Carrots and Tomatoes and Zucchinis, Oh My!

As I type this my husband is outside cleaning out the yard shed.  It is a lovely February afternoon and my husband and children are spending it in our backyard.  It's wonderful!  This is what Colorado is like.  We get teased with these balmy days, you start to get excited that spring is coming, that there may actually be an end to the cold, dreary winter blahs and then you get hit, wham! with 8 inches of cold, heavy, wet spring snow on March 28th!  You get used to it.  We do have an amazing amount of sunshine though, so I'm not going to complain.  (At least not today, since it's currently 48 degrees out, sunny and nice.)

My husband has started to plan our garden for this year.  He talked about it the entire time we were eating lunch, like a kid talking about a trip to Disneyland or Christmas.  "And over there we're going to have squash and cucumbers and then in those boxes we'll have beans and we'll string them up this year..."  You should see the way his face lights up when he starts to talk fertilizer and manure!  

I'm not going to lie, I've been thinking about the garden a lot lately too.  But when I think about the garden and this summer I think in different terms than my husband.  I love having a garden.  There is nothing cuter than a little girl walking around with a fresh green bean or a carrot from the garden.  Abby likes to eat carrots with the greens still attached, like Bugs Bunny.  "I'll help you pull weeds Mommy.  Is this a weed?  Can I have a carrot?  I'm tired, can I go play now?"  Last year I gave serious thought to buying a Prairie girl style bonnet for Abby.  I bought the kids buckets so they could help us collect green beans.  Eli struggled to carry a zucchini 1/4 of his body weight down the hill to the house.  

And the best part?  It's our garden.  Jeremiah made it, we planted it (last year I helped!), and then we nurtured it and watched it grow and harvested the fruits of our labor.  

It's like having kids, only with faster results.  And I've never been sassed by a pumpkin.

We get a little better at this every year too.  Kind of like having kids.  We learn from experience, make adjustments based on what works, try not to make the same mistakes (don't forget to string the peas this year), it's a work in progress.  And it's tasty work.  And given the right circumstances I actually like getting a little dirt under my nails.

So it may be 3 months and probably a half-dozen more snowstorms away, but I can't wait for spring and our garden.  Here's what we're thinking of planting this year:

-Zucchinis (if you haven't heard, we have the BEST soil for zukes, like massive, feed a whole village zukes.)

-Cucumbers

-Squash

-Carrots

-Green beans

-Green peas

-Onions

-Corn (and then I have cornstalks to decorate with in the fall)

-Lettuce

And this year we're going to try:

-Garlic

-Potatoes

-Tomatoes (Jeremiah says if I promise to take care of them, I can have them.)

-Strawberries, blueberries or raspberries, I don't care which, I just want some berries

-And we may plant pumpkins again if there's room.

The Tao of the Vacuum

There are some household chores that I like and some I despise.  Like, "please oh please, someone, anyone else do this" kind of despise.  Surprisingly I don't mind cleaning bathrooms, there is something nice about a shiny, clean bathroom and I have a nice little system down.  Plus the bathrooms are small so I'm in and out in a few minutes.  I'm not so big on cleaning the tubs, but it's better then dusting, I hate dusting.  That is my "anyone, anyone?" chore.  I used to dust for my mom when I was little, I liked it then, I'm not sure why.  I think it had to do with the lemon pledge and playing with all the little knick-knacks on all the surfaces.  I don't think I ever broke any, but I know I sure played with them.  My mother probably weighed the pros and cons of her precious chachkis against my being occupied for a good 45 minutes and having a few dusted surfaces and picked the same thing all of us mothers would.

I'm teaching Abby how to dust.  How do you think I'm typing this? 

My favorite chore, the one I actually want to do and get sad about not getting to is vacuuming.  Yes, vacuuming.  I love it, for so many reasons.  First off, people leave you alone when you vacuum.  It's loud and annoying to those around you and you can't hear them if they talk to you, or you can pretend you can't hear them and they eventually give up.  It's private.  I zone out to the constant hum/white noise of my big ol' vacuum.  It's calming and I get into an almost meditative spot.  Yes, I actually have thoughts that rattle around in my brain, and I have time to think them over, it's nice.  And I love the clean  carpet tracks that are left behind.  You know, that nice re-fluffed carpet, it looks almost new, like the day it was installed instead of the carpet I actually have with the crayon wrappers and the dog hair and crushed up food crumbs imbedded in it.  And do I have to mention that vacuuming burns calories?  Especially with my vacuum.  A few years ago my parents gave us a big ol' Kenmore vacuum, this thing is heavy but it sucks, I mean really sucks!  It's awesome.  I think it may actually suck up dirt from a parallel dimension it's that good.

Yes, life is good for me and my vacuum.

Except for my meddling kids.  They have ruined my Zen Vacuuming moments.  

It all started out the way it should.  Abby used to be afraid of the vacuum, I think she learned it from our dog.  I would have to put her in our bedroom on our bed with her sippy cup, a snack trap full of goldfish, her blankie, Snuggle Puppy, a baby doll and the TV on to Dora, then I could shut the door and vacuum the entire rest of the upstairs.  Then move her and her posse out to the playroom and shut the door to our bedroom to finish the job (including vacuuming up the goldfish.)  Then, my mother, with all of her Grandmotherly love, taught my daughter that the vacuum wasn't going to hurt her and she could actually make a game out of it.  Thanks Mom.  So now my daughter, and my son who has learned this game, play "oh no, the vacuum is going to get us!" whenever I vacuum.  I hate this game.  They run around me and the vacuum darting out of the way as it heads towards them, leaving their cute little footprints all over my freshly vacuumed tracks.  They have ruined my vacuuming zen.  

Then there's my son.  Eli, having the fully activated boy gene, is actually drawn to the loud machine.  I think he feels a certain kinship to something that is as loud as he is.  He wants to help me.  Oh sweet sheep, this is always murder.  He has to turn it on, then he wants to hold it, but the thing weighs more than he does so I have to help him drag it back and forth across the carpet.  Then he beams, "I helping Mommy!" and smiles his ridiculously cute little vampire toothed smile at me.  Eventually they both get bored with me and my buddy Kenmore and run off to the other room and for a short time I get to be alone with my vacuum and my thoughts, but it's hard to get into that deep meditative place that I so enjoy.  

Someday my house will be empty.  There will be no more Barbie shoes or scraps of lovey blankie buried deep in the carpet to look out for.  I won't have little kids offering to help or leaving their little footprints in my freshly vacuumed carpet.  And I suppose that I will miss these days then.  But, boy oh boy, will my carpet look good.  

Dear Third Child,

A loving letter to our third child (currently in-utero),

Dear Baby,

You are still a tiny little dream, the internet says you're about three inches long.  You have yet to start kicking me, but I'm sure going to the bathroom a lot.  I have given up caffeine for you, so you'ed better come out mello and easy going; you will soon learn (as soon as you're weaned) that you don't want to talk to mommy in the morning until she has had at least one cup of coffee.

You have an older sister Abby, she's the bossy one you hear with your newly developed ears.  Don't worry, you will soon come to ignore her like the rest of us.  She is sweet and will read you books and sing to you and probably want to hold you all the time.  She will boss you around and push you on occasion, but you will never have a better advocate, especially if it involves something that benefits her as well.  She starts kindergarten 10 days before you're due to arrive...that should be interesting.  Hormones, a big fat preggo, a couple of major life changing events and 90+ degree weather, your Dad may camp in the backyard for a few weeks just to get away.

Your brother, the soon to be middle child, is Eli.  We're still getting to know him but as best as we can tell he's even louder than your sister.  He is stubborn, strong-willed and adventurous.  If you're going to get hit in the face with a foam sword or a wooden train on your 4th day of life it's going to be by him.  My best advice to you is to learn to sleep with your hands in front of your face, a permanent block defense from your brother's curious "love."

You were a surprise blessing for us.  God knew all along that you were coming, but your Dad and I thought we were done.  That's cool, that's in God's plan.  He is in control and we will trust in Him.

I would like to apologize for all the chocolate, I guess I didn't give up caffeine in all it's forms.  Mommy has a weakness and really, you don't want to be around me if we're out of chocolate.  I've been know to eat chocolate chips just to get my fix, but hey, it's not crack so you'll be fine.

Please stop making me burp, I find the indigestion is already getting on my nerves.  If you don't like something there has to be a nicer way to tell me.  Get used to the flavor of mixed berry Tums kid, you'll be seeing them a lot.

I would like to ask you now to please be nice to my inside.  I'm sure from your vantage point you can see the old scars from the mortar shell attacks your brother waged on the inside of my uterus, and the area where your sister kept trying to get out through my oh-so-tender belly button with her knee or elbow or some other pointy thing she had in there with her.

Most of all I want you to know that before you were born I loved you.  You will make me laugh and cry, scream and roll my eyes in frustration, but you are our blessing.  Please grow strong and healthy in there and come out all pink and looking just like the other two, and weighing exactly 6#9oz.

Love,
Mommy

I'm so thankful

I've been trying to work with Abby lately, trying to teach her about being thankful.  I feel like I've really ruined this one and should just throw in the towel.  But no, I will stick to my guns until my kid is so stinkin thankful that she oozes gratefulness like Eli's nose oozes snot.

So here's what I've tried so far:
1. Watch the Veggie Tales "Madam Blueberry" and talk about having a thankful heart.  Try to remember the words to the song at bedtime.  Remind her in the mommy voice, "have a thankful heart," (or else, I think silently).
2. Pray before our meals, and pray at bedtime, emphasizing that we're thankful for stuff.
3. Threaten to take away all her toys, clothes, books, movies and make her eat only bread and water until she can learn what she's thankful for.

Okay, that last one might have been done in a fit of frustration and exhaustion.  I try really, really hard not to make threats or promises I can't follow thru on, really.

Then it dawned on me.  Hey genius, what are YOU thankful for?  Do you even know?  Do you share it with your kids?

Ouch, talk about feeling a little sheepish.

Baa.

So I'm vowing from this moment forward to be thankful, daily and out loud.  I'm not going to make it a huge event.  Trumpets blaring, "Attention children, Mommy has a proclamation:  Today I'm thankful for my coffee."  But really what I need to do is simply check myself.  Instead of complaining about how cold it is I can remark on how thankful I am that we have a warm home.

And I am.

So that's my first thing I'm really thankful for.  I'm thankful for my warm home.  Four walls, a floor and a roof.  Heating, carpeting, running water, etc.  It's warm in here, it's safe, we're a family in this home.  I look out the window sometimes right before I go to bed at night and I'm thankful for my warm home.  I think about homeless people, and homeless families, teenage runaways and single moms and my heart cries for them.  How cold these nights have been, how harsh, snowy, windy, miserable.  I'm thankful I have the same place to come home to, I'm thankful for the security that my kids feel.  I pray they never have to worry about where they're going to sleep, or where their next meal will come from.  And I pray for the families out there who do worry about that.  For the mothers whose hearts are burdened with the pain of knowing they don't have a place to call home.  And I pray my kids grow up with that same empathy for those that are truly in need.

And I think they will.  It just takes time for them to learn.  I don't want them to have to learn harsh life lessons, like the fact that there are homeless families, kids who don't eat, child abuse, hatred, and murder.  But they will.  And I will be right here to talk about it with them.  To hug them if they cry about homeless kids without toys.  Because I'm their Mom, and that's my job, good and bad.  And I'm thankful for that too, so very, very thankful.

My sappy song memory

When I married my wonderful husband 10 years ago our first dance was to Lonestar's "Amazed." Yes, it's a country song, but we listened to all kinds of music when we were dating, and I really liked the tune and the words.  I felt like the song was about us (sappy, puppy love).  Jeremiah and I even tried a fancy spin me out and watch my 8-layers-of-tulle-skirt-flow-in-the-breeze move.   It was magical!

But that's not my sappy song memory today.

It's actually the song my Dad and I danced to.  It's not really a Daddy-Daughter dance kind of song and I've always felt a little like I had to explain it.  But then again it was my wedding (I mean "our", sorry Jeremiah, our wedding) and I didn't have to explain nothing to no one!  We danced to Billy Joel's "Always A Woman."  It's no "Butterfly Kisses" or "Sunshine of my Life," but it's the first one that popped into my mind.

There's a reason for that.

For as long as I've lived (seriously, 31 years with a few skipped here or there) my parents and I drove to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my paternal Grandma, and then on to Iowa to visit my Mom's parents.  I can remember making the trip, first in a baby blue 1978 Buick station wagon, then in a 1985 Civic hatchback.  (Talk about going from a mansion to a cottage!)  Now, I'm an only child, so family trips were nothing short of wonderful for me, no one to share the backseat with, no one to fight with.  My mom would line the back seat with blankets and pillows, toys and snacks and it was like having a tour bus minus the bathroom.  We would leave late in the day and my Dad would drive thru the night while my Mom and I slept.  I can remember the smell of the coffee from my Dad's green Stanley Thermos when he would pour it into his little travel mug.  And his music.  So as not to wake my Mom or me, my Dad would put on headphones and listen to his music while he drove.  Softly coming from the headphones I heard The Eagles, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, and The Best of Billy Joel, Albums 1 and 2, among others.  For some reason, Billy Joel sticks out in my mind.  Always has, always will.  When I got older and he bought the Best of Album on CD I would swipe it from him and listen to it in my room.

So when it came time to pick a song for us to dance too I already knew which one I wanted.  True, if you listen to the words, it's not a Daddy-Daughter dance song, but I liked the tune, and it has a special place in my heart.

So I feel a little conflicted about this next part.

The other day I turned on the TV early in the morning and stumbled upon this:

This is Fyfe Dangerfield's version of "Always A Woman to Me."  The TV was still on BBCA from Jeremiah having watched Top Gear the night before and so it happened to be that I was watching The Graham Norton Show.  I was fumbling with the remote, about to change the channel when I realized what the song was the guy was playing.  I don't know who this guy is, I don't watch The Graham Norton Show ever, but I stopped, and I watched.  I felt a little guilty, like I was cheating on my Billy Joel version, but I really like this song.  I found it on YouTube, and I've watched it a half dozen times.  It's not better than the original, it's not worse.  It's what a cover tune should be.  Honest to the original, but with a little bit of the musician's own personality thrown in.  Not to improve it, but to make it their own.  So it's okay if I like them both.  The song will always remind me of my Dad, no matter who sings it.  

I don't really remember much from my wedding day.  I have little snippets here and there, but I can remember the opening chords as they started to ring thru the room, and I remember that when I was dancing with my Dad that I didn't care what people thought about my song choice.  It was just us, dancing to one of my favorite songs, and I was his little girl in the back seat.  

What am I thinking?

What am I thinking?  I'm not a girl who gets things done.  I think I used to be, but now I'm not so sure.  I was always a bit of a procrastinator, my husband can tell you whenever I had a paper to write or a big test to study for in college I would put it off by cleaning.  I once had a huge paper due for my psych nursing class and I suddenly decided to catalog and rearrange our DVD and VHS (yes VHS) library.

When did I become so unmotivated?  So scatter brained?  So unable to finish a task?  I would like to blame it all on my children, but I don't think they are the cause, I think they just contribute to the final results (or lack thereof).  I reminisce about the days before I had children and I think, "if I only knew then what I know now."  I wonder why my house wasn't spotless and perfectly organized, no clutter on the counters or spoiled cheese in the back of the fridge.  What did we do with all our money?  Why didn't I get eight hours of sleep every night, workout for an hour every morning, eat well balanced meals, drink eight glasses of water, read a new book a week and spend time in my Bible and prayer everyday?

Because this is me, that's why.  So I'm a little scatter brained.  It's hard to believe that someone as self-centered as me (yup, self-centered, not in an egotistical, reality show kind of way, but merely someone who grew up as an only child, never having to share or think about siblings) could be so dim sometimes. You would think I would be a total type-A personality, organized, efficient, motivated.  Don't get me wrong, I have my moments, there are certain areas of my life and home that run like clockwork, but most of the time it's a little cluttered.  Cluttered in my home and my brain.  And I won't lie, having young children definitely doesn't help.  I often start a project only to be interrupted by snack time, the end of nap time, a skinned knee or simply just a request to "come play with me."

So why on earth, with the long list of half finished projects and things-yet-to-be-done around here, would I do something like start a blog?  Maybe I like a challenge, maybe I just like to hear myself talk (see my typed words?)  Do I have deep insight to life as we know it?  Nope.  Growing up as an only child I learned to talk to myself, some times my voice was the only one I heard for hours.  I've always narrated my life a little, like an episode of "The Wonder Years."  I actually used to be quite a writer, humorous and creative.  Those who know me know I can talk for awhile (um, until I loose my voice?) and I would like to think I'm pretty funny.  My best stories?  Why, the stuff that happens everyday, of course.  Stupid things I do around the house, funny kid stories (I will try not to bore you with my endless supply of poop stories), the fabulous interactions between husband and wife, so on and so forth.  I can only hope to keep up on my blogging.  And maybe, just maybe, if I write about stuff it will somehow motivate me.  Motivate me to finish the projects I write about.  Perhaps I will stay a little more accountable if I know I have to put stuff out there.  Maybe writing my thoughts some where will help clear out some of the clutter in my brain!  So that's what I'm thinking.  See, it's working already.