Monday, October 12, 2009
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Mike and I managed to say three things that probably top the Top Ten List of What Not To Say During a Home Study Visit With Your Adoption Specialist.
Joy arrived on Monday afternoon to a spotless home. We joked (she as well), that homes are always the cleanest on her first visit, then families realize she’s not actually here to judge our housekeeping skills, so they start living like normal people again. (Normal people actually HAVE dust in places and toys scattered about, for the record. I’m pretty sure they’ve done studies).
I heart Joy. She is AWESOME. She’s young, fun, totally down-to-earth. I had my completed Autobiography for her, plus another paper that isn’t required until later. She was VERY impressed with everything that we’ve gotten done already, and she started glancing over my autobio, and said, “Are you a writer?! This will be so much fun to read!” Why yes, yes, I am. Did I mention I heart Joy?!
As is the name of the game with this adoption stuff, Joy arrived with yet another packet full of paperwork for us. This one included the Holy Grail of adoption paperwork though – I might just put it in a padlocked, protective display case on the wall – it’s the Adoption CHECKLIST. Every single item/action that we’ll need to do to get a completed home study is listed and accounted for us complete with a place to put the date on when you completed it and a handy little box for your neat check mark. Ahhh, I love a good list. And I already got to cross off about a third of the items! Some of them – our CPR/First Aid class, PRIDE Foster Training class, Trans-Racial Awareness class – won’t be able to be crossed off until November and December when we’ve completed all the trainings. But at least we’ll have all of our stuff done by then.
OK, so the visit. This first one was just for us to have the chance to meet, Joy to deliver the paperwork packet and Mike and I had to fill out the background check/clearance forms (then we wait for those to get processed, THEN we get fingerprint cards, get fingerprinted, those get submitted to the FBI and that can take between a few weeks to a few months).
And now for the Top Ten List of What Not To Say During a Home Study Visit With Your Adoption Specialist. (Mike and I chose to only go for three on this first visit; we don’t want to over-impress her; we’ll save some for the future):
1.) Talking about something that criminals do: When discussing the fingerprinting process with us, Joy asked if either of work with our hands. Mike explained that he’s a software engineer and I said that I play the flute and shake shakers and stuff. Well, that’s all very nice and good, but what she meant was REALLY working with your hands like a masseuse or carpenter. Apparently people in very handy (haha) occupations can actually wear down their fingerprints over time and they don’t print and scan well. Huh! Who knew?! Well, Mike proceeds to add all nonchalantly, “I know that criminals sometimes dip their hands in acid to burn off their fingerprints.”…………………………………………………………………………………………….
(that would be the awkward silence that followed). OK, first of all, how do you even know that? WHY do you know that? And why would you admit, right now, in front of our home study/Adoption Specialist, that you know that?!! Great! She thinks that we run and mingle with acid-hand-dipping criminals. Excellent!
2.) Announcing that you’re a stalker: I have a kind of funny relationship going with Emily, one of the gals that works at the Amara Agency office. She was the first person to have the pleasure of receiving emails from me. These weren’t just ‘so how does your agency work’ kind of emails, these were detailed, lengthy emails with lists of questions, requests for statistics, etc. We’d done plenty of research into the adoption world already by the time we contacted Amara, so I knew what questions to ask. Some of my questions she couldn’t answer and had to ask of the agency director. Anyway, Emily has been very patient with me. I’ve spoken to her on the phone several times as well. The first time she called (to confirm our Pre-Application Interview), I joked with her about her last email which had said, “You’re coming up with SO MANY great questions!!” This was really just her nice way of saying, HOLY CRAP when will this crazy Jenny Martin lady stop asking me questions?!! She laughed and was, of course, very nice about it. Now whenever she calls we joke about how she sets aside extra time, etc. lest I keep her with more questions.
We’ve been in the agency building several times now and have seen pictures on the wall of all the staff members, so I knew what Joy and Emily both looked like. I proceeded to tell Joy, how great Emily’s been, and how I think I saw her leaving the building the last time we went for a class, because I’m a stalker and I’ve seen her picture a few of times and I know what she looks like…and I know where she lives. (OK, now that last part). Yes, I told our Adoption Specialist that I’m stalking an employee there. Stupdenous!
3.) Having no clue where your children are: When Joy stood up and was just about to leave, Mike suddenly looks around and says, “Where’s Zach?!” I give an uncomfortable little laugh and Joy tries to mask a look that clearly says: “Dude, you don’t even know where your kid is?!” I say to Mike – in an over-the-top joking way, “Haha. I thought YOU had him! Huh….real good, honey. Losing the kids like this. Ha…um…ha. He went to Andrea’s to play, remember?” Mike wrinkles his nose, trying to search his memory, “Oh yeah, now I remember.” Then as an explanation to Joy he says, “I was working on the computer downstairs. Anything can be going on around me when I’m working, and I wouldn’t notice.” Um, great! So, like the kids could be stolen. The house could be on fire. I can’t imagine why someone wouldn’t trust people like us with a kid! Wonderful!
Joy arrived on Monday afternoon to a spotless home. We joked (she as well), that homes are always the cleanest on her first visit, then families realize she’s not actually here to judge our housekeeping skills, so they start living like normal people again. (Normal people actually HAVE dust in places and toys scattered about, for the record. I’m pretty sure they’ve done studies).
I heart Joy. She is AWESOME. She’s young, fun, totally down-to-earth. I had my completed Autobiography for her, plus another paper that isn’t required until later. She was VERY impressed with everything that we’ve gotten done already, and she started glancing over my autobio, and said, “Are you a writer?! This will be so much fun to read!” Why yes, yes, I am. Did I mention I heart Joy?!
As is the name of the game with this adoption stuff, Joy arrived with yet another packet full of paperwork for us. This one included the Holy Grail of adoption paperwork though – I might just put it in a padlocked, protective display case on the wall – it’s the Adoption CHECKLIST. Every single item/action that we’ll need to do to get a completed home study is listed and accounted for us complete with a place to put the date on when you completed it and a handy little box for your neat check mark. Ahhh, I love a good list. And I already got to cross off about a third of the items! Some of them – our CPR/First Aid class, PRIDE Foster Training class, Trans-Racial Awareness class – won’t be able to be crossed off until November and December when we’ve completed all the trainings. But at least we’ll have all of our stuff done by then.
OK, so the visit. This first one was just for us to have the chance to meet, Joy to deliver the paperwork packet and Mike and I had to fill out the background check/clearance forms (then we wait for those to get processed, THEN we get fingerprint cards, get fingerprinted, those get submitted to the FBI and that can take between a few weeks to a few months).
And now for the Top Ten List of What Not To Say During a Home Study Visit With Your Adoption Specialist. (Mike and I chose to only go for three on this first visit; we don’t want to over-impress her; we’ll save some for the future):
1.) Talking about something that criminals do: When discussing the fingerprinting process with us, Joy asked if either of work with our hands. Mike explained that he’s a software engineer and I said that I play the flute and shake shakers and stuff. Well, that’s all very nice and good, but what she meant was REALLY working with your hands like a masseuse or carpenter. Apparently people in very handy (haha) occupations can actually wear down their fingerprints over time and they don’t print and scan well. Huh! Who knew?! Well, Mike proceeds to add all nonchalantly, “I know that criminals sometimes dip their hands in acid to burn off their fingerprints.”…………………………………………………………………………………………….
(that would be the awkward silence that followed). OK, first of all, how do you even know that? WHY do you know that? And why would you admit, right now, in front of our home study/Adoption Specialist, that you know that?!! Great! She thinks that we run and mingle with acid-hand-dipping criminals. Excellent!
2.) Announcing that you’re a stalker: I have a kind of funny relationship going with Emily, one of the gals that works at the Amara Agency office. She was the first person to have the pleasure of receiving emails from me. These weren’t just ‘so how does your agency work’ kind of emails, these were detailed, lengthy emails with lists of questions, requests for statistics, etc. We’d done plenty of research into the adoption world already by the time we contacted Amara, so I knew what questions to ask. Some of my questions she couldn’t answer and had to ask of the agency director. Anyway, Emily has been very patient with me. I’ve spoken to her on the phone several times as well. The first time she called (to confirm our Pre-Application Interview), I joked with her about her last email which had said, “You’re coming up with SO MANY great questions!!” This was really just her nice way of saying, HOLY CRAP when will this crazy Jenny Martin lady stop asking me questions?!! She laughed and was, of course, very nice about it. Now whenever she calls we joke about how she sets aside extra time, etc. lest I keep her with more questions.
We’ve been in the agency building several times now and have seen pictures on the wall of all the staff members, so I knew what Joy and Emily both looked like. I proceeded to tell Joy, how great Emily’s been, and how I think I saw her leaving the building the last time we went for a class, because I’m a stalker and I’ve seen her picture a few of times and I know what she looks like…and I know where she lives. (OK, now that last part). Yes, I told our Adoption Specialist that I’m stalking an employee there. Stupdenous!
3.) Having no clue where your children are: When Joy stood up and was just about to leave, Mike suddenly looks around and says, “Where’s Zach?!” I give an uncomfortable little laugh and Joy tries to mask a look that clearly says: “Dude, you don’t even know where your kid is?!” I say to Mike – in an over-the-top joking way, “Haha. I thought YOU had him! Huh….real good, honey. Losing the kids like this. Ha…um…ha. He went to Andrea’s to play, remember?” Mike wrinkles his nose, trying to search his memory, “Oh yeah, now I remember.” Then as an explanation to Joy he says, “I was working on the computer downstairs. Anything can be going on around me when I’m working, and I wouldn’t notice.” Um, great! So, like the kids could be stolen. The house could be on fire. I can’t imagine why someone wouldn’t trust people like us with a kid! Wonderful!
Friday, October 02, 2009
We are part of the newly-formed Marriage Prep team at church. The other night, we went to a lovely couple’s home for a dinner meeting. They were an awesome, fun couple who have four children – three boys, one girl – two of which (the youngest son and daughter) are still living at home and in high school. After some conversation, we learned that the daughter (who is the youngest) was adopted from Romania when she was four. The mom was telling us that during their home study visit, one of the young sons was asked by the social worker if there was anything else that he’d like to share about his family. The little three-ish-year-old thought for a moment and said, “Just that there’s a lot of love.”
The parents, still beaming with pride that’s lasted for thirteen years, say, “We didn’t even tell him to say that!” I smile and nod. Yes, that’s touching. Meanwhile, I’m wondering what little pearls of surprising, unexpected wisdom our boys will share with our adoption specialist. I hope it’s not anything like the conversation I overheard them having last week.
The boys had been told repeatedly to clean up the toys downstairs and then they’d get to watch a short show. Well, instead of cleaning, they were being all sorts of crazy and wild. (And yes, I realize that, here, they’re already having a good time and I’m telling them to clean up so they can sit and watch TV. Not cool parenting. Yeah. Yeah.) So, because the boys had been getting more and more wild, were not listening to me at all, and had already received a couple of warnings, I finally just said, “OK, no show, and you need to go get ready for bed.”
Matthew and Zach are in the bathroom, going potty and brushing teeth. Like two old men wallowing in their misery sitting at a bar, I hear Matthew grumble, “Do you feel like we’re in prison right now? I feel like we’re in prison.” Zach glumly agrees, “Yeah, we’re in prison.” Well, I realize that I had a choice; this could’ve gone a few ways. At least I didn’t jump straight to the ‘ol: Oh, you wanna see prison? I’ll show you prison alright! (I’m pretty sure saying stuff like that would not bode well for our fostering/adoption license process). So, I decided to be a really good mom and use this as a ‘teachable moment’ – an invitation to grow and learn.
I storm into the bathroom and say, “Would you like to see a prison?” The boys stop, mid-teeth-brushing and stare at me with saucer-big eyes. “We could go see a prison. If you’d like to know what a real prison looks like, we could take a field trip to one.” Matthew shakes his head as quickly as possible, eyeballs starting to flood with the potential onslaught of tear-release. Zach’s just standing there. You can tell his weighing his options, thinking: hmmm, that kinda sounds cool, but Matthew doesn’t think so; I’d better agree with him and vote no on this one.
“Well, I just want you to know,” I continue, “That our home is nothing like a prison. So, we could go to a real one if you need to see that.”
Matthew starts stuttering, “N-n-n-no, no I don’t want to go to prison!” I can see Matthew’s thought bubble: Please don’t make me go to prison. I’ll never say that this home is like a prison ever again. Just don’t make me go!!
Oh-uh. My little plan seems to be backfiring. I try to reassure my sensitive little boy, “I’m just trying to say that we could go to a prison, not that I’m going to make you go to one.”
“S-s-so we don’t have to go to prison?” He asks needing a little more reassurance.
“No, prison, Matthew. We’re not going to a prison,” I say, hugging him. Yeah. So, what I thought was this great, creative, teachable moment ended up being an excellent learning-lesson for me. DON’T THREATEN YOUR CHILDREN WITH FIELD TRIPS TO PRISON.
The parents, still beaming with pride that’s lasted for thirteen years, say, “We didn’t even tell him to say that!” I smile and nod. Yes, that’s touching. Meanwhile, I’m wondering what little pearls of surprising, unexpected wisdom our boys will share with our adoption specialist. I hope it’s not anything like the conversation I overheard them having last week.
The boys had been told repeatedly to clean up the toys downstairs and then they’d get to watch a short show. Well, instead of cleaning, they were being all sorts of crazy and wild. (And yes, I realize that, here, they’re already having a good time and I’m telling them to clean up so they can sit and watch TV. Not cool parenting. Yeah. Yeah.) So, because the boys had been getting more and more wild, were not listening to me at all, and had already received a couple of warnings, I finally just said, “OK, no show, and you need to go get ready for bed.”
Matthew and Zach are in the bathroom, going potty and brushing teeth. Like two old men wallowing in their misery sitting at a bar, I hear Matthew grumble, “Do you feel like we’re in prison right now? I feel like we’re in prison.” Zach glumly agrees, “Yeah, we’re in prison.” Well, I realize that I had a choice; this could’ve gone a few ways. At least I didn’t jump straight to the ‘ol: Oh, you wanna see prison? I’ll show you prison alright! (I’m pretty sure saying stuff like that would not bode well for our fostering/adoption license process). So, I decided to be a really good mom and use this as a ‘teachable moment’ – an invitation to grow and learn.
I storm into the bathroom and say, “Would you like to see a prison?” The boys stop, mid-teeth-brushing and stare at me with saucer-big eyes. “We could go see a prison. If you’d like to know what a real prison looks like, we could take a field trip to one.” Matthew shakes his head as quickly as possible, eyeballs starting to flood with the potential onslaught of tear-release. Zach’s just standing there. You can tell his weighing his options, thinking: hmmm, that kinda sounds cool, but Matthew doesn’t think so; I’d better agree with him and vote no on this one.
“Well, I just want you to know,” I continue, “That our home is nothing like a prison. So, we could go to a real one if you need to see that.”
Matthew starts stuttering, “N-n-n-no, no I don’t want to go to prison!” I can see Matthew’s thought bubble: Please don’t make me go to prison. I’ll never say that this home is like a prison ever again. Just don’t make me go!!
Oh-uh. My little plan seems to be backfiring. I try to reassure my sensitive little boy, “I’m just trying to say that we could go to a prison, not that I’m going to make you go to one.”
“S-s-so we don’t have to go to prison?” He asks needing a little more reassurance.
“No, prison, Matthew. We’re not going to a prison,” I say, hugging him. Yeah. So, what I thought was this great, creative, teachable moment ended up being an excellent learning-lesson for me. DON’T THREATEN YOUR CHILDREN WITH FIELD TRIPS TO PRISON.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I thought at first that I should be concerned that the first song Matthew comes home from kindergarten singing is Puff the Magic Dragon. Well, this is a public school, of course, the five and six-year-olds will learn all the words to a drug-reference song. But, I’m happy to report, that after doing some research (thanks to snopes.com) I discovered the following: No, “Puff the Magic Dragon” is not about marijuana or any other type of drug. It is what its writers have always claimed it to be: a song about the innocence of childhood lost. So, now knowing that the drug-reference stuff is just a bunch of hooey, I guess I owe my mom an apology. Last November, while under the influence of some pretty intense pain killers, she softly sang a slow mournful, contemplative rendition of Puff . I apologize for wondering (jokingly – for the record) about her past habits. She was just commiserating childhood lost as well apparently.
So, now that we’ve cleared up that a.) my mom never did drugs and b.) my six-year-old did not come home singing about drugs, let’s get back to the story. I was impressed by the amount of words that Matthew remembered from Puff (though the few that he did remember he just sang over, and over, and over…). I asked him about his music teacher (because quite frankly, I’ve hardly gotten any information out of him about what goes on in kindergarten, so every once in a while when he seems in a chatty, information-forth-coming mood, I grill him). I asked Matthew if he happened to have mentioned to his music teacher that his mom is a music teacher. (Just curious!) Matthew said, “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Oh? Why not?” I wonder.
He thinks for a moment. “Because you’d argue about it,” and then he continues in a high squeaky (music teacher voice, apparently), “I’m a music teacher! No, I’m a music teacher! No I am! No me!” Interesting that Matthew believes that music teachers would bicker in the same way that 3 and 6 year old brothers do! (And for the record: I would totally play nice, and try to not start a fight at all).
So, now that we’ve cleared up that a.) my mom never did drugs and b.) my six-year-old did not come home singing about drugs, let’s get back to the story. I was impressed by the amount of words that Matthew remembered from Puff (though the few that he did remember he just sang over, and over, and over…). I asked him about his music teacher (because quite frankly, I’ve hardly gotten any information out of him about what goes on in kindergarten, so every once in a while when he seems in a chatty, information-forth-coming mood, I grill him). I asked Matthew if he happened to have mentioned to his music teacher that his mom is a music teacher. (Just curious!) Matthew said, “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Oh? Why not?” I wonder.
He thinks for a moment. “Because you’d argue about it,” and then he continues in a high squeaky (music teacher voice, apparently), “I’m a music teacher! No, I’m a music teacher! No I am! No me!” Interesting that Matthew believes that music teachers would bicker in the same way that 3 and 6 year old brothers do! (And for the record: I would totally play nice, and try to not start a fight at all).
Monday, September 28, 2009
Let it be known that I like to SAY that I'm a morning person, but I really find getting up out of bed every morning pretty much the most torturous practice ever (just like everyone else). I like being up before everyone, I like the extra time of quiet to think and start processing; I just don’t like the actual part where I have to wake up and leave the cozy, warm comfort of my bed. In the darkness at 5:45 when I stumbled out to the coffee pot, I caught myself searching for something outside. And do you know what I'm hoping to see in the darkness just beyond that window? Just a shimmery, silver glimmer that indicates snow. That's right, it's only the 3rd-ish week of school, it’s only be fall for one week, and I'm already praying for snow days!!! Not good. So not good.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m loving school for the boys and I enjoy teaching on my music class days, but there was serious magic that happened last December when we had nearly two weeks of snow. The world stopped. We became Amish and it was a beautiful thing. (OK, well, Amish with a Wii and Christmas movies and microwave popcorn and nonstop Christmas music playing in the background. That’s the best kind of Amish to be). I miss being Amish. I miss slowing down. Playing games everyday – not just Wii, mind you, but games of the card and board persuasion as well. I miss reading. Snow makes me want to read Little Women for the who-know-whath time. I miss getting all bundled up to play in the snow and then coming in for hot chocolate. But the boys always think that hot chocolate is way too hot, so they let about three huge ice cubes float around and melt in their mugs making it midly-luke-warm chocolate instead. I miss wearing fleecy cozy sweats from 9-5 and THEN changing into flannel pajamas for the night. And I know I’ll eat these words: but I even miss that feeling of Cabin Fever – like we’ve just been all cooped up together for too many days and we just need to get out and do stuff. Right now, I’d be so happy for some Cabin Fever. Bring on the snow.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m loving school for the boys and I enjoy teaching on my music class days, but there was serious magic that happened last December when we had nearly two weeks of snow. The world stopped. We became Amish and it was a beautiful thing. (OK, well, Amish with a Wii and Christmas movies and microwave popcorn and nonstop Christmas music playing in the background. That’s the best kind of Amish to be). I miss being Amish. I miss slowing down. Playing games everyday – not just Wii, mind you, but games of the card and board persuasion as well. I miss reading. Snow makes me want to read Little Women for the who-know-whath time. I miss getting all bundled up to play in the snow and then coming in for hot chocolate. But the boys always think that hot chocolate is way too hot, so they let about three huge ice cubes float around and melt in their mugs making it midly-luke-warm chocolate instead. I miss wearing fleecy cozy sweats from 9-5 and THEN changing into flannel pajamas for the night. And I know I’ll eat these words: but I even miss that feeling of Cabin Fever – like we’ve just been all cooped up together for too many days and we just need to get out and do stuff. Right now, I’d be so happy for some Cabin Fever. Bring on the snow.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The boys are famous!
Johnette Downing is a musician based in New Orleans whose music I've used quite a bit in my classes. I couldn't help but pass this along to her. Check this out: http://johnettedowning.blogspot.com/
I've got plenty of music-makin' to do myself this week. Today is the Montessori School, tomorrow I teach at Zach's preschool and then Friday is four library classes. Thursday night, Mike and I attend a three-hour adoption class. Saturday, we have an all-day workshop at church and then Saturday night, I will be MORE than ready to get out for a girls' night! Sunday, we're going to 'do the Puyallup' (going to the big Puyallup Fair) with my parentals, brothers and sister-in-law. I think I just may have to experience a deep-fried Twinkie. Look, the curiosity might just win out over the common sense on this one.
Johnette Downing is a musician based in New Orleans whose music I've used quite a bit in my classes. I couldn't help but pass this along to her. Check this out: http://johnettedowning.blogspot.com/
I've got plenty of music-makin' to do myself this week. Today is the Montessori School, tomorrow I teach at Zach's preschool and then Friday is four library classes. Thursday night, Mike and I attend a three-hour adoption class. Saturday, we have an all-day workshop at church and then Saturday night, I will be MORE than ready to get out for a girls' night! Sunday, we're going to 'do the Puyallup' (going to the big Puyallup Fair) with my parentals, brothers and sister-in-law. I think I just may have to experience a deep-fried Twinkie. Look, the curiosity might just win out over the common sense on this one.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
I’m being very naughty right now. I’m such a rebel. Wednesday is the day that I get up at 5:45 and instead of writing, I do some Yoga and meditation. Yeah, today I ‘overslept’ until 6:15, stumbled out to my yoga mat and laid there comatose for another ten minutes, smelling the coffee being made in the kitchen and thinking about writing instead of Yoga-ing. I motivated and did about eight minutes of the most lethargic, pathetic down-dogging/warrior-holding/cobra-upping ever and finally gave up. This is what I really wanted to do today. Well, this, and work on my adoption home study Autobiography a bit more. What I love most about writing about myself is that I already have the answers, I don’t have to be creative in making things up; I just have the creativity world oyster to pry open and see what pearls of witty prose lie within its’ gooey folds. LOVE it.
This week is ca-raziness as some of my music classes start up…today! I’ll only have three classes, so I’m easing in to things (not like my Hawaiian-dwelling, music-teaching friend Jessica who teaches full-time in a school and then has like 72 private students as well; that is crazy talk)! I did just get a random job offer from another Montessori school, so I’ve been emailing back and forth with the director to find out more. She won’t just come out and tell me what the salary is though, so that’s kind of annoying. Just show me the money! Mama’s gotta buy a baby girl! I’m going in Friday for an interview and to see if it’s a position I even want. The classes would be K-5th grade level. Besides private, one-on-one flute lessons, I haven’t taught anything over preschool level since before Matthew was born. And, ironically, part of their curriculum is teaching the recorder. Here’s the serious irony in that: I play the flute, taught flute lessons privately for ten years, taught music to grades 3-8 for two years, and I haven’t actually played a recorder since I was in 4th grade!! I think I could pick it up fairly easy…I’d be awfully embarrassed and lame if I couldn’t.
Last night was “Back to School Night” at the elementary school. I sat at Matthew’s table and colored a picture for him. He just got this awesome new hat for his birthday from Uncle Harry and Nana – a little picture math equation that has: a green crayon + yellow crayon = John Deere logo. It’s perfect for him and he loves it! So, I attempted to draw that in a note that he’ll find at his place this morning.
It was nice to hear from his kindergarten teacher what all they’re going to learn this year, and I’m pleased to report that he’ll be even more genius-y by June. I am a little distraught though because he’s already starting to bring home papers that say just “Matt” on them. I was determined to fight the “Matt” fight all through school, figuring that I had until maybe third grade before Matthew put his foot down and said, “No, I want to be called Matt, not Matthew.” And then I had every intention of blatantly ignoring that request. But kindergarten?! He’s already writing it in kindergarten?! I’m sure part of it is that he’s figured out it’s a heck of a lot easier to just write M-a-t-t than mess with that whole tricky h-e-w part at the end, but still! He will ALWAYS be my MattHEW and I’m determined to fight his growing up with every fiber of my being!!
As for MattHEW’s brother – Zachary, Zach, ZJ, Rocker Zo-Zo, Rocker Z has been busy coming up with a new career path. The last few days, I’ve overheard him a few times shot-rocker-singing into his “microphone” (this crappy, plastic toy that really just makes the kid’s voice echo a bit and was obviously created by someone who has never been around children EVER). So, Zach – legs spread wide and shaking his booty – was shout-rockin’ a new smash hit: FOOD IS HEALTHY. ALEX THE LION MOVIE. CHICKEN NUGGETS. Yup, those are the lyrics to the song. Very existential, don’t ya think?
This week is ca-raziness as some of my music classes start up…today! I’ll only have three classes, so I’m easing in to things (not like my Hawaiian-dwelling, music-teaching friend Jessica who teaches full-time in a school and then has like 72 private students as well; that is crazy talk)! I did just get a random job offer from another Montessori school, so I’ve been emailing back and forth with the director to find out more. She won’t just come out and tell me what the salary is though, so that’s kind of annoying. Just show me the money! Mama’s gotta buy a baby girl! I’m going in Friday for an interview and to see if it’s a position I even want. The classes would be K-5th grade level. Besides private, one-on-one flute lessons, I haven’t taught anything over preschool level since before Matthew was born. And, ironically, part of their curriculum is teaching the recorder. Here’s the serious irony in that: I play the flute, taught flute lessons privately for ten years, taught music to grades 3-8 for two years, and I haven’t actually played a recorder since I was in 4th grade!! I think I could pick it up fairly easy…I’d be awfully embarrassed and lame if I couldn’t.
Last night was “Back to School Night” at the elementary school. I sat at Matthew’s table and colored a picture for him. He just got this awesome new hat for his birthday from Uncle Harry and Nana – a little picture math equation that has: a green crayon + yellow crayon = John Deere logo. It’s perfect for him and he loves it! So, I attempted to draw that in a note that he’ll find at his place this morning.
It was nice to hear from his kindergarten teacher what all they’re going to learn this year, and I’m pleased to report that he’ll be even more genius-y by June. I am a little distraught though because he’s already starting to bring home papers that say just “Matt” on them. I was determined to fight the “Matt” fight all through school, figuring that I had until maybe third grade before Matthew put his foot down and said, “No, I want to be called Matt, not Matthew.” And then I had every intention of blatantly ignoring that request. But kindergarten?! He’s already writing it in kindergarten?! I’m sure part of it is that he’s figured out it’s a heck of a lot easier to just write M-a-t-t than mess with that whole tricky h-e-w part at the end, but still! He will ALWAYS be my MattHEW and I’m determined to fight his growing up with every fiber of my being!!
As for MattHEW’s brother – Zachary, Zach, ZJ, Rocker Zo-Zo, Rocker Z has been busy coming up with a new career path. The last few days, I’ve overheard him a few times shot-rocker-singing into his “microphone” (this crappy, plastic toy that really just makes the kid’s voice echo a bit and was obviously created by someone who has never been around children EVER). So, Zach – legs spread wide and shaking his booty – was shout-rockin’ a new smash hit: FOOD IS HEALTHY. ALEX THE LION MOVIE. CHICKEN NUGGETS. Yup, those are the lyrics to the song. Very existential, don’t ya think?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
We are adopting a girl. That’s a major-mondo-ginormous decision, and yet I haven’t even blogged a fair amount with a just explanation for you. It’s not that I don’t want to (come on, have I ever held out on you?!), and it’s not that I don’t have enough words (I’ve too many, as a matter of fact), it’s just a bit of a daunting and time-consuming task right now. September is THE most stressful month of the year (at least so far…) what with school starting up, music classes going again, all activities getting underway. As a perpetual student and/or teacher, I’ve always thought in terms of school year. Not this January 1st-December 31st business; that’s for ‘normal’ people. We the academics, think from September-June, thank you very much. So, I guess it is fitting that September – always feeling like an exciting/stressful time of new beginnings, new lunch boxes and sharpened pencils – should also be the month that Mike and I start this enormous process of adopting. And this bloggo explanation is part of that process!
As you know, we’ve successfully made two of the most freakishly handsome, genius-type boy children ever. We’ve done a great job…except that I’m not so good at the pregnancy part. My uterus is a selfish mothuh and not willing to give these boys a cozy resting place for as long as they need. Whilst in the hospital on bed rest, ‘Dr. Doom’ came to check on me – as he occasionally did. He strutted his British Behind in way-too-tight black pants, pushed up the sleeves of his black turtleneck and flipped his floppy, beautifully conditioned hair.
“You should not have any more children,” he said calmly like he really just muttered something as mundane as ‘It’s windy outside.’ “Every baby you have,” he continued, “will be early. We don’t know why you have preterm labor and we don’t know how to stop it. And typically with this pattern, each child tries to come a little earlier than the last. We usually see the preterm labor occurring two weeks earlier or more than the previous kid. Matthew was born at 35 weeks. With Zachary, here, you’ve gone into preterm labor at 28 weeks. You’ve said you have multiples as a trend on both sides of both families – twins, triplets. I just, quite frankly, don’t even want to think of that pregnancy.”
Well, at the time, I was so looped up on preterm labor-stopping drugs that all I could do was cry. I haven’t even given birth to my second child yet and you’re already saying that this is it! We didn’t necessarily have plans to go make 12 Catholic babies, but I didn’t want to be told by Dr. Doom that I had to be done either. So, the next step was denial. Maybe we should make it our mission to prove Dr. Doom wrong. Maybe I DO want five months of bed rest so I can finally write some award-winning books and get published. Maybe I could be the first music teacher to teach classes from…my…bed…or couch. OK, maybe not on that one.
But then the Post Partum Depression hit. And it hit again. And again. It rolled in like waves hitting the sand on a windy day at the Pacific – unrelenting, without any indication of potential end because just went things calmed down a bit and you think ‘OK, I’m getting better, I can handle this’ another dark moment of tumultuous pain and despair washes over you. So, then my other doctor (my primary physician) said, “You really shouldn’t have any more babies.” And then my normal OB/GYN said, “We loved having you in the hospital because you were so upbeat [um, cried everyday, but if you say so!], and we all miss you, but I think Zach should be your last…You’d be a great family for adopting! And then you could add a girl to your group!”
So, every doctor told me, “Uh, yeah, sorry, no more. Don’t do it.” But every bit of my tantrum-throwing-stomping-the-ground-with-hands-on-hips body said, “But I don’t WANNA be done!”
A lot of thought, a lot of prayer and the decision is adoption; adoption which – for the record – I’ve wanted to do since high school. I’ve thought about adoption ever since seeing that first Oprah about the condition of girls in orphanages in China. Now, it’s taken Mike more time to get on the adoption train, but I’m so happy to say – and praise God! – that he was the one who made it leave the station! (The, uh, adoption train station from which the figurative adoption train departs the figurative adoption station…to clarify).
Initially, I was thinking International adoption – it’s just what I’ve always wanted to do, and I figured that I could be like everyone else and just go get my daughter from China or Taiwan. (Please note: I’m not knocking ANY kind of adoption here, I’m just explaining how we came to our choice. There is no such thing as a superior way/place of adoption…it just varies depending on what’s right for each adoptive family or couple or person.) The more I looked into the Int’l route, the more I saw the trend that it’s become – countries see that they can make money playing with people’s emotions, and when it comes to wanting children most people stop at nothing to make it happen. So, International adoption has become, by far, one of the most expensive, time-consuming, wait-intensive (and potentially frustrating) ways to adopt…not to mention the travel time and expense and being away from our kids. So, I had to adjust my thinking. Plus, I realized, why would we go abroad when there are babies right here in the U.S.?!
But then, we saw just how expensive Domestic Adoption is if you’re very picky – one place would even make us pay a $6000 “Gender Specificity Fee” for requesting a girl. But we eventually found a more affordable option (though, still QUITE pricey) that offered major discounts and incentives (it’s like buying a car, for crying out loud!) if you were open to adopting babies of any race. And there’s such a need for it – they have an average wait time of 3-9 months which is ridiculously short for adoption! Apparently, there’s a huge need for multi-racial and African American infant adoption in this country…so much so that they have to offer huge financial motivation which just breaks my heart. I can’t understand why people are adopting older babies abroad when they could get a healthy infant from Day One right here. And it seems that when people are adopting here they’re typically opting for Caucasian babies who come with a $23000-40000 price tag and an 18 month-5 year wait time. Yes, race does have a price. (Again, I’m not saying this is bad. All adoption is good. It just varies greatly per family).
But still daunted by the price and frustrated by the idea that we – a family who could give a loving, safe home to a child who needs it – feel like this goal is practically impossible; I began looking for even more affordable means. That’s when I found Amara – an agency in Seattle that does adoption of babies relinquished directly to them or foster-to-adopt infants and children. I’d actually read about Amara and considered attending an information night but it was the same night as our Anniversary, and then I’d forgotten about it. A couple weeks later, at book club, complaining to the girls about the price of this process, my friend Molly mentioned Amara and brought it back to my attention.
So, again, after hearing about Amara’s program I was struck by the same kind of question: why would we look Internationally OR Nationally when there are babies and children right here in the Northwest who need a home? Now, one thing that’s different about Amara is, because there is a chance that our daughter will be coming out of foster care (though she’ll still be little – under the age of 2), we do have to do all of the classes and preparing to be foster licensed – a very involved process! We’re just starting the home study now. My guess/goal is that we’ll be licensed by January 1st. We need to be ‘ready to go’ (like the boys moved into one room, have the baby’s room ready, crib and car seat set-up) on day one and then we wait. Their ever-so-specific wait time is two days to two years. Obviously, most people fall in the middle of that and the majority wait closer to nine months.
At the end of last week, we received all of our paperwork for the home study part of which is 16 pages of questions for each of us to do an autobiography! Some of my writing time will have to be spent doing that. But Ha! 16 pages?! Are we limited to that?! While I’m excited and contemplating turning my adoption home study into personal memoirs (did they even KNOW what they were getting themselves into with me?!), Mike is wondering how he’ll find 16 words to use let alone fill 16+ pages. Good times!
Through this whole process I’ve had to continue to change the way I think about things. I won’t be giving birth to our third child. She won’t be the little dark, curly-haired girl I always pictured (or maybe she will be, she just wouldn’t be taking after me). We won’t have her from day one and we won’t get to name her (at least not until we legally adopt her which typically takes 6 months at which point, we could decide to change her name). But despite all of those things being different than how I always imagined, and no matter where she is right now or who she is, she won’t be any less ‘ours’ than either of our boys.
As you know, we’ve successfully made two of the most freakishly handsome, genius-type boy children ever. We’ve done a great job…except that I’m not so good at the pregnancy part. My uterus is a selfish mothuh and not willing to give these boys a cozy resting place for as long as they need. Whilst in the hospital on bed rest, ‘Dr. Doom’ came to check on me – as he occasionally did. He strutted his British Behind in way-too-tight black pants, pushed up the sleeves of his black turtleneck and flipped his floppy, beautifully conditioned hair.
“You should not have any more children,” he said calmly like he really just muttered something as mundane as ‘It’s windy outside.’ “Every baby you have,” he continued, “will be early. We don’t know why you have preterm labor and we don’t know how to stop it. And typically with this pattern, each child tries to come a little earlier than the last. We usually see the preterm labor occurring two weeks earlier or more than the previous kid. Matthew was born at 35 weeks. With Zachary, here, you’ve gone into preterm labor at 28 weeks. You’ve said you have multiples as a trend on both sides of both families – twins, triplets. I just, quite frankly, don’t even want to think of that pregnancy.”
Well, at the time, I was so looped up on preterm labor-stopping drugs that all I could do was cry. I haven’t even given birth to my second child yet and you’re already saying that this is it! We didn’t necessarily have plans to go make 12 Catholic babies, but I didn’t want to be told by Dr. Doom that I had to be done either. So, the next step was denial. Maybe we should make it our mission to prove Dr. Doom wrong. Maybe I DO want five months of bed rest so I can finally write some award-winning books and get published. Maybe I could be the first music teacher to teach classes from…my…bed…or couch. OK, maybe not on that one.
But then the Post Partum Depression hit. And it hit again. And again. It rolled in like waves hitting the sand on a windy day at the Pacific – unrelenting, without any indication of potential end because just went things calmed down a bit and you think ‘OK, I’m getting better, I can handle this’ another dark moment of tumultuous pain and despair washes over you. So, then my other doctor (my primary physician) said, “You really shouldn’t have any more babies.” And then my normal OB/GYN said, “We loved having you in the hospital because you were so upbeat [um, cried everyday, but if you say so!], and we all miss you, but I think Zach should be your last…You’d be a great family for adopting! And then you could add a girl to your group!”
So, every doctor told me, “Uh, yeah, sorry, no more. Don’t do it.” But every bit of my tantrum-throwing-stomping-the-ground-with-hands-on-hips body said, “But I don’t WANNA be done!”
A lot of thought, a lot of prayer and the decision is adoption; adoption which – for the record – I’ve wanted to do since high school. I’ve thought about adoption ever since seeing that first Oprah about the condition of girls in orphanages in China. Now, it’s taken Mike more time to get on the adoption train, but I’m so happy to say – and praise God! – that he was the one who made it leave the station! (The, uh, adoption train station from which the figurative adoption train departs the figurative adoption station…to clarify).
Initially, I was thinking International adoption – it’s just what I’ve always wanted to do, and I figured that I could be like everyone else and just go get my daughter from China or Taiwan. (Please note: I’m not knocking ANY kind of adoption here, I’m just explaining how we came to our choice. There is no such thing as a superior way/place of adoption…it just varies depending on what’s right for each adoptive family or couple or person.) The more I looked into the Int’l route, the more I saw the trend that it’s become – countries see that they can make money playing with people’s emotions, and when it comes to wanting children most people stop at nothing to make it happen. So, International adoption has become, by far, one of the most expensive, time-consuming, wait-intensive (and potentially frustrating) ways to adopt…not to mention the travel time and expense and being away from our kids. So, I had to adjust my thinking. Plus, I realized, why would we go abroad when there are babies right here in the U.S.?!
But then, we saw just how expensive Domestic Adoption is if you’re very picky – one place would even make us pay a $6000 “Gender Specificity Fee” for requesting a girl. But we eventually found a more affordable option (though, still QUITE pricey) that offered major discounts and incentives (it’s like buying a car, for crying out loud!) if you were open to adopting babies of any race. And there’s such a need for it – they have an average wait time of 3-9 months which is ridiculously short for adoption! Apparently, there’s a huge need for multi-racial and African American infant adoption in this country…so much so that they have to offer huge financial motivation which just breaks my heart. I can’t understand why people are adopting older babies abroad when they could get a healthy infant from Day One right here. And it seems that when people are adopting here they’re typically opting for Caucasian babies who come with a $23000-40000 price tag and an 18 month-5 year wait time. Yes, race does have a price. (Again, I’m not saying this is bad. All adoption is good. It just varies greatly per family).
But still daunted by the price and frustrated by the idea that we – a family who could give a loving, safe home to a child who needs it – feel like this goal is practically impossible; I began looking for even more affordable means. That’s when I found Amara – an agency in Seattle that does adoption of babies relinquished directly to them or foster-to-adopt infants and children. I’d actually read about Amara and considered attending an information night but it was the same night as our Anniversary, and then I’d forgotten about it. A couple weeks later, at book club, complaining to the girls about the price of this process, my friend Molly mentioned Amara and brought it back to my attention.
So, again, after hearing about Amara’s program I was struck by the same kind of question: why would we look Internationally OR Nationally when there are babies and children right here in the Northwest who need a home? Now, one thing that’s different about Amara is, because there is a chance that our daughter will be coming out of foster care (though she’ll still be little – under the age of 2), we do have to do all of the classes and preparing to be foster licensed – a very involved process! We’re just starting the home study now. My guess/goal is that we’ll be licensed by January 1st. We need to be ‘ready to go’ (like the boys moved into one room, have the baby’s room ready, crib and car seat set-up) on day one and then we wait. Their ever-so-specific wait time is two days to two years. Obviously, most people fall in the middle of that and the majority wait closer to nine months.
At the end of last week, we received all of our paperwork for the home study part of which is 16 pages of questions for each of us to do an autobiography! Some of my writing time will have to be spent doing that. But Ha! 16 pages?! Are we limited to that?! While I’m excited and contemplating turning my adoption home study into personal memoirs (did they even KNOW what they were getting themselves into with me?!), Mike is wondering how he’ll find 16 words to use let alone fill 16+ pages. Good times!
Through this whole process I’ve had to continue to change the way I think about things. I won’t be giving birth to our third child. She won’t be the little dark, curly-haired girl I always pictured (or maybe she will be, she just wouldn’t be taking after me). We won’t have her from day one and we won’t get to name her (at least not until we legally adopt her which typically takes 6 months at which point, we could decide to change her name). But despite all of those things being different than how I always imagined, and no matter where she is right now or who she is, she won’t be any less ‘ours’ than either of our boys.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Today, Matthew had his first day back at school since the whole missing of the bus and my bug in the eyeball debacle and yesterday’s Snotty-Stay-at-Home-Day. Just to REALLY make sure he made it on the bus, I fashioned an exceptionally cool sign to his backpack. I also stuck a little note in his lunch box (which, might I add, he happened to see before he left for school and he read it out loud all by himself!). Overkill? I think not. I debated on Sharpie-penning a sign on his forehead but decided against it. Subtle yet successful, that was my goal.
And it worked! When Matthew got off the bus this afternoon, the entire BSC (Bus Stop Crowd) cheered. It was awesome. Matthew broke into a teeth-grin, came running at me and gave me an enormous hug. (He’s usually more of a let’s-keep-it-clean-and-cool-Mom-and-you-can-just-kinda-put-your-arm-around-me-as-a-greeting kind of kid). Needless-to-say, we were BOTH happy he made it onto Bus #7.
And it worked! When Matthew got off the bus this afternoon, the entire BSC (Bus Stop Crowd) cheered. It was awesome. Matthew broke into a teeth-grin, came running at me and gave me an enormous hug. (He’s usually more of a let’s-keep-it-clean-and-cool-Mom-and-you-can-just-kinda-put-your-arm-around-me-as-a-greeting kind of kid). Needless-to-say, we were BOTH happy he made it onto Bus #7.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
And so it begins. Matthew has only been in school for one week and already we’re having us a Sick Day. Matthew was up at 4 this morning all sniffly and coughly. Being a good, caring dedicated mom I planned on medicating him and sending him out to infest the world with germs (he got it at school, so he wouldn’t be the first to take it to school, right? Right?). Plus he seemed a bit better this morning…that is until he sneezed at the breakfast table. The sneeze was mammoth spewing across the table a shower of chewed-up waffle and “dinosaur snot” – that’s the nasty spewing, ooey-gooey kind – all over Zach who proceeded to sit there, shocked and unsure of what to do, covered in snot and waffleness going, “EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW, he got snot all over me.” I looked at Zach; I looked at Matthew and said “Guess I better call the school.”
I was really hoping that Matthew would be at school today – not just because it’s lame he’s sick and missing class in just the first full week of school – but because I had an important note for him to deliver to Mrs. Randall. See, we had kind of a stressful event happen yesterday, and I wanted to let Mrs. Randall know so that it hopefully won’t happen again. Allow me to fill you in.
We were waiting at the bus stop with the Bus Stop Crowd – BSC. The BSC is huge and so far – in my immense BSC experience (the whole four days of it), I LOVE the bus scene. The families in our neighborhood are awesome, and I kind of think one of these days, I’ll show up, set up a table and start handing out glasses ‘o margarita goodness (it just seems like a party atmosphere) and we’ll have a fiesta in the street. At any rate, Zach and I are hanging with the BSC awaiting the bus to arrive driven by Bus Driver Bob. (OK, how can you not love the fact that Matthew’s first ever bus driver is called “Bus Driver Bob”? And Bus Driver Bob brings little dog treats and tosses them out the door to the leashed canine pets of the BSC. Even the dogs love Bus Driver Bob!!).
Bus # 7 rounds the bend, stops and about 20 million little people start tumbling out (in a safe, organized way). The BSC consists of nearly every elementary family in the neighborhood – we almost all go to the same stop, so it’s a ton ‘o kids. I see our neighbor girls Stephi and Ellie, Sydney and Zoe (lots of girls!), I see Mick from Matthew’s class, and then I see Shay – Matthew’s 2nd grade girlfriend and daughter of my running pal Andrea. Shay is more responsible than a 5th grader and has taken Matthew’s hand every morning (along with her younger sister Brooke’s) and led them on to the bus where the three of them squeeze into a seat. She’s been Matthew’s little 2nd grade guardian angel at school, and I honestly trust that girl more than…myself. ?! Anyway, I smile and wave at Shay and for the first time ever she doesn’t smile at me right away.
“Matthew wasn’t on the bus,” she says. I look up and realize that Bus Driver Bob is already pulling away from the curb and, yes, there is no Matthew in sight. I immediately say, “Snap,” pick up Zach and start running. OK, it’s wasn’t Snap it was something else that starts with S and has four letters and rhymes exceptionally well with HIT. Andrea yells, “Jenny! Leave Zach with me!” I put Zach down and start sprinting down the street. Bus Driver Bob – who is just starting to drive away shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands at me like, “Sorry. He wasn’t on the bus. Dunno.” I raise my arms hoping that in that one movement I’m communicating: Yeah. What’sup?! Why wasn’t he on the bus? Where is he? Thanks for your help, anyway. You rock, Bus Driver Bob. I’m sure he got ALL that from my flailing arms as I continued sprinting down the street. (I imagine I looked more like a large, awkward chubby bird flapping my wings attempting to lift off but fail miserably and have no choice but to keep running).
“Great. The one day I don’t bring my cell phone to the bus stop,” I think as I continue haulin’ down my street. I’m just nearing the one-block-away-from-our-house spot, when a minivan pulls up and drives along side me. It’s Holly – a mom in the neighborhood. “Looks like you need a ride!” She shouts.
“Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” I pant as I jump in. Holly and I have never actually met. She introduces herself and I tell her I know who she is and where she lives but I swear I’m not a stalker it’s because Andrea knows her and has pointed out her house to me. Meanwhile I realize that I have a bug in my eye. Yes. I’m that kind of dedicated mother. I was sprinting so fast to go find my lost 6-year-old that a bug flew into my eyeball. He did not stand a chance against this mama-on-a-mission.
“My kindergartener didn’t get off the bus,” I explain as I direct her around the bend to our house and try to extract bug carcass from under my eyelid. She glances at me and assumes I’m crying because of my lost child.
“I’m sure he’s safe and at the school office, they’re really good about this sort of thing,” she reassures me.
“Oh, I know. I just have a bug in my eye,” I say ‘cuz I’m the coolest/slash/cruelest mother ever. What must Holly think of me?!
“One of the moms from the bus stop flagged me down and told me to go pick up the running lady. You were doing pretty well with the running though,” she said.
“I run with Andrea,” I say as if that explains why I’m lightning fast…nothing but a blur of mommyness flying down the street.
I thank her for the ride and practically jump out of the van while it’s still rolling. Thankfully, the garage door opens right away, and I propel up the stairs to get my purse and phone. I check my phone, as I hop in the car and there are two messages – I pray that one of them is from the school.
It is. Thank God.
“This is Hazelwood Elementary. We have Matthew here in the school office. He seemed to think he was getting picked up today and missed the bus. Can you please call us and let us know you’re able to come get him?”
I leave the driveway (forgetting to close the garage) and head up the street. I turn the AC on full blast realizing that I’m sweating like a crazy thang. I dial the school back as I pass all of the BSC heading home – including Zach walking under 2nd grader Shay’s (and Andrea’s) protective care. They cheer me on. Dang. They’re still a LONG walk from home. I’m fast!
“Hazelwood Elementary,” a friendly womanly voice says.
“Hi, this is Jenny Martin,” I pant, “I’m Matthew’s mom, sorry I didn’t have my cell phone with me. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” I’m already turning out of the neighborhood on to the main street.
“OK!” she says cheerily. “We’ll see you soon!”
I park and hightail it to the main office. (I don’t run in the halls though since I’m pretty sure that’s still a universal school policy).
When I walk into the office, I see Matthew sitting in a chair – jacket on, backpack on, eyeballs all red from crying…I try not to join in right then and there while giving him a big hug.
“Matthew! You silly. Why did you think I was picking you up today?” [I don’t ever pick you up ‘cuz that’s just being an overachiever. You need to get your own butt home, child.]
Matthew mumbled something unintelligible. I thanked the office ladies. They thanked me for having all of my phone numbers and information on his bus tag (pinned to his backpack). Ha! Maybe I’m not a slacker mom after all.
In the end, this is how I understand the story: The kindergarteners have a Bus Buddy – a 4th or 5th grade girl who rides the same bus, helps them line up in the right spot and then leads them up the stairs to the bus curb. Matthew says – or thinks – he saw his Bus Buddy so he followed her, but instead of heading out the back door to the bus line-up spot, she went out the front door to the car/parent pick-up spot. That’s when – I think – he started to cry and a Mom saw him and directed him to a 1st grade teacher standing nearby. They saw his tag, took him to the Bus #7 line-up spot, but it was too late; the bus had already left.
I assure Matthew that he did everything right – didn’t get in a car, didn’t just start walking away from school, didn’t get too lost, he found a mom (or a mom found him) and got the help he needed – but from now on since he KNOWS where the Bus #7 line-up spot is, he shouldn’t pay attention to what other kids are doing he should just take care of himself and get to Bus #7. After saying this in about seven different ways, eight different times, Matthew finally says, “Mom. Can we be done talking about this now?”
Sigh. Talk about cutting the umbilical cord or apron strings. Pushing your baby out of the nest. Releasing them into the wild. Sink or swim baby, and thank God we’ve had over a year of swim lessons. It’s a BIG pond out there.
I was really hoping that Matthew would be at school today – not just because it’s lame he’s sick and missing class in just the first full week of school – but because I had an important note for him to deliver to Mrs. Randall. See, we had kind of a stressful event happen yesterday, and I wanted to let Mrs. Randall know so that it hopefully won’t happen again. Allow me to fill you in.
We were waiting at the bus stop with the Bus Stop Crowd – BSC. The BSC is huge and so far – in my immense BSC experience (the whole four days of it), I LOVE the bus scene. The families in our neighborhood are awesome, and I kind of think one of these days, I’ll show up, set up a table and start handing out glasses ‘o margarita goodness (it just seems like a party atmosphere) and we’ll have a fiesta in the street. At any rate, Zach and I are hanging with the BSC awaiting the bus to arrive driven by Bus Driver Bob. (OK, how can you not love the fact that Matthew’s first ever bus driver is called “Bus Driver Bob”? And Bus Driver Bob brings little dog treats and tosses them out the door to the leashed canine pets of the BSC. Even the dogs love Bus Driver Bob!!).
Bus # 7 rounds the bend, stops and about 20 million little people start tumbling out (in a safe, organized way). The BSC consists of nearly every elementary family in the neighborhood – we almost all go to the same stop, so it’s a ton ‘o kids. I see our neighbor girls Stephi and Ellie, Sydney and Zoe (lots of girls!), I see Mick from Matthew’s class, and then I see Shay – Matthew’s 2nd grade girlfriend and daughter of my running pal Andrea. Shay is more responsible than a 5th grader and has taken Matthew’s hand every morning (along with her younger sister Brooke’s) and led them on to the bus where the three of them squeeze into a seat. She’s been Matthew’s little 2nd grade guardian angel at school, and I honestly trust that girl more than…myself. ?! Anyway, I smile and wave at Shay and for the first time ever she doesn’t smile at me right away.
“Matthew wasn’t on the bus,” she says. I look up and realize that Bus Driver Bob is already pulling away from the curb and, yes, there is no Matthew in sight. I immediately say, “Snap,” pick up Zach and start running. OK, it’s wasn’t Snap it was something else that starts with S and has four letters and rhymes exceptionally well with HIT. Andrea yells, “Jenny! Leave Zach with me!” I put Zach down and start sprinting down the street. Bus Driver Bob – who is just starting to drive away shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands at me like, “Sorry. He wasn’t on the bus. Dunno.” I raise my arms hoping that in that one movement I’m communicating: Yeah. What’sup?! Why wasn’t he on the bus? Where is he? Thanks for your help, anyway. You rock, Bus Driver Bob. I’m sure he got ALL that from my flailing arms as I continued sprinting down the street. (I imagine I looked more like a large, awkward chubby bird flapping my wings attempting to lift off but fail miserably and have no choice but to keep running).
“Great. The one day I don’t bring my cell phone to the bus stop,” I think as I continue haulin’ down my street. I’m just nearing the one-block-away-from-our-house spot, when a minivan pulls up and drives along side me. It’s Holly – a mom in the neighborhood. “Looks like you need a ride!” She shouts.
“Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” I pant as I jump in. Holly and I have never actually met. She introduces herself and I tell her I know who she is and where she lives but I swear I’m not a stalker it’s because Andrea knows her and has pointed out her house to me. Meanwhile I realize that I have a bug in my eye. Yes. I’m that kind of dedicated mother. I was sprinting so fast to go find my lost 6-year-old that a bug flew into my eyeball. He did not stand a chance against this mama-on-a-mission.
“My kindergartener didn’t get off the bus,” I explain as I direct her around the bend to our house and try to extract bug carcass from under my eyelid. She glances at me and assumes I’m crying because of my lost child.
“I’m sure he’s safe and at the school office, they’re really good about this sort of thing,” she reassures me.
“Oh, I know. I just have a bug in my eye,” I say ‘cuz I’m the coolest/slash/cruelest mother ever. What must Holly think of me?!
“One of the moms from the bus stop flagged me down and told me to go pick up the running lady. You were doing pretty well with the running though,” she said.
“I run with Andrea,” I say as if that explains why I’m lightning fast…nothing but a blur of mommyness flying down the street.
I thank her for the ride and practically jump out of the van while it’s still rolling. Thankfully, the garage door opens right away, and I propel up the stairs to get my purse and phone. I check my phone, as I hop in the car and there are two messages – I pray that one of them is from the school.
It is. Thank God.
“This is Hazelwood Elementary. We have Matthew here in the school office. He seemed to think he was getting picked up today and missed the bus. Can you please call us and let us know you’re able to come get him?”
I leave the driveway (forgetting to close the garage) and head up the street. I turn the AC on full blast realizing that I’m sweating like a crazy thang. I dial the school back as I pass all of the BSC heading home – including Zach walking under 2nd grader Shay’s (and Andrea’s) protective care. They cheer me on. Dang. They’re still a LONG walk from home. I’m fast!
“Hazelwood Elementary,” a friendly womanly voice says.
“Hi, this is Jenny Martin,” I pant, “I’m Matthew’s mom, sorry I didn’t have my cell phone with me. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” I’m already turning out of the neighborhood on to the main street.
“OK!” she says cheerily. “We’ll see you soon!”
I park and hightail it to the main office. (I don’t run in the halls though since I’m pretty sure that’s still a universal school policy).
When I walk into the office, I see Matthew sitting in a chair – jacket on, backpack on, eyeballs all red from crying…I try not to join in right then and there while giving him a big hug.
“Matthew! You silly. Why did you think I was picking you up today?” [I don’t ever pick you up ‘cuz that’s just being an overachiever. You need to get your own butt home, child.]
Matthew mumbled something unintelligible. I thanked the office ladies. They thanked me for having all of my phone numbers and information on his bus tag (pinned to his backpack). Ha! Maybe I’m not a slacker mom after all.
In the end, this is how I understand the story: The kindergarteners have a Bus Buddy – a 4th or 5th grade girl who rides the same bus, helps them line up in the right spot and then leads them up the stairs to the bus curb. Matthew says – or thinks – he saw his Bus Buddy so he followed her, but instead of heading out the back door to the bus line-up spot, she went out the front door to the car/parent pick-up spot. That’s when – I think – he started to cry and a Mom saw him and directed him to a 1st grade teacher standing nearby. They saw his tag, took him to the Bus #7 line-up spot, but it was too late; the bus had already left.
I assure Matthew that he did everything right – didn’t get in a car, didn’t just start walking away from school, didn’t get too lost, he found a mom (or a mom found him) and got the help he needed – but from now on since he KNOWS where the Bus #7 line-up spot is, he shouldn’t pay attention to what other kids are doing he should just take care of himself and get to Bus #7. After saying this in about seven different ways, eight different times, Matthew finally says, “Mom. Can we be done talking about this now?”
Sigh. Talk about cutting the umbilical cord or apron strings. Pushing your baby out of the nest. Releasing them into the wild. Sink or swim baby, and thank God we’ve had over a year of swim lessons. It’s a BIG pond out there.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Change is hard. I understand that – my baby just started kindergarten. It is often difficult to accept time’s relentless march forward. But I really didn’t expect Matthew to have such a hard time accepting a good change – like turning six!
After dinner on Friday evening, we drove to my parents’ condo in Port Ludlow (about 90 minutes from here) for Matthew’s birthday/Labor Day weekend. Zach had gone over with them earler (on Wednesday night), so the boys were super excited to see each other. In the car on the way there, Mike and I reminded Matthew that the next day was September 5th. And what is September 5th? That’s right, it’s your birthday.
The next morning – the aforementioned September 5th of Matthew Martin birthday fame – rolls around all icky and drippy, cold, dark and wet. Nice three-day weekend weather. When I come out into the living room, Matthew is curled up on the sofa with Green Bear. I grab him and put him on my lap (Matthew…not Green Bear…though Green Bear came along for the ride).
“Do you know what today is?” I ask Matthew.
“No,” he says. Hmmm, very peculiar; it’s not like me or one of my offspring to forget a birthday.
“Today is September 5th!” I declare, awaiting his burst of excitement. All I get is a saddish, blankish stare.
“Matthew! What’s September 5th?!”
“Today’s my birthday?” Matthew asks quietly, incredulously.
“YES! Today you’re six! You turned six at 5:05 this morning. You’re six now!”
“But,” Matthew’s eyes start to turn into watery pools and his mouth gets that familiar sad square shape complete with bottom lip a-quiver, “But I didn’t know. No, I’m not six. I didn’t know.”
“What do you mean you didn’t know, silly? We reminded you in the car last night that today is your birthday.”
Matthew’s quiet sniffles turn into a more focused, determined cry.
“I’m not six! But I didn’t know!” I stare at my child disbelieving. Does he not WANT his birthday? Does he not want to get older? Does he not want chocolate cake? What the heck?
After some more back and forth of I’m not six – yes, sweet boy, you are – and it’s not my birthday – why, yes it is! I finally get it...or at least I think I get it.
“Are you just upset ‘cuz you don’t feel different? Do you not feel six?” Matthew grunts out a mm-hmm and slowly nods his head.
“Did you think that you would wake up in the morning and know that you were six?” I asked.
“Yes,” Matthew whimpers.
I sigh. How to explain one of the big disappointments in life – especially to one having to learn it so young? Your birthday is actually just another day. It doesn’t feel any different from the day before nor will you feel that much different in six months from now. But the anniversary marking the date of your entrance into the world is here. He’s right. It should feel a heck of a lot bigger and better than just another rainy morning.
Once Matthew had accepted that it was, in fact, his birthday and he was, in fact, six years old, things started to look up. Zach had helped my mom decorate a castle-cake complete with Lego soldier guys. (I’ve already accepted that I should never attempt to match my mom’s birthday cake making skill. Growing up, I had everything from a princess (like a Barbie IN the cake and the cake was her beautiful, full ball gown) to a cake that looked like a watermelon. In fourth grade, she brought dirt cake to school for my birthday and had a boy in tears thinking he really was going to have to eat dirt (as she dished it out of the flower pot with a trowel), and then in 8th grade my cake looked like the famous domed roof of Holy Names Academy – the all girls’ high school I was ecstatic to attend the coming fall. Needless-to-say, I don’t compete with Mom’s cake-making skills, so when possible, I leave the cake-making to her.
Thankfully, by the time cake and presents time had rolled around Matthew was ready – although hesitant at first – to accept change. It was a rough transition, but so far, he reports that six is a pretty good year.
After dinner on Friday evening, we drove to my parents’ condo in Port Ludlow (about 90 minutes from here) for Matthew’s birthday/Labor Day weekend. Zach had gone over with them earler (on Wednesday night), so the boys were super excited to see each other. In the car on the way there, Mike and I reminded Matthew that the next day was September 5th. And what is September 5th? That’s right, it’s your birthday.
The next morning – the aforementioned September 5th of Matthew Martin birthday fame – rolls around all icky and drippy, cold, dark and wet. Nice three-day weekend weather. When I come out into the living room, Matthew is curled up on the sofa with Green Bear. I grab him and put him on my lap (Matthew…not Green Bear…though Green Bear came along for the ride).
“Do you know what today is?” I ask Matthew.
“No,” he says. Hmmm, very peculiar; it’s not like me or one of my offspring to forget a birthday.
“Today is September 5th!” I declare, awaiting his burst of excitement. All I get is a saddish, blankish stare.
“Matthew! What’s September 5th?!”
“Today’s my birthday?” Matthew asks quietly, incredulously.
“YES! Today you’re six! You turned six at 5:05 this morning. You’re six now!”
“But,” Matthew’s eyes start to turn into watery pools and his mouth gets that familiar sad square shape complete with bottom lip a-quiver, “But I didn’t know. No, I’m not six. I didn’t know.”
“What do you mean you didn’t know, silly? We reminded you in the car last night that today is your birthday.”
Matthew’s quiet sniffles turn into a more focused, determined cry.
“I’m not six! But I didn’t know!” I stare at my child disbelieving. Does he not WANT his birthday? Does he not want to get older? Does he not want chocolate cake? What the heck?
After some more back and forth of I’m not six – yes, sweet boy, you are – and it’s not my birthday – why, yes it is! I finally get it...or at least I think I get it.
“Are you just upset ‘cuz you don’t feel different? Do you not feel six?” Matthew grunts out a mm-hmm and slowly nods his head.
“Did you think that you would wake up in the morning and know that you were six?” I asked.
“Yes,” Matthew whimpers.
I sigh. How to explain one of the big disappointments in life – especially to one having to learn it so young? Your birthday is actually just another day. It doesn’t feel any different from the day before nor will you feel that much different in six months from now. But the anniversary marking the date of your entrance into the world is here. He’s right. It should feel a heck of a lot bigger and better than just another rainy morning.
Once Matthew had accepted that it was, in fact, his birthday and he was, in fact, six years old, things started to look up. Zach had helped my mom decorate a castle-cake complete with Lego soldier guys. (I’ve already accepted that I should never attempt to match my mom’s birthday cake making skill. Growing up, I had everything from a princess (like a Barbie IN the cake and the cake was her beautiful, full ball gown) to a cake that looked like a watermelon. In fourth grade, she brought dirt cake to school for my birthday and had a boy in tears thinking he really was going to have to eat dirt (as she dished it out of the flower pot with a trowel), and then in 8th grade my cake looked like the famous domed roof of Holy Names Academy – the all girls’ high school I was ecstatic to attend the coming fall. Needless-to-say, I don’t compete with Mom’s cake-making skills, so when possible, I leave the cake-making to her.
Thankfully, by the time cake and presents time had rolled around Matthew was ready – although hesitant at first – to accept change. It was a rough transition, but so far, he reports that six is a pretty good year.
Friday, September 04, 2009
On the way home from the bus stop yesterday, we asked Matthew if he learned anything at kindergarten. He immediately responded, “Yes! I learned how to totally read.” Wow, that’s pretty impressive. And then he added, “But I already forgot how.”
Later, I asked Matthew if he got a chance to ask Mrs. Randall anything. He said, “Yep, I raised my hand ‘cuz that’s what you do in kindergarten.” I nodded my head seriously in agreement. “And then she called on me, and I said ‘Is it playtime yet?” Mike and I glance at each other while Matthew continues, “Mrs. Randall said ‘No, not yet.’” “And what did you say?” We both ask him.
Matthew shrugged his shoulders and said, “I said OK, [exasperated sigh] FINE.” (With all the dripping attitude of a teenage when told to go clean his room).
Later, I asked Matthew if he got a chance to ask Mrs. Randall anything. He said, “Yep, I raised my hand ‘cuz that’s what you do in kindergarten.” I nodded my head seriously in agreement. “And then she called on me, and I said ‘Is it playtime yet?” Mike and I glance at each other while Matthew continues, “Mrs. Randall said ‘No, not yet.’” “And what did you say?” We both ask him.
Matthew shrugged his shoulders and said, “I said OK, [exasperated sigh] FINE.” (With all the dripping attitude of a teenage when told to go clean his room).
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Today was momentous. Enormous. Matthew – my baby – had his first day of full-day kindergarten. Mike and I drove him to school for the occasion. And while he was happy to have us there and clung a little bit, he was mostly just bummed he didn’t get to ride the school bus. (He did ride it home though! And from now on he’ll be a bus boy – a fact that he is most ecstatic about).
I did what all good moms do on the first day of kindergarten…I shed a tear or two. Mourning the loss of releasing my offspring into the wild. I held it together while in the classroom. Matthew was feeling a little apprehensive, and I didn’t want him to see that I was a tad upset. But then a mom stood up from saying goodbye to one of the little girls and she was practically sobbing. I looked at her and said, “OK, I can’t see that or I’ll definitely lose it.” She laughed and said, “She’s not even my kid!!” (I think she was a neighbor or something). Anyway, I managed to keep it together until we got outside.
The whole crying-thing really boggles Mike’s mind. He just doesn’t get why all the kindergarten moms were crying.
“It’s not like we just dropped him off at college,” Mike said. “And you’re already hoping that he marries a nice girl someday, so…”
“OK! I just dropped my baby off at school! And now we’re talking about college and marriage?! Can we please take this one huge milestone at a time?”
Thankfully, a little retail therapy got me through the day. We went to IKEA and bought the boys new loft beds for their new-and-improved, soon-to-be shared room. Mike got Matthew’s put together so it was waiting for him when he got home from the bus. He was VERY excited…as you can see. He had to try it out with Green Bear right away.
We have an interview/meeting at the adoption agency that we’ll be going through tomorrow. So, more on that to come soon. It’ll be a long process, but we’re excited to be getting it started! And the boys are excited to start sharing a room (yeah, that excitement will probably die the moment that they move in together, but whatever…we’ll run with it for now!), so we’re getting ready for that too!
I did what all good moms do on the first day of kindergarten…I shed a tear or two. Mourning the loss of releasing my offspring into the wild. I held it together while in the classroom. Matthew was feeling a little apprehensive, and I didn’t want him to see that I was a tad upset. But then a mom stood up from saying goodbye to one of the little girls and she was practically sobbing. I looked at her and said, “OK, I can’t see that or I’ll definitely lose it.” She laughed and said, “She’s not even my kid!!” (I think she was a neighbor or something). Anyway, I managed to keep it together until we got outside.
The whole crying-thing really boggles Mike’s mind. He just doesn’t get why all the kindergarten moms were crying.
“It’s not like we just dropped him off at college,” Mike said. “And you’re already hoping that he marries a nice girl someday, so…”
“OK! I just dropped my baby off at school! And now we’re talking about college and marriage?! Can we please take this one huge milestone at a time?”
Thankfully, a little retail therapy got me through the day. We went to IKEA and bought the boys new loft beds for their new-and-improved, soon-to-be shared room. Mike got Matthew’s put together so it was waiting for him when he got home from the bus. He was VERY excited…as you can see. He had to try it out with Green Bear right away.
We have an interview/meeting at the adoption agency that we’ll be going through tomorrow. So, more on that to come soon. It’ll be a long process, but we’re excited to be getting it started! And the boys are excited to start sharing a room (yeah, that excitement will probably die the moment that they move in together, but whatever…we’ll run with it for now!), so we’re getting ready for that too!
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Well, I’m glad to report that we are happy campers! We had a fantastic and super fun camping get-away last weekend. It sprinkled a bit on Friday night after the kids went to bed, but other than that the weather was perfect. Rebecca’s dad came to the lake (Lake Goodwin) on Saturday morning and we went out for several hours. The kids and I all rode on the big inner-tube, Mike and Jason both wake-boarded and Rebecca water-skied. Both nights we made s’mores, and Mike proclaimed his utmost pride in Matthew’s “perfect marshmallow-roasting technique” (unlike my technique which involves burning the marshmallow to a black crisp). And Matthew reported at one point, “I sure like this camping business.” One camping trip down, many more to come, I’m sure.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
So many things to say, so very many ways in which to same them. OK, where to start?!
First of all, the summer is almost over (sniff sniff). School starts next week!! And even crazier than that is the fact that our wee sweet little BIG Matthew will be starting full day Kindergarten! Crazy. Crazy.
Secondly, our other baby is also a BIG boy and wearing BIG BOY underpants! (Finally!) We’re still working out some kinks here and there – let’s just say that I avoided blogging about the most disgusting underwear-accident EVER – though I did seriously want to vent about it. And Zach has had to say goodbye to two pairs of very cool underwear now (one of the Bob the Builder persuasion and the other Spiderman). He’s learning that pooping in your pants is a sure fire way to get cool underpants quickly tossed. (Because of Nasty Poop Accident Incident Number One, Mommy learned not to attempt to clean poopy underpants. Toss. Throw those nasty things out!) But anyway, about 99% of the time these days Zach is sporting some fierce underpants and working them with pride and a mean stagger I might add.
Thirdly, it’s good news that we’ve got little man out of diapers as…we…may…be…changing some diapers around here…eventually. We are (drumroll, come on, wait for it, wait for it, you know I’m going to string you along) starting the process to adopt a baby girl!! There are two agencies that we’re currently looking at – one local, one national both are for Domestic adoption not International – and we’re hoping to make a decision by next week on which one we’ll work with so that we can start the homestudy process. More details to come..but exciting stuff!!
First of all, the summer is almost over (sniff sniff). School starts next week!! And even crazier than that is the fact that our wee sweet little BIG Matthew will be starting full day Kindergarten! Crazy. Crazy.
Secondly, our other baby is also a BIG boy and wearing BIG BOY underpants! (Finally!) We’re still working out some kinks here and there – let’s just say that I avoided blogging about the most disgusting underwear-accident EVER – though I did seriously want to vent about it. And Zach has had to say goodbye to two pairs of very cool underwear now (one of the Bob the Builder persuasion and the other Spiderman). He’s learning that pooping in your pants is a sure fire way to get cool underpants quickly tossed. (Because of Nasty Poop Accident Incident Number One, Mommy learned not to attempt to clean poopy underpants. Toss. Throw those nasty things out!) But anyway, about 99% of the time these days Zach is sporting some fierce underpants and working them with pride and a mean stagger I might add.
Thirdly, it’s good news that we’ve got little man out of diapers as…we…may…be…changing some diapers around here…eventually. We are (drumroll, come on, wait for it, wait for it, you know I’m going to string you along) starting the process to adopt a baby girl!! There are two agencies that we’re currently looking at – one local, one national both are for Domestic adoption not International – and we’re hoping to make a decision by next week on which one we’ll work with so that we can start the homestudy process. More details to come..but exciting stuff!!
Friday, August 14, 2009
See?! See! Its not just me. I’m not just biased. Our little town, our little Eastside suburb/town ‘o Seattle totally rocks! We made the top 20 of CNN and Money Magazine’s 2009 list of the nation’s “Best Small Towns.” We’re number 17! Of course, this sounds very impressive, and yet there are two nearby towns that have bragging rights. They beat us at numbers 10 and 12. Still. Our wee little Newcastle made the grade. Here’s what they had to say:
[Population: 9800] Once full of coal miners, Newcastle now has a much more diverse jobs base: The town is 15 minutes from both Microsoft's Redmond headquarters and Boeing's 737 plant in Renton.
But the biggest draw here may be The Golf Club at Newcastle. Built by former Microsoft exec Scott Oki, the massive site includes two 18-hole public courses and a 44,000-square-foot clubhouse.
Home buyers can find properties at a great variety of prices, from $350,000 3-bedroom-2-car-garage ramblers to brand-new $6 million estates. --N.A.
We can actually see the Newcastle Golf Course out our living room window! They decorate with Christmas lights every year and occasionally (just the other night), we get to watch our own private firework show from the sofa (most likely celebrating a wedding up there on the hill). And, just for the record, we’re a little closer to the first price range of homes than the latter…until my book sells, that is.
[Population: 9800] Once full of coal miners, Newcastle now has a much more diverse jobs base: The town is 15 minutes from both Microsoft's Redmond headquarters and Boeing's 737 plant in Renton.
But the biggest draw here may be The Golf Club at Newcastle. Built by former Microsoft exec Scott Oki, the massive site includes two 18-hole public courses and a 44,000-square-foot clubhouse.
Home buyers can find properties at a great variety of prices, from $350,000 3-bedroom-2-car-garage ramblers to brand-new $6 million estates. --N.A.
We can actually see the Newcastle Golf Course out our living room window! They decorate with Christmas lights every year and occasionally (just the other night), we get to watch our own private firework show from the sofa (most likely celebrating a wedding up there on the hill). And, just for the record, we’re a little closer to the first price range of homes than the latter…until my book sells, that is.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Happy 8th Wedding Anniversary to us, Happy 8th Wedding Anniversary to us, Happy..8th…OK, you get it. And I know you’re singing along right now – complete with forced vibrato and serious jazz-hands.
Yes, 8 years ago today was one of the most stressful yet important days of my life. (If this sounds less than enthusiastic than you don’t know ‘our story’. And it’s a story…coming eventually to a bookstore near you…). It’s funny that all my ‘big’ days thus far have been just that – big, but not necessarily wonderful. These huge, momentous moments have always been mingled with some sort of very trying side effects. (i.e. spending your wedding night in the ER, finding out that the 5 week early birth of your daughter is actually the birth of your son, etc.). So, while this may sound like the start of a Pity Party it is actually the complete opposite. A – hmm, what is the opposite of a pity party? – um, it’s a Celebration of Blessings.
Mike and I have a phe-freakin-nomenal marriage. We’re best friends plus a lot of somethin’ somethin’ more. And we have spawned the two most beautiful, genius offspring that ever walked the earth. I could go on and on and list all of the millions of small things and events that have made up for the lack of wonderfulness of the big things and events but I shan’t. I’ll just leave you with this conversation that Matthew, Zach and I had about love today.
Me: How do you show love?
Matthew: By kissing and hugging and doing nice things.
Me: How do you boys show each other love?
Matthew: By playing nice together.
Zach: By doing tricks. Watch. [Zach proceeds to run into the living room.]
Me: Matthew! Go look. Zach is doing a trick to show you his love.
[Zach executes a perfect monkey-jump, spin, somersault move.]
Zach: See?!!
Matthew: Well, that was mostly awesome.
Yes, 8 years ago today was one of the most stressful yet important days of my life. (If this sounds less than enthusiastic than you don’t know ‘our story’. And it’s a story…coming eventually to a bookstore near you…). It’s funny that all my ‘big’ days thus far have been just that – big, but not necessarily wonderful. These huge, momentous moments have always been mingled with some sort of very trying side effects. (i.e. spending your wedding night in the ER, finding out that the 5 week early birth of your daughter is actually the birth of your son, etc.). So, while this may sound like the start of a Pity Party it is actually the complete opposite. A – hmm, what is the opposite of a pity party? – um, it’s a Celebration of Blessings.
Mike and I have a phe-freakin-nomenal marriage. We’re best friends plus a lot of somethin’ somethin’ more. And we have spawned the two most beautiful, genius offspring that ever walked the earth. I could go on and on and list all of the millions of small things and events that have made up for the lack of wonderfulness of the big things and events but I shan’t. I’ll just leave you with this conversation that Matthew, Zach and I had about love today.
Me: How do you show love?
Matthew: By kissing and hugging and doing nice things.
Me: How do you boys show each other love?
Matthew: By playing nice together.
Zach: By doing tricks. Watch. [Zach proceeds to run into the living room.]
Me: Matthew! Go look. Zach is doing a trick to show you his love.
[Zach executes a perfect monkey-jump, spin, somersault move.]
Zach: See?!!
Matthew: Well, that was mostly awesome.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Its official: Mike and I are superheroes. We can strut our stuff wearing tights and capes, AND we can nearly win dance contests. (We were in ‘normal clothes’ and just couldn’t get 1st place and totally sweep the competition; we would have given our ‘Clark Kent’ alter-egos away. It was only just we let the normal humanoids win.)
What crazy talk is this? You wonder. Allow me to expound:
We spent the weekend in Park City, Utah attending our Engaged Encounter District Convention. As is the tendency at these events we had a fan-frickin-tastic time. SO much fun! (Sadly, we didn’t have a chance to actually explore Park City nor did we get to sneak up the hill and slide down the 2002 Winter Olympics Luge tracks…that woulda been so fun. Ah well. Next time.)
On Saturday eve of the Convention there is always a fancy-dancy banquet and partAY ‘cuz, let’s face it, Catholic married-types know how to get down. To kick off the dinner, our promo video for the National Convention was played for the crowd. [www.ceeseattle.org/convention or YouTube “Reboot Your Relationship” if you’ve not yet seen it]. At the end of the video viewing, Mike and I swept through the crowd and along with “EE Couple” (our good friends Greg & Sara) gave a brief chEEsy presentation encouraging everyone to attend the National Convention next fall. (Unfortunately we didn’t get pictures from that night, but come on, we’ve got a whole video!)
As Mike and I exited the ballroom, a woman came running out to the hall. Her two-year-old son had just seen us in the video and then was amazed to see the SuperhEEros in real life, so she brought him out to meet us. Finally my dreams of being a ‘character personality’ at Disneyland were fulfilled. I gave him a high-five as any good SuperhEEro would. Had I not been too choked up and moved by my adoring fan, I would have told him to be good and to…Reboot his relationships…anyway, it was pretty darn cute.
After our super appearance, Mike and I beautified and entered the ballroom to dine with our fellow SEEattle couples. (Yeah, the EE thing gets old, but it amuses mEE every time). After dinner, there was an old school dance contest – you dance until you’re tapped on the shoulder to sit down. Well, needless-to-say, the weeks of watching “So You Think You Can Dance” have certainly paid off. “America’s Got Talent” – watch out. ‘Cuz we got it. Mike and I danced like crazy – we swing danced (or would it be ‘swang’?), salsa-ed, tango-ed, two-stepped, all the while saying, “OK, focus, keep your head the game. Don’t get sloppy on race…er…dance contest day. Hold on, here come the judges, stop looking like you’re going to pass out and smile. Hmmm, maybe if we snag one of the judges and dance around him that will help…or not.”
Just after I’d said to Mike, “I think I may die soon,” they cut the music, and I realized that we were one of the Final Four. That’s right. Mmm-hmmm. We shook it like it ain’t no thang. Mike even whipped out the ‘ol ‘worm’ on the dance floor (granted that was a little rusty and more of a slug) and did a little ‘turn to the audience, booty-shake-and-slap, turn to the audience, booty-shake-and-slap’ rotation just to really win the crowd over. We were pulling out all the stops, let me tell you! The contest was narrowed down to two couples, and our very own EE Couple, Greg & Sara were among the finalists!
The audience waited with bated breath to see what song the DJ and judges would select for the dancing show-down. A low ripple of shock and collective gasp ran through the crowd when an Irish Jig began to play. Um. Boo-yeah. Too bad Sara DID Irish Dance in school and Greg is just so freakin’ hilarious with his perfectly played Michael Flatley – Lord of the Dance number. Word. They were so good, in fact, that the other couple just stood back to watch. No competition! They were amazing and Mike and I sat there grinning from ear-to-ear like a proud mama and papa. (We helped Greg & Sara workshop their talks to become a presenting team on the EE Retreats and have been their mentor couple for a year now.) After the jig, the DJ put on some salsa and the other couple – who I will say was 60+ years old and phenomenal – stepped up with a brilliant routine. It was determined that both couples were winners and they split a $200 prize!
Mike and I are already working on a routine for next year’s competition…I mean Convention…we’re thinking matching unitards might be in order.
What crazy talk is this? You wonder. Allow me to expound:
We spent the weekend in Park City, Utah attending our Engaged Encounter District Convention. As is the tendency at these events we had a fan-frickin-tastic time. SO much fun! (Sadly, we didn’t have a chance to actually explore Park City nor did we get to sneak up the hill and slide down the 2002 Winter Olympics Luge tracks…that woulda been so fun. Ah well. Next time.)
On Saturday eve of the Convention there is always a fancy-dancy banquet and partAY ‘cuz, let’s face it, Catholic married-types know how to get down. To kick off the dinner, our promo video for the National Convention was played for the crowd. [www.ceeseattle.org/convention or YouTube “Reboot Your Relationship” if you’ve not yet seen it]. At the end of the video viewing, Mike and I swept through the crowd and along with “EE Couple” (our good friends Greg & Sara) gave a brief chEEsy presentation encouraging everyone to attend the National Convention next fall. (Unfortunately we didn’t get pictures from that night, but come on, we’ve got a whole video!)
As Mike and I exited the ballroom, a woman came running out to the hall. Her two-year-old son had just seen us in the video and then was amazed to see the SuperhEEros in real life, so she brought him out to meet us. Finally my dreams of being a ‘character personality’ at Disneyland were fulfilled. I gave him a high-five as any good SuperhEEro would. Had I not been too choked up and moved by my adoring fan, I would have told him to be good and to…Reboot his relationships…anyway, it was pretty darn cute.
After our super appearance, Mike and I beautified and entered the ballroom to dine with our fellow SEEattle couples. (Yeah, the EE thing gets old, but it amuses mEE every time). After dinner, there was an old school dance contest – you dance until you’re tapped on the shoulder to sit down. Well, needless-to-say, the weeks of watching “So You Think You Can Dance” have certainly paid off. “America’s Got Talent” – watch out. ‘Cuz we got it. Mike and I danced like crazy – we swing danced (or would it be ‘swang’?), salsa-ed, tango-ed, two-stepped, all the while saying, “OK, focus, keep your head the game. Don’t get sloppy on race…er…dance contest day. Hold on, here come the judges, stop looking like you’re going to pass out and smile. Hmmm, maybe if we snag one of the judges and dance around him that will help…or not.”
Just after I’d said to Mike, “I think I may die soon,” they cut the music, and I realized that we were one of the Final Four. That’s right. Mmm-hmmm. We shook it like it ain’t no thang. Mike even whipped out the ‘ol ‘worm’ on the dance floor (granted that was a little rusty and more of a slug) and did a little ‘turn to the audience, booty-shake-and-slap, turn to the audience, booty-shake-and-slap’ rotation just to really win the crowd over. We were pulling out all the stops, let me tell you! The contest was narrowed down to two couples, and our very own EE Couple, Greg & Sara were among the finalists!
The audience waited with bated breath to see what song the DJ and judges would select for the dancing show-down. A low ripple of shock and collective gasp ran through the crowd when an Irish Jig began to play. Um. Boo-yeah. Too bad Sara DID Irish Dance in school and Greg is just so freakin’ hilarious with his perfectly played Michael Flatley – Lord of the Dance number. Word. They were so good, in fact, that the other couple just stood back to watch. No competition! They were amazing and Mike and I sat there grinning from ear-to-ear like a proud mama and papa. (We helped Greg & Sara workshop their talks to become a presenting team on the EE Retreats and have been their mentor couple for a year now.) After the jig, the DJ put on some salsa and the other couple – who I will say was 60+ years old and phenomenal – stepped up with a brilliant routine. It was determined that both couples were winners and they split a $200 prize!
Mike and I are already working on a routine for next year’s competition…I mean Convention…we’re thinking matching unitards might be in order.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
If you haven’t heard: it’s HAWT. It’s so hot in Seattle right now that it is not just hot nor is it HOT, only HAWT will do justice to the HAWTness that is Seattle at the moment. It cooled all the way down to 85 last night…at midnight! And our house cooled down to maybe 185. Dang. Only 15% of homes in the Seattle area have AC. These are the fascinating tidbits that you can learn watching the local news these days.
I’ve been trying, ever so hard to not be a typical Seattlite and whine about the weather. Seattle-peeps are so whiny. “We” whine when it starts raining, we whine when it snows saying we prefer the rain, we whine when we have three consecutive days over 75. So, here we are, expected to heat up to 101-105 today. And I’ve decided that when we hit the 100 mark I, too, am allowed to join the whiny party. I’ve also decided that this heat calls for the Martin Home to turn into a Nudist Colony ‘cuz it’s so flippin’ hot in here. And even with as few clothes on as possible it still feels like a sauna. Maybe I’ll lose some weight. Isn’t that the point of sweating or doing ‘hot yoga’?! Mike’s missing out on the Nudey Party. He set out to work happily this morning. Yeah, he’s got AC at the office, I wouldn’t blame him if he worked until midnight.
The HAWTness makes us all a wee bit cranky. It doesn’t help that I’ve been a little preoccupied with my Summer ‘o Decluttering, Cleaning, Painting and Reorganizing. The entire contents of every hall closet – linen, coat, pantry – and all kitchen cupboards have been covering every possible surface – kitchen counter, dining room table, floors, etc. while I paint and reorganize. So, here, we are 101 degrees outside, 1001 degrees inside (yes, the number will get bigger every time), and the place is CHAOS. It looks like the Clutter Monster had Disarray Diarrhea all over our home. And I’m on clean-up. AND we leave tomorrow (Mike & I) for the EE Convention in Park City, UT. So, ideally the home will look a bit more habitable so we don’t have to return to this wreck. The boys are THRILLED about spending a weekend at the beach at Port Ludlow with my parents. So, not only do I have to finish cleaning this joint but packing for all of us as well. And it’s 2000 degrees inside!!
The serious HAWT and MESS-induced crankiness is in full swing, and the slightest thing seems capable of setting us off. Matthew was so distraught the other day because I didn’t give him his first choice of straw color that he wept and yelled, “YOU’RE BREAKING MY HEART!” He gulped for air, and then in a voice shaking with emotion, he sadly muttered, “I no longer have love in my heart for you, Mom.” Dude. If this is how you feel about me after a wee straw debacle, the teenage years are going to be seriously rough.
ARgh.
We have had some fun, recently, don’t get me wrong. The highlight was last weekend’s Renton River Days Parade. The preschool always participates and we joined in for the first time. The kiddos can ride bikes or trikes or scooters or get pulled in wagons or just walk. One of the preschool families has a classic convertible that went first for our group – all decked out with our preschool banner, all the kids and parents followed, and then Mike and another dad got to bring up the rear with a big banner. The theme was “Discover the Hart of Renton” – so the kids all had red heart balloons, red streamers, pompoms, etc. to deck us out.
Matthew was pretty hesitant about the parade thing at first. I was worried that the whole shebang would be a complete disaster. In the car on the way there, Matthew was crying that he didn’t want to be in the parade, he didn’t want to wear his helmet, he didn’t want to ride his bike, everyone would laugh at him, he had a hang-nail, on and on with the reasons why this was a bad idea. Mike even glanced at me over the din of two whiny children and asked, “Uh, why are we doing this again?” Through gritted teeth, I growled, “It. Will. Be. Fun. This. Is. Family. Together-ness. FUN. We WILL have fun.”
And we did! Matthew totally stepped up, did great – rode his bike the whole way – and had a fantastic time. Zachary would hop on his scooter occasionally, scoot for maybe ten feet, then give it to me to pull alongside us. I had a red pompom that I’d been given by one of the moms. He didn’t want it at first ‘cuz it was too “girlyish” (a word he learned from Matthew). I told Zach that it was a magic wand and if he waved it at the people lining the sidewalk they would wave back. Worked like a charm. Look out Ms. Washington and the SeaFair Pirates – our children are parade naturals!
I’ve been trying, ever so hard to not be a typical Seattlite and whine about the weather. Seattle-peeps are so whiny. “We” whine when it starts raining, we whine when it snows saying we prefer the rain, we whine when we have three consecutive days over 75. So, here we are, expected to heat up to 101-105 today. And I’ve decided that when we hit the 100 mark I, too, am allowed to join the whiny party. I’ve also decided that this heat calls for the Martin Home to turn into a Nudist Colony ‘cuz it’s so flippin’ hot in here. And even with as few clothes on as possible it still feels like a sauna. Maybe I’ll lose some weight. Isn’t that the point of sweating or doing ‘hot yoga’?! Mike’s missing out on the Nudey Party. He set out to work happily this morning. Yeah, he’s got AC at the office, I wouldn’t blame him if he worked until midnight.
The HAWTness makes us all a wee bit cranky. It doesn’t help that I’ve been a little preoccupied with my Summer ‘o Decluttering, Cleaning, Painting and Reorganizing. The entire contents of every hall closet – linen, coat, pantry – and all kitchen cupboards have been covering every possible surface – kitchen counter, dining room table, floors, etc. while I paint and reorganize. So, here, we are 101 degrees outside, 1001 degrees inside (yes, the number will get bigger every time), and the place is CHAOS. It looks like the Clutter Monster had Disarray Diarrhea all over our home. And I’m on clean-up. AND we leave tomorrow (Mike & I) for the EE Convention in Park City, UT. So, ideally the home will look a bit more habitable so we don’t have to return to this wreck. The boys are THRILLED about spending a weekend at the beach at Port Ludlow with my parents. So, not only do I have to finish cleaning this joint but packing for all of us as well. And it’s 2000 degrees inside!!
The serious HAWT and MESS-induced crankiness is in full swing, and the slightest thing seems capable of setting us off. Matthew was so distraught the other day because I didn’t give him his first choice of straw color that he wept and yelled, “YOU’RE BREAKING MY HEART!” He gulped for air, and then in a voice shaking with emotion, he sadly muttered, “I no longer have love in my heart for you, Mom.” Dude. If this is how you feel about me after a wee straw debacle, the teenage years are going to be seriously rough.
ARgh.
We have had some fun, recently, don’t get me wrong. The highlight was last weekend’s Renton River Days Parade. The preschool always participates and we joined in for the first time. The kiddos can ride bikes or trikes or scooters or get pulled in wagons or just walk. One of the preschool families has a classic convertible that went first for our group – all decked out with our preschool banner, all the kids and parents followed, and then Mike and another dad got to bring up the rear with a big banner. The theme was “Discover the Hart of Renton” – so the kids all had red heart balloons, red streamers, pompoms, etc. to deck us out.
Matthew was pretty hesitant about the parade thing at first. I was worried that the whole shebang would be a complete disaster. In the car on the way there, Matthew was crying that he didn’t want to be in the parade, he didn’t want to wear his helmet, he didn’t want to ride his bike, everyone would laugh at him, he had a hang-nail, on and on with the reasons why this was a bad idea. Mike even glanced at me over the din of two whiny children and asked, “Uh, why are we doing this again?” Through gritted teeth, I growled, “It. Will. Be. Fun. This. Is. Family. Together-ness. FUN. We WILL have fun.”
And we did! Matthew totally stepped up, did great – rode his bike the whole way – and had a fantastic time. Zachary would hop on his scooter occasionally, scoot for maybe ten feet, then give it to me to pull alongside us. I had a red pompom that I’d been given by one of the moms. He didn’t want it at first ‘cuz it was too “girlyish” (a word he learned from Matthew). I told Zach that it was a magic wand and if he waved it at the people lining the sidewalk they would wave back. Worked like a charm. Look out Ms. Washington and the SeaFair Pirates – our children are parade naturals!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Looks like I have some competition in the writing department – it might be a family business. The boys have some serious story-writing skill. Last week, my writerly friend Rachel was here for a visit. She had the boys dictate stories to her. Here are a few of my favorites:
By Matthew Martin, age 5 ¾:
Fishy’s brother is named Bubba. Bubba was dead by fisherman Jim. Fisherman Jim caught Bubba and shot Bubba or kicked Bubba. [Such violence. I’m not a fan of tragedies.] Bubba got brought back to life again. [Ahh, love a good Resurrection story.]. Bubba played with his brother Nunna, I mean Fishy and he is happy to be with his brother Bubba again. The End.
Also by Matthew:
Robot had a good plan. He wanted to build a robot brother and he found a box that was open and he found the material and he needed tape, scissors and paper and markers. And then his robot brother was built, and he needed a button….
[This was left as a cliff-hanger until the later installment. The reader is left wondering, WILL Robot Brother get his much-needed button?!!….tune in next time…or right now…to find out.]
“Now I just need to turn him on.” [Guess he got the button.] It was very steamy work for him because it was hot. He put flashlights on him so he could see in the dark just like his brother could see in the dark.
“And now I have to play with my brother. We will dig in the sandbox together.” The End
By Zachary Martin, age 3-and-not-quite ½ [Zach heard Matthew’s robot story and stuck with the theme.]
Once upon a time, there’s a robot making a machine, and they were sharing it with all the people. The machine was for making popcorn for at the movie theater. All of the robots ate some popcorn at the movie theater. And there were lots of seats for them. The End.
These authors are going to give me a run for my money. Look for the complete box set of original and complete Martin-boy works in a bookstore near you.
By Matthew Martin, age 5 ¾:
Fishy’s brother is named Bubba. Bubba was dead by fisherman Jim. Fisherman Jim caught Bubba and shot Bubba or kicked Bubba. [Such violence. I’m not a fan of tragedies.] Bubba got brought back to life again. [Ahh, love a good Resurrection story.]. Bubba played with his brother Nunna, I mean Fishy and he is happy to be with his brother Bubba again. The End.
Also by Matthew:
Robot had a good plan. He wanted to build a robot brother and he found a box that was open and he found the material and he needed tape, scissors and paper and markers. And then his robot brother was built, and he needed a button….
[This was left as a cliff-hanger until the later installment. The reader is left wondering, WILL Robot Brother get his much-needed button?!!….tune in next time…or right now…to find out.]
“Now I just need to turn him on.” [Guess he got the button.] It was very steamy work for him because it was hot. He put flashlights on him so he could see in the dark just like his brother could see in the dark.
“And now I have to play with my brother. We will dig in the sandbox together.” The End
By Zachary Martin, age 3-and-not-quite ½ [Zach heard Matthew’s robot story and stuck with the theme.]
Once upon a time, there’s a robot making a machine, and they were sharing it with all the people. The machine was for making popcorn for at the movie theater. All of the robots ate some popcorn at the movie theater. And there were lots of seats for them. The End.
These authors are going to give me a run for my money. Look for the complete box set of original and complete Martin-boy works in a bookstore near you.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Martin family has big news. Huge. Wait for it…wait for it…The Martins have become a camping people. I know. It’s true. Shocking and true. Betcha didn’t see that one come now did ya? Did ya?
I was raised in a clan of camping people. But, for some reason, maybe it’s my oober-girly nature, I was just not a super huge fan of camping all the time. I actually – in my pre-teen years – began to refer to it as “The C-Word;” oh, that dreaded C-Word. And for years, my mom and I, upon seeing gray, rainy, cold and miserable weather would say, “Ahh, it’s perfect camping weather!” We did have a bad-camping-weather curse though. There’s no argument with that. My poor dad, he was definitely the pro-camper and got no camping respect from his peeps, that’s for sure.
So, over the last couple of years, I’ve asked Mike if he’d want to start camping. Mike’s only been camping once in his life, I believe, with some cousins when he was young. His answer to any camping-related question was, “Why?” He was in this strange school of thought where camping should be heading out into nature with just the clothes on your back and maybe a pocket knife…or you might as well just stay home and be comfortable. “What’s with all this, ‘bring everything but the kitchen sink with you when you pack’ business?” he would wonder.
As you may know, Mike and I are a presenting team for Engaged Encounter – we present to couples some tools for marriage, some ideas of ‘do’s and don’ts’, if you will. So, I did what any good wife would do: I went out, knowing Mike wasn’t campily-pumped-up, and bought an 8-person tent and a bunch of camping gear for Mike for Father’s Day. Yea! It’s hard to say no to camping when you have a really cool, big tent.
It has been suggested – by some of my experienced camping friends – that we should take some baby-steps into becoming a camping family. So, this past weekend, we did our first camp-out…in the backyard. We pitched the tent, broke in the air mattress and the boys’ new sleeping bags. We BBQed dinner and then really roughed it – we ate dinner in the house while doing ‘family movie night.’ (Hey, I did say this is BABY steps into camping, my friends.)
We even made S’mores on the gas grill. Did you know that there’s a new generation of S’mores? Things have sure changed from my camping days. Now, instead of the old graham cracker, Hershey milk chocolate bar, marshmallow combo, you can seriously shake it up with your toasted marshmallow, graham cracker and REECE’S PEANUT BUTTER CUP. Genius, people! Pure inspired genius.
The boys had so much fun ripping around in the new tent…until…they discovered that two flies had gotten in while the flap door was left ajar. This is a problem. This is why we need to start getting the boys into nature. They’ve seriously dropped the ball on the whole boys-and-bugs front. Why am I still the one having to kill spiders?! I thought having TWO boys bought me an immediate pass from having to kill bugs for the next 18-20 years! So, heaven forbid a couple of flies sneak into our tent. After we recovered and accepted the fact that bugs MAY just be a part of camping, Matthew suddenly realized he’d forgotten something in the house. I don’t know how he could have since half his bedroom came out to the tent. He ran in and came back out with two small plastic, food storage containers. One has a plastic frog in it and the other has a plastic snake. They’re covered with wax paper and holes are poked in the top to allow ventilation for these “pets.” I thought that Matthew was thinking of releasing them to the wild, but apparently he just wanted his snake and frog to come camping with us.
Finally, we were all tucked in and ready to tell “scary stories” – their idea, not mine. Matthew’s scary story was about John Deeres-gone bad and angry, mean dirt. I’m serious. Zach’s scary story was, well, completely incoherent. It went something like this: “Once-a-time, there was…and it was scary…and everybody was spooky…and it was dark…The End.” Kind of a modern work of prose, really. Deep. It was just too existential and profound for me apparently.
Eventually – after yet another trip into the house for yet another potty stop – we fell asleep for the night. I’d say, all in all, camping was a big success. Except for the darn crows. What’s with birds, right? Right? They were so freakin’ loud at like 6:30 in the morning! Hello! We’re camping here! Could you keep it down? We did, at least, have the sound of the neighbors’ three-tier waterfall to listen to as we drifted in and out of consciousness. So, that was kind of naturey...and campey.
In the morning, the boys were so proud of themselves for camping. I said, “Yes, you were great campers! We’ll definitely be ready for our real camping trip at the end of August!” (We’re doing a weekend with our soul mate family: Jason – tall, quieter, computer nerdy like Mike. Rebecca – dark, curly hair, likes running, reading, writing, wine, chocolate and coffee, exceptionally beautiful…sound familiar? And their two boys Joshua and Noah.)
“We’re camping by a lake!” I told the boys expecting cheers and general exultation of excitement.
“Um, no,” Matthew said, “We can’t.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because are there woods? Will we be camping in the woods?”
“Well, yeah, there will be plenty of trees. It’s not like we’re camping in a parking lot,” I told him.
Yeah, no. Apparently, that’s not going to work for him.
“The woods are too dark and scary,” Matthew said.
“And there are creatures,” Zach piped in.
“Yeah,” Matthew agreed, “I don’t want to go camping in the woods.”
“Me neither,” said Zach.
So, we’re a camping family…in our backyard. For now. We’ve got six weeks to pump up our brave, outdoorsy boys for actual camping. Six weeks. I think we’ll need six weeks.
Friday, July 10, 2009
It’s official: I have finally begun work on writing my ‘memoir’. I feel so hoity-toity even calling it that though. The working title, for now, is Tales of a Terrorist Cervix…and Beyond. (I’m open to suggestions. The work will include such highlights as our wedding night (woah, that sounds steamy to those of you who may not know what went down on our wedding night. Sorry, you’ll just have to buy a copy of the award-winning, best selling memoir). It will also be my take on the whole pregnancy with a girl but then having a boy thing, bed rest, postpartum depression, therapy and kids in general. I know you’ll just be on the edge of your seats until I’m published. The good news for you, my dedicated readers (family and friends) is that you’ve got the inside scoop – you’ve got the 411 – you’re in the KNOW. (And since some of what I write will be with the help of looking back through my 271 pages single-space Blog, some of it will be recognizable material).
Since I’m not rolling around in piles of free time (I wonder what that would look like…), I’ve got to squeeze in my writing time – as always – wherever I can get it. This is extra tricky as Zach is an early bird. On the rare occasion that he doesn’t beat us out of bed, I find myself tip-toeing through the house and trying to make no sudden movements lest I bump something and create a ruckus. But the biggest issue is that, like a cat responds to the sound of the can opener, Zach could be in the deepest sleep of his life, but once he hears that cereal hitting the bowl, he’s by your side in the kitchen in 2.2 seconds flat. And guess what? He’s now proving my point. This morning, to get ‘me time’ in, I was up at 5:30, went for a run, haven’t showered yet, so I could squeeze in some writing time, even sat here doing a peepee dance to make the most of my cherished writing time, and now I hear him walking down the hall. And what did I accomplish?! These two paragraphs. This memoir-writing business could take me a LONG time. I just hope, in the time it takes me to write my memoir, I don’t add to my already-well-stocked plethora of material; I’ve already got more than enough to choose from.
Since I’m not rolling around in piles of free time (I wonder what that would look like…), I’ve got to squeeze in my writing time – as always – wherever I can get it. This is extra tricky as Zach is an early bird. On the rare occasion that he doesn’t beat us out of bed, I find myself tip-toeing through the house and trying to make no sudden movements lest I bump something and create a ruckus. But the biggest issue is that, like a cat responds to the sound of the can opener, Zach could be in the deepest sleep of his life, but once he hears that cereal hitting the bowl, he’s by your side in the kitchen in 2.2 seconds flat. And guess what? He’s now proving my point. This morning, to get ‘me time’ in, I was up at 5:30, went for a run, haven’t showered yet, so I could squeeze in some writing time, even sat here doing a peepee dance to make the most of my cherished writing time, and now I hear him walking down the hall. And what did I accomplish?! These two paragraphs. This memoir-writing business could take me a LONG time. I just hope, in the time it takes me to write my memoir, I don’t add to my already-well-stocked plethora of material; I’ve already got more than enough to choose from.
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