before they climb into bed.

Today, Alex was out of school for parent-teacher conferences. Meredith had school, which meant Alex and I were on our own…together. We met Annie and Jon for breakfast at Bub’s. Alex was enthusiastic about our breakfast out and the possibility of one of his buddy’s joining us. Jon is a great kid. He’s smart, outgoing, and just a doll. Alex acted like he’s never eaten in the presence of others. His table manners weren’t the issue, but he sat three inches from me and spoke three words to Jon. I hate when my kids are socially inept. On the way out, I noticed Bub’s Breakfast Café now serves beer. Had I known...

When Meredith was finished with school, we met Dawn and her kids at the movies. I really wanted to see “Where the Wild Things Are.” Alex and Meredith had better judgment and picked “Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.” We’re the last family we know to see it, so I would tell you to go see it, but you probably already have. Annie declared it ‘hilarious,’ to which Joe said, “Do you even KNOW what ‘hilarious’ means?!” “Yes, I do! It means, ‘extra funny!’ I agree with Annie. It’s extra funny.

Psychosis

I am writing to ask for your help. If you ever---EVER---hear the phrase, “I think I’ll make those cute scarecrow cupcakes,” come out of my mouth; I want you to stop me. I want you to remind me that I stood in the kitchen for four hours making a big mess and 17 cupcakes.

When Alex was in Jr. Preschool, his class studied scarecrows. I was eager to be involved in the classroom and found the perfect baking project on the cover of a Fall Baking Guide some nut job published. They showed adorable scarecrow cupcakes that didn’t have a lot of icing work.

I don’t have a good history when it comes to working with icing. It never turns out the way I want it to, which is precisely what the picture looks like. Once I get an image in my head, it better look exactly like that or I fall apart. These cupcakes used Shredded Wheat and had Chinese noodle hair. I could do that!

It was a nightmare and they turned out looking like this guy.

Plus, what kid wants to eat Shredded Wheat on a cupcake?!

I suffered from a bout of insanity/amnesia this week and offered to make them for Meredith’s preschool class. They aren’t even studying scarecrows for crying out loud.

I started the project around 1:00 p.m. and dinner will be late to the table because I stood in sugar squishing spice drops flat so I could give the scarecrows hats. Of course the only icing used for decorating is that gel stuff which is less controllable than a cat that can drive.

After putting Meredith down for a nap, I swore, whined, and called Kelly’s answering machine and told her if I ever mentioned these cupcakes again, she’s to have me committed.

I’m completely serious. Hold me to it. I’m hanging up my spice drop hat.

Weekend Update, Like SNL only less funny!

I am wiped out. If the kids had stopped talking for more than 30 consecutive seconds, I might have fallen asleep in the car.

We had a busy weekend!

Friday night was our usual movie and pizza night. I picked a lame movie and Meredith and I fell asleep in the middle. Eddie Murphy stopped being funny when he stopped doing Gumby as far as I’m concerned.

Saturday Alex had a birthday party to go to in the afternoon, so the rest of us went to Costco and Lowe’s while he was gone. I only tell you that because it was exciting to go somewhere with only one child. They can’t fight with someone who isn’t there!

We picked up Alex from the party and went to afore mentioned Haunted House party at the Museum. Sunday morning was a little slow moving. I left around noon to photograph my friend Stacey’s extended family and to have brunch to celebrate the christening of these two sweet people. If I’m going to swipe one, I’m going to have to do it soon. They are growing so fast they won’t fit in my purse much longer.

I came home and we left for the Pumpkin Festival at our favorite pumpkin patch. They had new activities this year and the kids were beside themselves with excitement. All Brandon wanted was a few apple cider doughnuts. Meredith kept promising him we would get them right after we “went on a hayride,” “decorated a pumpkin,” “rode a pony,” “get our faces painted,” “see the bee hive,” “do the slide,” etc. etc. She couldn’t cram it all in fast enough. (Alex has suddendly developed an interest in roping. Around the house he ropes Meredith, so he was thrilled to have something he was allowed to lasso!)

We did finally have apple cider doughnuts and kettle corn. We were there for two and a half hours. It was really fun and we had great weather, but it was a little on the chilly side. You know how fresh air makes little ones tired? It also makes 33 year old ladies tired. The thought of making white chili when we got home was too much. I suggested we just go out for Mexican. So we did.

I tried in earnest to stay up for the entirety of the Colts game. I was pretty sure we had it locked in the third quarter, but you never know. I felt an obligation to be supportive of the team, so I changed into my Colts t-shirt. That way I could show my allegiance while sleeping. If my mom still read this, I could really give her a hard time about the Titans. I don’t know what the deal is with that team. They have a great coach, but they have a team full of jackasses. I don’t just mean on the field either. Tony Dungy really built a team this city can be proud of, and when I see guys taking cheap shots like the Titans did last night, it makes me all the more appreciative. However, desperate people do desperate things, right?

Half of you reading this are completely stunned aren’t you? That’s right, I’m discussing sports. I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I have a lot of enthusiasm. That’s really what my entire collegiate experience amounted to.

Tomb of Doom

There are times when I really wish I could be taking pictures of what’s going on around me. Sometimes it’s just not possible. Sometimes I simply don’t want to drag my giant camera around. And…Sometimes Brandon grimaces and rolls his eyes when he notices the camera on my lap as we’re driving to an event.

Last night it was a combination of all three.

Our new neighbors are sponsors of the Children’s Museum’s Haunted House. They were invited to the preview party and asked us to go. I rarely turn down an invitation anywhere, but this would even better because I could take the kids to the Haunted House without waiting in line. I’ll do almost anything to avoid a line, including grocery shopping at 5:00 a.m.

First of all, the Haunted House, which is the Tomb of Doom this year, is incredible. It’s done on a volunteer basis and the Guild is in charge of the whole shebang. I’ve been asked if I might like to serve on the guild, and while I would love to; it’s all I can do to commit to volunteering in a classroom a couple of hours a month. The guild women spend 36 hours each during the month of October standing around in the Haunted House scaring people.

I was in a Jaycees’ Haunted House once in college. The first hour or two was fun. By the third hour I was bored and no longer felt like doing a scary moan, so I left through a whole in the wall. Evidently, I’m non-committal in the after life as well.

But back to the Haunted House…the hours the volunteers put in blows my mind. We went through during the lights-on hours for the er,…kids. I’m glad we did because I didn’t scream and/or wet my pants and we were able to see the incredible detail of the Tomb of Doom. Meredith touched every rat, spider, skeleton, and mummy along the way. So, if you want a completely detailed account you can ask her. Alex wanted to go through after they turned out the lights, but Brandon was ready to leave or was a ninny. Likely both.

Aside from the Haunted House, there was dinner, crafts for the kids, face painting, and a sundae bar. The Museum was open too which meant we pretty much had run of the place. Fantastic! It was really funny to see people walking around with beer and wine in the middle of the Children’s Museum, but I’ve always thought a guy with a drink cart could make a killing in there.

They also had a live band and I don’t need to tell you that Meredith rocked out to the “Graveyard Stompers.” She was dancing like a maniac in her bee costume. A toddler dressed as a fairy spotted her and they danced together for a loooooooong time. Then, the bee’s brother Darth Vader showed up and busted out some serious dance moves. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. This is one of those situations where I was proud of Alex for really taking a risk and enjoying himself completely, but I cringed for his future!

We didn’t get home until 10:00 p.m. I told Meredith to put on her jammies and I would be up to tuck her in. I went up five minutes later to find her face up, arms up on her bed, blinds open, lights on, mouth open and snoring. Whose future should I be worried about?!

A Super Hero in a yellow coat

It seems redundant to rehash Alex’s aversion to studying for spelling tests. To recap, it’s slightly less painful than a week in a Thai prison. More than once, I thought one of us was going to wind up in the psychiatric unit. Alex’s reaction to me saying “All right, let’s study your words,” was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It was explosive.

I say “was” in the hopes that this week wasn’t a fluke. It could be, but I don’t want to know that yet.

I was having coffee with my friend Colleen and crying into my latte about how much I dread Thursday nights. Even with new TV to watch, it was nearly unbearable. Colleen has a daughter the same age as Alex. They get along swimmingly, but are opposites when it comes to behavior and academia.

M is sweet and studious, and a disciplined gymnast so I find it incredibly hard to believe she ever gave her mother static about studying for spelling. Colleen probably just wanted my tearful fit to be over, but she claimed they once had spelling test issues too and that she could help. I didn’t know if she was pulling my leg or not, but I narrowed in on the “help” part.

Colleen ingeniously suggested I have Alex write the words using different media. Shaving cream, finger paint, etc. I used to do this stuff with him in preschool, why didn’t I think to try this now?! Then she mentioned that M really likes to write her words in a pan filled with table salt. That was it. It was new, slightly strange, and carried the risk of making a disaster out of the kitchen floor. Alex would LOVE it.

All week I told him I had a special surprise way to write his words. He would have to willingly write his words on paper so he would be prepared. I really dragged it out and built suspense. He wrote his words on the bus on the way home...independently. When I plopped the pan full of salt in front of him, I cringed as he started writing words with hands that have hang nails on every other finger. I grabbed a pencil and told him to use the eraser end. Stinging and hysterical fit averted.

I held my breath and handed him his list. He was in Heaven. He was ready for me to test him in 15 minutes. The child didn’t miss one word. Normally, at our first pass he misses a minimum of seven words. Then we spend the next hour arguing about how many times he’ll re-write the erroneous words. Good times!!! The salt was magic. He begged me to continue writing words and testing him. He even asked Brandon to test him. Oil and Water normally don’t do homework together.

As I put him to bed Thursday night, he said “I wish I could just fast forward through sleeping and go in and take the test. I’m completely confident.” I fainted in his room. For two reasons: 1.) I couldn’t believe he was excited to take a spelling test. 2.) I’ve never heard Alex use the phrase, “I’m confident.”

I’ve tried with every ounce of my being to instill confidence in Alex. He tends to doubt his abilities on things that don’t come easily or might possibly turn out disappointingly. It’s his defense mechanism. I know it well, some might say intimately. Who knew all it would take to bolster his confidence was a pan of salt. He’ll be a great speller AND goiter free!

Soup's on!

I spent an hour destroying my kitchen this morning. It’s an hour spent this morning that I don’t have to spend tonight making dinner. It’s an hour that will be totally worth it when I just decide it’s time for dinner and I ladle soup into bowls and pull the baguette that comes with a big flaming orange “just bake it” sticker out of the oven. (I’m submitting that for run-on sentence of the year.)

I made my grandma’s vegetable beef soup. When we first got married, I was determined to make the soup and collected recipes from anyone willing to give me one because my grandma doesn’t use a recipe. There’s no written history of her soup. After many, many failed attempts I finally figured it out last winter and I’ve made it 100 times since.

The kids love it and call it “Nana’s soup.” I told Meredith last night that I was going to make Nana’s soup in the morning and we’d have it for dinner. She said, “You know what Mom? I think you should just start calling it “Leslie’s soup.” You’ve made it enough times, just go ahead and make it your own.” She’s four!

It’s a good soup day. It’s rainy and dreary and I’m not going to feel like roasting a chicken later. So we’ll have soup, crusty warm bread, cheese, and pickles. That’s what my grandma always serves with soup.

If you are interested in the recipe, send a self-addressed stamped envelope to: 6685 Braemar…No, I’m kidding. I’ll e-mail it to you, but don’t you miss TV cooks saying that?!

When I started to make the soup this morning, I realized I forgot to buy a head of cabbage. Brandon is home this week, so I put Alex on the bus and went to Kroger at 8:00 a.m. alone! I was literally one of two shoppers in the store. There were plenty of stock boys running around, but it was just me and one other yoga pant clad mother.

As I walked in, I spotted some interestingly shaped pumpkins. They were the kind that are sort of squatty and bright orange. They were 3/$12 so I bought one. I have three pumpkins on our porch and the asymmetry was bothering me.

Because the store was empty, the cashier was bored. I gave her the sticker off the pumpkin and she decided she needed to call the produce department because it was not a carving pumpkin. Aside from the fact that I handed her the pumpkin’s bar coded sticker and it was the same exact price as the other pumpkins.

I said, “It’s $4. I’ll save you a call.” She said, “Yeah, but I don’t know what it is. I need to call back.” I said, “It’s a pumpkin and it’s $4. I even double checked to make sure I didn’t have to buy 3.” She rolled her eyes and said, “Well, what’s it called, like an ‘ugly pumpkin’ or something?” I rolled my eyes and punched her in the mouth. No. I didn’t, but I wanted to.

I hauled the pumpkin to the porch and hoped Brandon wasn’t in his office where he could see what I was up to. He loves when I drag home pumpkins that will rot on our porch by the end of the month. He loves them almost as much as the giant mums I made him drag home from Costco.

Have I mentioned my son is a poor speller?


A poor speller with a good heart.

I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed hours earlier than my usual time on Sunday. Alex wrote me a note to help me feel better. I believe in the healing power of laughter. I feel fine.

Today was a little nuts. My Kramer clock woke me at 6:42 a.m. I laid in bed debating whether or not I really wanted or needed to shower early. I am fully aware that a change in my routine probably means I’m forfeiting a shower all together. I convinced myself that I’d drive Meredith to school, come home and workout and then shower.

Right.

As I walked out the door, I remembered I had Mom’s in Touch this morning. “So, I’ll come home from M.I.T., workout, and shower!”

Right.

I left Mom’s in Touch in kind of a crappy mood. We’re supposed to pray for our kids, the staff, and the school. Instead I felt like we were discussing issues that are hot buttons for me. Vaccines, ways to foster dependence on the generosity of others, our screwy PTO, etc. I’m just getting old and crotchety and I think I’ve had my fill for awhile. Plus, there are a lot of kids all of the sudden and I volunteered to host for December. Seven trees and a dozen rowdy children doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

By the time I got home I knew the workout was scrapped, but I had plenty of time to shower, meal plan, and grocery shop. Jill E. called with a better offer. I met her for lunch completely unshowered and with a zitty face. I was a sight to behold, but I’m at an age where I realize most people don’t have time or interest to notice I’m sans makeup.

I mentally meal planned as I shopped. I’m also at an age where I can pretty much do anything with a pound of ground beef or a few frozen chicken breasts, so I winged it. I restocked my pantry and we should be set for a couple of weeks. The less time I spend running to the grocery, the better. We may develop coronary disease from all the ground beef and mushroom soup, but I won’t have to shop.

Tomorrow I’m going to be on the ball. Really. I mean it. I’m setting my Kramer clock now.

We're saving for therapy.

I wish I could be one of those mothers who allows her child to wear whatever they feel like wearing on a whim. I’ve read that it’s great for their self esteem. My children will likely need counseling as tightly as I control their wardrobe choices.

I’ve been pretty lucky. Both of my kids like to “look nice.” Probably because I’ve never given them much of a choice; and partially I’ve just lucked out. Neither one of them has ever shown remote interest in wearing character shirts. ---Thank you Jesus! They’ve never asked for light up shoes.

Alex was thrilled beyond words a few years ago when I came home with a size 4 suit. Recently, Alex noticed S&K Menswear was having a sale and he suggested we take advantage of the “buy two suits, get one free deal.” When I scoffed he said, “MOM! HELLOOOO?! I’m in need of a new suit. Mine’s too small. What am I going to wear if I get invited to a wedding or someone dies?!”

Meredith will negotiate extra outfits while we’re shopping and can break my heart with, “They’re all just so beautiful. Do I really have to pick ONE?” It’s like “Sophie’s Choice” right in the middle of Gymboree.

As long as Alex and Meredith allow me to dress them, I’m going to. I know there will be horrible battles over belly shirts and holey jeans soon enough, but I’m filing away those anxieties with driver’s tests and “the talk.”

What I do encourage them to do, Meredith needs the least amount of encouragement, is to wear whatever they want around the house. For Alex this usually means a high water pair of jeans and a sweatshirt he’s had since he was four. Meredith is a little more “creative.” Her bedroom floor is almost always covered in tulle and sequins. Errant purple and pink feathers make our hallways look like a slaughter house for diseased birds. You just never know.

Brandon is home this week and I heard him say, “WOW! Meredith, that’s QUITE an outfit! Go show your mother.”

I agree. Can you imagine THIS answering your door?!

Maybe I should carry a notebook...

I’ve driven myself crazy since Tuesday.

Once in awhile something will happen to me and I’ll write a post in my head. I cringe typing that because it sounds like I think I’m a writer with a deadline for a column. In reality my only deadline is making sure Brandon has enough clean boxers when he packs for the week on Sunday night.

Anyway, something happened to me as I was walking out of Target Tuesday afternoon. Something funny, because I remember laughing to---or at---myself and thinking I wanted to write about it. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was. Normal people would just let it go and move on with carpool, but it’s driving me up the wall.

Here’s my attempt at moving forward.

Compared to the previous two weeks, this week has been delightfully boring. I’m fully engrossed in the third book of the "Twilight" series, so that occupies my hands and keeps me from eating through my pantry. It also keeps me from the laundry, so my deadline may be tight this week.

It’s beautiful outside, so Meredith and I have hung out it the backyard and in our driveway, “like hillbillies” according to Brandon. He hates when I drag out lawn chairs and sit on the driveway. He should try riding a bike with training wheels in the backyard.

I did a little shopping on Tuesday and fell head over heels in love with a pillow at Marshall’s.

It was on clearance, and of course they only had one. I called every Marshall’s and T.J. Maxx between Indy and the North Pole. No one else seems to have an errant pillow and let me tell you, the crackerjack staff at either retail outlet is dying to look for my beloved pillow! I found the pillow on-line but it’s $50. I paid $20 and as a matter of principal…

In the mean time, my neighbor, who is an interior designer, came over and I immediately shoved the pillow at her and begged her to help my sorry living room. She suggested I paint one of our living room walls a shade of magenta to match the flowers in the pillow. Annie is totally in on my plan and we’re going to see how long it takes Brandon to notice. I’m certain he’s going to be thrilled with a near hot pink wall. I hinted the winds of change might be blowing last night during our nightly phone call. He wanted more details and I pretended the phone cut out.

Brandon’s birthday is Saturday. The bakery where I normally buy his cakes closes at 4:00 p.m. which doesn’t allow Alex time to go with Meredith and me to pick out the cake. Alex asked me to pick him up early from school under the guise of a dentist appointment. I told him that wasn’t a viable option, so he settled for the promise a cookie…with icing.

Brandon took the day off tomorrow and Meredith has school. We’re hoping to have our first uninterrupted meal together since the middle of July. Afterwards, we’ll probably do something really romantic like pick up air filters for the furnace at Lowe’s. Big day.

I've seen enough of the doctor.

At one point or another, I’m sure I’ve blathered on about my love of Fall! I don’t think “fall” officially has a capital “f,” but it should.

I love everything about Fall. The clothes, the pumpkin patch, warm apple cider, trick or treating, etc. etc. etc.

It may have something to do with the fact that the woman who “did my colors” at Merle Norman before the 8th Grade Christmas dance told me I was “an autumn.” She was absolutely correct in her assessment.

Last year it was 85 degrees every day until November, when over night the temperature dropped to 30 degrees. Last year was a bust. This year, we’re going to have a great Fall. I can feel it. It’s been sunny, pleasant, and the cool air is trickling in. The weather man keeps telling us we’re going to have awesome foliage because we’ve had the right temperatures, the right amount of rain, and the Farmer’s Almanac says so.

Last weekend I ripped out my dead as a doornail petunias and conned Brandon into planting giant yellow mums. I hung my Fall wreath. I scattered my glass pumpkins throughout the living room. I’m ready.

It’s not quite time to buy pumpkins and drag out the jack-o-lanterns, so to tide myself over I suggested we go apple picking as a family.

Here’s the thing. I tend to do this kind of stuff by myself with the kids. Do you know why? Because I can go on my own terms and I have a great attitude. When we involve Brandon there’s a great deal of hemming and hawing around and excessive questioning. “Where is this place? How do you know they have apples? Do you have any cash? Can’t you buy apples at the store?”

When we get there, the fun leaks out like a balloon with a pin hole. “You’re wearing flip flops to an apple orchard?! Meredith! You wore white shoes?! Gator, watch out for the mud! Stay on the gravel! I don’t know where we’re supposed to get the picking bags! NO, we’re not riding on the wagon; it’s crowded! We’ll walk and get there in half the time!”

I don’t like unknowns anymore than Brandon, and we have a shared appreciation of structure, but once in awhile, the occasion calls for throwing caution to the wind. I do so in low risk settings, like an apple orchard. We arrived, we got a little muddy, I found the picking bags. All was well.

We picked several pounds of apples. We wound up with more eating apples than cooking apples. I should have used the last of the cooking apples to make a sugar-free apple sauce. Instead I baked them into a killer apple crisp, which the kids and I ate before dinner while it was still warm and topped with vanilla ice cream. We probably gave Brandon hives!

Irony

I've known Brandon for 15 years. I know he can't be trusted around cameras, old photo albums, or an idle Facebook account. He will take unflattering pictures of you. He will pull awkward Jr. High photos out of your scrapbook and frame them for his office. He has updated my FB status with such classic and cryptic messages as "Ay! Nachos!" Brandon also loves to push buttons.

We have also had a 12 year battle over the Taco Bell dog. For whatever reason, Brandon thought that campaign was genius. He's normally too erudite to find anything funny outside of Mel Brooks movies. That stupid Chihuahua stuck him as funny. His mom got wind of it, and in her quest to collect, purchased every talking stuffed animal Taco Bell offered. To this day, we fight over the disposal of the collection.

Yesterday morning, a few comments came in on the blog. I noticed they said, "Yo Quiero Taco Bell" in the subject line, which seemed odd. I thought someone who knew about our Chihuahua war was goofing around with me by entering the most iritating Spanish language phrase into the subject line. I didn't give it too much thought.

I was right. Someone intimately familiar with our war was goofing around with me and I list him as my emergency contact. I may reconsider. He can't be trusted.

So, if you logged onto the blog and wondered why the Taco Bell dog was in the banner; now you know. What struck me as completely ironic, was the fact that I didn't notice it until I posted about Mexican rice!

Truth in packaging

Friday night is very often taco night at our house. Either we go out for Mexican or we have it at home. Either way we wind up eating some sort of spicy beef laden dish.

When I make tacos, I feel like they should have some sort of side dish. I always mean to make Mexican rice. The same box has been shelved in the pantry for a year. By the time I remember I want to make Mexican rice, it’s too late. It takes 30 minutes to cook and I’m pulling the shells out of the oven.

When Meredith and I were grocery shopping this week, a new kind of Mexican rice caught my eye. We have a fairly large Hispanic population, and as a result the Mexican foods shelf has expanded into half an aisle at Meijer.

This looks pretty close to what they serve at El Rodeo. I read the back of the box and it looked easy enough and I assumed it was probably much healthier than what I normally order. I threw a box in the cart without any memory of the box that’s taking up space in the pantry. It’s Goya. It looks authentic.
The directions were very straightforward. No more difficult than instant couscous. I boiled the water, added the olive oil, and stirred in the “rice and seasoning packet.”

The rice was completely devoid of color and there weren’t any bell peppers or tomatoes to be seen. It smelled like white rice. The familiar spicy tomato smell I expected wasn’t there. I shook the box to make sure I didn’t miss a packet of dried vegetables and cumin.

Nope.

Nothing.

I thought, “Well, maybe it happens by magic while it cooks.”

It’s always completely logical to assume something will happen by magic.

When I removed the lid after 25 minutes...

the rice still begged for soy sauce.

My mother in law would have written the company a letter. She would have received a coupon in the mail for a free box of rice. She would have given the coupon to me and I would have lost it or thrown in away. So, I’m saving myself time and chalking it up to my incomprehension of the Spanish language. I’ll stick with Uncle Ben from now on. We speak the same language.

Musings from a former skeptic.

I rolled my eyes. I scoffed. I resisted. I flat-out refused to read “Twilight,” and the three subsequent books in the series.

I have no interest in science fiction. I don’t like vampires. I couldn’t imagine feeling anything for one aside from repulsion.

I don’t read young adult literature, specifically fiction.

I also don’t like to listen/read/wear/even eat anything that goes from obscure to the “it” thing overnight. Dave Mathews Band is forever ruined for me.

So I ignored “Twilight” and chalked it up to one of those books someone going to GenCon would read.

Then normal people, people I love, people whose opinions influence me started talking about how much they luuuuuhhhhhvvvved the series. Really? I still didn’t buy it.

I don’t know what my tipping point was.

It might have been the thought of going to Annie’s “New Moon” premiere party without relating to jubilant excitement. It may have been the fact that I had an hour and a half to kill while Meredith went to a museum class. It was more likely the fact that I had a Borders coupon that expired that day floating around in my purse; and I didn’t think it was socially acceptable to read Tori Spelling’s book in public.

Whatever the reason I read the opening passage with extreme skepticism.

“I didn’t expect to die this way…”

Oh brother. I’m going to hate this.

To my surprise, I didn’t hate it. In fact I finished all 300 and some odd pages in two days. I forced myself to put away laundry and vacuum before reading and “Twilight” actually served as motivation.

Now I didn’t fall head over heels the way some people do over the book, but I liked it. I found it far more unpredictable than I expected from a work of fiction aimed at 14 year olds. I was not at all repulsed by the vampire aspect, and was stunned to find the main vampire was the character I most enjoyed.

I called Annie to give her the good news and let her know I was on board with the series, but wasn’t in a rush to read the second book. She told me I should watch the movie. Annie knows me well enough to know that I’m easily annoyed and prone to eye rolling at bad effects and cheesy dialogue. Annie warned me it was a low budget movie and I better prepare for the makeup to look like a high school play. BUT, Annie told me the combination of the book and the movie would fling me into raving fan status.

I borrowed the movie from Megan and Annie was spot on! I liked it. I really liked it. It made me like the main guy, Edward even more. All right, fire lit. I give up.

I picked up "New Moon" yesterday and I started reading it this afternoon through very heavy eyelids while Meredith napped. When Alex got home from school I read it while he wrote out his spelling words. When the party moved to the swing set, I dragged the book outside. I read while I stirred the Rice-A-Roni.

I'm completely gone.

I admit it.

I was wrong!

I am not a very ambitious person. I lack the drive required to achieve wild success. I will readily admit to doing the bare minimum.

I am lucky I didn’t attend a very competitive high school because I never would have put forth the effort required to stand out among driven peers. I stood out by doing what was required and being very outgoing.

I figured out early on that if you could convince teachers you were bright and they liked you, they somehow thought your writing was much better than it really was. So my A’s in Reading, Writing, Speech, Journalism, and Current Events off-set my deplorable math grades and I wound up at a really great college.

I know this personality trait has to drive my mom bananas. She is the epitome of driven. She is fueled by success and will work doggedly to achieve her goals, which she visualizes and writes down.

I remember my parents taking me to one of those Peter Lowe seminars which are basically a day long commercial for business tapes. One of the sales guys/speakers asked the crowd to write down ten goals they wanted to achieve in the next year. I remember struggling to come up with TEN things I really felt were important I achieve as a college junior. My mom needed two notebooks. (The highlight of that day was seeing Barbara Bush speak, and I don’t think that was my parents’ motivation for purchasing my ticket.)

My point is my mom is very driven.

My lack of need for achievement and/or accolades makes me the perfect candidate for the role of stay at home mom. Managing a household and raising bright, articulate children is more than enough of a challenge for me. My employee evaluation will come when Alex and Meredith are functioning adults who contribute to society in some small way. I will have failed if they are in the slammer or treat wait staff rudely.

Believe it or not, I’m so thankful for my lack of ambition, which I don’t confuse with laziness, but believe me I can be lazy. I am completely free to enjoy the moment. To paraphrase Dr. Seuss, “A moment is a moment no matter how small.”

My days are devoid of numbers and sales goals, and are instead filled with time for chats about how it is possible for a couple to wind up with the wrong baby implanted into a mother’s uterus. (Thank you Today Show for running that story during the breakfast hour.) I can sit on the kitchen floor and play checkers. I can dream up ways to make studying for spelling a little less brutal. I can say “Yes, let’s make cookies Right Now!”, and actually have the ingredients on hand. All of this without a single case of the doldrums. I honestly feel completely and totally fulfilled.

Because I walked out of the surgical suite completely conscious my mom was free to entertain the kids without having to play nurse mate to me. I really get a kick out of watching my mom interact with her grandchildren. To say it’s night and day between my childhood is an understatement. I don’t begrudge that at all. I’m very glad that I was encouraged to be self sufficient. It’s just fascinating to watch my mom drop e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g to take Meredith to Dunkin’ Donuts per her request, and rush back to have lunch with Alex at school. Only to pick Meredith back up because they ran out of time to get manicures and adequately shop for books. To stay until after dinner before making the five hour trip south because she “can’t break Alex’s heart.” I cannot believe she wears a shirt that spells out "GramPam" in rhinestones.

It’s truly the only time I’ve ever seen my mother not pay attention to listings, sales numbers, agent retention, investment properties, and what else she can do to catapult herself closer to achieving her goals. Not that I don’t admire that, it’s just that it wears me out thinking about it.

When I allowed myself---very briefly—to consider what could happen to me if the lump in my breast was malignant, I didn’t feel the anxiety that one might expect. I felt complete peace. Of course I’m not ready to leave this life behind. I want more than anything to see my children grow up and blossom into whatever makes them happy. I want to give in and travel with Brandon to Egypt, even though I think it’s filled with terrorists. I have too many friends I love like family to pack it in before 35.

But, I didn’t feel the least bit panicky. I felt fulfilled. I felt like I’ve given my children the best foundation I could. I’ve spent my days loving them and shaping them. I succeeded at making a home for our family. I love being a wife… most days at least, the days Brandon actually hits the bathroom trashcan with his tissues. If I wasn’t able to do a single thing more, I was okay with that. I can’t tell you what a gift that realization was.

I have found fulfillment and it is nowhere near Capitol Hill where I once expected it to be.